A Glimpse of Evil (16 page)

Candice flashed a badge. I don’t know what the badge read. And I didn’t want to know what it read. My partner in crime wasn’t yet a licensed PI here in Texas, so there was no telling who she was claiming to be. “I’m Candice Fusco and this is my associate, Abigail Cooper, a civilian profiler with the FBI.” Candice nudged me and motioned that she wanted me to flash my ID card. I dug around in my purse for a minute, located it, and held it out for Mrs. Dixon to inspect. While she was doing that, Candice continued. “I’m working with the FBI on a joint investigation into the disappearance of your granddaughter.”

Again Mrs. Dixon flinched, and her hand moved up to tug at the collar of her housecoat. “My granddaughter’s been missing over a year now, miss, and six months ago the FBI told me they didn’t have a clue what happened to her and until some new evidence showed up, there wasn’t nothin’ more to be done to find her. So I can’t see why you-all would be interested in her again now.”

I decided to speak up. “Mrs. Dixon,” I began. “I was hired by the bureau specifically to audit some of their cold cases. I bring a unique set of skills with me and those have led us to the conclusion that Fatina was likely abducted. I believe a predator took your granddaughter right off the street on the day she disappeared.”

“You ain’t tellin’ me nothin’ I don’t already know,” Mrs. Dixon said, bending at the waist to pick up the white dog, who was determined to get past her foot and come out to sniff at us.

“Yes, well, I also believe we’ll find her abductor.”

Mrs. Dixon snorted derisively. “I heard that before.”

For whatever reason, I wanted to convince her. I felt it was important that I have her on our side and so I flipped on my radar, and my focus went to the dog in her arms. “That was Fatina’s dog, wasn’t it?” I asked.

Mrs. Dixon hugged the pooch and in her eyes, mixed in with the sadness and irritation, was a bit of surprise. “Yes,” she admitted.

“She’s named after the weather?” I asked, puzzling over the intuitive clues now sorting through my mind.

Again Mrs. Dixon looked surprised. “Her name’s Snowy. How’d you know that?”

“I told you, I bring a unique set of skills to the table, Mrs. Dixon. On the day she went missing, your granddaughter almost took the dog with her, didn’t she?”

Mrs. Dixon’s expression became stricken. It was as if I’d slapped her. “I never told no one that,” she whispered.

“Her abduction was not your fault,” I said to her gently. “She would have been taken even if she’d had the dog with her.”

But Mrs. Dixon didn’t look convinced. “Snowy was very protective of Fatina. She would have fought anyone who meant my grandchild harm.”

I shook my head. “You’re wrong. The man who took Fatina would have gone after the dog first, and forced Fatina to cooperate to try and save the puppy she loved. He’s a devious psychopath, ma’am. And this wasn’t the first time he’d taken a little girl against her will.”

I wasn’t thinking when I said these words. They sort of fell out of my mouth as I was speaking, and they stunned me as much as they did the two other women. “Another girl was taken?” Fatina’s grandmother asked.

“Yes.” My radar was telling me that Fatina’s abductor was a serial killer, and I had the distinct impression that he’d killed more than just Fatina and Keisha. I didn’t mentally dwell on it, because at the moment, I needed to focus on Fatina.

Mrs. Dixon fixed her stare on me, and I could see her mulling her next question over, as if my answer would give her some insight into my character. “Do you think my grandchild is still alive?”

I didn’t even hesitate because I knew that she was looking for someone—
anyone
—to tell her the truth. “No. I’m so sorry, ma’am, but I believe your granddaughter died the same day she was taken.”

Mrs. Dixon let out a long slow sigh, as if she’d been holding a little of her breath since her granddaughter went missing. “That’s what I believe too.” She then stepped back from the door. “Come on in.”

We gathered in her living room, which was an assortment of colors and styles, none of which matched, but the overall effect was actually quite interesting. “What did you want to know?” Mrs. Dixon asked plainly.

Candice looked at me as if suggesting I should take the lead. I nodded slightly and turned to Mrs. Dixon. “One of my theories is that Fatina was abducted by someone who knew this area well. They might not have lived here, but they knew the neighborhood. I believe that it could have been a worker or contractor.”

Mrs. Dixon’s brow furrowed. “A contractor?”

