Amid the Shadows (2 page)

3

Detectives
Danny Griffin and Mike Buckley pulled their sedan into the parking lot of the
Marriott Hotel.
 
Several patrol cars were
already there and an ambulance was parked near the main entrance.

 
After getting out and slamming the car doors
behind them, both men approached the area near the ambulance that had been
cordoned off with yellow tape.
 
As they
passed an officer holding back a group of onlookers, Griffin looked up and
counted the floors to the broken window; eight floors.

They
reached two more officers in blue standing over the coroner, who was kneeling
down and examining the body.

“Jumper?”
Buckley asked, looking down.

The coroner
shook her head.
 
“Hardly.
 
She screamed all the way down.”
 
She adjusted her rectangular framed glasses
and looked carefully at the victim’s hands.
 
“Got quite a bit of blood under the fingernails too.”
 
She wrote something down in her notebook and
then turned her attention back to the body.
 
“No, I’d say this lady put up quite a fight before going through that
window.”

Griffin
popped a piece of gum into his mouth.
 
“Where’s Roberts?”

The
coroner tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear and made more notes.
 
“Upstairs, room 811.
 
Tell her I’ll be up in a few.”

Griffin
nodded and looked around.
 
He and Buckley
scanned the group of onlookers for anyone who might be watching the crime scene
with a little too much interest.

“Check
out that guy.”
 
Buckley nodded toward a
man standing in the crowd with orange hair and piercings covering his
face.
 
“He looks a little weird.”

Griffin
looked at him and shook his head.
 
“That’s Cleveland weird, not New York weird.”

They
backed up and surveyed the area, noting the basics: the glass, the distance
from the building, and the position of the body.
 
A few minutes later, they entered the hotel
and headed for the elevators.

Cheryl
Roberts was the lead investigating officer on duty.
 
At five foot six with dark, shoulder-length
brown hair, Roberts was known for being all business.
 
She greeted Griffin and Buckley with a nod
when they entered.
 
Several other
investigators were moving around the room, taking measurements and
pictures.
 
The detectives looked around
the room and walked toward Roberts, who had just finished with another
officer.
 
Virtually everything in the
room was either broken or completely destroyed.

“What
do we have?” Buckley asked, stepping over some broken glass and a large piece
of a picture frame.

Roberts
sighed.
 
“Well, it’s not a suicide.
 
The other guests reported one hell of a
fight, including gunshots.”
 
She pointed
to bullet holes in one of the walls.
 
“They said it sounded like several people.
 
It ended with someone screaming and the sound
of breaking glass which, not surprisingly, we’re assuming was the victim.”
 
She took a few steps over the debris and
studied the couch laying on its side.
 
“By then, security was on their way up but found the room empty.
 
Whoever did this left in a hurry.”

Griffin
got closer to the window and examined a piece of the broken edge.
 
“This glass has to be a good quarter-inch
thick.”
 
He knocked on it with his
knuckle.
 
“That must have been one hell
of a push.”

Buckley
looked around the other side of the room.
 
“Anything missing?”

“Not
that we can see,” replied Roberts.
 
“Her
purse still has her ID, money, and credit cards.
 
Earrings and a watch are on the nightstand in
the other room, but they’re cheap.”

Griffin
noted more bullet holes on the far wall.
 
“How much money did she have?”

“Forty-six
dollars.
 
She wasn’t rich, that’s for
sure.
 
We’re doing a full rundown on her
now.”

Griffin
looked at his watch.
 
“So, we have
someone breaking in on what appears to be an average, middle-class woman at one
thirty in the morning for something other than a simple robbery.”

“Even
if it was a robbery,” Buckley said, “they wouldn’t have gotten downstairs
before she called security.
 
So, at the
very least, they had to know that she wasn’t going to be in any condition to
make a phone call when it was over.”
 
He
raised an eyebrow.
 
“Rape?”

Griffin
shook his head.
 
“The body was fully
clothed on the pavement downstairs.”
 
He
looked around the room.
 
“I don’t see
fragments of clothing up here either.”

Buckley
looked at Roberts.
 
“You got the
ID?”
 

Roberts
nodded and motioned at one of the officers.
 
He was talking on the phone and holding up her driver’s license.
 
