Page 22 of Jar of Hearts
Kim Kellogg approaches, dressed in tight jeans and a fitted jacket, her blond hair swept up into a sleek ponytail. The only indication that his partner is a police detective and not a college student is the gold shield clipped to her jacket. Kim is method where he’s madness, and they’re a good fit on the job. And in bed, too, if he’s being honest.
Everybody has a weakness. Kaiser’s has always been unavailable women.
“How’d it go?” He keeps his voice clipped and professional. There are too many other cops around for him to speak to her casually.
“I checked the missing-persons reports in Seattle,” she says. A stray strand of blond hair blows across her face, and Kaiser moves to brush it away. He catches himself just in time. “Nobody matches the description of the boy. I’ve sent a request out to the surrounding cities, so I’m sure we’ll get a hit soon.”
“He was healthy, with newer clothes,” Kaiser says. “Somebody loved that kid. What about the woman?”
“Nothing yet. I have two officers down at the precinct working on it, but there are too many missing females in that age range.”
“Where’s the guy who found them?”
Kim points to an older couple standing on the sidewalk, talking with a few of the other neighbors. “Mr. and Mrs. Heller. He found them; she called 911. I’ll bring them over.”
Cliff Heller is a sixtysomething-year-old retiree with snow-white hair and a beard to match, and he looks completely traumatized to have discovered the bodies. Roberta Heller is a full foot shorter than her husband, dressed in a fluffy white bathrobe with exactly one pink hair curler secured above her forehead. In contrast, she looks elated to be involved in the most exciting thing that’s happened in her neighborhood in a while. Her enthusiasm would be dampened considerably if she had actually seen the two dead bodies.
“I have a ’69 ’Vette that I’ve been trying to fix up for the past few years,” Cliff Heller tells Kaiser. “Body’s in good shape; she’d be sweet if I could get her going again. I popped into the garage after breakfast, thinking I’d get a bit of work done on it before we had to leave for church—”
“He doesn’t care about the stupid Corvette,” his wife interrupts.
“Right. So the dog starts yapping and I thought I’d take her into the woods for a go.” Heller sighs. “Usually I walk her, but it was raining—”
“He doesn’t care about the rain,” his wife snaps again.
“And that’s when you found the bodies,” Kaiser prompts.
“Maggie found them,” Heller says, his shoulders sagging. He points to their house, where Kaiser could make out a furry golden face in the window, watching the street commotion. “She started barking, and then she was digging at something, and I saw an arm sticking out of the dirt. At first I thought it was a doll, but when I got closer, I realized it wasn’t attached to anything. It was… it was quite a shock. I fell back, and that’s when I found the boy.”
Heller’s chin begins to waver, and then his voice chokes. “I know I wasn’t supposed to touch him, but when I saw his face and his arm peeking out from the hole, I didn’t think, I just reacted. I… I pulled him out of the dirt. He’s so small. We got grandkids that age.” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them again a moment later, he’s calmer. “I didn’t mess up the crime scene, did I?”
“You reacted how any normal person would.”
“Thank god.” The confirmation that he didn’t screw anything up seems to make Heller feel better. His wife rubs his back with one hand. With the other hand, she takes a sip of her coffee, her gaze flitting around, watching the officers work.
Kaiser asks a few more questions. Neither Heller remembers seeing anything strange the evening before, no unfamiliar cars parked in the cul-de-sac, no flashlights, and no noises or voices.
“We do go to bed pretty early,” Cliff Heller says. “Eight-thirty, nine at the latest. So we wouldn’t have seen anything after then, anyway.”
“Say, does this have anything to do with Angela Wong?” Roberta Heller asks brightly, looking up at Kaiser. The lone pink curler above her forehead bobs. “You know, the girl who went missing all those years ago? Her remains were found in these woods, I’m not sure if you’re aware of that. It could be related. Walter must be going out of his mind wondering what the heck is going on.”
Kaiser’s head snaps up. “Walter?”
“Walter Shaw,” Mrs. Heller says. She points to the house with the blue door. “His daughter was the one who—”
“I know who she is.” Kaiser stares at the blue door. “He still lives there?” He could have sworn Walter sold the house a few years back.
“Yes, and his daughter will be moving in with him in a few days.” Roberta Heller sniffs. “Back here, to this neighborhood! She’s been in prison, you know. I like Walter, but let me tell you, his daughter is a piece of work. Uppity little thing with her big important job, always clicking around in her high heels whenever she came back to visit. And all along, her best friend is buried in these very woods. I always knew something was off about her—”
“Enough, Roberta,” her husband says, placing a hand on her arm. “Enough.”
It’s all Kaiser can do not to rip the ridiculous curler out of the woman’s hair. Instead, he hands Cliff Heller his card. “You think of anything more, call me, day or night.”
The bodies are being moved. Kim has done a good job pushing the crowd farther away from the cul-de-sac, and only a handful of neighbors standing nearby can see the covered remains—one of them extremely small—being loaded into the backs of the emergency vehicles. Cliff Heller looks as if he might cry again, and even Roberta Heller softens a little at the sight of that tiny shape.
Kaiser takes a moment to scan the handful of people who are still milling around. All appear to be residents of the neighborhood, coffee cups or dog leashes in hand; more than a few are still in their pajamas. Civilians are always drawn to the excitement of a crime scene.
A second later, his eyes fix on a face. Not a face in the crowd. A face behind glass. Someone is home in the house with the blue door.Kaiser walks toward it, and a few seconds later his finger is poised above the doorbell. The door opens before he can press it.
