Sarah Sparrow - A Guide for Murdered Children

“We’re waiting for the autopsy report on Roy Eakins,” said Owen. “A window to the house was jimmied open.” Willow knew he’d be coming around to the question of how they had already known Roy Eakins was dead—but hearing the business about the window, the detective scrambled to make an adjustment to the scattershot narrative he’d been constructing. In a blatant oversight, he’d neglected to realize both his and Lydia’s prints would be found on the sill. “But there wasn’t any evidence of a struggle,” Owen continued. “The body was found in bed, like he died in his sleep.” Then he turned to Lydia. “When I asked if Deputy Doheny had anything to do with Roy Eakins’s death, you said that he died of natural causes—you said it right away . How did you know that, Deputy Molloy?”

Ugh. The question came sooner than Willow expected.

“Because I was there,” she said coolly. “We both were.”

Willow’s gut flipped. So much for getting our stories straight…

“You were there, with Eakins?” said the sheriff, incredulous. “In his home ?”

Willow hastily staged an intervention.

“Yes, we were and I’ll explain why. I’d only just learned about the footprint—we had a piece of evidence with a print. The birthday card belonging to Maya Rummer.” His words came quickly, as if the torrent might somehow stop Owen from taking a swing at him. “The print on the card was always identified as a palm print. But I started to think, what if it isn’t? What if one of the experts made a mistake, and a misidentified ‘palm print’ became gospel—what if it was actually a footprint? So I sent a print of Eakins’s foot to the lab.”

“And how,” said Owen, “did you obtain a footprint belonging to Roy Eakins?”

The sheriff hated playing catch-up with his subordinate’s breaking news alerts—it embarrassed him as much as it made him suspicious. But suspicious of what? He was pissed off enough that he was becoming determined to hang Willow Wylde’s ass out to dry.

“I went to interview Roy last week at his house. He stepped on a piece of paper and I confiscated it without him knowing.”

“He stepped on a piece of paper!” said Owen, laughing out loud. It jarred the room because it was more of a seal’s bark.

“He liked going barefoot,” said Lydia, trying to be helpful.

“How would you know what he liked?” said Owen, ready to take a swing at her as well.

“I mean, apparently,” she said, off a glance from Willow. “A lot of people take their shoes off when they’re at home. I do.”

“Well, I don’t,” said the sheriff, turning to Willow. “So you’re saying the prints were a match? That Roy Eakins’s footprint was on the birthday card?”

Willow had sweated through his shirt. “That is what I believe the results will show.”

“I see,” said Owen, grinning like an executioner. “That is what you believe the results will show.”

“One thousand percent. That’s why Lydia and I went over to see him.”

“ Before you had proof. Makes perfect sense to me! You were going to arrest him, before you had proof —and without backup.”

“I admit that may have been a mistake, Owen.”

“That’s big of you.”

“We made— I made a lot of mistakes. But in my assessment, the man was only violent toward children. He was absolutely intimidated by adults. I felt there wasn’t any way the situation would have gotten out of hand.”

“You didn’t think it’d get out of hand because the man was only violent toward children! With the exception of his fully grown son—you know, the one whose eyes he gouged out. The one he allegedly crucified—”

“I was wrong.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Willow!” A few of the hangmen in the room nodded their heads in disgust. “And why would he kill his own son?”

“I have a few theories about that,” said Willow.

“Can’t wait to hear them,” said Owen. “This is like one of those Jerry Springer shows.”

“Maybe Roy had some regrets toward the end—over what his son had become. What he’d made him into.”

“Isn’t that touching! Willow, you just brought fucking tears to my eyes. Let me ask you something else. How would an old, decrepit guy like Roy Eakins be able to inflict such damage? That killing was ferocious. We’ll see what Grundy’s wife has to say about it,” he said ominously. “Right now, she’s being a little recalcitrant.”

Willow had neglected to consider the surviving witness, and the sheriff’s comments put a dent in his mood. “I actually thought that by paying him a visit, we’d have a strong chance of a confession.”

“A serial killer’s private home is always the best place for that kind of interview,” said Owen sarcastically.

“I had a relationship with the man. I’d spent a pleasant afternoon with him a week or so back.”

“My friend, you are out of your fucking skull.”

“Whereas if we showed up with the cavalry, that wouldn’t have been possible. Less likely, anyway.”

“So we climbed in through the window,” said Lydia.

Here we go, thought Willow, closing his eyes and wishing he were somewhere else.

“You broke into a suspect’s house without a warrant!”

“We had probable cause,” said Willow.

“We saw him through the window,” said Lydia. “He looked like he may have been having some sort of medical emergency.”

“What kind of medical emergency?” asked one of the others.

“He was having, uh, tremendous difficulty breathing,” said Willow. “We could see that before we went in.”

The question of why they never called an ambulance hung in the air (in the blizzard of bullshit), but Owen let it go for now. “And just how is it,” he said, “that you ended up at the farmhouse in Wolcott Mills?”

“As I said, Grundy Eakins was a suspect— Deputy Doheny thought he was a suspect, and was actively pursuing that lead. Without our knowledge.”

“A suspect in the Winston Collins murder.”

“That’s right.”

“All right. I see. Everything’s getting very clear. It hasn’t been easy , but you’re starting to make sense. Let me summarize: Daniel Doheny, your rookie , decided he just didn’t want to work Cold Case anymore—he wanted to crack open a recent homicide. So he left the Rummer murders to you and his girlfriend while he went rogue. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“No. The Rummer kids and Winston Collins are connected.”

“Ah! So now you’re saying Grundy Eakins did have something to do with killing Troy and Maya…”

“Not directly,” said Willow. “Look, Owen, it’s possible he may have known about it—about what his father did—he may even have participated in some of Roy’s later crimes. But it’s still my feeling that Grundy wasn’t involved in their deaths.”

“Your feeling . Well, here’s a dumb question, Dubya. I mean, maybe not dumb for you, because you’re special. You’re like a special genius who does whatever the hell he wants to do and withholds it all day long from the man he’s supposed to be reporting to.”

“You know that’s not true—”

“Can you tell me what it was that made Deputy Doheny think that Grundy Eakins had something to do with the murder of the Collins boy?” He crossed his arms like Mr. Clean, prepared to hear a whopper.

“I can,” said Willow. “I can tell you exactly how he knew. It was serendipity, but it was brilliant.”

“We’re listening.”

“In cold case work it’s important to follow your nose. Sometimes there’s no logic or sense to whatever lead you’re—”