Chapter 19.

Stef

I parked my cruiser on the curb of an unfamiliar street and got out. As I walked down the sidewalk, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a small, shabby house. It was locked up tight, the yard overgrown. I shuddered. So, this was Brian's house of horrors.

I passed it, and went up the front walk of the house next door. It hadn't been hard to get a hold of the transcript of the 911 call from the night of the shooting. From it, I learned the name and address of the neighbor who called.

Purposefully, I rang her doorbell, praying she was home. After Callie and Sophia had been questioned the day before, I'd made it a point to get out here and see if there was at least one more viable witness.

Finally, the door opened a crack. "May I help you?" a woman asked, peeking out.

"I hope so," I smiled. "My name is Officer Stefanie Adams Foster. Are you... Tracy Gonzalez?"

"Yes," she said, frowning. "Why?"

"I'd like to ask you some questions," I told her. "May I please come in?"

"Of course, officer," she nodded. She shut the door, then undid the chain lock and opened it again. Pushing a cat away with her foot, she gestured for me to enter.

Her home was drab, but clean. You could tell she tried to keep it nice, despite her bleak surroundings. This was a rough neighborhood.

"Have a seat," she said. "Can I offer you something?"

"Coffee would be lovely if you have it," I smiled.

"I just made a fresh pot," she told me, turning to the kitchen. A few moments later, she returned, handed me a mug, and sat down across from me.

"Is there a problem?" she asked. There was a trace of fear in her eyes.

"No," I said quietly, hoping to calm her nerves. "I'm just hoping you could give me some information regarding the death of Brian Bowen. He lived next door to you?"

"Him," Mrs. Gonzalez grunted. "Yes." From what I could gather, Brian wasn't well-liked by her. I guessed a lot of people shared her feelings.

"My wife and I are fostering two sisters," I explained. "You may remember them. Their names are Callie and Sophia Jacob. Before they came to us, they were Mr. Bowen's foster daughters. Do you recall them at all?" I asked, hopefully. "I really need your help, and I know you called 911 the night Mr. Bowen was shot."

I told her about the girls, and what a hard time they've had, and the investigation they were under. Lastly, I told her about Lena's and my intention to adopt them. "We love them so much," I said, my eyes tearing up. "And we want to give them a safe, loving home. But to do that, we need to clear their names."

"I'll help you in any way I can," she finally promised. "I remember those girls."

"I'd love to hear what you remember," I offered, very interested in learning about what my daughters were like before their life became so dark.

"They seemed like normal, bright kids," Mrs. Gonzalez told me. "They always had a sad look in their eyes. But they were pretty girls."

"They are," I smiled. "They really are."

"I didn't see them too often," she went on. "They didn't seem to come outside much, but I saw them out in the yard once in a while. I can only remember actually speaking to them once. It was raining, and I saw them sitting on their front steps. I asked them what they were doing outside in weather like that, and they said they were waiting for Laura to come home. I asked them to come inside and dry off while they waited."

"Who's Laura?" I asked her.

"She was Brian's wife," she replied.

"Oh. Did they come in?" I asked, fascinated.

She nodded. "They did. I thought it was odd that they were waiting outside, because Brian's truck was in the driveway, but I didn't ask. I gave them towels to dry off and fixed them a plate of cookies. They didn't talk. They just sat quietly, but the younger one seemed to like my cat."

I smiled, making some quick notes. "What was Brian like as a person?" I asked.

"Brian... was a piece of work," she finally said. "He was lazy, had a nasty temper. I don't know what ever possessed him to become a foster parent, but I imagine it had a lot to do with the check the children came with. He couldn't seem to keep a job, and there was nothing fatherly about him."

I was so absorbed in Mrs. Gonzalez's testimony, I felt as if I were in a trance. "What about Laura?" I asked. "Can you tell me anything about her?" She was one of the biggest question marks in this mystery. Callie and Sophia barely talked about her, and I had the impression she wasn't in their lives for very long. Most of all, I wondered how she could leave those two precious, beautiful girls behind when she left, knowing what her husband was. If it had been me in her situation, I would have taken those babies and ran, even if I had to sneak them out in the middle of the night. But then, I didn't know the details. Maybe soon, I would.

"Laura was nice enough," Mrs. Gonzalez said. "Timid, kind of private. She brought muffins over when my husband passed away. She had a drinking problem, but I can't say I blame her."

"Do you know if Brian ever physically abused her?"

She shrugged. "I've never seen him hit her, but it wouldn't surprise me. I did hear them fighting a lot, and Laura had that sort of secretive personality, you know? Like she was hiding something?"

