“What’s this?” Faraday asked, sifting through the contents while Wallace scooted his chair over for a better look.
“That’s a copy of a police file,” Donny said. “A kid named Robert Carter from Willow Mill went missing last August, and his body was found on the banks of the Waliki River about three and a half miles south of where Payton Wyly’s body was found.”
I had to swallow the bit of bile that came up when one of the photos that Faraday was spreading out on his desk caught my eye. A close-up of the young man’s face had landed near me, and I could see his deathdate imprinted on his forehead. 8-19-2014.
“He’d been stabbed, tortured with cigarette butts, and had his throat slashed,” Donny continued. “The MO is exactly the same as the guy who killed Wyly and Tibbolt.”
“You mean Arnold Schroder,” Wallace said. With a sneer he added, “And your niece.”
“No,” Donny said, reaching down into his bag to pull up another set of photos and papers. “It couldn’t have been Stubby or Maddie, because they were both with me in Florida at Disney World at the time. Here are the photos and ticket confirmations to prove it.”
Donny tossed them onto the desk, and they fanned out with all the other documentation. Faraday pursed his lips and reached for the photos that Donny had tossed while Wallace picked up the Carter file and some of the crime scene photos. After a few seconds of silence as they sorted through the new evidence, Wallace said, “None of this proves that Schroder and your niece didn’t murder Tibbolt and Wyly.”
My jaw dropped. Was he kidding?
Donny pointed angrily to the file. “What I’ve just delivered to you is reasonable doubt, gentlemen. You want to take this to trial? I’ll make sure the jury hears all about the similarities between the cases.”
Wallace glared hard at him, and Faraday lifted the file out of Wallace’s hands and skimmed the pages. “Why the hell didn’t we hear about this?” he muttered to his partner.
Donny answered for him. “Because Carter was eighteen. He wasn’t a minor, so when he went missing it was handled by the local Willow Mill police department.”
Wallace waved his hand as if that explained it. “Well. There you go, then,” he said. “Different MOs, Fynn. If Carter was eighteen, then he doesn’t fit the victim profile of the other murders. Your niece and Schroder could’ve heard about Carter’s murder and committed a couple of copycat killings.”
“Oh, come on, Wallace!” Donny snapped. “The longer you try to pin this on Maddie and Arnold, the more time you waste getting the real killer off the street. Look at Carter, for Christ’s sake. He may have been eighteen, but he was only five foot six and a hundred forty pounds. He didn’t look a day over sixteen, and you know it!”
But Wallace’s expression clearly implied that he wasn’t buying it. And Faraday set down the file and nodded, too. “Sorry, Fynn,” he said. “This doesn’t prove anything.”
Wallace began to gather all of the documentation into a neat stack. “But, hey, thanks for bringing all this to our attention, counselor. Maybe we can find a name in Maddie’s little death book that matches up with Carter.”
My heart started thudding in my chest. I didn’t think there would be a match in my notebook to Carter, but I also didn’t think that made any difference. If there was anything even close to matching either his initials or his deathdate, they’d twist it to say that I’d planned it.
Next to me Donny was quietly seething. It seemed like this had all been a mistake, but I couldn’t blame him for trying. My gaze drifted to the mug shots on Faraday’s wall of CAPTURED felons. Was my mug shot eventually going to end up there, too?
And then that idea I’d run by Donny from a few nights before came to me along with Donny’s speech about how I was a Fynn, and Fynns didn’t back down; they stood up and stood out. I got to my feet while I still had the courage. Lifting a felt pen out of Faraday’s pencil holder, I moved to the corner behind his desk. “What’s she doing?” I heard him ask Donny. I knew that I’d probably startled them, but I didn’t care. Swiftly, I began to mark the photos that stood out to me. “Hey!” Faraday snapped. “Cut that out!”
But I didn’t. I noted six photos out of about twenty in total that could help make my case. I went to those six and quickly and methodically marked the foreheads of each and every one. As I jotted down the last digit, I felt Donny’s hand on my wrist.
“Maddie!” he whispered harshly. “What the hell are you doing?”
I handed him the pen. “Proving that I can see what I say I can see. Like yesterday with Mrs. Matsuda.”
Donny stared at me, his eyes wide, then he looked at the wall of mug shots and his brow went up.
Over my shoulder I saw Faraday and Wallace both standing with their hands on their hips, and I almost laughed because I could imagine that they were trying to think up a law I might’ve broken. “These are right,” I said to them. “You can double-check if you want.”
I’d written the deathdate for all six mug shots. Some had died as far back as two years before, and the most recent had been about a week earlier. Donny walked me back to my chair and I sat down, waiting on the two rather stunned agents to say or do something, but for a long time they simply stared at the wall.
Then Wallace pointed to the most recently deceased felon. “That guy’s not dead,” he said. “I personally sent him to Sing Sing last year, and as far as I know, he’s still alive and well, enjoying a ten-by-ten cell and three squares a day.”
I turned to Donny. “I’m not wrong.”
Donny lifted his chin toward Wallace. “Check it out. We’ll wait.”