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“Oh god.” Setting the paper down, Minka shakes her head and walks away. Her cheeks burn too hot, her eyes toofeeling. She paces toward the door, her gaze not on the doll, nor on the girl herself. “We need to take this to the police.” Desperately, she swings around and searches for me. “This is evidence the police need to see.”
“We are the police,” Fletch answers. Gently, he moves beside Aubree and looks down at the note, but he doesn’t touch. He doesn’t contaminate the letter or the childhood doll. “We’ve brought this to you.”
“Why?” Minka turns to him, angry, where a moment ago, she was devastated. “I’m not the cops, Fletcher. I’m not solving this case. I’m not delving deep into the psychology of a killer. I’m studying a body and sending you the reports.” She points toward Louisa. “I can know she was violated, and I can add that to my findings, but I don’t need to read about it from her own thoughts!”
“Do you want to leave?”
“No!” Charging toward the table, toward me and Louisa, Minka stands over the girl and studies her pale face. Her closed eyes. The frostburn on her lips and cheeks. “I’m not leaving her. This girl suffered beyond anything any ever should.”
“I hate it when he comes in here,”Aubree continues. “I hate it when he sits across from me at the dinner table.I hate it when he touches me, and I especially hate it when he hugs me goodnight. I hate that he tries to talk to Georgia, because he scares her the most. I hate when he comes to my school, because everyone thinks he’s so nice, and I hate it even more, because Mom has to cook for him every single time he says so. Mom doesn’t like him, and I think he knows so. I think he hurts her too, because she doesn’t like him.”
“Fuck…” Fletch groans. “She knew. That poor baby knew what was in her home.”
“I hate it when he tickles me. And I hate when he tells me to use his first name. I don’t like it. I don’t like that it feels yucky.”
Aubree’s eyes, filled with tears, come up to mine.
“I hate that Mom tells me if something feels creepy, it probably is. Because now I know I don’t like it, but no one will listen to me if I tell. He said they won’t listen. He said they will never believe me. He said…”then she trails off.
“Fucking sick,” Fletch growls.
“She has a double line marked under ‘know’,” Aubree adds. “As in, ‘now IknowI don’t like it.’ And at the end, the sentence is only half-complete.” She looks up, meeting my eyes first, then Minka’s, as she flips the page back and forth. “The entry goes on, but it’s not here. There’s a picture on the back. Looks like a field of flowers, and two figures, both with long hair and flowing dresses. The dresses appear to be similar to the one the doll wears. Unsure if that’s significant, or merely a familiar pattern for her to draw. The diary entry conclusion, I can only deduce, remains in the book Carlene took this page from.”
“So we get a warrant to search the home.” I push my hands into my hair and groan, because Thoma is all but fingered in this diary, and Tribble is going to explode when he finds out we’re looking to tear the house apart in search.
“I’ve gotta go.” Minka’s softly spoken words pull me from my thoughts and back to her pale skin and her shaking hands. Her not-quite-heaving but not-quite-relaxed chest. “I’m leaving for the day,” she tells Aubree. “I’ll be contactable by phone if anyone needs me. But I’m going home to look into some stuff.”
“Uh…” Startled by her boss’ abrupt announcement, Aubree swallows. “Okay. Do I… um… What if someone comes by to see you?”
“Phone or email.” Tearing off her plastic glasses, she tosses them to a cart, then her gloves go second. “Unless it’s an emergency, leave it to sit until tomorrow. I’ll be back in the morning.” Then she looks to me. “Do your cop thing and get the rest of that diary. Get the warrant, Archer, and make this go away.”
With that, she shoves through the door and into the hall. Past other death doctors, ignoring them when they try to speak to her, then she disappears around the corner and pushes into her office.
Stunned, I search for sense. For a clue as to what the fuck is going on.
“Does she usually take it this personally?” I bring my gaze back to Aubree. “Has she walked out before?”
“Well… we’re still new.” She swallows. “But no. So far, she’s been the epitome of professional and detached. She calls me out whenIslip and get soft.”
“So what the fuck was that?”
I glance across again as, on the other side of the glass, Minka charges toward the elevator and slaps the call button almost loud enough I could swear the sound makes it into this autopsy room. She taps her foot, fingers the button of her coat, smacks the call button a second time while she waits. Then the moment the elevator doors open, she rushes in and tap-tap-taps the close button without looking at us.
I shake my head in disbelief when she’s gone. “Aubree?”
“I, uh…” She carefully refolds Louisa’s letter and sets it on the sterile counter. “I haven’t seen her behave that way.”
“What happened to— Shit!” My stomach drops as I search the room. “Is the recorder still going?”
“Aw crap.” Aubree spins fast and snags a small, portable recorder from the counter. Switching it off, she holds it between a finger and thumb the way she held the letter penned by a little girl. “I’ll edit it and cut off the bit at the end.”
Nodding, I look to Fletch. “We need to speak with a judge.”
“You think Tribble will stonewall us?”
“We’re looking to toss his cousin into prison on child rape charges.” I make my way to the door and stop with my hand on the handle. “It’s an election year, and having something like this blasted all over the media…” I consider that for only a moment. “Yeah, I’d say he’s gonna do more than stonewall us.”
I open the door and glance across to the light above the elevator that shows it stopped at the lobby. Glancing back to Fletch, I pause in the doorway. “Start the process and see if you can find us a judge that isn’t gonna bend for the mayor. I’ll be back in an hour, then we’ll work it together.”
