Page 14 of Fragments of the Past

“Great.” That’s the next email I fire off. The city clerk likes a detailed message, so they don’t have to do the work twice. Anytime I’ve called, they’ve asked me to put it in writing.

My inbox pings with a similar response to the parks and recreation department. They’ll get on my request ASAP.

I know these things take time, but after what Morris mentioned about the well demolition, it feels like I’m wading in molasses. In an instant, finding out what happened to Pearl weighs on my shoulders. It’s like the entire town of Brighton is right and I’m not doing what needs to get done fast enough.

In all honesty, I dealt with my grief the week preceding the anniversary of Angeline’s death by giving her son all of my extra waking hours. I haven’t been at my best because my cup was fucking empty when Mrs. Turner contacted me. I should’ve been more prepared for the meeting than I was. Humans make mistakes. I’d ask Mrs. Turner for her forgiveness if it didn’t open a whole other can of worms.

What’s more, the idea that I surreptitiously dismissed Rae Lee bugs the hell out of me. I later examined my bias towards her because of the lie she told. I’m aware my sisters have done the same thing. I’m the cop who suggested it for their safety.

Good god, I don’t need the mental images of my sisters having one-night stands. It’s bad enough that thoughts of Rae Lee’s lips around my cock and the way she rolled the condom over my shaft and sunk down on my dick have me half hard again. I’ve rubbed one too many out to the memory of her tits being pushed up by the bra, sucking on her pert nipples and the way her skin tasted. If she stayed, I intended on having a real taste of her. Instead, I woke up alone with a sour taste in my mouth. I’d even searched my apartment to make sure she hadn’t stolen anything.

So yeah, I wasn’t exactly kind when her heel hit the grass, and I doubt outside of the sandwich I bought her—big fucking spender that I am—I’ll have the opportunity to make up for that.

The distraction makes it harder to concentrate. My buzzing cell gets lost under a file, and I miss an incoming text from Chaim. He’s caught up in something and needs another hour before we hit Mark-39. Fine by me since it’s taking me a year to find the file with the case’s box number in the evidence locker. When I finally have it, I’m on my feet again, hustling to another part of the building.

Pearl’s case hasn’t had a break like the Pruitt murders. I have access to digitized crime scene photos and a list of the box’s contents using my laptop. I wasn’t with the department during the discovery phase, which necessitates ensuring I haven’t inadvertently overlooked any of the evidence the detectives seized. Once I see the logbook, it’s obvious no one has put eyes on it in quite a while.

Amongst the articles inside the box, I find a softball bat found underneath the bed on Pearl’s floor and brown-stained green hand towel, presumably used to wipe the blood off of it. No prints were on either, which is odd since Pearl’s bat should have Pearl’s prints on it. Currently, getting decent prints off of a cotton textured towel is a challenge. I can’t imagine it back then.

Having no body means Pearl’s picture is in circulation using age progression. But if she’s dead, in all probability, this is the murder weapon.

Did I imagine Rae Lee holding her head when we were at the Turner’s? I need to ask her if she saw how Pearl died.

Why do you believe this woman?I ask myself.What besides your pride is stopping you from believing her?I answer.

I put everything back in the box and go back to my laptop on my desk to open the forensics file. I scroll through the list of items, mentally checking them off in my head. Then I flip over the DNA collection sheets.

Pearl’s to match the blood on the towel.

Mrs. Turner’s.

Mr. Turner’s.

Wait.

Why did the original investigator swab Harvey Turner when they’d already matched the blood to Pearl?

My eyes bug out reading the pathologist’s report. Semen found on the towel was a one hundred percent match to Mr. Turner.

I search through the investigation notes and find an answer. But it’s been a long time and I want it from the horse’s mouth.

“Mr. Turner. Detective Ames. I’m doing some follow-up on the investigation and was hoping to ask you a few questions,” I say when Mrs. Turner’s new husband answers the phone.

“They’re about the towel,” he replies succinctly.

“Yes, they are.”

“Like I told the first detective, Pearl interrupted Susan and I when we were…anduh,you know how it goes. I finished in the bathroom. It was the closest thing to grab to get the job done.”

“This happened the day Pearl disappeared?”

“Yes. Susan and I had been waiting for Pearl to get back from her friend Ellen’s. Susan was unsure we’d have any privacy after going out to dinner. Pearl had a habit of rushing me out of the house. I thought we had more time. She always lollygagged coming home.”

“Why’s that?”

“Losing her dad was just hard on Pearl. She had all those preteen hormones. Had a rough time with Susan dating. Moving on. It was almost like I was taking her mother away. Is there anything else?”

“Did you put it at the top or the bottom of the hamper?” I stare at the picture on my computer screen. The towel in the photograph is on top of girl’s clothing.

---