Everything She Feared, page 27
Sara’s sleep was troubled that night.
She got up around two thirty and went into Katie’s room, finding her curled under her sheets. Watching her, Sara’s stomach tremored.
Did you tell me everything, honey? Are you lying to me?
Why do the detectives want her fingerprints? What about Dr. Mehta? Was I wrong to confide in her? Sara flicked a glance to the ceiling, where everything about Magda had been locked away until now. Why hadn’t her mom and dad told her that she’d written to them? What had Magda wanted?
What if they try to take Katie away from me?
Sara leaned down and softly kissed Katie’s cheek.
I won’t let that happen. We are not like them.
Sara returned to her bed.
As she slept, her own unspeakable memories crawled from the dark mists of her mind...the screams...the thudding...the digging...
* * *
The next day, Sara got off a little early from her shift at the diner to get Katie at school. For an appointment, she told Mel.
At three, the doorbell rang and Rose Aranda arrived. She was in her forties. She wore a blazer and pants, and carried a briefcase. Sara invited her inside to meet Katie and have a quick chat.
“I’d like to talk to your mom,” Aranda said. “Then you and I can talk alone. If that’s okay?”
“Sweetie, go up to your room and watch a movie, then I’ll send Ms. Aranda—”
“Rose. Call me Rose.”
“Then I’ll send Rose up to see you.”
Sara made tea and talked with Rose in the kitchen. Sara’s voice quivered as she related Katie’s case. It wasn’t easy telling a stranger, even one who was going to help. Sara told Rose that Anna had been Katie’s sitter, about the Sunny Days trip and how Anna fell taking a selfie. She touched on every key point, about the trauma, Dr. Mehta. She showed Rose Katie’s sketch. But Sara withheld any mention of Magda or the little boy in Canada.
Rose asked questions and took notes.
“First,” Rose started, “under state law, it’s presumed that children under twelve years of age are incapable of committing a crime.”
“But why are police coming to fingerprint Katie?”
“Well, it’s possible that children aged eight to twelve can be prosecuted for murder if the prosecution can establish that the child fully knew the act was wrong. It’s a difficult and complex burden to prove.”
“Katie told them Anna fell. Why’re they still investigating her?”
“Any number of reasons. They’re not required to reveal to you details of their investigation. They could have a witness, or new evidence. They might be establishing elimination prints, meaning that they have something and want to rule Katie out. They can collect prints without a charge or arrest. The best thing is for you and Katie to cooperate with me present.”
Rose then went upstairs and talked alone with Katie.
A few minutes after four the doorbell rang. Sara led Pierce and Benton to the kitchen table, where Katie joined them.
Rose Aranda introduced herself.
“I’ll be sitting in on this.”
Benton maintained a poker face. Pierce nodded and smiled.
Sara’s heart flipped when the detectives advised Katie of her Miranda rights—“Just routine, by the book,” Benton said—in the presence of her mother and attorney, and a form was signed by all the required parties. Then Pierce opened her bag to withdraw a portable fingerprint scanner, which resembled a smartphone.
“I need you to touch your fingers one at a time on the square here, Katie.”
Sara’s throat dried watching Katie touching the square. Her little fingers were shaking.
“Don’t be nervous,” Pierce said.
“I’m a little scared.”
“Katie,” Rose said. “Remember what we talked about.”
Benton shot Aranda a glance and Pierce recorded finger after finger.
“Why are you scared, Katie?” Benton asked.
“You all think I made Anna fall,” Katie said.
“Katie, you shouldn’t say anything.”
Benton shot a look to Aranda, to Sara, to Pierce, then Katie.
“Did you make her fall?” Benton asked.
Katie glanced at Rose, who was shaking her head.
Katie remained silent until the detectives left.
62
Seattle, Washington
Grotowski got back to an empty office.
Tilden was in Sparrow Song Park with the North Precinct people; Pierce and Benton were out collecting Katie Harmon’s fingerprints.
With the investigation shifting back to the girl, Grotowski got to work double-checking background on Sara Harmon and Katie. He settled in at his computer and once again searched every local and state system for any reference to Sara or Katie. Beyond being charged or sought for anything criminal. He searched to see if they had filed a complaint, witnessed a crime or been questioned in another case. He checked other databases that were part of the ACCESS network.
Nothing surfaced.
Again, he went to NCIC, the national databank managed by the FBI. He also submitted queries to other national databases, like those holding no-fly lists or terror suspects. He checked others, like ViCAP, running through networks for unsolved homicides, parental abductions and missing persons.
Again, nothing.
Even though he submitted Sara’s name, date of birth and social security number each time, he knew there were exceptions that would not confirm a hit. In rare cases people were protected if their information was sealed by the courts, say in spousal abuse cases, violent custody disputes, or if someone was in a state or national witness protection program.
He also made a call to Ottawa, Canada, where the Royal Canadian Mounted Police managed the Canadian Police Information Centre. Similar to NCIC, it was a database holding information on crimes and criminals. Grotowski was directed to Corporal Rachel Taylor and left her a voice mail.