“Her name is Barbara Baxter.
 
Lives upstate.
 
We’re guessing she was here on vacation.”

Another
officer stuck his head around the corner.
 
“Hey, you guys are gonna want to see this.”
 
He motioned down the short hallway and all
three followed him into the bedroom.
 
He
crossed the room to a large dresser and pointed to one of the lower drawers,
which was open.
 
Inside were several
pieces of clothing, neatly folded.

Roberts
bent down and looked at the clothes.
 
“These clothes don’t fit a woman.
 
They’re for a child.”
 
She turned
to the officer with a look of urgency.
 
“Find out how many people checked into this room!”

The
officer hung up the phone.
 
“Two checked
in, a mother and daughter.
 
They guessed
her age to be about six or seven.”

“Jesus
Christ,” said Roberts, looking around the room.
 
“Search these rooms!” She got down on the floor and looked under the
bed.
 
They all quickly searched every
nook of the small rooms, but found nothing.

“Get
downstairs and find someone who saw the girl.
 
See if we can get a picture or drawing.”
 
The officer nodded and ran for the door.
 
“And check the security cameras!
 
See if they got a shot of her!”

Griffin
watched Roberts’ focus sharpen.
 
She was
a great investigator, but she was also a mother; and there was no greater
instinct than that of a mother regarding a child.
 

“If
she’s not here,” Roberts continued, “then they probably took her.
 
I think that woman fought to protect her
child, and lost.”

Griffin
could see her beginning to get angry.
 
Roberts instructed everyone in the room, except Griffin and Buckley, to
drop everything and search first the floor then the entire hotel.
 
She also had the hotel’s security team
checking all footage from the cameras.
 
A
kidnapping was a different priority to cops.
 
A kidnapping meant there was still hope.

“Get
everything,” Roberts said, “ballistics, tire marks, every fingerprint we can
find, everything.”

Suddenly,
one of the investigators burst into the room.
 
“Come quick!”
 
He disappeared back
out into the 8
^th
floor hallway with the others running after
him.
 
They ran down to the end of the
hallway where a laundry cart sat next to one of the doors and another officer
was waiting.
 
They all came to a stop and
looked at him expectantly.
 
The officer
calmly motioned toward an oversized cloth laundry bag.
 
At the bottom sat a small blond girl, looking
up, and scared to death.

4

Christine Rose parked her old, silver Honda in
front of the 19th Precinct station on East 67
^th
Street and climbed
out from behind the wheel.
 
She looked up
at the five-story gray and red building, swallowed hard.
 
Slowly climbing the half dozen steps, she
reached for the large blue door and jumped back when the door suddenly flew
open.
 
She turned and watched an angry
teenager storm down the steps.
 
Being one
of the nearest police stations to Central Park, the 19
^th
was always
busy and filled with
interesting
people.

She walked in and showed her ID to the sergeant
behind the front desk who gave her a pen and slid a thick book in front of her
for a signature.
 
He then pointed her to
the elevator and turned to help the next person.
 
She walked gingerly down the hall and waited
for the elevator, watching people pass back and forth.
 
Christine took a deep breath when the doors
opened and stepped inside.
 
It had been
over two years since she had last been there.

A few moments later, she stepped out onto the
fifth floor.
 
She peered through the
double-glass doors and spotted the person she was looking for.
 
She took a deep breath, pulled the door open,
and walked through.
 
Crossing the room,
Christine stopped just outside the last office.
 
Through the glass door, she could see Cheryl Roberts sitting next to a
tiny girl, holding her hand.

“Christine?”

She turned to see Detective Griffin behind
her.
 
“Oh…hi Danny,” she said, with a
brief but nervous wave.

Griffin looked around with a confused
expression.
 
“What are you doing here?”

Christine took a breath.
 
“Well, it’s nice to see you too.”

“Sorry,” he said, “I just meant…”

“That’s okay.”
 
She looked at the little girl and then back at Griffin. “I, uh, was
assigned this case.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised.
 
“You’re with Social Services now?”

Christine nodded and gave him a meek shrug.
 
“I got reassigned.
 
That’s why it took so long.”

“I see,” Griffin said, looking over her shoulder
at the girl.
 
“Listen, Christine.
 
