Billie Ann nodded. “And where was Emma when she went missing?”
“She was playing in the backyard of my house. I looked away for a few minutes to do laundry and then she was gone. I know you need a picture of her, and a birth certificate, but I don’t have them. I just need your help. Please? You have to believe me. Please have your patrols search for her. She has strawberry blonde hair and was wearing a pink shirt with sparkling unicorns on it. And a tutu. A blue tutu.”
Billie Ann looked at the form in front of her that Marissa had filled out. “And your house is on South Brevard Avenue, correct?”
Then she paused. Billie Ann stared at the address for a few seconds, then shook her head. She closed the file.
“You know what? How about you take me to your house and show me where she went missing?”
TWELVEBILLIE ANN
It was a long shot. I knew it was. But I felt bad for the poor woman in front of me. A part of me really wanted to believe she was telling the truth. There was something odd about the whole situation, and when I realized that she lived close to Cassandra Perez, like right down the same street, a couple of red flags went up. My gut told me it wasn’t a coincidence.
I took her back to her house in my police cruiser, and I parked it out front. As I walked up her driveway, I could see the tech team were still working at the scene behind her house, down by the pond.
“Thank you for taking me seriously,” Marissa said as she opened the door and let me inside of the home.
“You said she disappeared yesterday, right?” I asked and walked in. I closed the door behind me.
“Yes, she was playing out here in the back, and there was a squirrel and then… I don’t know what she did after that. I worried she had gotten to the pond somehow…”
She stopped as we walked through the living room toward the kitchen. I scanned the room. It had a nice light beige carpet on it. No spills of chocolate milk or juice. There was a TV, two recliners, and a mirror on the wall. A sign said, Welcome to the beach. A pair of adult slippers were on the tiles by the door, next to a pair of adult flip-flops.
But no children’s shoes.
There were no stuffed animals or dolls abandoned in the middle of a tea party by the TV. No sippy cups left out, or Crayola crayons on the dining room table. As we entered the kitchen, I noticed no photos on the fridge, or drawings made by a child’s hands. Nothing but stainless steel surfaces, all polished and clean. There were no small greasy fingers on the counters. Not on windows or mirrors either.
“She was right out there, and I was watching her through the window here, while peeling potatoes and then—”
“Why did you wait so long?” I asked.
“What?” She gave me a puzzled yet frantic look.
“Why didn’t you come to us yesterday when you realized your daughter was gone?” I asked, beginning to think the Chief was right. There was definitely no child living here. This woman was mad as a bat. She had to be.
“I… I…” she seemed to be searching for the answer, but not finding it. “I wanted to wait and see if I could find her myself, or if she came home and then I… then they pulled out Cassandra out of the pond down the street, and I thought for a second it was Emma. But then… well, I guess I realized she wasn’t coming back and—”
“You knew Cassandra?” I asked.
Marissa looked at her fingers. “You have to believe me. My daughter is missing. I don’t know what to do. I fear something awful has happened to her.”
Was she just a cuckoo head? A lot of times murder cases pushed them out of their hidings. I don’t know how often I had someone confess to a murder they didn’t do. Often, they truly believed their own story, they truly thought they had done it. It was sometimes hard to convince them they hadn’t.
I placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Marissa? Maybe we should go to the psychiatric emergency room, huh? They can help you there.”
She stared at me. Her eyes grew wide with terror. “You think I’m crazy? That I’m lying?”
I bit my lip. I knew she probably believed her own story, and maybe she even had a child once then lost it. But she wasn’t sane, that was for sure.
“I think you might be in need of some help,” I said. I had barely finished my sentence, when I spotted a pair of small pink Crocs in the grass.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Marissa swallowed. “Her shoes. It’s all that was left of her when she disappeared. And to answer your question from before, then yes, I knew Cassandra. She was my babysitter.”
THIRTEENBILLIE ANN
I had been calling all of Cassandra’s friends, and their parents, since I got back to the office. Once I’d informed them of her passing, I’d been asking them about her whereabouts these past days leading up to her murder.
Meanwhile Scott and Tom took care of talking to the two other families Cassandra was babysitting for. After visiting one of them, Tom came back to the station and sat down across from me. I lifted my gaze from my computer.
“I sense you’ve got something,” I said.
He exhaled and leaned back in the chair. “I just spoke to Mrs. Cornwell, who Cassandra babysat for twice a month, and it actually became quite interesting.”
I nodded. “Go on.”
He rubbed his chin. “She told me that Cassandra had been babysitting their seven-year-old daughter for about six months, and that she was very fond of her. She was trustworthy and the kid was always in bed on time, and that they had a special bond.”
“But?”
“But… the thing was, that once I dug into it a little, Mrs. Cornwell started to cry.”
“Was she sad about Cassandra?” I asked, thinking that would only be natural.
“Yes, that too, but there was something else.”
“Like what?” I asked, getting intrigued.
