Profile of Evil (13 page)

"I just told them how hard we're working to catch this killer. There's not much I can say to dispel their fears when it's pretty obvious a monster lives and kills amongst them," Brody said, before changing the subject. "Can you see the briefcase in the backseat?"

"Yes."

"There is a file inside it I want you to see."

Carly unzipped the leather briefcase, and withdrew a manila folder. "Found it."

"Neal Denison, the Indianapolis detective assigned to the Alison Brown case, faxed some information he's discovered. I think you'll find it interesting."

Carly opened the file and reviewed the missing person report on top. Like the two murdered girls, Amanda and Sophia, Alison was thirteen-years-old. She pulled out Alison's photo. "Poor girl. She's overweight with glasses and braces on her teeth—which could add up to a miserable school experience. Kids can be so unkind to each other." She reviewed Detective Denison's notes from his interview with Alison's parents, Raymond and Margaret. He hadn't gotten much useful information, and Carly silently vowed to get more. When she got to the last piece of paper, her jaw dropped, and she held it up for Brody.

"Did you see this? The stepfather has a record."

"Yes. Denison didn't discover it until yesterday, after he'd already interviewed the parents. He wants us to bring up Brown's record when we interview the parents. He'll be outside the house waiting in an unmarked car. He has a search warrant."

<><><>

Carly spotted the unmarked police car as soon as they pulled up in front of the house. Denison was parked less than a block down, in an older model, black Mustang.

Alison Brown's home was a two-level, red brick structure, not unlike the rest of the homes that lined the street in her middle-class neighborhood. The lawn was small and plain with an unkempt hedge that lined the front of the house.

Alison's mother answered the door, and invited them inside. Margaret was a petite woman with dark smudges of exhaustion under her eyes. After Brody did introductions, she expelled a long, tired breath as she led them to the living room where her husband, Raymond, was pouring dark coffee into mugs. Raymond was a thin, wiry man who stiffened when they entered the room. He introduced himself, and indicated for Carly and Brody to sit on the suede brown sofa, while he and Margaret sat in chairs on either side.

Margaret, chewing worriedly on her lower lip, said, "I don't want to seem rude, but I don't understand why investigators from Shawnee County would want to talk to us. Has someone reported seeing our Alison in your county?"

Brody answered, "No, Mrs. Brown. There have been no sightings of Alison." He paused, and then added. "If there is a chance Alison is in Shawnee County, we want to be able to help find her."

Carly glanced at Brody, remembering their decision not to tell the Browns about their Internet predator and the discovery of the bodies. Knowing their child was missing was enough trauma for the parents.

"Thank you for your help," Margaret said, her eyes filling with tears. "I can't believe she's gone." She covered her face with her hands and bent over in her chair, crying so hard her shoulders shook with anguish.

Carly patted Margaret's hand to comfort her. "We know how hard all this must be for you. If you and your husband would please answer some questions, what we learn might help us find your daughter."

Pulling a tissue from her pocket, Margaret dabbed at her eyes. "Ask anything you want."

Brody went first, "Have you noticed any changes in Alison's behavior lately?"

"Yes, the school called me in and told me Alison has been skipping school. I work nights, and it seems Alison was pretending to leave for school. Later when she thought I was asleep, she'd return to the house and hide in her room."

"Had Alison ever skipped school before?"

"Never. She has always been an excellent student and loved going to school. But she changed. For the past few months, she's been quiet, even secretive. Alison spends a lot of time on her laptop in her bedroom behind closed doors."

Brody then turned to Raymond, "What about you? Have you seen any changes in Alison's behavior?

"No. Nothing," he responded, avoiding Brody's eyes.

"There's something else," Margaret offered. "Alison has been especially clumsy lately. She's had a lot of scratches, bruising, scrapes on her knees, even a black eye within the past few weeks. I'm a nurse. I notice these things. When I asked her about them, she said she'd fallen at school or on the way home."

"Interesting." Brody jotted some notes in his small pad. "Ms. Stone, what are some of your questions?"

Directing her response to Margaret, Carly said, "Would it be possible for me to see Alison's room?"

Alison's mother nodded, and led Carly and Brody up the stairs to her daughter's bedroom with Raymond close behind. Once inside the room, Brody stood near the doorway and watched.

Carly looked around the room, taking in everything, questions swirling in her mind. The first thing she noticed was that the room looked too tidy for a preteen girl. The white walls were devoid of any teen rock star posters or bulletin boards with photos of friends. The white bedspread with large purple flowers covered Alison's bed. A matching rug lay perfectly aligned with the bed on the hardwood floor. Crisp white and purple print curtains hung over the windows. A few textbooks, notepads and a pencil holder lay on a white writing desk. A surge protector lay on the floor, but there were no computers, eReaders, or other devices in the room.

"Have you cleaned this room since your first visit with the police?"

"No, why do you ask?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Carly didn't answer and asked, "Does Alison have a computer, ereader or cell phone?"

"Yes, she has a laptop, an eReader, and an iPhone. We noticed they were missing."

"What else did Alison take with her?"

Margaret opened a closet that was as tidy as the rest of the room, with shoes lined up on the floor, and a few shirts, pants, and dresses hanging above them.

"Alison has a small blue rolling suitcase that we can't find. I think she stuffed it with jeans, shirts, and underwear, along with her laptop. She was never without her iPhone in her purse."

Carly moved to a four-drawer white dresser and began opening drawers. Most were nearly empty. When she reached the last drawer, her eyes riveted on the hardwood floor. Bending down to her knees, she ran her index finger over the deep scratches in the wood, she said, "This dresser has been moved several times. See these tracks?" Carly pointed out the scratches leading from the dresser to the bedroom door. She glanced inquiringly at Margaret, who was bending down beside her.

