Chapter Three
The Dead Walk
As it turned out, we didn’t have to wait long for answers.
“I’m looking for Claire Roberts.”
“May I ask who is calling?” I cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder and carried the basket of towels to the kitchen table.
“This is Officer Lance Jones, ma’am. I responded to a nine-one-one call at your residence on the fifteenth.”
“Oh, yes, I remember.” I shook lint from a towel onto the floor and began folding the thick terry cloth into fourths. “What can I do for you?”
“The results of the finger print analysis made its way across my desk this morning. You’ll need to come into the station, Ms. Roberts.”
“Come to the station?” I dropped the neatly folded towel back onto the table and put a hand on the telephone. “What for?”
“I need to discuss the lab results with you and ask a few questions.”
“So, I need a lawyer?” Did I mention that I don’t particularly trust the police?
“Nothing like that, Ms. Roberts. When can you make it in to the station?”
I checked my watch, noting that I still had another hour and a half before I was due to pick Ashley up from school. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Fine. Check in at the front desk.”
“See you then.” I hung up and rushed to grab my purse and shoes.
The drive to the police station took longer than it normally would have after I took the wrong exit on the highway. I wasted ten minutes doing an illegal U-turn and circling back around. I guess you could say I was a little bit on edge. Then again, who wouldn’t have been under the circumstances? I was about to find out who had tried to get into my daughter’s bedroom window.
As I threw the car into park and climbed the steps to the station, I told myself to be grateful to the police for finding the man. Or woman, as Jones would have put it. Personally, I had never heard of a woman attempting to break into a child’s bedroom in the middle of the night. An ex-husband or a boyfriend? Sure, that I could see. But a woman? I shook my head and thought about making a side bet with Officer Jones before quickly scratching the idea. Considering he knew who had been in my yard that night, the odds were decidedly stacked against me.
“Don’t bet the house,” I muttered before pushing through the plate glass doors. Or in this case, don’t bet the police station. I got the feeling I would lose.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Lance Jones.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes, he is expecting me.” Since when did you need an appointment at the police station?
“Take a seat. I’ll let him know that you are here, Ms…?”
“Roberts.”
The receptionist nodded and punched a button on the intercom system.
Lance appeared about a minute later and ushered me into an office near the back of the station.
“Good afternoon, Claire.”
“Good afternoon. You said the results came back from the lab this morning?”
Officer Jones pulled a file from the sizable stack that littered his desk, opened it, and slid the papers in front of me.
“Do you recognize this man?”
I peered down at the grainy photograph he had placed before me. It was a mug shot, and an older one at that. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, but I couldn’t seem to place him. I said as much to Officer Jones.
“Don’t you have a better picture of him? I just can’t be certain….” I trailed off and raised my hands in an apologetic shrug. “Sorry.”
He shuffled through the papers in the file again and handed me a second image. “Do you recognize this photograph?”
It was a full color print of the man in the mug shot. The image was a close up head shot that showcased every roughhewn detail of the man’s facial features in garish detail. Wheat-colored hair, pale skin, eyes closed.
“Oh my God!” I jumped out of my seat and pointed at the photograph as though I were attempting to ward off evil.
“Something wrong, Claire?”
“Is something wrong?” I parroted in disbelief. “Is something wrong? Are you serious?” I demanded incredulously.
“Do you recognize him now?”
“Please tell me that the man in that photograph is sleeping. Tell me that you did not just hand me a picture of a dead man.”
“I apologize if you find this upsetting somehow.”
“Somehow?” I snorted.
“At the present time, these are the only two images that I have in Mr. Atkins’ file.”
“Who?”
“Earl T. Atkins.”
“The corpse?”
“Yes, Ms. Roberts, the corpse.”
“No. I’m sorry, but the name isn’t familiar to me. Neither is the…picture.” I forced myself to take a seat at the desk and folded my hands in front of my lap. “Why are you asking me about this man? I came here to find out who was sneaking around my property.”
“And I have just told you. The fingerprints that were taken from your window have been identified as Earl T. Atkins.”
“Well I’m sorry, but I have never seen that man before in my life. And I hate to break this to you, but I don’t suppose he will be bothering my family again anytime soon. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to get my daughter from school.”
“We aren’t finished here, Ms. Roberts.”
“Excuse me, officer, but that man is dead,” I spoke slowly.
“Yes, that man is dead.”
“Well I don’t see how—” I broke off as the meaning of his statement finally hit home. “You think I killed him.”
“Earl T. Atkins died last year, Ms. Roberts. What I want to know is how a dead man managed to walk through your property last week and then vanish without a trace.”