Storm Lines Page 13

  Devon leaned forward in her chair, looking at Marley for a few beats. Marley drew strength from the reassurance in her brown eyes, then she cleared her throat.

  “This is Constable Bridget Marlowe, suspending the questioning session at 10:57.”

  Marley went to the other side of the desk and crouched down by Carla’s chair. She grimaced as her stitches protested this new position but smoothed her expression as Aimee peeked out from her grandmother’s hug.

  “Hey, Squirt,” Marley said quietly.

  Aimee blinked, her eyes sad, ashamed, and swollen with tears.

  “That was kind of shitty, wasn’t it?”

  Aimee nodded.

  “I’m sorry, kid,” Marley said, trying very hard to control the tremor in her voice. “I’m sorry that was so hard on your heart. But I’m glad you told us. That’s a heavy thing to carry around with you.”

  Aimee leaned her head back against her grandmother’s chest. She looked spent. Marley glanced up at Carla, protection and love in her expression along with an angry fire as she held her granddaughter fiercely.

  “Can we take her home?” Carla said.

  “Yes. We’re done for today.”

  Carla’s eyes sparked at that, but Marley thought now wasn’t the time to explain that there would likely be more questions for Aimee.

  Aimee lifted herself up and rubbed at her eyes. She glanced at the pile of papers Marley had collected, but her expression didn’t change. Instead, she reached over and tugged Devon’s hand.

  “You’re ready to head out of here? Sounds good to me,” Devon said. “You can decide what berries we get at the pop-up market on the way, okay?”

  Aimee unfolded herself from her chair and jumped down. She clung to Carla’s hand and stuck close to her hip as Marley led them out of the interrogation room.

  * * *

  The ride home in Devon’s car was quiet. Carla sat in the back with Aimee, who stared blankly out the window. Devon took a bit of a longer route back to her place, stopping at the pop-up farmer’s market that had just finished setting up the tables and tents. She said she’d be right back, but a minute later she heard the car doors slam and smiled as Aimee’s small hand slipped into hers, her head leaning tight against Devon’s arm.

  Aimee pointed at her favourite berries, and her eyes lit up when she saw cherries. They were Devon’s favourites, too, so a large container went into the bag. Aimee looked confused at the pile of corn until Devon showed her how to pull down the top of the green leaves and separate the strands of cornsilk to get a look at the corn underneath. Aimee blinked in surprise and smiled, and a few minutes later they were back in the car with half a dozen ears of corn and a bag full of berries.

  As Carla told Aimee a funny story about a girl who ate too many berries and turned purple, Devon let her mind wander to Marley. Devon had desperately wanted to touch her, draw her into a hug, tuck her head into the curve of her neck and tell her to let it all go for a minute. She wanted to remind her to breathe, take her pain meds, find something to eat, and ignore the thoughts in her head telling her she’d messed up. But Marley had work to do, information she needed to follow up on, a boss who required an update. All Devon could do was send her a text, let her know that she was thinking about her, and invite her to dinner.

  Devon pulled into her driveway, still distracted by thoughts of Marley and their morning. Aimee clambered out of the car and bounced up the stairs, an excellent sign she was starting to feel better. Devon unlocked the door and Aimee ran ahead into the kitchen, clutching the bag of berries. Carla and Devon both laughed and exchanged a relieved look. The girl was going to be okay.

  A thump in the kitchen made Devon pause. Then she registered a man’s soft voice in the kitchen, and Aimee running back toward them, her eyes full of fear. The pieces fell into place for Devon almost immediately. The voice was her father’s, and only now did she register the familiar truck parked across the street from her house.

  “Hey, Dad,” Devon called, cursing at herself as Aimee hid behind her grandmother’s legs.

  Her dad popped his head around the corner, rubbing his hands on a rag, his eyes full of concern and confusion.

  “Hey, sweetheart. Sorry, I didn’t know…”

  Devon held up a hand to stop him. “Can you give us a minute?”

  “Of course,” he said, and he disappeared back into the kitchen.