"I've never moved it," said Margaret.

"What about you?" Carly asked Raymond, who paled slightly as he shook his head.

Carly stood, helped Margaret to her feet, and then brushed her hands against her pants. "Here's what I think. Alison moved the dresser. The deep scratches indicate she moved it several times. The scratches lead to the door, which tells me she was trying to keep someone out of her bedroom."

Walking over to the door, Carly said, "This door knob has been tampered with from the outside of the door." She directed the remark to Alison's stepfather, who wiped at a bead of sweat on his brow and nervously glanced at his wife. "Raymond, do you know why Alison might have been moving the dresser against this door?"

"No, of course not," he said defensively, nervously glancing at the doorway that Brody now blocked.

Carly looked at Margaret hard, and asked, "Did Raymond tell you he served eight years in prison?"

"What?" she demanded, as she shot a searching look to her husband. "What's she talking about, Raymond?"

"Tell her about it, Raymond." Brody dared. "Tell your wife how you served time for sexual misconduct with a twelve-year-old child."

With clenched fists, Margaret moved closer to him, searching his face. "You bastard, tell me you didn't hurt my Alison. If you did anything to my little girl, I'll kill you. Do you hear me?" she screamed.

Bolting from the room, Raymond slammed into Brody, knocking him to the floor, and raced down the stairs and out the front door. Carly hurtled over Brody's body, and gave full chase. Brody was close behind. By the time they reached the front yard, Denison had Raymond pinned to the ground and was handcuffing him. Margaret pushed past Carly, and threw herself on top of her husband, sobbing and pounding him with her fists.

"Where's Alison? You bastard. What have you done to Alison?"

Brody pulled a hysterical Margaret off her husband, so Denison could pull Raymond to his feet, and hand him over to an Indianapolis deputy, who'd arrived with his patrol car, lights flashing. Once Raymond was secured in the back seat, the deputy whisked him away.

Sobbing, Margaret broke away from Brody and went into the house. Denison introduced himself and said, "Obviously, Mr. Brown didn't like his record thrown in his face."

"Nope, he didn't like it much," Brody agreed. "Did you get your search warrant?"

"Sure did. Want to join me as I search the house?"

Carly nodded quickly and asked, "Did you put computer equipment on the warrant? I'd like to see his online activities."

"Sure did. Let's see what we can find," Denison responded as he headed for the house. "Later, we'll head down to the station. You may ask Mr. Brown anything you like. I know I have some questions for the pervert."

"Detective, one more thing. Did you talk to neighbors on this street?"

"Yeah, all except house number 600. No one was home that day."

Carly looked at Brody. "If it's okay with you, I'd like to talk to some of the neighbors about Alison."

"Go for it. I'll catch up with you as soon as we finish searching the house."

<><><>

Carly talked to the Brown's neighbors, showing each one Alison's photo. No one had much to say about the young girl. A few neighbors didn't even know who Alison was and were surprised to learn the missing girl lived just a few houses away from them.

Walking to the next house, Carly felt her heart squeeze as she thought of Alison. She was certain Alison was being molested by her stepfather. Based on Margaret's reaction, she was also sure Alison hadn't confided in her mother. Add to that typical teenage angst over her weight, braces, and who knows what else, Alison must have been miserable. The girl was an Internet predator's favorite target—vulnerable and lonely with problems at home, ripe for the flattery and manipulation of a stranger.

Carly reached the small white house at 600 Oak Street. At the end of the street, it sat next to a weed-infested lot littered with trash. Carly knocked on the door several times, and had turned to leave when she heard a voice call her back.

Standing on the porch, was a frail man who looked to be at least one-hundred-years-old.

"Sorry, I can't get to the door as fast as I used to. I'm here now. What do you want?"

Carly inched closer and said, "I'm Carly Stone. I'm working with the Shawnee County Sheriff Department. I'm hoping you'll answer a couple of questions I have."

"Don't mind answering questions, but I do mind standing up to do it. Come up here on the porch, and we'll sit a spell." He sat down on an old aluminum glider and motioned for Carly to sit down on a nearby wooden chair. "My name's Edward Webb. What is it you'd like to ask me?"

Carly pulled Alison's photo out of the file folder she was carrying, and showed it to the old man. "Do you know this girl or have you ever seen her?"

Pulling the photo out of her hand, he held it up, studied it and handed it back to Carly.

"Yes, I've seen her, and it wasn't that long ago. I stood right here on my porch and watched a group of girls beat the crap out of her."

"When was this, Mr. Webb?"

"Last week, I think. Not sure about when I saw her, but I know what I saw. Those girls dragged her through the weeds and broken beer bottles until they reached the dead center of the lot. Then they started kicking and pounding on her with their fists. Poor little thing was screaming her lungs out.

"The girls stopped and ran when they heard me screaming at them. But the girl in your photo wouldn't let me help her. She was beaten up pretty bad and bleeding. I wanted to call the police, but she begged me not to. She ran down the street. I've been wondering about her and whether or not she's okay. Is she?"

"Not exactly," Carly said.

"Hell, if her parents want me to testify against those girls, I'll do it," he promised.

"It's not that, Mr. Webb. She's missing, and we're trying to find her. Thank you for your help."

Carly pulled out her cell phone and called Brody, filling him in on the beating Alison suffered at the hands of a group of girls. He promised to give the information to Denison, who would follow up at the school later.

<><><>

Through closed circuit television at the police station, Brody and Carly watched Denison question Raymond Brown. Sweating profusely, Brown wiped at his forehead with his shirt sleeve. Each time Denison asked him about Alison, Brown lowered his eyes to the floor and refused to answer. Frustrated, Denison prepared to leave the room.