08: Calling the Cops

IV: Dealing With the Devil

When we hold each other, in the darkness,
it doesn’t make the darkness go away.
The bad things are still out there. The nightmares still walking.
When we hold each other we feel not safe, but better.
“It’s all right” we whisper, “I’m here, I love you.”
and we lie: “I’ll never leave you.”
For just a moment or two the darkness doesn’t seem so bad.

Neil Gaiman

8: Calling the Cops

“Great idea,” I said. “Call the police. Call the fucking police.”

Ava Gardner

Entering her bedroom again, Peg glanced around to ensure it was safe. Sure enough, her door was shut—likely so her mom wouldn’t be reminded she’d thrown her out whenever she passed by. After her trying night, she was determined to put Jason’s disappearance—and Frank’s role in it—behind her. It was time she accepted responsibility for her life. She couldn’t do that with the huge weight of what’d happened—what she’d allowed to happen to Jason—continually dragging her down.

Crawling across the same green comforter, she scooted across the bed and stood, listening. Hearing nothing but the low hum of the house’s central air, she cracked the door and peered out. The hallway was empty. Slipping out, she silently shut her door and crept towards her mother’s bedroom, encouraged by her singing softly in the kitchen. Seeing no one, she slipped in and crossed to the head of the bed. Taking her mom’s phone off the hook and hearing a dial tone, she slid down until she was sitting with her back to the bed.

Dialing, she cradled the handset between her ear and shoulder, waiting as it rang. It didn’t take long.

“911, what’s your name and why are you calling?” the operator answered.

“My name is Peg Winchester, and I’m at nine thirty-three Maple Lane,” she whispered into the receiver.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll need to speak up. Did you say Peggy Chester?”

“No, It’s Peg Winchester,” she repeated, enunciating the words but not raising her voice. “I can’t talk any louder, ‘cause my mom doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Are you in any danger?”

“No, but the police want to talk to me. If they get here soon, I’ll be in my room, but I can’t stay for long.” She hesitated. “My mother threw me out.”

“Wait, the name sounds familiar,” the woman paused a few moments. “Yes, there’s a watch out for a Peggy Winchester at that address. There’s a search and hold order for you.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I’m ready to talk, but I can’t remain here long.”

“I’ll send a squad car to pick you up, it’ll take several minutes for it to reach you.”

“I’ll only speak to the detectives. If anyone else arrives, I won’t be here.”

“They may not be available.”

“If they want to learn what happened to Jason Eddings, they’d better come now or they never will.”

“Hold on, while I check.”

Lowering the phone, Peg listened for her mother’s voice. Hearing her continued singing, she held it to her ear again. It took several minutes. “The detective assigned to your case isn’t in, so we’re sending another to speak with you. It will take longer for him to reach you than a squad car.”

“That’s fine, but if a police vehicle shows up, I won’t be here. When they arrive, they should tell my mother they want to examine my room, as it’s where I’ll be.” Peg noticed her mom stopped singing, so she lowered the receiver, listening.

“I’ll tell them, but if you’re not living at home, where are you staying?”

“Someplace you’ll never find me,” she assured her, speaking even softer.

Hearing footsteps approaching on the wooden floor outside, Peg stood, hanging up. Realizing she couldn’t escape, she dropped to her belly and squeezed under her mom’s bed.

It was a snug fit, yet she could see her mom’s feet if she entered. She remained silent, waiting.

A light went on in the hallway, and several moments later she heard her mom peeing in the hall bathroom. Peg wondered whether she dared try for her room, when the phone rang, shocking her.

Scooting further back under the bed, she froze. Hurrying in after a few rings, her mother’s heels tapped the floor a few feet from her face.

“Hello?” She listened to the other end of the conversation. “I’m sorry, but she’s not here. She ran away and has been missing for several days. I have no idea where she is.”

Remaining silent, she sat on the bed, causing it to sag and press into Peg’s back.

“Trust me, she won’t call. The girl is unhinged, suffers from delusions, and is a danger to herself. If you find her, I hope you plan on keeping her. I can’t count on her not doing something crazy.”

