“Mr. and Mrs. Davis,” Detective Rosebud said, “thank you for coming down here.” He noticed Mrs. Davis’s red and swollen eyes. The husband didn’t look as bad as his wife, but there was a certain absence in his stare. “We’ll continue our discussion about Lori—”
“Looooriii,” the mom sobbed, covering her face with one hand while her husband wrapped his arm around her slumped shoulders.
Rosebud cleared his throat then Murphy spoke up. “Mrs. Davis, I’m sorry.” Murphy extended her hand to clasp the woman’s clenched fist. “Let me assure you that we’re on your team here. As I said when I announced the awful, awful news to you last night, we take no pleasure in this. No parent ever wants to hear that news. I’m sorry it happened to you, and our entire department is working really hard to catch the person who did this to Lori.”
Mrs. Davis nodded then inhaled deeply.
Rosebud cleared his throat. “Now, I know this is a difficult time, but I’d like your DNA and fingerprints so that we can eliminate yours when we analyze the evidence. Is that all right with you?”
Both parents nodded in silence.
“Thank you, we’ll collect and process those shortly. Also, do you have access to your daughter’s cellphone bill and your home’s landline statement?”
“Of course,” Mr. Davis said. “We have a family plan on our cellphones. I thought detectives had access to those.”
“Eventually we will, with the warrants we’ve already gotten, but it takes a while for companies to provide the information we need. If you don’t mind sharing your latest bills and call history, it would buy us some valuable time.”
“No problem. Anything we can do to help, detectives.”
“Thanks,” Rosebud said before opening the manila folder in front of him. “I want to ask you a few more questions and then show you some photos. Whatever you say, whatever tiny detail you mention could make a big difference and help us catch the killer faster.”
“Are we going to see photos of our baby girl?” Mrs. Davis asked, part dread and part something else shining through her eyes.
“Only if you feel up to it,” Rosebud said. “But first, I want to repeat a question my partner asked last night. I know you were in shock at the time, so I want to make sure we have our facts straight. Yesterday, you stated that you and your daughter were the only people with a key to your house. Is this correct?”
“Yes,” the father said.
“Any relatives in town or neighbors with a key? Or spare keys hidden somewhere near the house?”
“No,” Mr. Davis said. “The neighbors are all renters. New people come in and out all the time. It wouldn’t be safe.”
Rosebud noticed a strange look on the mother’s face.
“Mrs. Davis?”
“Well, it’s not totally accurate,” she said.
“What do you mean?” The father’s tone was more surprised than angry.
“Remember a few years ago when I kept losing my keys?”
Mr. Davis frowned at his wife. “Mm-hmm.”
“Well, I had a spare made.”
“Where is that spare now?” Rosebud asked.
“It’s hidden about an inch or two in the largest flower pot on the front porch.”
“What?” The father’s voice had gone up a notch.
Rosebud rifled through the pile of photos to find one of the front porch. “This one?” he asked, pointing to the largest pot.
“Yes, it’s buried in there, along the part of the rim closest to the door.”
“What?” the father repeated.
“Don’t worry. Nobody ever saw that key! I put it there in the middle of the night, and I’ve never had to use it since. It’s probably all rusty anyway.”
“We’ll look into it. Thank you, Mrs. Davis. But, just to clarify, you said you’d lost your keys before. How long ago was that and any possibility someone could have used one of those lost keys in the past?”
The Davises looked at each other, then Mrs. Davis spoke. “I… I don’t think so. Wouldn’t they have stolen something? And why now?”
“How long ago did you last lose your keys?” Murphy repeated.
Mrs. Davis shook her head while exhaling. “I don’t know. Two years ago?”
“Was there any identifying tag on your keys? Something that could point to your home address?”
The woman shook her head.
Rosebud made note of her reply on his pad as Murphy got up. “I’ll get someone on the spare key right away.” She grabbed the photo and exited the interview room.
“Do you think my key could have been used by the killer?” Mrs. Davis asked Rosebud as horror morphed her tired face.
“That’s not what we’re saying, but we need to look at all possibilities. We’ll see if that key is still there, if there are fingerprints on it, if it looks like it’s been used at all in the past week.”
“Oh my god! Did my silly habit of misplacing my keys kill my daughter?”
Mr. Davis wrapped his arm around his shaky, weeping wife. “Don’t do that to yourself, Fran.”
Rosebud once again cleared his throat, not enjoying how the interview was unfolding. “I agree with your husband. Don’t blame yourself. We’ll find whoever did this to your daughter, but we need your help. Would you like a cup of coffee or something?” he asked as he got up, manila folder in hand.
“No, thank you,” the man said as his wife silently shook her head. Nothing except sobbing came out of her.
“I’ll go and get myself a cup, give you both a few minutes to collect yourselves. I’ll be back shortly, and we’ll start looking at photos, all right?”
“Thank you,” the man said. Rosebud exited the interview room to walk into the smaller room that oversaw it.
Wang sat there alone, a steamy cup of green tea in front of her. “Hard to get info from them, isn’t it?” she told Rosebud after he closed the door.
“Can’t blame them for being emotional. I just have to give them time or they’ll be totally useless.”
“Why don’t you go and get yourself that cup of coffee you talked about?”
“Could you have Murphy head in whenever she gets back?” Rosebud asked.
“Will do. She said she was going to get Chainey to recover that spare key.”