I nodded. I did know. I'd seen a lot of domestic violence cases.

"I seem to remember the police coming to the house a few times. I tried not to get involved though, living alone, in this neighborhood. Brian had a short fuse. He was someone who's bad side you didn't want to get on." Mrs. Gonzalez shook her head ruefully. "When I heard the gunshot that night, the first thing that came to mind was that Laura came back and he killed her. Or, heaven forbid, one of those girls."

Finally, we were getting to that night. I leaned in, ready to listen intently. "Did you go check on them after you heard the gunshot?"

"No," she said. "The 911 dispatcher told me to stay inside and lock my doors."

I nodded again. "I see." I cleared my throat. "Mrs. Gonzalez, would you be willing to testify on behalf of Callie and Sophia? Perhaps as a character witness? What you told me could really help them."

"Yes," she agreed. "I'd be glad to testify. I feel so bad that I didn't do more, now. If I'd known they were in danger..." her voice trailed off. "I'll do what I can to help, officer. But if you want a better witness, I'd find Laura. Or their daughter."

I almost dropped my coffee mug. "Brian and Laura had a daughter?"

"I believe so," she told me. "She's grown. I think there was some kind of falling out?"

"Do you know her name?" I asked, the wheels in my head already turning.

She shook her head. "No, I don't. I'm so sorry."

"That's fine," I said. "You've helped me so much. I don't know how I can thank you."

"There's no need to thank me," she replied. "Tell the girls I said hi?"

"I will," I smiled. "Thank you. I'll be in touch."

"Bye," she said, walking me to the door. "Take care."

"Bye," I waved. I stepped off Mrs. Gonzalez's porch, feeling good. I had a lead that could solve everything. And Laura Bowen and her mysterious daughter were the key.

On my way to the cruiser, I stopped once again to look at the empty Bowen house. I was tempted to take a closer look, and finally, I gave in. I crossed the front yard, trying to be inconspicuous about it. The windows were shrouded by dark drapes, and a No Trespassing sign was nailed to the front door. Ignoring it, I walked around the perimeter of the house. Unfortunately, I found nothing that could help me in any way. Just a deflated soccer ball laying in the back yard. I wondered if it belonged to Callie or Sophia.

Disappointed, I headed back to the front of the house. But before I finally got back into my car, on a whim, I decided to take a look in Brian's mailbox. I knew I couldn't actually open his mail. I played by my own rules, sure, but I wasn't about to commit a federal offense. I was thinking maybe I'd find an address that would lead me to Laura or something.

There was no mail in the box, though. However, way in the back was a folded piece of notebook paper. I reached in and took it out. It had gotten wet at some point, and the ink had run, but I still managed to read it. It was a handwritten note:

Callie,

Today at school, I heard that you had to leave, and I couldn't believe it. I tried calling your house, I even asked the guidance counselor where you went, but I don't know where to find you. I'm not mad at you, Cal. I know you couldn't help it, so don't worry about that. I just want to know that you're okay, and that you haven't forgotten about me.

I know it's a long-shot, but maybe you left something here or something, and you'll come back for it? If you do, and you find this note, please call me. I miss you, and I want to know what happened to you. I keep thinking about the last time I saw you, the night we met at the park, and how it felt to kiss you. I didn't know it would be the last time I ever saw you.

Wherever you are, I hope you're happy. I'll never forget the prettiest girl in school.

Love,

Ben

Below his name, he'd listed his cell phone number. I refolded the note, knowing I'd read something deeply personal. The writer of the note was Ben, the boy Callie had sneaked out to see that night. The boy she loved. Holding it, it made what happened all the more real. Silently, I stuck it in my pocket, then headed home.

"Hey, baby," I said, coming in the door and giving Lena a kiss.

"Hey," she smiled. She studied my face carefully. "What have you been up to?"

"What makes you think I've been up to something?" I asked, sitting down on the sofa, and giving her an innocent look.

She laughed, joining me. "Honey, I know you better than you know yourself. What's up?"

Giving in, I kicked my shoes off and sat back, putting my arm around Lena. "I went to Callie and Sophia's old neighborhood today. I paid a little visit to the woman who called 911 the night Brian was shot."

"You did?" Lena asked. "Honey... I don't know how I feel about you interfering."

"It was worth it," I assured her. "She gave me some good stuff, kind of painted a picture of the family for me."

"Was it as bad as we thought?" she wondered.

I nodded. "It's sad, but whatever we learn can old help us."

"Our poor babies," my wife sighed.

"But that's not all," I said. "I found a lead that could change everything."

