Chapter 2 - Family Secrets
Theodore found Bernie cleaning out his desk drawers, still reluctant to help. The case was dead as far as Bernie was concerned—a waste of time and effort.
Yet something about Theodore's interest nagged at him. Maybe it was the way the kid looked at the files, or maybe Bernie just couldn't let go completely himself.
After some coaxing, Bernie helped Theodore track down the duty records and locate the officers who'd first responded to the scene.
Theodore bought coffee for both patrolmen, purchasing himself five minutes of their time and attention.
"Do you remember the murder in the Riverside community on April 3rd? Around noon?" he asked directly.
The older officer nodded, taking a grateful sip of the hot coffee. "I remember. That neighborhood's always been quiet—maybe a few break-ins now and then, but nothing like this. First murder I can recall there."
"Were you first on scene?"
The officer's expression soured slightly, reading criticism in the question. But the coffee was good and the break was welcome, so he answered anyway.
"Yeah, it was us. Look, it was lunchtime—traffic was murder, and we had most of our units working the downtown beat. That area's always been safe."
Theodore waved off the defensive tone. "I'm not questioning response time. I just want to know what you saw when you got there. Can you describe the scene?"
The officer relaxed, settling back in his chair. "Crowd of people gathered around the front lawn, but they were keeping their distance. Ambulance was already there. The EMTs were working on one of the neighbors—a woman who'd found the body. She was in bad shape, crying and vomiting, completely hysterical. Another woman was trying to comfort her, wiping her face with a handkerchief."
He paused to take another sip. "The hysterical one eventually passed out from the stress. They loaded her into the ambulance."
Theodore leaned forward. "Did you see a teenage girl there? Same hair color as the victim?"
The officer furrowed his brow, thinking. Bernie suddenly spoke up, his voice sharp with concentration. "Her hair was cut real short. Like a boy's—almost a buzz cut."
Both Theodore and the officer looked at Bernie in surprise.
A girl with a buzz cut would have stood out like a sore thumb in conservative Felton.
"No," the officer said with certainty. "If there'd been a girl like that, I'd have noticed. Hell, we all would have."
The younger officer beside him couldn't help but chime in. "There really is a girl walking around with hair like that?" His partner elbowed him to stay quiet.
Theodore had one more question. "What about a bearded man in a hat and orange jacket? Might have been mixed in with the crowd?"
The older officer shook his head firmly. "Definitely not."
"You're certain?" Bernie pressed.
The officer bristled at being questioned. "Course I'm certain. I'm not some rookie. It was hot as hell that day—who's gonna wear a jacket, especially a bright orange one? Would've stuck out like a beacon. If he'd been there, trust me, I'd have spotted him."
Bernie and Theodore exchanged meaningful glances before thanking the officers and heading out.
On the drive to the crime scene, Bernie couldn't contain his curiosity. "You were asking about Anna—you suspect her?"
Theodore made a note next to Anna's name in his notebook but shook his head. "I just find her absence interesting. She has breakfast with her mother, skips the morning social visit with the neighbors, and isn't around when the murder happens. Makes me wonder where she was."
Bernie's expression softened. "Can't be her. Sure, she and her mother had that big fight about the haircut last week, but they made up fast. The kid was torn up about her mother's death—crying something fierce."
Theodore looked at him with the expression 'You seriously believe that.'
Bernie caught the look and spoke more seriously. "You're still young. When you have kids of your own, you'll understand that kind of grief."
Theodore thought to himself that Bernie's worldview was shaped by limited experience. In the future he'd come from, where predators lurked in plain sight and madness wore ordinary faces, such innocence was a luxury no one could afford.
Still, he didn't argue. And truthfully, he didn't think Anna was the killer either. If she'd wanted her mother dead, she would have acted at home—more private, less risk of witnesses.
This case had no direct eyewitnesses, which was pure luck for whoever did it. Killing someone in broad daylight in a crowded neighborhood took either incredible audacity or complete desperation.
Anyone with half a brain would have chosen a better time and place.
More importantly, teenagers weren't mentally equipped for this kind of deception. If Anna had committed murder, she would have panicked afterward, probably fled, or broken down completely.
Unless she was a sociopath—which would contradict the reckless timing of a daylight killing.
No, what bothered him about Anna was the pattern of her appearances and disappearances.
The victim's family lived in a middle-class neighborhood of modest but well-maintained homes. Bernie parked outside the Brian residence and rang the doorbell.
