Daniel Palmer - Helpless

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Fox said.

Murphy shot his partner a disapproving stare that could have melted steel.

“Actually, we’re fine, but thanks,” Fox corrected himself.

“Well, we’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything,” Tom said, guiding Jill to follow him. Tom stopped in the entranceway and looked back at Murphy. “Murphy, I sure hope you’re doing what you said and looking for other suspects, because this is a big waste of your time.”

Murphy didn’t respond.

Tom wished he hadn’t thrown out the box of nails from Home Depot with the SKU number on it.

Tom didn’t watch the search. It was bad enough just listening to it from the kitchen, where he, Jill, and Rebecca now sat. Nobody was in the mood for pie.

“I can’t believe you’re just going to let them do this,” Jill said, with more venom in her voice than Tom had ever heard.

Tom shrugged it off. “Maybe they’ll find something that will help with the investigation,” he said. “What they won’t find is anything connecting me to what happened to your mom, because there is nothing. Look, Rebecca, why don’t you go home? This could take a while.”

“I’m not leaving until they leave,” said Rebecca.

“Okay.”

Tom and Rebecca chatted only in spurts. Jill, for the most part, kept silent.

“I’m not telling anybody at school about this,” Jill said. “I’ll never be able to show my face in school.”

“It’s going to be okay, honey,” Tom said. “I promise.”

The noises continued.

Drawers opened and closed. Closets searched. Boxes ripped open. Computers bagged and tagged. Papers shuffled and scattered. The three sat at the kitchen table, drinking tea—the same table Tom and Kelly had bought when they first moved to the Oak Street home. Tom had made the decision to move back to Shilo the day after Kelly told him she was pregnant with Jill.

She’d put in for a 529, the military separation code for pregnancy. It would take a few months for the paperwork to process and clear, she had said. But their conversations that week weren’t focused on their future together. It was all about the crate, and what Kelly had packed inside.

“Please. Hide the drugs,” she had begged. “Please do it for me. For your baby. Give us a chance. I’ll explain everything when I get back to the States. Please, Tom. Do it for us.”

Tom had done as she asked. He hid the drugs where nobody would ever, ever find them.

On his drive back to his parents’ house, he took a shortcut down Oak Street, where he had seen the rusted FOR SALE sign tapped lopsided into a lawn that was more brown than green.

“This is where we’ll live,” Tom had said to himself. He had a mortgage three months before he had a daughter. Despite all Kelly had done, Tom still loved her deeply and wanted to give them a fighting chance to live together as a family.

The cuckoo clock chirped ten times. Jill had gone back to her bedroom an hour before, presumably to sleep. Murphy popped his head into the kitchen.

“We’re all set,” he said, ripping off his rubber gloves and bagging them. “Thanks for your time.”

Tom finally let himself relax. His secret was safe, at least for now.

“Find anything?” Rebecca called without looking back or even getting up.

“Have a good night,” was all Murphy said. “We’ll see ourselves to the door.”

“I can’t believe Brendan Murphy thinks you had anything to do with Kelly’s death,” Rebecca said with disgust.

“He’s just doing his job,” said Tom.

“Yeah? Well, his job stinks,” said Rebecca.

Tom stood from the table, left the kitchen, and caught up with Murphy at the front door. “Brendan, I hope you’re satisfied.”

“Like I said, we’re all set.”

“Thanks, Tom,” Fox called out from the front walk. “Sorry again about the intrusion. I’ll see you at the game.”

“Yeah, see you at the game,” Tom said, hoping Fox realized how ludicrous he sounded trying to put things back to normal. “I’m assuming you didn’t find anything helpful here,” Tom said to Murphy.

Murphy didn’t respond, but he couldn’t hide his disappointment, either.

“Well, I hope now you’ll really start investigating elsewhere,” said Tom.

Murphy’s eyes narrowed, and he put his face close to Tom’s. “Guys like you always screw up,” Murphy said in a low tone. “That’s been my experience. I want you to know that I’ll be waiting for you to slip, Tom. And when you do, I’ll be right there to slap the cuffs on.”

“Have yourself a good night, Brendan,” Tom said, closing the door behind him.

Rebecca bounded down the stairs just as Tom was coming back up.

“Heading home?” he asked.

Rebecca nodded her head in the direction of Jill’s bedroom. “I think you and Jill could use some alone time,” Rebecca said, buttoning her coat.

“She’s not asleep, is she?” Tom said.

Rebecca shook her head no, kissed Tom on one cheek, and patted him playfully on the other. “You’re a good man, Tom Hawkins,” she said. “A very good man.”

“I try.”

Tom closed the front door and watched through the sidelight window as Rebecca traversed the walkway. He kept watching until she disappeared into the dark of night.

He breathed out the last bits of tension still coiled up inside him.

On his way back up the stairs, Tom’s cell phone buzzed. Strange, because the only person who texted him was Jill. Tom looked at his cell phone’s display screen and saw the familiar text message icon, but an unfamiliar phone number.

Tom clicked the envelope icon and realized a picture was attached to the message. The picture began filling his phone’s display screen, painting rows of colored pixels, like a magician’s curtain being raised to reveal whatever magic lay behind.

Tom’s eyes widened in surprise when the image finished downloading. His heart kicked into overdrive, and his mouth went dry. He read the text message with an open mouth.

I hope you enjoy these!!! XOXO :) UR Eyes Only!

It was a picture of a teenage girl. She was lying naked on a bed. The girl’s back was arched. Her legs were open slightly. One of the girl’s hands was hidden between her knees. The other she extended beyond range of the camera’s lens. The girl’s breasts were showing. Her nipples were erect. Her lips were puckered in a pouty and seductive kiss.

He didn’t know this girl. He’d never seen her before.

Tom’s phone buzzed again.

He looked.

It was another text message. With another picture attached.

Seated at her conference table inside her crammed and cramped office, Superintendent Didomenico looked defeated and worn.

“What were these girls doing?” she asked Rainy.

“I believe they were sending text messages with their pictures,” Rainy said. “But there is no way for me to prove it.”

Didomenico, a meticulous woman in her fifties, wore her wavy hair short. The coloring, Rainy observed, was a mix of blond, brown, and—not unexpectedly—a lot of gray. The white piping of her black sweater tastefully matched the single strand of pearls around her neck. Judging by the numerous staff interruptions for which Didomenico had to apologize, the job evidently pulled in more directions than the superintendent had limbs. Yet her face didn’t show the strain, and her eyes remained patient and kind.

The superintendent sifted through dozens of computer printouts of the images Rainy had brought with her. All the images were sanitized in some way, to conceal anything revealing, except for the girls’ faces. That was what she had come to see Didomenico about.

Rainy was convinced that Lindsey’s image belonged to a fetish series, previously unknown to authorities, that was actively being sold to child porn rings on the Web. Teen girls sexting—that was what Rainy believed the multimedia format images to be.