Chapter 7 - The Little Witness
In the pediatric playroom on the fourth floor, Maya sat at a low plastic table.
She had eaten three pancakes and drank an entire carton of chocolate milk, but she still looked like a ghost wrapped in a pink hospital gown.
Dr. Sarah Aris, a child trauma specialist called in from the university medical center, sat across from her with a sketch pad and a box of colored markers.
"You're very good at drawing trees, Maya," Dr. Aris said gently, pointing to the dark pine forest Maya had sketched across the page.
Maya didn't answer. Her small hand, covered in small cuts and bruises, gripped the black marker tightly.
Suddenly, she drew a large, jagged square in the middle of the trees. Inside the square, she drew three tiny circles.
"That's our home," Maya whispered.
"And who is inside?" Dr. Aris asked softly.
"Me. Grace. Leo," Maya said.
"Where is Mommy in the picture?"
Maya pointed the black marker at the floor outside the square. "Mommy is asleep on the grass. She fell down when the bad man pushed her."
Standing in the observation room behind the two-way mirror, Sheriff Marcus Hayes and Dr. Elena Vance watched through headsets.
"She's opening up," Elena whispered.
Marcus leaned closer to the glass. "Ask her about the man," he murmured into his microphone, transmitting to Dr. Aris's earpiece. "Ask what he looked like."
Inside the playroom, Dr. Aris nodded subtly.
"Maya, you mentioned an angry man came to the house before you went on your big walk," Dr. Aris said, keeping her tone light and conversational. "Did you ever see his face?"
Maya stopped drawing. The marker hovered an inch above the paper.
"I was under the bed," Maya said, her voice dropping so low Dr. Aris had to lean in. "Mommy always told me: *'When you hear an engine that isn't the mail truck, you slide under the floorboards and you hold your breath.'*"
"Did you look out, Maya?"
"I saw his shoes," Maya whispered. "Shiny black boots. Like the ones the soldiers wear in Mommy's old magazines. And he had something on his hand."
Marcus gripped the counter in the observation room. "What was on his hand, Maya?"
Maya picked up a silver marker from the box. She carefully drew a circle with sharp, pointed ears on the margin of the page.
"A wolf," Maya said. "A big silver ring with red eyes on his thumb. He tapped it on the doorframe when he laughed at Mommy."
Marcus's eyes widened in sudden realization. He hit the intercom button. "Cole! Get in here!"
Deputy Cole burst into the observation room with an evidence folder. "What is it, Boss?"
"The security guard who was standing behind Julian Sterling in the lobby," Marcus barked. "The one with the shaved head and the scarred eyebrow—Victor Vance. What was he wearing on his left hand?"
Cole froze, his mind replaying the confrontation in the lobby.
"A silver thumb ring," Cole breathed, his eyes expanding in shock. "Shaped like a howling wolf. I noticed it when he adjusted his suit jacket."
"It's him," Marcus snarled, pulling his duty belt tight. "The mercenary Julian hired. He’s the one who padlocked the cabin. He’s the one who broke the insulin vials."
"Marcus, wait," Elena warned, grabbing his arm. "Maya’s testimony is vital, but she's seven years old. A high-priced defense attorney will shred her testimony in five minutes. They'll claim she was traumatized, hallucinating from dehydration, or coached by her mother. You need physical, forensic proof that Victor Vance was in that cabin."
Marcus paused, the rage in his chest colliding with the cold reality of criminal procedure.
"The padlock," Marcus said suddenly.
"What about it?"
"Victor Vance used a brand-new Master Lock to seal that door," Marcus said, his mind racing. "He probably wore gloves when he bought it, but out in that rain? In the dark? Trying to hold a screaming woman down while snapping a padlock onto a latch?"
Marcus turned to Cole. "Where did we send the lock we breached?"
"State crime lab in Charleston," Cole answered. "They put a rush on it, but the queue is forty-eight hours."
May you like
"Call them back," Marcus ordered, heading for the door. "Tell the lab director that if those latent prints aren't pulled and matched within four hours, three children are going to be handed over to a sociopath. Tell them Sheriff Hayes is calling in every favor owed to this county for the last twenty years."
***