A haggard man answered—grief and sleepless nights had carved deep lines around his eyes. He embraced Bernie like an old friend and invited them both inside.
This was Mr. Brian, the victim's husband. Bernie had initially suspected him, but the lumber merchant's testimony had placed both Brian and his son Sitt a hundred miles away when the murder occurred.
After they'd settled in the living room, Bernie explained their visit. "We're hoping to get some additional details about what happened."
Brian nodded and called toward the back of the house. "Anna!"
A girl with a severe buzz cut emerged from what must have been the kitchen, still drying her hands on an apron. She stopped in the doorway, making no move to join them.
Brian patted the sofa cushion beside him, but Anna remained where she was, arms crossed defensively. Brian's face darkened at the defiance.
A young man appeared behind Anna, gave her a gentle push forward, then quickly crossed to sit beside his father. This had to be Sitt.
Brian's expression brightened at his son's obedience, though he shot another disapproving glare at his daughter.
Bernie looked to Theodore, who gave a subtle shake of his head—Bernie should continue leading the questioning. Uncertain of Theodore's strategy, Bernie began his inquiries.
Anna's eyes were red from crying, but her answers came clearly and logically. Theodore had read her previous statement, and it had been notably more coherent and precise than most of the other witnesses. Her current demeanor matched that earlier impression.
Her responses hadn't changed from her original testimony. Bernie finished quickly and looked to Theodore.
"Where were you when the incident occurred?" Theodore asked directly.
Anna's face went pale. She bit her lower lip and said nothing, her eyes darting toward the sofa where the men sat.
Theodore stood up, deliberately blocking her view of her father and brother. "That buzz cut is quite avant-garde for Felton. I'm surprised there were no consequences for such a bold modern choice."
The family dynamics were clear to Theodore's trained eye. Brian was the classic authoritarian traditionalist family head—controlling, domineering, demanding absolute obedience. In this household, his word was law.
Anna was in full rebellion against that authority. Everything from her defensive posture to her radical haircut screamed defiance.
Sitt played the peacemaker, trying desperately to bridge the gap between his sister and father. But he was still learning the role, and his efforts only seemed to highlight the growing tension rather than resolve it.
Originally, Mrs. Brian would have been the family's emotional mediator. Her death had upset the delicate balance, removing the one person who could temper Brian's controlling nature.
Now the conflict between father and daughter had escalated, and Brian's authoritarian tendencies had grown even more pronounced.
Such a controlling man would never have let Anna's rebellious haircut go unpunished.
Anna hugged her arms tighter, still refusing to answer, her eyes constantly flicking toward the front door as if planning an escape route.
Theodore walked toward the door. The movement triggered something in the room—Brian and Sitt both rose to their feet, and Bernie's hand instinctively moved toward his service weapon.
Theodore seemed oblivious to the sudden tension. He reached the area near the staircase and stomped his foot several times on the floor, listening to the hollow echo that came back.
"Is there a basement under here?" he asked, turning back to the room.
Anna began trembling, her arms wrapped so tightly around herself that her knuckles went white.
Sitt couldn't stand it anymore. He rushed to his sister's side, put a protective arm around her shoulders, and started guiding her toward the hallway.
Theodore lifted the corner of the area rug with his foot and looked pointedly at Brian.
"He locked me down there!" Anna burst out, her voice breaking. "As punishment!"
Brian exploded. "Because you went too damn far! What kind of decent girl cuts her hair like a boy and wears clothes that show off her belly and thighs to neighborhood gatherings? You dress like the cheapest whore on Rose Street! You're a disgrace to this family! I should have drowned you at birth—saved us all the shame!"
Rose Street was Felton's red-light district, where every business catered to men's baser appetites.
Sitt had apparently reached his breaking point. His voice shook with fury as he shouted back, "Shut up! If you and Mother hadn't been trying to sell Anna off to that fat pig Morrison, she never would have acted out like this!"
"You locked her in that basement like she was some kind of animal!"
"You—" Brian took two quick steps forward, his hand raised to strike.
Sitt immediately shielded Anna behind him, lifting his chin defiantly. "Go ahead! Hit me! We're all just your property anyway, right? Now that Mom's dead, why don't you just kill us too? Then you can run off with that woman you've been seeing and start a whole new family to control!"
Theodore rattled the basement lock, cutting through the family drama. "Where's the key?"
Brian's face was rigid with rage. He strode to the front door, yanked it open, and pointed outside. "Get out! Both of you! This is over! My family doesn't need your help! Get out of my house!"