Then, for good measure, he went to Interpol. He’d just finished requesting a search for any international warrants, wants or notices when Tilden entered the office, holding up a clear evidence bag.
“The divers found Anna Shaw’s phone way downstream in the rocks.”
Grotowski stood to take a closer look at the phone. It was rose gold, and the same color, brand and model as Shaw’s parents had described. But the screen was shattered and the body of it cracked in several places so severely components were exposed.
“It’s in rough shape, Lyle.”
“Yeah, pretty banged up. And it’s been in the water all this time,” Tilden said. “I called the forensic IT guys. They weren’t hopeful but they’ll see what they can do. I’m going there after I show this to Art.”
“Good work,” Grotowski said before his phone rang.
Corporal Taylor with the RCMP in Ottawa had returned his call.
“Thanks for getting back to me,” Grotowski said, then explained his request to run Sara and Katie Harmon’s names and details in all databases in Canada.
63
Seattle, Washington
Dr. Mehta left the Rosling Center after a meeting with other professors and walked across the campus to her car.
Leaving departmental politics behind, she’d just begun thinking about her upcoming afternoon sessions with patients, starting with Katie Harmon, when her phone rang.
It was Nadia from her office.
“Hi, Sally. Calling to let you know we have a cancellation. So, you have some free time.”
“Who canceled?” Dr. Mehta reached her Subaru and pressed her key fob. It chirped, unlocking the doors, and she got in.
“Katie Harmon. Sara called to cancel.”
“Sara canceled? Did she reschedule Katie?”
“No. Actually, she said she thought Katie didn’t need any more sessions.”
“Really?” Dr. Mehta thought for a moment, then said: “Can you send me Sara Harmon’s contact information? I’ve got it on my laptop but it’d be faster if you sent it. Thanks, Nadia.”
After hanging up, Dr. Mehta tapped her phone to her steering wheel, processing what had happened. The phone chimed with a notification from Nadia. Dr. Mehta then debated calling Sara.
No, I won’t call her. Not just yet.
She drove off.
Halfway to her office, she stopped at a coffee shop. It wasn’t busy. She found the aroma relaxing. She got a latte and a table in a quiet corner. Amid the subdued clatter and drone of the TV on the wall behind the counter, she put her laptop on the table.
Sara canceled and wants to end Katie’s sessions.
Dr. Mehta went back over their meeting at the mall. Maybe she’d been too forthcoming and made Sara uncomfortable about her thoughts on Katie and the subject of abuse. Sara’s decision to end Katie’s therapy sessions was the wrong approach.
It concerned Dr. Mehta, deepening her dilemma.
She opened her laptop, logged in and examined Katie’s case. She went through her notes, Katie’s guilt, her nightmares, her anguish with conflicting “bad” thoughts that she’d either refused to articulate or was unable to bring forward. She looked at Katie’s sketch of herself with Anna Shaw on the cliff.
Is it a depiction of what happened? Or could it be something else? Have I completely overlooked another aspect to this?
There was Katie’s unwillingness, and Sara’s refusal, to provide any details about a past traumatic incident concerning a boy who died in Katie’s presence. Katie had been on the cusp of opening up a little. She’d said that a boy had said mean things to her in the past—but she wasn’t supposed to talk about it. Was this the same boy? What happened?
Was the boy’s case an accident? A violent death?
Most troubling of all were Sara’s cryptic questions about a history of violence in her family, and whether violent traits could be inherited. It signaled so many concerns.
Had Katie been abused? Had Anna’s death triggered a deeper traumatic psychological wound?
Still, none of this fit.
Dr. Mehta knew that all families had secrets and would do anything to keep them behind closed doors.
If she were correct about Katie Harmon being abused, then she had to get to the root of the abuse. Was it happening at home? With a relative? A friend? A stranger? Was it happening at school?
Or what if Katie’s the abuser?
Dr. Mehta studied the sketch, looking at it in a whole new light.
Either way she had a duty to report what she knew, to advise social services, or even police.
What if I’m completely wrong?
But the risk of harm was so great it had to eclipse every other consideration.
I don’t know what happened with the boy two years ago. And all I know about what happened on the cliff is what Katie and Sara told me.
Dr. Mehta studied the sketch again.
Adjusting her glasses, she began typing on her keyboard, digging up some of the early social media chatter about Anna’s death. As a rule, she never gave any weight to these observations, which were fraught with offensive comments, fakery, cyberbullying and scams.
Nothing new had emerged about Anna Shaw.
Still, curious, Dr. Mehta went to the original, earliest news stories about Anna Shaw’s death. She read through them and looked at the comments. Skipping over ridiculous theories, coming to one she remembered.
Maybe there’s more to this story than we think? one person had posted.
“Turn that up.”
Dr. Mehta looked from her work to the counter. A customer staring at the TV had made the request. A staff member, a young man with a ponytail, picked up the remote control.