The moments inched past before she continued. “I’ll bear it in mind,” she said, hanging up and growling, before sighing heavily. She sat for several agonizing minutes, before standing and walking out. Peg waited, listening to her footsteps recede into the distance. Crawling out from under the bed, she prepared to dart back if she detected a sound.

Not hearing anything, she stood and approached the still open door. Peering out, she noticed the bathroom light was out, so she slid out and padded silently to her room. Letting herself in, she closed the door behind her. With nothing to do but wait, she sat on the bed for a while before folding her legs under her and reaching for one of her stuffed bears. Holding it to her face, she waited, rehearsing what she’d tell the detectives—assuming they came.

After a long time, as Peg once more considered abandoning the unpleasant task, she heard the doorbell. Standing, she crossed to her door, opening it and listening.

She couldn’t discern much, but her mother’s voice rose in pitch as she accused someone of something. Realizing worrying about discussions in another room didn’t help, she closed the door, sat on the bed and waited. She couldn’t hear any of the conversation, but several long minutes later she noted approaching footsteps: her mom’s light heels and a man’s heavier footfalls. Someone knocked on her door.

“I’m telling you, there’s no one there,” her mother asserted. “I don’t understand why you’re wasting your time!”

“Come in,” Peg called.

The door handle rattled and a man in a worn suit entered, her mother Melinda gaping at her behind him. “How did you—”

“Are you Peggy Winchester?” he asked, reading from a paper and comparing it to her face.

“Peg. I never use my full name,” she said.

“How did you get in, and how long have you been sneaking in without our knowledge?” Her mom paused, reconsidering her question. “Who gave you the new key?”

“Never mind,” the man continued, entering the room and sitting beside her. He took something from his jacket pocket, and laid a small digital recorder between them. “I need to record this for legal reasons, as well to protect us both. He switched the device on. Could you state your full name and birthdate?”

She cleared her throat. “My name is ... Peggy Winchester, though everyone knows me as Peg. I was born on October fifteenth, twelve years ago.”

“Terrific, and you’re aware this conversation is being recorded?”

“I am.”

“Good. I’m Detective Thomas Wilks,” he said, reciting his badge number and current position.

“I’m sorry,” Melinda interrupted, “is she allowed to speak to you without my permission?”

“Mrs. Winchester, she reported knowing about a suspicious missing person’s case. You also filed one regarding her, so we’re fully authorized to question her about both.”

She clutched and flexed her hands, struggling to make sense of what was happening. “What about her father? Are you allowed to interrogate her without his permission?”

“He’s not my father,” Peg contended. “My father died years ago.”

“If I’m not mistaken, Frank Barnes has no legal role in her life. You’re not married and he never filed for custody. He has no lawful standing in her life. Is that clear?”

Her hands stopped flexing and were now clenched by her side.

“Continuing, just to be open, you are not living here at the moment, are you?”

“No, mom threw me out of the house, and told me never to return.”

“And Mrs. Winchester, didn’t you change the locks, denying her access to both food and shelter, without arranging any kind of alternate care?”

“She ran away! She has a long history of making outlandish claims. She’s unable to separate truth from fantasy, and she left rather than obey our rules.”

“I’m sorry, but you didn’t answer the question.”

“Yes, I did,” she hissed, her nostrils flaring. “She snuck into my home—like she did now—begging for money so she could run off with some boy. They likely used it for drugs. She’s obviously a threat to herself.”

“On the contrary, she appears thoughtful, composed and sensible, unlike you, Mrs. Winchester. However, I never requested those additional details, as personally damning as they are. I only asked whether you’d changed the locks to document the formal relationship between you.”

“Yes,” she said, more softly than before. “I replaced them after she ran away the last time, fearing she’d break in again and steal more money. Did you know they stole thousands from Frank—whatever your assumptions about him.”

