Confident Zoë dugs under the yellow 'crime scene do not cross' line and takes out her federal agent ID before the officer guarding the scene can ask her about it. He steps away humbly and lets her through. It's about 10 AM, but the sun is already burning on this warm September day. She wishes she didn't have to wear this black suit, it's absorbing every bit of sunlight that fireball shines down on her. As she walks up the driveway she unbuttons her jacket to let in some air as her heals click on the concrete. The Stars and Stripes hasn't been taken down yet and still flutters from the top of the mast, located in the center of a perfectly landscaped garden. Not only the yard looks amazing, so does the house, so does the entire street. It's obvious that families living in these homes on the Lexington Drive are wealthy ones. The ambulances and police cars blocking the street and the officers scamming the entire place indicate that something is terribly wrong, otherwise you would think this is the last place on earth a crime would be committed. Two officers discuss the case on the royal porch and look in her direction as she approaches them.
"Agent Evans, FBI", Zoë flashes her ID.
"You guys are quick", a tall bald man who looks kind of freaky comments.
"I was in the county, my partner will probably be here soon", she lies as she puts away her identification.
"I see", he holds out his hand. "Officer Devoir. This is my partner Lee Jenkins".
As he introduces himself and his colleague, Zoë gives them a powerful handshake and represents herself as most FBI agents do; arrogant and secure.
"I have work to do, so if you'd be so kind so show me the way", she says bored.
"Follow me", officer Devoir steps inside the house, knowing his partner and the fed will follow.
Zoë walks in and nods approving as she takes a look around.
"Nice crib", she comments as she glances up to the high ceilings, which are decorated with beautiful alto-reveilo, carved into the white plaster.
Two high roman pillars support the ceiling and in the back two staircases circle up to the second floor. Every square inch underneath their feet is made out of marble. A golden chandelier hangs above them, an expensive bouquet placed on the hard wooden round table in the center of the main room gives the house a finishing touch. Zoë knows the lifestyle of the rich and famous, but this place looks more like the White House than as a principal's home in a town called Paragould.
"As you can see, Mr. Van Dyke liked to live the good life. His father owned a Dutch shipping company and made millions", officer Jenkins explains, as if he was reading Zoë's mind. "We believe the fortune he passed on to his son might have something to do with Van Dyke's death".
As they climb the stairs Zoë huffs, but doesn't say a word. She doubts it of course, money has nothing to do with this.
"You believe something else is going on?", Devoir questions, noticing the sarcasm in her little laugh.
"We're looking in to it", she says stern, without giving too much away.
A silence follows and Zoë can feel the hostility between her and the two police officers. She has experienced it many times before. Most cops hate the feds, simply because as soon as a case gets a little more interesting, the FBI takes over. She lets her hand glide off the banister as she reaches the second floor.
"This way", Devoir signals them as he turns left on the vestibule.
The closer they get to the crime scene, the more crowded it gets. The Crime Scene Unit has already arrived and forensics dust for prints, take pictures and search for evidence. When Zoë enters the room and finds Mr. Van Dyke, she frowns. In the corner of the room lays a man, probably in his mid fifties, half into a shattered exhibition case, his eyes widened. It's not the first time Zoë sees a dead guy, but she wasn't expecting such a violent murder from a ten year old girl. Apparently his head got smashed into the show case; glass is scattered all his body. He has bruises and cuts all over his arms and face, but most peculiar is his probable cause of death. His neck is broken and seems to be off center, the head made an 90° turn and tilts in a weird way only dolls can do. Zoë scans the room, which shows several sighs of a struggle. One thing is certain; Van Dyke really got his ass kicked before he died. As she takes a look around, a woman wearing white latex gloves updates Devoir and his partner about the case. Zoë glances over and notices the CSU logo on her jacket and walks over to tune in.
"…time of death was between 6:30 and 7 AM. No prints, no nothing. This place is clean", the forensic states.
"Look at this place, there must be something", Officer Devoir's gaze glides through the crime scene.
"Not even a fiber, nothing that might lead to answers", she sighs. "I have to say, I've never seen anything like this".
"Almost as if the suspect didn't leave anything behind?"
It's the so called FBI agent who mixes into the conversation.
