Chapter Sixteen

Sylvie adjusted her sunglasses as she kept her focus on Sheila Wallace's residence. Wallace had been an organ donor, and her heart had been given to Mary Jane Reynolds. With the SUV's engine shut off, the sun's rays intensified the warmth radiating off the dark dashboard. Seeing as only one vehicle was parked in the driveway, Sylvie wasn't in a rush to approach the front door.

"So Bouras was just parked outside the lake house?" Sylvie asked as she began to observe the other homes in the neighborhood. It wouldn't be a bad idea to knock on some doors to ask questions about Sheila Wallace. "Sitting in his car, and waiting for one of you to walk outside? What was his reasoning?"

"Bouras claimed to be checking in on the case, hoping to ease Mary Jane's concerns. He says that she isn't sleeping at night and is constantly on edge." Bit's voice was a bit muffled by the wind. He had mentioned that he was walking from the lake house to the pier for lunch. "Even though Bouras has alibis, Boss isn't too keen on his excuse as to why he sought out our physical location."

"Which was…what?" Sylvie prodded as movement in her rearview mirror caught her attention. An older model car was slowly pulling to a stop behind her. "I need to go, Bit."

"Bouras claimed that he couldn't find Boss' business card that she left with Mary Jane at the house," Bit summed up quickly while Sylvie unfastened her seatbelt. She quickly removed her sunglasses. "Anyway, the reason that I was calling was to tell you that no one deleted Sheila Wallace's social media accounts. She had no social media presence to begin with…none."

"Thanks, Bit." Sylvie reached into one of the cup holders where she had stored her eyeglasses. She wiped away a smudge on the black rims before settling them on the bridge of her nose. "I'll let you know how the interviews go this afternoon. Bye."

Sylvie lowered her phone as she checked her side mirror. A man stepped out of the car, thus removing the glare from the front windshield. She recognized him from his picture—Tyler Doss. He was thirty years old, and he had been placed with Sheila Wallace at the age of sixteen years old. Sylvie and Bit had spent hours collecting names and photographs of every child placed in Sheila Wallace's home who would fit the age parameters of their unsub.

After collecting her purse and palming the keys, Sylvie reached for the door handle. The temperature was a tad cooler outside the SUV, and there was the faint scent of fresh-cut grass lingering in the air. She shut the door with a slight shove before offering her hand.

"Tyler Doss? I'm Sylvie Deering," she introduced before taking a step back. She had worn a light pink cardigan over a pair of white pants. She had paired with it a thick mauve belt to have a comfortable place to holster her weapon. The man's gaze immediately dropped to her firearm. "I appreciate you and the others meeting me here."

Tyler Doss was broad-shouldered, sported a beard, and wore an inexpensive suit that most car salesmen dressed in during the workday. His grip had been firm, but it was obvious from his frown that he would rather be anywhere else but Sheila Wallace's residence.

"You didn't say what this was about." Tyler fell into step beside Sylvie as she began to walk up the driveway. "Why is the FBI interested in Sheila Wallace? She died last year."

"There has been some information that has come to light over the past few days," Sylvie said, purposefully keeping her response vague. "I'm surprised that the house hasn't been listed for sale yet."

"Sheila didn't have any kids of her own, so she left it to Andrea." Tyler stepped forward quickly so that he could reach for the screen door. "Here. Let me get that."

Andrea Simpson was the woman who had inherited Sheila Wallace's home. While Andrea hadn't been the donor's biological daughter, their relationship must have been close enough to warrant a will. Such information could come in handy over the next few hours.

Sylvie nodded her appreciation to Tyler before stepping over the threshold. The house didn't have a porch, and it didn't appear as if Andrea had taken an interest in gardening. The flowerbeds contained dead leaves, and the only reason the soil appeared somewhat healthy was courtesy of the recent rains.

Sylvie caught the faint, stale odor of old cigarette smoke as she entered the living room. The smell lingered in the air, but any quick movement caused the scent to vanish. The musky aroma simply wasn't overpowering enough to assume that Andrea was the smoker.

