“How are y’all feeling?” I ask.
It’s my first chance to speak with Keith and Christopher by themselves.
We are in the kitchen of their residence. It’s quiet back here. The front part of the Florida House is still filled with friends and family hoping to get more information tonight.
“I feel so many different things,” Christopher says. “None of them good.”
Keith nods. “Yeah, it’s like we’ve wanted something—anything—all this time, but this . . . It just raises more questions and doesn’t give us any answers or comfort.”
“Comfort?” Christopher says. “Just the opposite.”
Derinda walks in pushing a hotel-style cleaning cart and tells Keith she’s finished with Raphael’s room. “I don’t like having him here in this house,” she says. “Don’t like it at all.”
Keith nods to her, and she pushes the cart into the supply closet along the far wall as Christopher continues.
“Why did he take her pajamas off? We know why, don’t we? And it had to be so quick after he took her.”
Derinda joins us at the table, pulling her chair over between her son and his husband and placing a supportive, comforting hand on each man. She is clearly distressed, and it is obvious that she has been broken by this entire ordeal—both as a mother and a grandmother.
“What did our poor little girl go through?” Christopher is saying, his gaze in the distance seeing nothing now present in this room. “Is her naked little body buried out there too? Is there anything left of it? Oh my God.”
He breaks down and begins to sob, and we all have tears in our eyes.
I wait for a moment while Derinda and Keith attempt to comfort him and each other.
“I understand how difficult it is to do,” I say, “but if at all possible . . . if you could just wait a little longer and try not to draw any inferences from anything yet . . . I know it’s nearly impossible, but the truth is we don’t know for sure that those are Magdalene’s pajamas.”
“Who else’s could they be?” Christopher says.
“And even if they are,” I say, “we don’t know what that means. There’s a lot that doesn’t make sense about what was found today. We just don’t know anything yet.”
Brooke Wakefield and Charis Tremblay appear in the doorway.
Though they aren’t crying at the moment, their eyes are puffy and red, their faces stricken—especially Charis’s.
“So sorry to interrupt,” Brooke says, “but . . . Rake is insisting on staying here tonight. Says with Raphael back in the house he wants to be around to help if anything happens.”
“I think it’s a good idea,” Charis says.
“He’s gone to pack a bag and grab his toothbrush,” Brooke says. “He said he’d just stay on the couch because he doesn’t plan on sleeping much anyway, but I wanted to see if there’s a room he can use—maybe one next to Raphael’s—and Charis offered to get it ready for him so none of you would have to.”
“That’s so sweet of all three of you,” Derinda says.
Keith nods and says, “I like the idea of having his muscles here. Let’s put him in five. It’s right across from Raphael’s room.”
Christopher nods.
My phone vibrates. I pull it out of my pocket and glance at it.
“It’s Roderick,” I say. “Mind if I take it?”
They all nod.
“Please,” Keith says.
I answer it, and as I do they all whisper about getting Rake’s room ready, and Brooke and Charis rush off to take care of it.
“Where are you?” Roderick asks.
I tell him.
“Can you meet a little later tonight?”
“Sure.”
“How would you feel about working this case with me?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean my sheriff called yours and they worked it out,” Roderick is saying. “My sheriff asked me if I wanted an FDLE investigator on this and I told him I’d rather have you and he said he’d see what he could do.”
“Oh wow, well thank you,” I say. “I’m very flattered. And I’d be honored . . .”
“But?”
I explain to him about my concerns for Taylor and my plan to take her home. As I do, Keith, Christopher, and Derinda react to what I’m saying with a mixture of surprise and sadness.
“Ah, man, I didn’t even think about that,” Roderick says. “I was looking forward to working this thing with you but I get it. I’d do the same thing with my daughter. Let me give it some thought and see if we might come up with a solution—would that be okay? Maybe we could post a deputy there or find y’all another place to stay. I don’t know. Something. You still up for meeting with me later tonight? Could we talk about it more then?”
“Absolutely.”
When I disconnect the call, Keith says, “I can’t believe we didn’t even think about the possibility that the same thing could happen to your daughter. I’m so sorry.”
“We’re selfish and self-centered people,” Christopher says. “Only think about ourselves. Here you are helping us and we didn’t even realize by doing so you were putting your daughter in harm’s way.”
“I might not be,” I say. “We just can’t know for sure yet. It’s possible that what happened to Magdalene was specific to her, but if it wasn’t . . .”
“It’d be a little bit of a drive for y’all and the accommodations aren’t nearly as nice,” Derinda says, “but y’all are more than welcome to stay with me.”
“Thank you,” I say. “That’s so generous of you.”
“You’re trying to find my only grandchild,” she says. “I’d say it’s the very least I could do. It’s killing me to see what my boys are going through. If we could just get her back . . .”
“Roderick just mentioned the possibility of having a deputy posted here or finding us another place to stay, but I think my wife has decided she really just wants to get back home.”
“I certainly understand that,” Derinda says. “We all wish we had taken Magdalene far, far from here before she was . . .”
“I hate to sound like the selfish asshole that I am,” Keith says, “but does that mean you won’t be able to work on finding out what happened to Magdalene?”
“No, I’ll still do what I can,” I say. “I’ll take the casebook y’all made me and do what I am able to from over there and come back over here as I can.”
“Again, I hate to be the asshole,” Keith says, “but did Officer Brandt have any news?”
I shake my head. “Not that he shared, but we’re supposed to meet later tonight. I’ll let you know anything I find out.”
“You’ve done so much for us,” Keith says. “We’re so grateful.”
Christopher, who is looking off into the distance, says, “Our home isn’t safe for children . . . for little girls . . . for sweet little Taylor.”