  Devon sat down on the floor and waited for Aimee to peer out.

  “That’s my dad,” Devon said. “I didn’t know he’d be here, or I would have given you a heads-up.”

  Aimee stared at Devon for a moment, then blinked.

  “I think he’s here to fix my sink. You know how I have that bucket underneath because it drips?” Aimee liked taking the coffee can of water out to the back porch to water the hanging baskets of flowers. “I forgot my dad said he’d come fix it for me.”

  Aimee sent another nervous glance toward the kitchen but stepped out from behind Carla.

  “Two options, kiddo,” Devon said. “We can go into the kitchen and meet him or I can ask him to come back another time. It’s been a big day for you already, so you decide what your heart can handle today.”

  Aimee touched her heart briefly and glanced at the kitchen again. Then she wrapped her arms around her shoulders and looked at Devon with a question in her eyes.

  “He’s the safest person I know,” Devon said. “Did you want to go meet him?” A brief hesitation, then a nod, and Aimee took her grandmother’s hand.

  Devon stood up and looked at Carla. “Is this okay? I didn’t know he’d be here.”

  “It’s fine with me,” Carla said. She looked like she wanted to say more, but then she snapped her mouth shut.

  Devon walked back into the kitchen, where her dad was washing his hands in the sink. His expression was curious and his demeanor relaxed. He’d had enough years in his own psychology practice to be neutral and open in the face of the unexpected.

  “Hey, Dad,” Devon said, giving him a quick hug. “Sorry I haven’t been responding to your texts.”

  “Not a problem. Sorry I showed up unannounced. Just thought I’d get that leaky drain fixed for you.”

  Devon turned to include her guests. “Dad, these are my friends Carla and Aimee. They’re staying with me for a bit.”

  “It’s great to meet you,” her dad said, shaking Carla’s hand. He smiled at Aimee but stepped back out of her personal space. “I’m Andrew, Devon’s dad.”

  They talked a little about the weather and Devon’s leaky drain, casual words adults exchange as they test the social waters of a situation. Carla seemed relaxed, and Aimee poked her head out curiously. Andrew smiled at her.

  “I see you picked up some berries, Aimee,” Andrew said, indicating the bag on the kitchen counter. “How about I get this sink fixed and then you can rinse them?”

  Aimee nodded but didn’t move from her grandmother’s side.

  Devon made herself comfortable on the floor as her dad knelt down and stuck his head under the sink. He had everything he needed laid out, and he called for various tools using the silly names they’d come up with when Devon was a child.

  After a few moments, Devon heard something behind her and turned to see Aimee approaching and crouching down behind Devon, peering over her shoulder.

  “I couldn’t remember which tool was which when I was a kid, so I gave them names.”

  Aimee pointed at a small wrench.

  “That’s little Mary,” Devon said.

  Aimee pointed at a ratchet.

  “That’s Colin. That flathead screwdriver is Anne.”

  Aimee pointed again.

  “Misty. James. Old Yeller.”

  Aimee made a small laughing sound at that one.

  “Could you pass me a Colin?” her dad said, his voice muffled as half his torso was now wedged into the small cupboard under the sink.

  Devon passed him the tool he needed. “I mostly named them after characters in books,” she
said to Aimee. “I read a lot when I was a kid.”

  “Now there’s an understatement,” her dad said, laughing. “We barely saw your face.”

  Aimee tapped Devon’s shoulder, then pointed at her chest.

  “I know you’re a big reader as well,” Devon said. “That’s one of the reasons we get along so well.”

  Aimee smiled, then flinched as Andrew pulled himself out from under the sink. She seemed to catch herself and she gripped Devon’s shoulder but didn’t back away.

  “Okay, I think that’s it. I’m going to turn on the tap. Can you two watch for drips?”

  Aimee looked very serious as she clambered over Devon until she was half sitting in her lap, peering into the space under the sink.

  The water came on and Aimee stared intently. Devon smiled up at her dad, who winked.

  “Anything?”

  Aimee shook her head.

