D.D. shrugged. “We know Christine Grant had two babies that were off the record. I’m guessing Charlene’s younger sister, Abigail, makes three. As for the police investigation, the comment that struck me most in the official report was that there was nothing in the rental house that indicated a family had even lived there. No toys, no clothes, no…stuff. Sounds to me like Mommy Grant wasn’t just psychopathic, but truly, genuinely bona fide crazy. As in not fit to take care of herself or others. I’m wondering more and more how much of that load eight-year-old Charlene shouldered. Only to then be stabbed and left for dead. I gotta say, I can’t really blame her for not wanting to dwell on those happy times.”
“So Christine Grant is whacko enough to murder two babies, but then sane enough to try to raise two others?” Neil clearly remained skeptical.
D.D. thought about it. “O asked Charlene if she was the good kid. She implied that maybe baby Rosalind and baby Carter were fussy and that’s why they had to die.” She looked at her squadmates. “Knowing what we know now, maybe that’s how the story was told to her, by their mother. Be good, and I’ll let you live. Act up, whine, defy me, and…”
“Except at some point, Abigail did turn against her own mother,” Phil said. “In fact, you just said she probably killed her.”
“Sure. Think about it. For the first eight years, Charlene served as her mother’s target of choice—to be broken and repaired at will. Want to believe that Mommy Grant gave up her Munchausen’s ways just because she lost her eldest daughter? I bet she simply picked back up with daughter number two. Meaning Abigail now got to eat shattered glass and drink liquid Drano. Meaning Abigail now got to learn just how much a mother’s love can burn.”
D.D. sighed, her voice turning somber. “Munchausen’s is most common with children who are very young. Babies, toddlers, who are unable to speak up in their own defense. Once Abigail reached a certain age, however, chances are she didn’t submit as willingly to having her fingers smashed in doorways. Chances are, she started to come up with some tricks of her own. God knows she learned from a master.”
D.D. turned back to Phil. “This is what we need to prove: how did Abigail Grant become Ellen O? Because before we accuse a fellow officer of being the real perpetrator of two separate strings of murders, we’re going to want to nail that down.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, knew you were gonna say that. In the,” Phil glanced at his watch, “twenty minutes you gave me with this project, I haven’t been able to answer that question. Assuming Ellen O is an alias, it’s a well-vetted one. I found a Social Security number, driver’s license, credit history, not to mention college transcripts from the University of Denver. My guess is, given the depth of the paper trail, Abigail Grant became Ellen O while still a teenager. Now, several ways that could happen: formal adoption, becoming a legally emancipated minor while also petitioning for a name change. Or hell, the witness protection program, for all I know. I’ll keep digging around in family court records, etc., but so far, no luck.”
“Wouldn’t she have real family or friends to rat her out?” Neil asked.
“Not according to her personnel form.” Phil held up a sheet of paper. “No family members listed, and as for her ‘emergency contact number,’ when I called it, I reached the holding company of her apartment building. I think it’s safe to say, Abigail…O…is officially alone in the world.”
“But why was she shooting pedophiles?” Neil asked with a frown. “Given the family history, I get her targeting Charlene and, okay, even Charlene’s best friends, as part of her ‘quest for vengeance.’ But why the pedophiles?”