Chasing The Dead

Chapter Thirty-Six

Alex drove toward the Blue Ridge Mobile Home Park, thinking about how to approach Bethany Sutherland. Their encounter last Friday hadn’t gone well. Bethany had denied knowledge of the murder and had said nothing about her relationship to Joanie Sutherland. And she had sidestepped Alex’s questions about the girl.

Alex had given Bethany the benefit of the doubt. Even if the little girl knew something, that didn’t mean Bethany did, and since the victim’s next of kin hadn’t been notified, Bethany might not have known her sister was dead. She hoped that Bethany knew by now, not wanting to be the one to tell her.

Nor did Alex blame Bethany for not answering her questions about the girl, whom Alex assumed was her daughter. What mother wouldn’t shield her child from being drawn into a murder investigation?

Knowing that Alex was defending the man accused of murdering her sister, not some stranger, would make Bethany less cooperative, particularly regarding the little girl. Still, she had to try.

Bethany’s trailer was parked in the shade of two towering oak trees in the middle of a long row of mobile homes. It was an old Jayco White Hawk, cream-colored paint faded by years in the sun, pockets of rust visible on the undercarriage. The trailer sat on a concrete slab made out of sections pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle. There was a four-by-eight-foot flat-roofed metal storage shed next to the back end of the trailer, a pair of outdoor folding chairs in front of it, a couple of coolers, a bicycle, and a spare tire wedged between the shed and the chairs. The trailer might have been mobile, but its occupants had put down roots. This was home.

Alex parked on the street in front of the trailer. There was no sign of the Impala. She got out, scanning the area for Bethany and the girl, finding neither. Nor did she see any neighbors, though she imagined at least a few were watching her from inside their trailers. Act like you belong, she reminded herself, walking briskly to the trailer and rapping on its tinny door, not surprised when no one answered, then turning toward the street when she heard the Impala approach.

Bethany jerked the car to a stop, nose to nose with Alex’s, and got out with a bag of groceries in one hand, eyes narrowed, mouth set, her face creased with caution. The girl climbed out of the passenger side, following Bethany while keeping her distance, clutching a plastic spatula.

“How’d you find me?”

“I didn’t. My investigator did. She’s good at that. I’m sorry about Joanie.”

“You say that, but you’re the lawyer for the one that killed her.”

“He’s accused of killing your sister. That doesn’t mean he’s guilty and it doesn’t mean I’m not sorry for your loss.”

“Well, I got nothing to say to you.”

“I just want to talk with you for a few minutes.”

Alex kept her tone neutral but didn’t move from her position in front of the trailer door. She kept her arms at her sides and her stance casual, not wanting to appear threatening, while letting Bethany know that she wasn’t going anywhere. Bethany called her bluff, coming toward her, chin and chest thrust out, tugging the girl along with her, stopping when they were two feet apart.

“Well, I ain’t interested.”

Alex couldn’t let Bethany intimidate her. Neither could she ignore how the veins in Bethany’s neck were throbbing against her skin, her flight-or-fight instinct about to settle on kicking some ass. Alex diffused the tension by taking half a step to one side and squatting down until she was eye level with the girl, giving her a big smile.

“Hi, there. I’m Alex. What’s your name?”

The girl didn’t answer, instead drawing back and looking away. Her hair was pulled back in a long ponytail secured by a clasp adorned with an oversized butterfly. She was wearing jeans torn at the knees and a frayed One Direction T-shirt. Alex looked up at Bethany.

“She’s a quiet one.”

“She don’t talk.”

“Shy, huh? That’s okay,” Alex said, grinning again at the girl and tousling her hair as she stood, the girl crying out as if she were hurt, pounding the air with her spatula.

“She don’t like to be touched.”

“I guess not. Is she your daughter?”

“She’s mine.”

“When I asked you about her the other day, why’d you pretend you didn’t know who I was talking about?”

“There’s more than one little girl in this world, and why would I tell you anything about mine?”

Alex didn’t argue. She was right on both counts.

“What’s her name?”

“Charlotte.”

“I’ll bet she talks a blue streak when it’s just the two of you.”

Bethany gave her a warm look and a sad smile. “I wish she could.”

Alex grimaced at the awkward situation she’d created.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize she was deaf.”

“Oh, Charlotte’s not deaf. She’s autistic. The doctor at Children’s Mercy said some autistic kids never talk.”

“How do you communicate with her? Do you use sign language?”

“She understands me as long as I’m real clear. The doctor told me autistic kids take things real literal, like if I say hold your horses, she’s gonna look around for a horse, so instead I got to say slow down or stop. And don’t try to tell her a joke, ’cause she won’t get it.”

“But how does she communicate with you?”

“She’ll take my hand and pull me over to something she wants or shake her head, things like that. We’ve kind of worked out a system. Sometimes she throws a fit and I just have to wait till it passes. And if she gets scared, she screams bloody murder and there’s no stopping her till she calms down.”

They were talking now instead of trading punches. Bethany’s posture was more relaxed, making Alex hopeful that Bethany would open up.

“Why isn’t she in school? There are special education programs for kids like her.”

Bethany recoiled, squinting at Alex, their cease-fire over. “What are you? Her truant officer? Now, get off my property while you still can.”

Friendly but firm hadn’t worked, so Alex switched gears.

“Who needs a truant officer when I can get someone from Child Protective Services out here in an hour to find out why Charlotte’s not in school and when she last had a decent meal, a bath, and clean clothes.”

“Don’t even think about doing that,” Bethany said, setting down the bag of groceries and balling her hand into a fist. “Nobody’s takin’ this child away from me.”

Alex took her phone from her pocket. “I’ve got their number in my phone. I see a lot of this kind of thing.” She scrolled through her contacts, clicking on a number, holding the phone to her face. “This is Alex Stone from the public defender’s office. I need to report a possible child neglect case.”

Bethany gritted her teeth. “Okay! Okay! What do you want?”

“I’ll have to call you back,” Alex said, clicking off the call. “I want answers.”