“Great. Thanks, Wang.”
Fifteen minutes later, his manila folder and a large cappuccino from the deli across the street in hand, Rosebud reentered the room.
“How are we doing now?” he asked.
Although the Davises remained quiet, they looked a little less worse for wear.
Rosebud sat down in front of them and reopened his photo folder. “Ready to continue?”
“Yes,” the couple said in unison.
“We’ll start with the easiest things, like the rest of your home.”
As he finished his sentence, the door opened, and Murphy joined them again. She, too, had grabbed a cup of coffee, but a crappy one from the lunchroom’s machine, according to the cup’s label.
“Okay,” the mom said. She made a noticeable effort at swallowing while reaching for a tissue from the box on the table.
“Your house was extremely orderly when we arrived at the scene. We don’t know if it’s how you leave it, or if the killer could have cleaned up after him or herself.”
“Herself? You think a woman could have killed my baby girl?”
“We really don’t know anything at this point, so we don’t want to eliminate half the suspect pool.”
The dad spoke up next. “So, that means that… she wasn’t…”
The mom’s breathing became erratic.
Rosebud looked at Kate in silence, knowing the trap they faced. Kate broke eye contact and spoke to the mother. “We’re still waiting for the full autopsy report…”
“But? Say it, please!” the father begged.
“Based on what she wore and the autopsy we just—”
“Murphy,” Rosebud interjected, closing the folder in front of him.
She turned to him, “I know I’m not supposed to state anything since it’s not confirmed yet but…” Kate reached out to grab the woman’s hand. “The body had begun the decomposition process—”
“Decomposition?” Tears burst forth from the mother like a fountain.
Rosebud moved the box of tissues closer to her.
When the mother got herself under control, Murphy spoke again. “The medical examiner stated that, based on the lack of bruising in that area and the state of the clothes she had on, it didn’t seem as though she had been raped, but more tests will be conducted.”
The woman continued weeping.
“This isn’t an official statement by me, anyone at the Boston PD, or the medical examiner. This is just from one woman to another, and I ask that you keep this detail within the confines of this room. If this belief changes based on the test results, we’ll let you know.”
“Thank you,” the mother said before reaching for another tissue.
“So, can we begin looking at photos now?” Rosebud asked after re-opening the manila folder in front of him.
The couple nodded.
He spread out various shots taken in the living room.
“Do you notice anything different. Either out of place or perhaps missing?”
The dad glanced at them all, a slight line between his brows. “Looks normal to me.”
“It’s always this tidy and organized?” Rosebud prompted. “No books, magazines, or anything on the coffee table?”
“Yeah, that’s how we keep it. Hold on!” the mother said before grabbing one of the photos to take a closer look.
“Anything on that one?”
“The bookcase. There’s a gap…” She brought the photo closer to her face, most likely trying to read the spines, then she finally lowered the photo. “Our Bible is missing!” She handed the photo to her husband.”
“Why would someone steal our Bible?” he asked, agreeing with his wife’s findings.
Murphy ruffled through the photographs and pulled out the close up of the Bible that had been left on the vic’s body.
“Is this your Bible?” Murphy asked.
“Yes!” they exclaimed, their eyes widening with relief. “But what horrendous fabric is that underneath it? We don’t have anything orange with yellow flowers like that.”
Rosebud was grateful that the close up didn’t reveal enough of the fabric for them to realize it was the gown their daughter had on. He knew that they were entering slippery territory, one more fact could mean their minds would re-enter the shock zone where they would no longer be able to offer any valuable information. So Rosebud tried to squeeze out a few answers first by being vague. “It was on a piece of clothing we found. It’s not something either of you, or your daughter would have in the house?”
“Most definitely not,” the woman said.
“Let me show you other rooms,” Rosebud said.
A few minutes later, after going through the rest of the living room, kitchen, two bathrooms, and their master bedroom, the parents hadn’t spotted anything that would help the detectives.
“Now, the next photos will be more difficult. Tell me if you need more time or if you’ve seen too much and we’ll stop. Obviously, the more you can help us, the better.”
“Okay,” the mother said.
“I understand,” the father said.
“Is there anything out of place on her desk?” Rosebud asked as he slipped a picture in front of them.
Both parents raised their shoulders.
“Was your daughter always aligning things like this or could this have been done after her death? We saw a similar display in her closet, with hangers evenly spaced.” Rosebud added a new picture next to the previous one.
“No, that’s our little girl. She’s always liked things tidy and organized.”
“Very well, and the limited color selection in the closet?”
“Also her, she only wore shades of pink.”
“When we found her, she wore a nightgown made with the orange and yellow fabric we showed you earlier.”
“She doesn’t own anything like that.”
“How about a rosary?” Murphy asked.
“She has a gorgeous one, made out of pink pearls. It’s something we brought back from a trip to China years ago.”
“How about this one?” Rosebud slid a new picture and took away the previous ones. “Did it come from anywhere in your house?”
The photo the parents looked at was a close-up shot of the rosary in the evidence bag.
“This blue thing?” the mother asked.
Kate nodded.
“No way. We never bought one of those, and most definitely not in blue.”
“So you’ve seen rosaries like this before?” Rosebud asked.
“Of course. Lots of them. Our church fundraises to help some of our poorer parishioners. That’s one of the items they make and sell.”
So much for the one thing that could have been a good lead.