  “Grab a dry rag there,” Andrew said. “Give the pipes a little wipe down, see if there are any sneaky drips we can’t see.”

  Aimee hesitated slightly, then grabbed the rag and wedged herself under the sink. A moment later, her arm emerged, waving the dry rag. Then her head popped out, followed by the rest of her.

  “Should have had you fix the leaky pipe, Aimee,” Andrew said. “You fit there much better than I do.”

  Aimee scrambled out and helped clean up the tools, pointing to each one and having Andrew name them again as they were put away. Devon stood and stretched her back, pleased but unsurprised her dad had gained even a small measure of trust with Aimee in such a short time. Carla was still sitting at the table. She had a paper in her hands, but she was staring out the window.

  “Can I make you some tea, Carla?”

  “That would be just the thing, I think,” Carla said. She looked tired, weighed down.

  “I’ve got Aimee if you want to lie down for a bit,” Devon said.

  “Better to keep busy, I think. Keeps the dark thoughts at bay.”

  Devon saw Andrew glance up at this, but then he looked back at Aimee fitting all the pieces of his old red toolbox together.

  “I usually stress cook or stress bake,” Devon said to Carla, smiling. “Do you have any recipes that go with berries?”

  Carla’s eyes brightened, and she looked so much like her granddaughter in that moment.

  “My grandmother always made biscuits and cream to go with berries,” Carla said. “It’s not exactly a dessert…”

  “It’s perfect.”

  Marley arrived while the biscuits were baking, the corn was boiling ripe and yellow on the stove, and Aimee and Andrew were playing a loud game of Go Fish at the kitchen table. Devon had sent a text inviting her for dinner and giving her a heads-up as to what she was walking into. Marley, still looking more exhausted than Devon thought she should, chatted with her dad like they were old friends. Devon mentally stepped back from the scene playing out before her in her own kitchen. She was so used to this space being one of quiet and contemplation, a sanctuary after stressful and heart-sore days at the hospital. But it had become a place to hide over the last few months. The energy and life in her now very full kitchen made her smile.

  “I always liked having a full kitchen,” Carla said, seeming to read Devon’s mind. She was drying a mixing bowl with a kitchen towel. “Whatever else was going on, it always felt like I was doing something right with my life.”

  “I’m starting to see that,” Devon said, watching as Aimee brought her dad a stack of papers so he could show her how to make paper airplanes. “It’s a good feeling.”

  “And we haven’t had a lot of those today,” Carla said.

  “That’s true.”

  Carla glanced up and gave Devon a tired but true smile. “Then we’ll take what we can get, won’t we?”

  “Yes,” Devon said, looking out over her busy kitchen. “We’ll take it while it’s here.”

  Chapter Nine

  Marley pressed the phone more closely to her ear and tried to block out the sound of conversation around her. Annoyance crept up the back of her neck as she strained to hear.

  “I’m sorry,” Marley said. “It’s a busy office.”

  The elementary school principal on the other end of the line, Priya Anand, laughed. “My office is regularly filled with crying four-year-olds, so I have some idea what you’re dealing with.”

  Marley had spent the morning tracking down the principal of St. Agatha’s school in Windsor, Ontario. Not an easy feat given it was three hours away and school was out for the summer. But she’d connected through the school district’s main office, faxed the appropriate paperwork to confirm, and was thrilled when the principal called her back within a few hours, rather than the days the mildly grumpy office administrator had warned her about.

  “I appreciate you taking the time to connect with me today. I know you’re on your summer vacation.”

  “It’s not a problem,” Priya said. “The paperwork said you wanted to talk about a former student, Aimee West?”

  “Yes. What can you tell me about her?”

  “Not a whole lot, I’m afraid,” Priya said. “She was a student with us from November until mid-April, when her father said he was moving to Hamilton for work.”

  “Did you meet Randolph West?”

  “Only once, when he came in to register his daughter.”

  “And what kind of student was Aimee? I know she had a good connection to Miss K?”

