AllFreeNovel
Share Us
We walk into the hospital twenty minutes later, and while I’ve tried pushing all thoughts of what’s inside that folder to the back of my mind, it still lingers, and my stomach feels like it’s constantly churning. Being in this hospital again doesn’t help with trying to forget. All it does is bring back memories of Doe being here, the condition she was in, my visits to her, and how much she’s changed and improved. It brings back the memories of my first few visits to her and the sole purpose of them was to gain her trust to find out what happened to her and discover why she was breaking into my house. It didn’t take long for the reason of my visits to change. She intrigued me, and I genuinely wanted to help her. Not simply because it was my job, but because it felt like it was something I needed to do. She became my friend and the more I was around her, the more attached I got. I’d fooled myself for a while, but I’d recently admitted to myself that I kept coming back for personal reasons. I know part of it was because her case reminded me of Aislin, but it was more than that. I felt a connection to her, as if I was meant to help her.
Emily, the same receptionist as before, smiles as she looks up from her computer. “Hello, Detective James, Detective Tavers.”
I smile. “Morning, Emily.”
“What brings you by so early?”
Tavers holds up the warrant as I answer. “We’re picking up medical records.”
She nods, not asking what the papers are in Tavers’ hand.
“You gentlemen have a good day.”
Her head drops back down to stare at her computer screen, and we make our way to the bank of elevators. Instead of going up, we hit the basement level where the records department is. This level of the hospital is dreary and reminds me eerily of what an old mental hospital would look like, which isn’t really surprising since this used to be the psychiatric ward until the late seventies. The lights flicker slightly, the walls are a stale green, and the floor is an old, dingy cream color.
Tavers enters the small records office first, and an elderly woman in black slacks and a light purple turtleneck greets us.
“Morning, ma’am. We’re here for the records of Noah Mason, date of birth is 04/14/2009.”
He hands over the warrant. After looking over the papers, she sits at her desk and starts tapping on her computer. A couple of minutes later, the printer behind her starts printing out papers.
As we wait for the records, my mind again wanders to Doe, and I wonder what her records would reveal. I’ve gathered from the marks I’ve seen on her body that she was cut and burned multiple times. Many of the marks were fresh when I first met her, but most of them were old. I know she’s endured a lot more than what I saw. As much as it angers me to think of the abuse she went through, I want to know everything. I want to know so we can use it to nail the guy’s ass to the wall who did it to her. I’ve asked her several times if she remembers who abused her, and her answer is always no.
After gathering the papers, the woman places them in a white envelope, has Tavers sign a couple of papers, and then hands them over. We leave, and I’m grateful to be out of the damp and depressing basement. I don’t see how anyone can function for long down there.
“Fuck, I hate going down there,” Tavers mutters with a mock shiver as he steps in the elevator. “Creeps me the fuck out every time.”
I push the button for the first floor. “You’d think they would have at least painted the damn walls by now.”
He grunts his agreement.
An hour later, Tavers and I are in my office, having just went over Noah Mason’s medical records. It’s understandable why the hospital called social services. In two years, the child has been brought to the emergency room over twenty times, all related to stomach issues. The mom claims the child has a severe food allergy and has had stomach issues for years, but what made the doctors suspicious was the high amount of sodium in the child’s bloodwork the last several times he’s been seen. Numerous tests have been performed with no results as to why his sodium levels should be so elevated. Funny thing is, when the boy visits his father, his health improves.
“The mother of Noah’s friend is coming in later today to give a statement. Apparently, she’s called social services a couple of times already because she suspected the child was being abused, but nothing ever came of it. They claim there was no evidence to suggest abuse.”
I nod and sit back in my chair. My eyes catch on the slightly open desk drawer, and my mind races back to what’s inside it.
“Are you going to read it?” Tavers asks quietly.
I look up at him then back down at the drawer. I stare at it for several moments before opening it the rest of the way, reach inside, and pull out the folder. It’s stupid to be reluctant to look at the results when they can work in Doe’s favor. I pull in a breath then flip the folder open to the single piece of paper inside.
It looks just like every other DNA result that comes through the department with minor differences due to an outside company performing the tests. We normally have our own guys do them, but Captain hired an outside company for faster results. I grit my teeth with annoyance because the lab we chose just happened to be going through a major employee overhaul, so we would have gotten them back faster if we had used our own guys.
I snatch up the paper and peer down at it. My eyes skim over the usual personal information and case number, a graph with numbers and codes distinguishing the genetics of the DNA, and then to the short paragraph below.
Conclusions: In regards to one Jane Doe, date of birth – Unknown, the DNA results indicate a one hundred percent match to Rebecca Jane Stewart, date of birth – April 3, 1991.
I scan over the words over and over again, having a hard time believing them. Not once did I believe that Doe was Rebecca, even with Mr. Stewart’s insistence that she was. The only time he ever saw her was a brief glimpse that first day in the hospital. He’s called multiple times and even spoke with Captain, demanding he be given a chance to see her. With Doe in her condition at the time, Captain refused the visit, something I was grateful for and would have forced myself even if I had to go behind Capt’s back to do it. I took his insistence and unwillingness to give up the notion she was Rebecca as a hysterical man desperate to have his niece back.
None of it added up. Most of Doe’s scars are old, attesting to years of abuse. He claims that Rebecca never left the house and was never around anyone but himself, leaving me to believe the abuse had to have come from him.
The paper in my hand starts to shake as rage builds in my system. Why in the fuck would he report her missing, knowing that we would find out what he had been doing to her for years? It doesn’t make any sense. There must be another explanation. Even though the circumstances surrounding Rebecca’s case were strange, I never got the vibe that Mr. Stewart had ill intent toward his niece.
Regardless, Doe is Rebecca, and both she and Mr. Stewart deserve to know. A ten-ton boulder lands on my chest when I think about Doe leaving and going back to Mr. Stewart. Even if the abuse didn’t come from him, and he’s the loving and grieving uncle I had originally expected he was, I still don’t want her to leave. This is what I feared when I was first handed the folder; knowing Doe has someone out there who could potentially take her away.
I want to be selfish and shred the paper and pretend I never saw it, but that’s not who I am or what I represent as a detective. I find the truth and deliver it to the appropriate people. This case is just harder because I’ve formed an attachment to the victim.
Even so, Doe won’t be leaving until I know she’ll be safe with her uncle. It’s time Mr. Stewart and I had a talk.
