Page 105 of The Witch's Orchard
Rock, rock. Tap. Tap.
And Elaine Hoyle.
Still nothing.
“Okay,” I say. “How about this person?”
I pull up a picture of Deena Drake. The photo is one from the records AJ had, a picture of Deena and Harvey from before he died. It’s a studio portrait and the couple is sitting in front of a teal-painted backdrop looking serenely happy. Deena’s blond hair shimmers in the bright light and her smile is soft and elegant. I show the photo to Olivia.
Olivia pauses her rocking, stares at the photo.
Then goes back to nothing.
Rock, rock. Tap. Tap.
The music plays. The song turns over.
This one’s more downbeat. Olivia adjusts her rhythm.
Rock, rock. Tap. Tap.
I pull up some more stock photos. A woman in a bright red dress. A man drinking coffee. I bring up a picture of Tommy and Mandy Hoyle and put it down on the coffee table. There is no change. She rocks along to the song. A woman sings about her heart.
“Okay, just a couple more.”
I show her a picture of Molly Andrews when she was little.
“Do you know this little girl?”
She rocks and taps. Rocks and taps.
“Okay. Let’s try this one.”
I try to find one of Susan McKinney but then remember that I was never able to find any presence for her online. I go back to the file AJ brought and page through it. But Susan was never booked. There was no mug shot.
“Does the name ‘Susan’ mean anything to you, Olivia?” I ask.
Rock, rock. Tap. Tap.
No change. It’s all I can do. At least for now.
I reopen my phone and decide to start fresh, look for stock photos of kids for a clean slate. I find a little boy in a dinosaur T-shirt and show it to her. No change. I find a little girl with long brown braids eating ice cream. No change. The song carries on. The woman sings about her pain.
I find pictures of scarecrows. One in an old shirt and jeans. One in overalls. One fromThe Wizard of Oz. I show them all to her.
Rock, rock. Tap. Tap.
Nothing.
I tab over to the case pictures and flick through the images until I get to the last known photograph of Jessica Hoyle. Her ice blue eyes shine out of the picture and she grins, her front two teeth missing. I put it down on the table in front of Olivia.
A low, grating moan grows in Olivia’s chest and crawls up her throat. She doesn’t open her mouth. She stares at the picture and moans and rocks, her eyes wide.
“Okay,” I say. “You’ve seen this little girl?”
She moans and rocks.
“Did you see her when you were taken away?”