  Priya laughed. “Yes, Eva Karagalis. She really took Aimee under her wing, knowing it’s hard to start at a school partway through. Aimee was hesitant when she started with us, very careful, and very quiet. But it didn’t take much effort to see she was a bright star. As Miss K said, once Aimee started talking, you were never going to get the genie back in the bottle. She encouraged it, though. Aimee thrived when her curiosity was fed and she was given an opportunity to use her voice.”

  Marley stared at the jot notes she was taking, trying to process what she was hearing. “Aimee talked while she was at St. Agatha’s?”

  “Yes,” Priya said, seeming confused. Then she seemed to hesitate. “You sound surprised, Constable Marlowe.”

  “Aimee hasn’t spoken since April,” Marley said, trying to keep her intonation professional and factual.

  “I see.”

  “There was no indication of trauma or illness or mutism when Aimee attended your school?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  Marley cleared her throat, needing to shift gears. “Is there anything else you can think of that you might want to tell me about Aimee or her father?”

  Priya took a moment with the question. “We have a pretty high-needs population around here, a lot of families dealing with poverty, new Canadians, families in transit. Other than Aimee’s obvious intelligence and love of school, her story didn’t seem that different, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s okay, you’ve been very helpful today.”

  “Did you want to speak to Miss K? She could tell you more about Aimee’s day-to-day.”

  “I have everything I need right now, but if you could send me her contact information and maybe fill her in on why I might be calling, that would also be helpful.”

  Marley listened as Priya made herself a note. “Done.”

  “Thank you again for your time,” Marley said. “I appreciate all your information and insights.”

  “You are most welcome,” Priya said. “Aimee is a wonderful kid. We are glad to have known her and hope very much she is going to be okay.”

  “Yes,” Marley said, hearing the professional tone slip a little. “We are hopeful as well.”

  Marley signed off and hung up the phone. She stared at her notes, wishing she had a more complete story about Aimee’s recent history but also wishing she didn’t have to uncover any more evidence of Aimee’s hurt.

  “Anything useful?”

  Marley looked up as Superman made himself at home on the corner of her desk.

  “More info abou
t Aimee’s background, but nothing that helps the investigation.”

  “Did Simms find anything in Windsor?”

  “No idea.” Marley checked her phone for the time. “But there’s an update in ten minutes. You coming?”

  Superman stood up. “Nope, I’m out on patrol. In fact, you never saw me.”

  “It’s like you don’t even exist,” Marley said, waving a hand in front of his face. He slapped it away, and Marley laughed.

  “Don’t get too comfortable over there, Marlowe,” Superman said, wagging a finger in Marley’s face obnoxiously. She grabbed for it, but he moved it out of the way too quickly.

  “Whatever,” Marley said, annoyed and laughing.

  “All I’m saying is you’re a street cop, one of Hamilton’s best and shiniest community officers.”

  Marley knew that wasn’t true. But she didn’t fit on the drug squad, either. “You’re only saying that because I get you free coffee from the place down on Main and Sixth.”

  Superman flashed Marley his trademark dimpled smile. “That’s because the owner has a crush on you.”

  Marley threw a pen at Superman. He ducked, and it went sailing over his head, landing in the middle of the aisle. An officer walking down the aisle picked it up. It was Simms. He completely ignored Superman and approached Marley, dropping the pen on her desk.

  “Question. Did you ever come across the name Mace or a reference to Mace in any of your evidence searches?”

  Superman rolled his eyes behind Simms’s shoulder and took off.

  “Mace? No, I don’t think I’ve come across that name.”

  “Has the kid ever mentioned anything about a Mace?”

  Marley swallowed her irritation. “No.”

  “It was a long shot, but I thought I’d check.”

  “Is this coming out of your visit to Windsor yesterday?” Marley said.

  “Got some good information from the precinct down there. Looks like West initially set up shop down there, possibly with this Mace guy, whoever he is. West was picked up for small time possession with intent to sell. He’s actually waiting out a court date in Windsor and isn’t supposed to have left the county. But they’ve got all the same issues we do. Court systems back up, and we don’t have enough parole officers to keep track of everyone.”