"What is it?" she asked, interested.

"Not only did I find out the name of Brian's wife," I revealed, "but I learned that they have a grown daughter somewhere. I don't know her name, but I have a good feeling about this." I paused. "Mrs Gonzalez told me that there was a falling out between the daughter and her parents, and I have a theory about it. I'm willing to bet that Brian abused his own daughter too, and mommy didn't protect her, just like she didn't protect Callie and Sophia."

Lena was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. "You could be right. Hmm... I wonder if Callie would know the daughter's name? Maybe someone mentioned it at some point while they were living there?"

"That's what I'm hoping for," I said. "I need to talk to Callie anyway." I took the note out of my pocket. "I found this in her old mailbox."

Reading the note, Lena frowned sadly, just as Callie came down the stairs.

"Hi honey," I said. "We were just talking about you."

She blanched, her eyes wide. "Am I in trouble?"

"No, not at all," I reassured her. "We just need to talk to you about something. Come here and sit between us. It's time for a mama sandwich."

"A what?" she asked, raising her eyebrow as she came to sit down.

"Mama sandwich," I repeated. "It's something Mariana made up when she was little. See? We're the bread, and you're sandwiched in between us."

She nodded. "Oh."

"Sweetheart?" I asked. "Tell me something. Do you remember Brian and his wife having a daughter who was older than you?"

Her mouth opened a little, but she was silent. "I don't know."

"Are you sure...?"

"Yeah, I guess they might have. But I never met her."

"Do you know her name by any chance?" I ventured. "Or maybe where she lives?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Well, could you do me a favor and think about it, love? Think really hard, because if we can find this daughter, she might be able to help you and your sister."

"I'll try," she promised.

"Oh, and one more thing," I added. "I was in your old neighborhood today, and I found something in the mailbox at Brian's house." I gave her the note. "Someone has been really worried about you."

She unfolded the paper and read it, her hands shaking a little. "Thanks."

"Are you gonna call him, honey?" I asked her.

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so." She stood up. "I, uh, need some air." She hurried out the front door an through the window, I saw her sit on the porch swing.

"Let me take this one," Lena offered, getting up to follow her.

Lena

I went to the porch swing and sat down beside Callie. She was still holding the note, and her eyes were filled with tears. Stroking her hair, I pulled her closer. "What's wrong, sweets?"

"Nothing," she said. "I just don't want to call him. That's all. He was part of my old life. It's time to move on."

"But do you really think it's fair to him to leave him wondering what happened to you?" I asked her. "It sounds like you were very special to him. He was your boyfriend, wasn't he?"

She sighed. "I've kind of sworn off boys after what happened." She hugged herself, moving a little bit closer to me. "And anyway..."

"Anyway, what?" I gently pushed.

"Nothing," she said quietly. "Just... he probably doesn't care about me anymore, so why bother?"

"You're right," I said. "Sometimes there's no point in digging up the past. It just causes heartache. But sometimes, it's the right thing to do, for yourself, and the other person. You might both need closure, and the only way to get that is to revisit the past."

"I don't want him to know," she mumbled, so softly I barely made out what she'd said.

"What don't you want him to know?" I asked.

"That I was being abused," she finally said. "I never told him. I never... invited him to my house, or let him know that anything was going on. I was too embarrassed. I still am."

"Oh, baby," I breathed, burying my nose in her hair.

"I know I shouldn't feel guilty about it, but I do. It's humiliating, and if he found out..."

"Do you think Ben would make fun of you for being abused?" I asked her. I was met with an unsure look. "I'm serious. Do you think the boy who wrote that sweet note would make fun of you for something you couldn't help?"

"No," she shrugged. "I guess not."

"I think he'd probably feel sad if he knew," I told her. "Maybe he'd feel bad that he didn't know, and wonder what he could have done differently. But I don't think he'd judge you for it. No decent person would."

"How do you know?" she asked me.

"I don't know," I said. "I'm just guessing. And you don't even have to tell him about the abuse if you don't want to. But writing that note was quite a leap of faith. He wrote down his feelings, and put them out in the world, not knowing if they would ever reach you. Maybe you need to take a little leap of faith yourself?"

"I did like him..." she ventured. "A lot. But what if he doesn't like me anymore?"

"He may have moved on," I said, knowing that was a possibility. "And he may not have. Either way, at least he'll know that you're okay, and that you haven't forgotten him. I think he deserved that much. Don't you?"

"Yeah," she said. She turned from me and looked toward the sky. "I'll call him."

"Okay," I nodded. "I'll bring you the phone."

To Be Continued