Page 38 of Haunted By Sin
As Sylvie stepped out onto the appropriate floor, she hadn’t expected to find a sea of cubicles spanning the entire level. Phones were constantly ringing, no one was afforded private conversations, and voices were being raised to ensure no one misunderstood what was being said. Not one private office had been constructed with a scenic view. As for her sense of smell, it was accosted by the stench of burnt coffee.
“Excuse me,” Sylvie said, ensuring her voice was heard over the nearest conversation. “I’m looking for Fred Dawkins.”
A middle-aged woman didn’t bother to stop her progress across the floor. She pointed toward the back of the room without saying a word, either.
“Dawkins is the first cubicle on the left-hand side at the far end,” a male subject said as he spun his chair around to face her. He flashed a smile as he held the receiver of his desk phone to his ear. “Unless I can help you.”
“Thanks, anyway,” Sylvie said, returning his smile. He was only being friendly, very unlike the disposition of Cav Buckley. “Have a good day.”
She began to advance down the thin aisle separating the cubicles. No one gave her a second glance. Once she reached the designated cubicle, she recognized the man occupying the space immediately. He was in his mid-fifties, though there wasn’t a streak of gray in his jet-black hair.
“…an exception? The kid just turned six years old last month. His mother overdosed and is in the hospital for the next few days. We’re talking about a week max,” Fred pleaded as he rubbed his temple having no idea that Sylvie was standing at the entrance of his cubicle. “No, the boy’s father is in prison. No grandparents, aunts, or uncles are on record.”
Fred’s shoulders relaxed somewhat upon hearing the response that he so clearly wanted…needed…to have in order for a six-year-old boy to have a safe place to stay for the time being.
“Thank you, Mrs. Nestine. I’ll pick Kyle up from the hospital and bring him to you in a few hours. See you soon.”
Fred lowered the receiver, finally catching sight of Sylvie’s shadow. He didn’t startle, but it was evident by the surprise on his face that he had been expecting a coworker. His glance at the computer screen to note the time gave credence to her assumption.
“You must be Sylvie Deering,” Fred said as he quickly stood from his chair. He shook her hand before gesturing toward the black chair that had been positioned tight against his filing cabinet. “Please, have a seat.”
“I know that I’m a few minutes early,” Sylvie said as she removed a cup of coffee from the cardboard holder, extending it toward him. “After Saturday’s appointment was rescheduled, I didn’t want to take any chances. I’m in from out of town.”
“I didn’t even think to ask,” Fred said ruefully as he took the proffered cup. He waited until she was sitting comfortably before he reclaimed his own chair. “I apologize for making you stay the weekend. I was on call this weekend, and—”
“No need to apologize, Mr. Dawkins.” Sylvie placed her purse underneath her chair before handing over the cupholder to Fred. He tossed it in the small trashcan underneath his desk, not noticing that she had removed a piece of paper that she had tucked inside her purse. “I was just implying that meeting with you earlier will be beneficial to both of us.”
“On the phone, you mentioned that you wanted to discuss Sheila Wallace.” Fred opened his desk drawer and pulled out two pink sugar packets. “Why is the FBI investigating Sheila? She not only died a year ago, but she removed herself from fostering children at least a decade ago, if not longer.”
“Was there anyone who would have wanted to hurt Sheila?”
“Hurt?” Fred had removed the white lid from his coffee cup, but his motions stilled when he assumed that Sylvie meant Sheila had been murdered. Sylvie didn’t bother to correct him. She had been through this same conversation multiple times. “I had heard that Sheila died from a stroke.”
“I realize that the last time you spoke with Ms. Wallace was over a decade ago, but can you recall anyone who would have wanted to harm her? A foster child? A biological parent?”
Sylvie and Theo had gone down a rabbit hole last night, because the motive was subjective at this point in the investigation. Had Sheila Wallace abused one of her foster children? Did a biological parent want revenge on the system? Was someone from the original recipient’s family livid over their loved one dying because someone else was given Wallace’s heart?
The team needed to find a way to narrow down their suspect list.
“Mr. Dawkins, I spoke with Andrea Simpson, Tyler Doss, and Mitch Swilling on Saturday. They shared their experiences in that home. Sheila Wallace wasn’t the best foster parent, and it’s my understanding that you were well aware of that fact.”
Fred Dawkins had finished pouring the two sugar packets into his coffee, but he made no move to pick up his beverage. Since he was clean-shaven, it was hard not to notice the way he was gritting his teeth. He finally met her gaze with disgust.
“This job…these kids…we do the best we can. Sheila wasn’t the best foster parent, but she sure as hell wasn’t the worst. For some, her home was better than the alternative.”
“I couldn’t do what you do on a daily basis, Mr. Dawkins,” Sylvie said softly, knowing that their conversation was probably being listened to by others. It would have been ideal to have this conversation in private, but this floor didn’t even have a conference room. “Just as I’m sure you would say the same thing about my job. I’m not here to judge you for the decisions you made then or now. I just need a list of foster children who would be twenty-five to thirty-five years of age today who had been in Ms. Wallace’s care.”
Sylvie set her Chai tea down on the small filing cabinet and unfolded the warrant. She then handed it to him without hesitation.
“We were able to secure a warrant for any information on those who fall inside the requirements.” Sylvie gave Dawkins a moment to review the document. It provided her time to reach back into her purse and pull out one of her business cards. Once she had placed it on the corner of his desk, she picked up her Chai tea in hopes of keeping the meeting civil. “I’ll ask you again, Mr. Dawkins. Is there any foster child who harbored enough animosity towards Sheila Wallace that they might have been driven to extreme action?”
“No.” Fred cleared his throat as he leaned back in his chair. “Some had tempers, some were resentful, but I don’t believe any of them would have physically harmed Sheila.”
Sylvie didn’t bother to correct his assumption that this was regarding Sheila Wallace’s death. Sylvie needed to steer the topic of conversation toward Dawkins’ son, but she wanted to do so in a manner that wouldn’t shut down the discussion.
“When I visited with Andrea, Tyler, and Mitch, they mentioned that you used to bring your son to the youth center once a week.” Sylvie kept her tone conversational. “Shane became close with the children you helped over the years, is that a correct assumption?”
“I raised my son to help others less fortunate.” The lines around Fred’s eyes softened when he spoke of Shane. “Yes, I used to bring him to the youth center. Kids respond to other kids. They trust one another in ways that they don’t adults, which is understandable. These children end up in the system because the adults who they were supposed to count on failed in their responsibilities.”