I’m not sure if you’re ready for this.
 
This little girl has gone through some
serious trauma.”

Christine fumbled for her purse and pulled out a
folder.
 
“I know.
 
I read the report.
 
How is she?
 
They said it was a homicide.”

Griffin sighed and shook his head.
 
“It’s hard to say.
 
Roberts has been with her all morning, but
she hasn’t said anything.
 
Looks like her
mother was thrown out of a window, and she may have heard the whole thing.
 
She hasn’t slept all night.”

“Right.” Christine nodded, watching them.
 
She suddenly remembered something and reached
into her bag.
 
“I brought her some food.”
 
She pulled out a small package.

Griffin looked at the package and frowned.
 
“Donuts?”

“What?” Christine said innocently.
 
“Kids love donuts.”

Griffin’s frown turned into a smirk.
 
“I hope you don’t have a soda in there too.”

Christine didn’t answer.
 
Instead, she looked at the man approaching
from the other direction.

Griffin turned as Buckley reached them.
 
“Oh, Christine.
 
This is my partner, Mike Buckley.
 
Mike, this is Christine Rose with Social
Services.
 
She’s here for Sarah Baxter.”

Buckley shook Christine’s hand.
 
“Nice to meet you.”
 
He pulled out a small doll and handed it to
her.
 
“I found this in the lost and
found.
 
I thought maybe she’d like it.”

Christine smiled and took the doll.
 
“Thank you.”
 
She gave Griffin one more look and turned away, knocking gently on the
glass door and cracking it open.
 
She
walked softly across the room, hoping her nervousness was not entirely
obvious.
  
When she got to the couch,
Roberts patted Sarah’s hand and stood up while Christine slowly sat down on the
other side of her.

“Hello, Sarah,” she said softly.
 
“My name is Christine.”

Sarah looked at her apprehensively with big green
eyes, but said nothing.

Christine nodded to herself and looked at the
other three standing outside watching her.
 
She remembered the doll and held it up for Sarah to see.
 
“Sarah, do you like dolls?”

Sarah stared at the doll and nodded.
 
Christine held it out, and Sarah cautiously
took it from her hands.
 
Okay
,
Christine thought to herself.
 
Here we
go.

She cleared her throat.
 
“Sarah, I work with these nice policemen, and
we just want to make sure you weren’t hurt.”

Sarah did not answer.
 

“Sarah, I know you’re scared, but I’m here to help
you.
 
Can you tell me if you were hurt?”

She remained focused on the doll.
 
After a few moments, Sarah slowly shook her
head.

“You were not hurt?”

Eyes still down, Sarah shook her head again.

“Okay.”
 
Christine put her hands between her knees and looked at Sarah’s
doll.
 
“So, you like dolls?”

Sarah nodded.

 
“Me
too.”
 
Christine smiled, watching her
begin to play with it.
 
“Sarah, can you
tell me how old you are?”

She held up six fingers.

“You’re six?” Christine said, with raised
eyebrows.
 
“You’re…really getting to be a
big girl.”

Christine looked at Griffin outside and reluctantly
pulled the donuts back out of her bag.
 
“Are you hungry?
 
I brought you
something to eat.”

Sarah looked at the donuts and mumbled something
under her breath.

“What’s that?”

Sarah said it again a little louder.
 
“I’m not supposed to eat that.”

Christine frowned.
 
“Ah, okay.”
 
She reached into her
bag again and brought out a small juice box.
 
“How about orange juice?
 
Are you
thirsty?”

Sarah looked up at her and then to the box.
 
She nodded and took the juice when Christine
nudged it into her hand.
 
She carefully
unwrapped the straw, poked it into the top of the box, and took a long
drink.
 
When she was finished, Christine
took the empty box back and very gently placed her hand on Sarah’s knee.

“Sarah, I want you to come with me so I can take
care of you.
 
Would that be okay?”

“Okay.”

Christine smiled.
 
“Okay!”
 
She slowly stood up and
reached for Sarah, who also stood, placing her tiny hand inside Christine’s.

Christine took a deep breath and smiled.
 
She began to walk forward when little Sarah
suddenly pulled on her hand, stopping her.

“Did my mommy die?”

Christine’s smile promptly disappeared.