Abe
Abe had been watching the green pickup truck for an hour when Ben Stoops hurried from the asylum. Dark shaggy hair and dark eyes, sickly-looking - all the characteristics the midwife had attributed to Virginia Crow’s older child.
Abe waited until the man was halfway to his truck.
“Excuse me,” he said, stepping out from the shadow of trees and holding up a hand.
The man stumbled and nearly dropped the box he carried. He looked at Abe with wide, startled eyes.
“Hi.” Abe strode up to him and stuck out his hand. He looked at the guy’s box and laughed. “Maybe a handshake’s not the best plan. Can I open your door? Or help you?” He nodded at the box.
The man shook his head.
“No, thanks,” he mumbled, picking up his pace.
“Have time for a few questions, Ben? It is Ben, right? Or Benjamin?”
The man’s shoulder’s stiffened at the mention of Benjamin.
“Ben,” he said.
He hoisted the box into the bed of the truck.
Abe gazed into the bed and noticed a shovel flecked with fresh dirt.
“Do you work at the asylum, Ben?” Abe asked.
Ben shook his head.
“I work for Dr. Crow.”
“What kind of work, Ben?” Abe continued, stepping closer to the man. “Do some digging for him?” He gestured at the shovel.
Ben sidled along the truck toward the door.
Abe fought the urge to put a hand on the driver’s door to prevent him leaving.
“Have you seen this woman?”
Abe thrust a picture of Orla in front of him.
Ben’s eyes bulged and he turned, smacking into the truck. He fumbled with the door handle.
“No,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry, what did you say.”
“No, I haven’t seen her.”
Ben swung open the door and practically dove into the truck. He started it up, but Abe noted his trembling hands as he gripped the wheel. He drove off, leaving Abe in a plume of dust.
Hazel
Hazel gazed at Abe across the table. His cheekbones looked hollowed, his eyes sunken. He’d undoubtedly been overdoing it, though she had the sense Abe operated at maximum capacity for most of his life.
“What happens after you find resolution? Do you crash?”
He looked up, eyes distant. When they cleared, he nodded.
“Something like that. Although resolution is an optimistic word. I’m not even sure what a resolution would look like.”
“Orla sitting in the chair beside me,” Hazel offered.
“That’s not much resolution for Liz or the other families.”
Hazel sighed, glanced at the clock over the kitchen sink. It was after eleven. Her eyes felt crusty and her neck ached. She longed for bed, and yet the feverish gleam in Abe’s eyes, the way he pored over the material, left her unable to drag herself up to bed. She had to fight for Orla. He was fighting for all the women, but Orla needed a voice, an advocate.
“The midwife said the older child appeared sickly. He looked nothing like Spencer with his blue eyes and blond hair,” Abe continued.
He’d told her about the adjoining property of Dr. Crow and Virginia Crow, and the mysterious second child.
“What happened to Virginia’s husband?” Hazel asked.
Abe rolled his eyes.
“He reportedly died of natural causes.”
“And then his brother was at the birth of his son. And that guy is a doctor at the asylum?”
Abe nodded.
“A doctor at the asylum would have access to powerful drugs. If her husband did die of mysterious causes…”
“Exactly. And Hector, her husband, died before her pregnancy showed. Were they trying to hide an affair? And a pregnancy?”
“So, you think the second son was Dr. Crow’s. And this Ben person lives with Crow. Why can’t he be the second son?”
“For starters, his last name is Stoops. But the interesting thing is that Ben matches the description of the older son, the sickly son.”
“Whose name is Spencer?”
“His name was Spencer.”
“You think what, they gave his name to the second child?”
Abe shuffled some papers, eyes flicking between them.
“I’m leaning toward that, but I don’t understand why they’d do it. Why not just give the second child his own name? And why would the first child suddenly become Ben Stoops?” he asked.
Hazel stood and folded in half, allowing her upper body to dangle, hands brushing her feet.
“My back feels like somebody’s crunched it in a vice.”
She stood back up, swayed from side to side a few times, and stretched her arms overhead.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’d be great.” He thumbed through his notes from the midwife, brow furrowed.
Hazel made a pot of coffee, casting another yearning glance toward the stairway. Calvin had gone to bed hours earlier. He had to work early in the morning. Hazel wished she was in bed next to him, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breath. She bent her legs and jogged in place for a moment.
“Tired?” Abe asked, not looking up.
“Yes, but I want to see this through.”
He laughed.
“It’s okay to sleep, Hazel. I’ll let myself out. You can stay up all night and you won’t have seen this through.”
Hazel sighed.
“I will, but… I’m not ready yet. I’ll go up soon.”
She poured each of them a cup of coffee and returned to the table.
“Is there any chance you’re chasing a dead end here?”
He grabbed his coffee, took a long drink.
“Yeah, there’s always that possibility. But it’s gotten under my skin. I can’t shake it until I understand why it’s piqued my interest.”
“Maybe it’s jealousy.”
He cocked an eyebrow.
“How so?”
“Well, you said Spencer is handsome, and drives a nice car. Maybe you want him to be the bad guy. He just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, taking a pee, just as he claimed.”
Abe shook his head.
“I wish it were that simple. It’s not. There was something off about this guy. Did he abduct Orla? That, I don’t know, but there’s something….”
“And this other child plays a part in that?”
“You’re asking my own questions back to me. Until we have the whole picture, it’s just a bunch of pieces. Maybe they’re connected, maybe they’re not.”
“Have you tried talking to Spencer? Questioning him?”
Abe shook his head.
“I don’t want him to realize I’m interested in him. He might run, destroy evidence.”
“Assuming there’s evidence to destroy.”
“The guy was at the park Orla went missing from, his house is miles from the sightings of Susie, his uncle works at the asylum, and I received a tip about Orla being there. He was also questioned about the murder of a nineteen-year-old girl four years ago in Ann Arbor. He was the last person to see her alive. This other guy, Ben, was at the park where the kid found Orla’s bike. He lives on the same property as Spencer. That’s too many coincidences. One or two, fine, but…”
Hazel frowned.
“But why would Orla be at the asylum? I mean, they’d turn her over to the police. Right? They wouldn’t keep her when her face and name are all over the news.”
Abe frowned, pushed the papers away.
“I don’t know. That tip makes little sense.”
“So maybe it’s bogus.”