I nodded. “A plumber or a handyman or painter or an electrician. Someone who wouldn’t have been suspected driving a van and someone who could come and go without calling a lot of attention to himself. So my question to you is, was there a hired hand in the neighborhood at the time of Fatina’s abduction?”

Mrs. Dixon’s head swiveled to the front hallway. “No,” she said slowly. “But about two weeks before she went missing, I’d had the house painted.”

Candice looked sharply at me, and she mouthed, “Painter.”

“What was the name of the company you hired to paint your house, ma’am?” I asked.

Mrs. Dixon wiped her hand down her face and rocked in her chair. “Wasn’t no company,” she said. “Was just a man. I don’t even remember his name. I saw his poster at church, and tore off his number and called him. He was real cheap and he done a good job.”

“Do you still have his number?”

Mrs. Dixon sighed, and I thought her thin shoulders slumped even farther down, like she carried the weight of the world on them. “No,” she admitted. “I had it tacked to my fridge for a time, but I remember throwing it out after he’d finished the job.”

“Did you pay by check?” Candice asked.

I crossed my fingers because that would be a great way to track him down. “No,” Mrs. Dixon said. “He wouldn’t take a check. He asked for cash only.”

“And you don’t remember his name,” I repeated, “not even his first name?”

Mrs. Dixon sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Dan?” she said, as if she were asking a question. “Or Don, maybe? It was one of them easy-to-forget sorta names.”

Candice leaned forward. “Can you describe what he looked like?”

Mrs. Dixon took a deep breath and tilted her chin up as she thought. “He was light skinned, probably twenty or twenty-five years old. He was a little husky too, you know. . . . He had some meat on his bones.”

“How tall?”

“Oh,” she said, tapping her chin with her finger. “I’d say about five feet eight or nine. He wasn’t no six feet, and I know that ’cause my husband was six feet tall and I used to come up to his collarbone. This man was shorter than that. I could almost look him in the eye.” And then something occurred to her and she let out a tiny gasp. “You know what’s funny, though?”

“What?” Candice and I asked in unison.

“He never did look me in the eye. I thought that was odd, ’cause he was always so polite and all. I don’t like people who won’t look you in the eye, but I made an exception for him ’cause he had good manners and always answered me ‘Yes, ma’am’ or ‘No, ma’am.’ But maybe he wasn’t so nice as I thought. Maybe he was a bad man and couldn’t look me in the eye ’cause of that.”

“Is there anything else about him you can remember?” I asked. “Did he have any facial hair or any tattoos or piercings?”

Mrs. Dixon shook her head. “No,” she said, and I could tell she wished she could give us more. “Do you think he was the one that took my Fatina?”

“I do.”

Candice eyed me in that way that told me I shouldn’t have said that, but I couldn’t help it. I knew I needed to be straight with this woman.

Candice jumped to the next topic by asking, “Can you tell us about how you came to be Fatina’s guardian, Mrs. Dixon?”

Again Mrs. Dixon’s eyes turned sad. “Fatina is my daughter’s child,” she said. “And Fontana was my only child. She wasn’t a bad person, but she fell in with the wrong crowd when she was about fifteen or so. It was right after her daddy died, in fact, and next thing I knew, my daughter was pregnant and on drugs. I done everything I could to get her to stay clean, but that pipe was too powerful for her.

“When Fatina was born, they found traces of crack in her blood and they took her away from Fontana. I fought for custody and won, and I promised that as soon as Fontana kicked the drugs, she could come live with us and help raise Fatina.

“Last time I saw her was when my grandbaby was still a toddler. Fontana said she was working to get clean and I believed her. Then she showed up here strung out and I told her not to come back, and I never saw her again. One of her druggie friends moved up to St. Louis, and Fontana went with him. I used to hear from her twice a year every year at Christmas and on Fatina’s birthday, and then four years ago she didn’t call and I knew she was dead.”

“Did the police in St. Louis ever notify you of that fact?”

Mrs. Dixon shook her head. “No. They got some dead homeless black woman off the street, and they don’t do nothin’ to try and find the next of kin. And I didn’t really want to know, truth be told. I was afraid of what I would have to tell Fatina.”