A BREAKING NEWS graphic topped the screen as a news anchor said:
“...learned that the tragedy of Seattle teen Anna Shaw, who fell from a cliff in Sparrow Song Park southeast of the city, is now being investigated as a suspicious death, according to sources close to the investigation.”
A quarter of the screen displayed a photo of Anna Shaw, smiling beautifully while file footage from the ground and air, taken the day of her death, showed police, emergency crews and grief-stricken children and families at the park.
“To recap, the case of the tragedy of Seattle teen Anna Shaw, who fell from a cliff in Sparrow Song Park...”
Dr. Mehta’s jaw dropped slightly.
This changes everything.
64
Seattle, Washington
By that afternoon the report on the investigation’s status had moved like a tsunami, reaching some families at Rainier Pine Elementary just as they arrived to pick up their kids.
Amid the commotion of buses, cars, and running and shouting children, Katie Harmon stood in the pick-up zone. Spotting Val Rossi in the distance, Katie moved toward her. Val did the same, both unaware of the news and what was unfolding.
Among the dozens of people in the pick-up zone were parents who knew Anna Shaw’s family, or were associated with the Sunny Days Youth Center. Gathered in clusters, they studied their phones, conversing. Mouths agape with shock, some shot glances at Katie.
Immediately picking up snippets of what the adults were saying on what was developing, Dylan Frick and his friends left their circle, overtook Katie and surrounded her before she got to Val.
“It’s on the news.” Dylan smirked. “You killed her.”
Shaking her head, Katie tried to step back.
“My mom says your babysitter didn’t fall by accident,” Dylan said.
“That’s not true,” Katie said.
“Yes it is and you’re a liar.” Laughing, Dylan looked over his shoulder at parents staring at their phones. Some were headed toward the group of kids. “It’s true.” He grinned. “You pushed her. You’re a murderer!”
“No!” Katie shrieked.
“Murderer!” one of the other boys chimed, chanting it over and over.
Katie pleaded for Dylan Frick to stop. She tried to escape but Dylan and his friends blocked her, taunting her.
“You leave this girl alone, young man!” A woman emerged, putting herself between Katie and her tormentors. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go home now! All of you leave her alone! Do you hear me?”
Sobbing hard, her teary vision blurred, Katie couldn’t see her defender clearly. She didn’t recognize her voice as the chastened boys returned to their families.
“You poor child.” The woman put her arm around Katie, squeezed a gentle, protective hug. “Those boys have no idea.”
Katie covered her face with her hands, struggling to stop crying.
“What happened?”
Rubbing her eyes, Katie now saw Val Rossi. She’d arrived breathless, fumbling for a tissue in her bag to brush at Katie’s tears. Able to see better now, Katie glanced around. The woman who’d rescued her had disappeared into the chaos. Two staff members from the school made their way to them.
“Hi, Katie, Ms. Rossi,” Alice Jenkins, a staff member often assigned to the pick-up and drop-offs, said. “Is everything okay?”
“I think some boys upset her.” Val surveyed the crowd and hubbub. “One of the parents, I think, chased them off.”
“Which boys?” Jenkins scanned the crowd. “Which parent chased them off? We can make a report.”
“I don’t see her,” Val said. “Katie, do you know who?”
She buried her head into Val and shook it.
“I want to go home,” Katie said. “Can we go?”
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Jenkins said.
Katie nodded.
“Alright. I think it’s best if we leave,” Val said to Jenkins while putting her arm around Katie’s shoulder. “My car’s this way.”
As Jenkins watched them leave the zone, she was nudged by her partner, who was reading the breaking news story on her phone.
“Maybe it had something to do with this, Alice?” she said, turning her phone so Jenkins could see the screen. “Anna Shaw’s death may not have been an accident.”
65
Seattle, Washington
Sara drove her Trailblazer home from her shift at the Jet Town Diner, grappling with the upheaval in her life.
My nine-year-old daughter has been fingerprinted and read her rights by police!
She stopped at a red light and took a deep breath.
The detectives said it was routine. The lawyer said it doesn’t mean they suspect Katie. But I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. The police know something.
A horn sounded behind her. The light had changed.
As she drove, Sara’s thoughts shifted to what she’d discovered in the attic. That Magda had written to her family.
I need to ask Mom what Magda wrote and if she answered, and why they never ever told me.
Nearing her neighborhood, Sara found a little relief knowing Val had picked up Katie from school today. It would give Sara time to decompress before she got Katie home.
Sara’s phone rang. She recognized the number and used her hands-free voice-activated feature to answer.
“Hey, Val.”
“Have you seen the news about Anna?”
“What news?”
“It’s just coming out now about the investigation.”
“Hold on. I’ll pull over.”
“I’ll send you the link to the story. It’s very short.”
Wheeling over to the shoulder and stopping, Sara read the story that said the police now considered Anna Shaw’s death suspicious—the words piercing her.
“Oh, my God!” Sara drove her fingers into her hair.
“It’s just happening,” Val said. “I think people, some from Sunny Days, were finding out at pick-up, and some boys at school upset Katie.”
“Is she okay?”