"Someone just did a good job covering up", Devoir huffs, not finding her remark relevant.
Dude, you have no idea, Zoë thinks. She doesn't cut in on him, although she has about a dozen smart curve balls ready to fire. But she doesn't, she has learned not to act too perky around cops, usually it just pisses them off and that won't get her any further.
"There's one thing though, but it adds more confusion to this murder than it clears up".
The forensic walks over to the body of Mr. Van Dyke and points out the way his sweater is pulled down. It uncovers his left shoulder and because of that the sleeve seems to long at the end.
"Looks like someone pulled him down by his sleeve. As if the killer wanted to level his victim with him", she clarifies.
"The murderer was shorter than the victim", Devoir concludes.
"Not just a little shorter, I'm talking about round 4'5" here, looking at the angle", the forensic adds up.
"About the height of a ten year old, right?", Zoë questions, as the clues sum up.
"Yeah, probably, but that's impossible. Even if a ten year old is capable of doing such things, it wouldn't have the strength", she out rules.
Impossible isn't in Zoë's dictionary, but she has seen enough. The forensics might be on a dead end, Zoë is a hundred percent sure of who Van Dyke's killer is. She is dealing with one furious child ghost here. Being on a time schedule, Zoë decides to leave and have a talk with the family.
"Thanks very much, I've got everything I need", she greets the forensic and turns to officer Devoir, which she gives a light nod with the head.
They greet back without much interest and remain in the room, as Zoë walks down the corridor again, going through the things she just learned. It almost seems like Laura is trying to put the people who harmed her through the same horror she experienced before it caused her to die. She simply shows them who's boss, just like her father use to teach her. Back on the first floor, she spots the dining room, from where she can hear soft crying. She realizes it's probably the family and shows her ID for the third time this morning to the officer guarding the room. The door is half opened and she pushes it further open in order to get through. The Van Dyke family are gathered together. A pale woman, probably in her forties with short grey hair has her arms around a teenage girl, who Zoë presumes to be Mr. Van Dyke's daughter. Her few year younger brother stares outside, grieving but quiet. Immediately Zoë feels sorry for the family. She knows loss, but this must be horrible for them to go through.
"Mrs. Van Dyke?", she asks compassionately.
The woman looks up with tears in her eyes and lets go of her daughter, who sits down on one of the dining table chairs. Zoë shows Mr. Van Dyke's wife her identification.
"I'm Federal agent Sharon Evans, I would like to ask you a few questions if that's alright", she says.
"Sure", the mother of two nods her head as she wipes away her tears.
"Your husband's death has taken place between 6:30 and 7 'O clock this morning. Where were you at this time?", Zoë questions calmly.
"I was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast", Mrs. Van Dyke answers upset.
"And you heard nothing?", she carefully asks.
"Not a sound. Heather was in her room next to Bill's office, she didn't hear a thing until the dog started barking, that's when she found him", the poor woman tells her.
Dogs have a better sense of the supernatural than humans have, animals intend to respond to activity like this. But she does find it strange that their daughter didn't hear a thing. Suddenly she remembers that the article in the newspaper yesterday about Robert Shire's murder, his family was home during the incident too.
"That would be it for now, thank you for your time", Zoë notifies and smiles politely.
As soon as she receives an approving nod from Mrs. Van Dyke, she turns around and leaves the room. Hastened she exits the house and steps into the hot sun as she takes out her shades and puts them on. It all makes sense now. Laura isn't just getting even with the people who are directly or indirectly connected to her death, she's recreating how she got killed herself. What Zoë remembers from her flashback, the poor girl was more in use of a boxing ball and got to see her father's fist on daily base, but it's not just that. No one around heard a thing, not even a single sound, like they were isolated during the attack. Again she goes back to the clear images she still carries around in her head. The way Mrs. Shire just continued eating her potatoes, she didn't even flinch. As if she couldn't bare to hear it, as if she didn't want to. She just ignored the beatings, just like Laura's brother did. She walks down Lexington Drive, back to her bike which she parked at the baseball fields. Unlike the police, Zoë is everything but stuck, she knows exactly where she needs to go. Next stop; The Shire residence.