Page 21 of Inflict

“You’re telling me that you didn’t hear a thing, Mr. O’Neil? None of the sirens, nothing?”

“I live a block away. There are patches of trees big enough for the kids around here to make trails. No, I didn’t hear anything.”

The officer nodded. “You are the only known family member.”

“Our father died a decade ago.”

“My condolences.” Sean didn’t look like he cared, and so the officer continued on with, “Identification won’t be needed, but we do have another question.”

“About what?” Sean asked.

“Part of the house that wasn’t entirely destroyed housed the bedrooms in the bungalow. We understand your brother’s wife died—”

“Almost five years ago. Ovarian cancer that was misdiagnosed. What does this have anything to do with what happened last night?”

“There were no children for the couple on record—no births, none entered into the school system. None on record as having visited the family doctor your brother was known to use.”

Now, Connor’s father was not as blank and cold as he had been before. Now, his knuckles were turning white from the pressure of squeezing the door with all his damn might.

“There is a bedroom in that house,” the officer said, staring Sean straight in the face, “and while some of it was destroyed, there was more than enough for the men to discern toys, dresses, pink sheets, stuffed animals, and even some children’s nail polish, hidden under a charred pillow.”

Charred.

As soon as Connor heard that word, he sniffed the air again.

There it was …

That memory …

The sulfur and burnt wood smell every time he’d hit the match head against the rough strip on the side of the cardboard package. He’d found the matches, half empty, in the junk drawer one afternoon when it was raining outside. He’d burned so many matches that his entire room smelled of smoke, ash, and burnt wood.

“My brother and I—” Sean started to say, only to be stopped by the officer holding up a hand.

“The bigger problem at the moment, Mr. O’Neil, is that only one body was recovered.”

Connor let go of the memory. He had to listen to this instead. Somehow, he knew it was important, and it was probably going to hurt, but he needed to hear.

“We know there was a child in that house—a girl—but she isn’t in there now,” the officer said. “Neighbors confirmed it. Evelyn, they said her name was. She didn’t leave the property very often, they assumed she was homeschooled by the nanny that came and went every day, and some reported they had seen the little girl playing with your son.”

Connor stiffened, his natural urge to run beginning to settle in deep inside his gut.

“The house is all but leveled, you said it yourself,” Sean replied.

“Not all. Almost.”

“Same difference. I can’t help you, but if there was a girl in that house, who’s to say she isn’t still there, under the debris somewhere?”

“She should have been sleeping in her bed,” the officer said.

Sean shrugged. “Children do strange things.”

“Especially children that don’t exist.” The officer smiled, but it didn’t come off as friendly. “Blunt force trauma killed your brother, Mr. O’Neil, and he was damn close to the front door where he was found. Evidence of accelerant has been found. This is nothing like what it looks like on the outside. We’re aware of your family’s control, regarding the mob here in Jersey.”

Sean still didn’t appear to be bothered by the information. “I don’t have anything to tell you about that, either.”

“I bet you don’t.”

“Get off of my steps, now.” Sean stepped back, already closing the door.