Frank Zafiro: Some Degree of Murder

“Of what?”

“A name, I think. Rena.”

I considered that for a moment. “Her name, you think? Or a daughter, maybe?”

“I don’t know,” Cameron said.

“All right. Get back to me if you get a hit on her fingerprint. Or anything on the hairs.”

“I will.” The phone clicked as he hung up.

I drove the last three blocks to the Taylor home and considered what Cameron had told me. The unknown victim case was going to be a lot of work. At least I knew who Fawn Taylor was. Of course that led to the next obstacle, which was asking questions no one wanted to hear, much less answer.

The Taylor residence was one of the smaller homes and one of the few without a gate. I pulled into the long driveway and came to a stop in front of the front steps. The house was dark red brick with bright white trim. Although it wasn’t as large as some of the other homes, with all that brick, I imagined it cost just as much.

When I knocked on the door, Steve Taylor answered. Taylor was thin and wore John Lennon glasses that sat precariously on his nose.

“Detective,” he greeted me with a nod.

“Mr. Taylor,” I nodded back. “Thanks for taking the time to see me.”

“Anything to help find the guy who…anything to help solve the case.” Taylor stepped to the side and waved me indoors. The entryway was large and I glanced up at the ceiling, which had to be almost three stories up. A wide staircase wound upstairs to the right. I followed Taylor to the left, through a large room with a piano.

He led me into a smaller room lined with books on dark oak shelves. His wife, Andie Taylor, sat on a long couch looking at a photo album. A half-empty glass of white wine rested on the table in front of her. When she looked up, her eyes were puffy and red. She held a tissue balled up in her left hand.

“Mrs. Taylor,” I greeted her.

She nodded absently and set the album on the table without closing it. In the same motion, she retrieved the wine and took a large sip. I waited until she looked up at me to continue.

When she did, I told her, “I wanted to update you both on my investigation and ask you a few more questions.”

“Has there been some sort of break in the case?” Steve asked from behind me.

“No, sir.”

Andie Taylor watched me, her eyes calm. I remembered how hysterical she had been when I had told her about the death of her daughter. That was to be expected. But she had remained on the edge of hysteria for most of the two weeks since then. I looked at her carefully. She didn’t appear to be drunk or sedated, despite the glass of wine in her hand. The calmness in her eyes still radiated sadness, however.

“Where is your investigation, detective?” Steve asked.

I turned to him. “In a case like this, the forensics team moves slowly to ensure there are no mistakes. Results take time.”

I was lying. Most of the forensics were in several days ago. There just hadn’t been anything helpful. No fibers, no hairs, no fluids. Fawn Taylor had been strangled and possibly sexually assaulted. Probably sexually assaulted is how the actual report read and when Cameron wrote probably, he meant that it had happened but he couldn’t prove it absolutely in court.

“It’s been two weeks,” he observed.

“Yes, sir, I know.”

“Do…these investigations…usually take a long time?”

I could tell he was trying hard not to offend me or his wife.

“It depends,” I told him. “Every case is different. In this case, there hasn’t been anything conclusive yet from the physical evidence at the crime scene. We haven’t had any luck with witnesses. When that happens, the best thing an investigator can do is start working backwards.”

“Backwards?”

I moved around the table, taking a seat on the edge of a white chair. “I need to go back in time and build a timeline of Fawn’s activities. Something may come up that can help. Even small details matter.”

“Didn’t we do this right after she…after you came here the first time?”

“Yes. But that was more general. This will be more specific. And I’d like to do this individually, if that’s possible.”

“You mean separately?”

“Yes.”

Steve glanced at his wife and she nodded to him. “I’ll be in my office if you need me,” he said and walked out of the room.

Andie Taylor didn’t watch him go. She motioned to her wine glass. “I don’t suppose you can join me in a drink, detective?”

“I wish I could.”

She smiled humorlessly.

I flipped open my notepad and began the interview. She filled in a few small gaps for me, but none of them seemed to matter. Most of what she said was a repeat of previous interviews. I just hoped that as she spoke, maybe something new would shake loose from her memory. She explained that Fawn’s real father had been the result of a one-night stand and that he had never been a part of Fawn’s life. She didn’t know where he was now. She married Steve Taylor when Fawn was three years old and he adopted her two years later.

“Did the biological father sign off on the adoption?”

She shook her head. “No. I filed for abandonment. That’s why it took two years.”

“When was the last time you heard from him?”

“It’s been over ten years.”

“What’s his name?”

“His name?” She gave me a blank look.

“Fawn’s biological father. What’s his name?”

She blinked and looked away. “I…I only knew his first name. It’s Richard.”

I paused. The father of her child and she only knew his first name? I could see that being the case early on, when it was just a one night stand, but once she got pregnant…

She must have sensed my thoughts because she snapped, “It’s a source of much embarrassment for me, detective. How would you like to be reminded of an indiscretion every time you looked at your daughter? That’s just one more reason why Steven wanted to adopt Fawn.”

I let it lie and moved on to Fawn’s upbringing, which she described as firm but loving. Fawn was a good student, but didn’t always apply herself. She had a few friends but wasn’t cheerleader popular. About a year ago, she caught Fawn with marijuana in her room. Her grades took a nosedive. Around that same time, she believed that Fawn became sexually active.

“Why do you believe that?”

Andie Taylor gave me a knowing look. “Detective, my daughter had breasts at age eleven. She’s always had attention from older boys. She started carrying herself differently. I saw the signs. A mother knows. Besides, I was much the same way at her age.”

“Any boys in particular?”

She shook her head. “I would’ve preferred one nice boy. But she enjoyed the attention. Some of the boys were older. I couldn’t keep track.”

“Did she have a cell phone?”

“Of course.”

“Can I have a copy of the bill?”

“Why?”

“To see who she was talking to.”

“We pay a flat rate for unlimited calls. It’s all on one bill. Besides, we took it away from her about a week before she ran away.”

“Why?”

Andie sipped her wine. “Grades. Attitude. Stupid things, really.” Her eyes teared up and she wiped them.

“When she left, did she say anything? Was there a fight?”

“I can’t remember one.” She sniffed and wiped her nose.

“Generally speaking, kids don’t just take off without some kind of catalyst.”

She shrugged and pulled another tissue from a box on the table between us.

“How close was Fawn with her step-father?”

She took a deep breath and thought. “Very close, I suppose. Until recently.”

“Recently? As in how long ago?”

“Last year. Same time frame as the drugs and the bad grades and the boys. The same time she decided she hated me.”