Candice opened the folder and looked at the notes taken by the investigator on the case. “It says here that the agent assigned to the case thought there was some evidence that Fontana had taken her daughter.”

Mrs. Dixon waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, that’s a bunch of bull,” she said. “That FBI man wasn’t interested in finding my grandchild! He just wanted to close his case and be done with it, so he found one of Fontana’s old boyfriends, who said he heard my daughter say that someday she was gonna come here and just take Fatina away.”

“But you don’t believe that’s what happened,” I said.

“No,” Mrs. Dixon said with a shake of her head. “Fontana wouldn’t do that to me or to Fatina, and besides, Fatina went missing several years after those phone calls stopped. I know in my heart that Fontana was already dead by then.”

“And what about Fatina’s father?”

Mrs. Dixon scowled. “That heap of garbage went off to meet his Maker right before Fatina was born. Died of a drug overdose. He was the one that got Fontana hooked on the pipe in the first place. And he only married her ’cause I threatened to turn him in to the police if he didn’t. Fontana was a minor when he started havin’ relations with her.”

“How old was he?” Candice asked.

“Twenty-two,” she replied with disgust.

“And there were no other relatives that might have been interested in taking over custody of Fatina?”

I knew Candice wanted to be thorough, but my mind was already made up that a family member hadn’t abducted the little girl. “There is no one else but me,” said Mrs. Dixon. “I got no one left, miss. Just this dog and this house. My sister died some ten years ago, and my husband’s family is all dead too. Me and Snowy is all alone in this here house. Ain’t no one to care ’bout us no more. And ain’t no one for us to care for neither.”

Mrs. Dixon’s eyes watered and my heart broke for her. She appeared to be a gentle, good-hearted woman who’d had so much tragedy in her life. And I couldn’t imagine going through all of that and finding yourself almost completely alone.

No one spoke for the longest time; it was as if we were observing a moment of silence for all the people in Mrs. Dixon’s life that had been lost. Finally, however, Candice asked, “Mrs. Dixon, could I perhaps ask you to part with a photo of your daughter?”

The older woman sniffled and dabbed at her eyes. “What for?”

“I want to bring you some closure, ma’am. I know your heart is suggesting that your daughter and granddaughter are both deceased, but it must still tug on you a bit not to be absolutely certain.”

Mrs. Dixon stroked Snowy’s fur. “It does.”

“Then loan me a picture and let me investigate. I’ll do my very best to find out the truth for you.”

“I ain’t got no money to pay you,” Mrs. Dixon said warily.

“That’s perfect,” Candice said with an easy smile, “because today, I’m not charging.”

Mrs. Dixon regarded Candice for a moment before she got up and moved over to a sofa table where several photos were displayed in a variety of frames. Selecting one from the group, she brought it over to Candice. “This one’s my favorite,” she said, turning the frame around so that we could see the image.

In the photo, Fontana looked bone thin, but there was some light in her eyes and she had an easy smile. Next to her was Fatina, hugging her mother fiercely, although the little girl couldn’t have been older than three or four.

I noticed with a heavy heart that both mother and daughter appeared flat to my intuitive eye, confirming to me at least that they were both dead. Candice took the frame from Mrs. Dixon and pretended to study it while sneaking a sideways glance at me as if to ask me if there was any hope. I frowned and subtly shook my head.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Candice said, removing the photo from the frame carefully. “I promise to take very good care of it and return it to you just as soon as I find something out.”

Mrs. Dixon looked unsure, and I suspected she was wondering if we were making legitimate promises or if this was some sort of elaborate scheme to bilk her out of what little money she had. “Here is my card,” I said, reaching into my purse to pull out my new business cards embossed with the FBI logo. “That’s my office number,” I told her, “but I’ll be in the field for the next few weeks, so if you need to get ahold of me, call this number.” I then quickly wrote my cell number on the card.

Candice too reached into her purse and pulled out her own business card. Like everything else about my good friend these days, it looked expensive and classy. “Call me anytime as well, Mrs. Dixon. And if I could have your number to keep you updated as we get information, that’d be great.”

Mrs. Dixon appeared overwhelmed by all the contact information coming at her. It made me wonder how the original investigator on her granddaughter’s case had treated her. After giving Candice her phone number, she walked us to the door, where we shook her hand and headed to the car.