“No, I didn’t, but then you never filed charges. So, at this point, you’re making baseless claims for no apparent reason. This isn’t an official position, but I think your wish just came true. Rather than worrying about her returning here, we’ll arrange for her to enter foster care. Whatever the underlying relationship, it’s clear she won’t get any support here.”

“I’m not leaving my house,” Peg insisted.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Thomas said, patting her hand. “For now, we need to work through your testimony,” he glanced meaningfully at her mother, “irrelevant distractions aside. Now, what can you tell me about the time you and Jason spent together.”

“As I wrote, we were playing when a white van pulled up. They asked for me, saying mom was in the Emergency Room and demanded I get in. When I questioned them, the two men got out and approached us. That was when I asked for the safe word my Mother and I use. The one Frank never bothered learning. When they couldn’t answer and started chasing us, I called for help and ran.” She paused. “Jason, not knowing what was happening, didn’t. The driver grabbed him.”

“I see,” he said, her mother still too angry to respond. “And how did you escape?”

Peg’s eyes widened and she drew back, realizing she didn’t have an answer. “Uh ... I ran, and barely got away.”

“And why didn’t you return home and report the incident? Or rather, why did you run away?”

Peg swallowed, taking a moment. “The men seemed familiar with Frank. They not only knew me and where I was—something only he and my mom knew—he’s been ... touching me, repeatedly. I now know from speaking to other kids who’ve been through this, that it’s something called ‘grooming’. They start off with simple touches, each becoming more intimate and seemingly minor. It’s designed to wear us down so we won’t protest.”

“Please,” her mother argued. “You’ve hated him since he first moved in. You’re always imagining some crime he’s supposedly committed, no matter how outlandish. You resent that, now that you’re older, you’re no longer the single thing in my life.”

Detective Wilks allowed the accusation to sink in before following up. “How about it Peg? Have you always ‘had a thing about him,’ not allowing yourself to see his good side?”

“No. I wanted to, but he’s always ready to pounce as soon as my mother turns her back. He’s always offering me back rubs, which quickly become much more. He started touching my back or arm, then progressed to my knee. His hand kept inching closer, until he was pawing my ... privates.”

“Please!” Melinda whined. “Do you hear this nonsense? Frank has never done anything to her. Ever since he moved in, he’s told me how she treats him. When I’m there everything is fine, but as soon as I leave her claws come out.”

Peg hesitated, sniffling and wiping her face. She felt an overwhelming compulsion to ignore the adults and escape via her hole to another place—anywhere else!

“He kept coming to my bedroom while you were downstairs or in bed, waking me and wanting to cuddle. He’d press himself against me, or keep touching places I didn’t want him to. When he tried to touch my ... it was too much. I flew into a rage, hitting him. When it didn’t stop, I kicked him in the nuts. That did! Only he threatened me, saying I’d be sorry. He kept trying again, but I stopped him every time.” She wavered, waiting for a response. When none came, she continued.

“Shortly after, realizing he couldn’t manipulate me, he sent those men after me. Given the relationship between them, and their interest in ... hurting me, I didn’t feel safe coming home anymore.”

“So, your unease with him and your accusations began once he started touching you?” Her lower lip quivering, she nodded. She didn’t like discussing these intimate details—especially with her mother there denying everything. It was different with Paul. He not only understood, he’d been through it himself, offering suggestions and explaining what Frank was up to. Here, she felt like she was in the wrong.”

“All right, having established the basics, let’s focus on the identification. Your sketches, while helpful, weren’t nearly detailed enough. Normally, we’d sit with a forensic artist to prepare an accurate rendering, but you seem reluctant to visit the station. Therefore, I’ve brought a device to help us create one,” Thomas explained, pulling out a medium-sized tablet. He scooted over, so they could both observe what he was doing. Melinda leaned over to watch.

“I’ll pull up various facial types and you tell me whether they’re close, or need to be leaner, fatter, or something else. I’ll then narrow down the selection until we’ve picked the proper face. Then we’ll move on the eyes, eyebrows, nose, lips and jaw. Finally, we’ll add any unique features, like scars, moles or tattoos. Got it?”