Stepping into the living room was like entering the past—one wall consisted of wooden panels from the 70s, while the other three had faded wallpaper that peeled at the edges. The darkness of the room cast shadows everywhere, making it all too easy to notice the dust floating in the sunlight that streamed through the windows.

"Ty? Is that you?" A woman materialized from what Sylvie assumed was the kitchen. "Oh, you must be the FBI agent."

"Consultant," Sylvie corrected as she reached out to shake the woman's hand. "My name is Sylvie Deering, and I work with SE Investigations out of Washington, D.C."

"Hey, Andrea." Tyler stepped around Sylvie so that he could kiss Andrea on the cheek. Sylvie didn't pick up anything more intimate than a brotherly and sisterly vibe. "It's been a while. Sorry about that. Business has been booming since the warm weather moved in."

Andrea patted Tyler's hand before gesturing that Sylvie should take a seat. The living room furniture hadn't been updated in decades. The blue and brown fabric of the couch and matching chairs were frayed in the front from overuse, and there were indentations in the cushions.

"Can I get you anything to drink? A water? Soda?" Andrea offered as she didn't follow behind Tyler and Sylvie right away. "I might have some apple juice, too."

"No, thank you," Sylvie replied as she claimed the chair. She set her purse on the floor. "I just have a few questions, but should we wait for Mitch Swilling?"

"Mitch?" Tyler's body language suggested disbelief upon hearing the man's name. "Andrea, you didn't tell me that Mitch was back in town."

"Then maybe you should come around more often." Andrea' sharp reply startled Sylvie. The woman had initially come across as quite timid. "Sorry. I'm a little stressed since I was let go from the hotel. Mitch came back into town around six months ago. He's been dropping in every now and then, so when the FBI called about Sheila, I told Mitch that he should be here."

Tyler cleared his throat when he realized that Sylvie was quietly waiting until they were done speaking to ask her questions. She wouldn't have minded if they had continued their conversation.

"I haven't seen Mitch in years," Tyler explained as he rested his elbows on his knees. He didn't bother leaning back against the cushion, and his body language suggested that he wasn't comfortable in the house. "As you already know, Sheila was our foster mother. There were a lot of foster kids in and out of this place."

"What can you tell me about Sheila?" Sylvie asked, deciding not to wait for Mitch. Tyler might be more inclined to answer questions without someone else around whom he clearly wasn't comfortable with. "Was she a good foster mother?"

Tyler's jaw clenched as he turned to stare at Andrea. Andrea slowly inhaled while giving Sylvie a tight smile. She certainly had her answer.

"Sheila was okay. She didn't go above and beyond, and she left us alone for the most part." Andrea subconsciously began to pick at her cuticles. "I've been in worse homes."

"We were walking, talking checks. It's that simple." Tyler's tone was flat. "When the first of the month came, we'd get a home-cooked meal. The rest of the time? We were on our own. Sheila gave us all one shelf…collectively. Sometimes there was food on it, other times it was bare."

Sylvie camouflaged her wince by glancing down at her wrist. She had gotten used to wearing a smartwatch to monitor her heart rate during her recovery, and she liked that the watch linked to her phone. The fact that Bit would be able to track her should something else just as tragic happen gave her a sense of security.

"Miss Simpson, is that how you—"

"Call me Andrea," she replied with a shrug.

"Andrea, is that how you recall what it was like to live here?" Sylvie inquired, curious as to why someone would opt to stay in a place with such appalling memories. "I'm aware that Sheila left you her home, but you could have opted to sell the house for cash."

"Knowing that I have a permanent place to live is worth more than what a realtor could get me for this place," Andrea said with an unmistakable bitterness. "Besides, Sheila treated the girls better than the boys. I actually didn't move out when I turned eighteen. I was on a cleaning crew at a local motel. I offered to pay rent, and Sheila took me up on it. I was one of the last fosters in this place anyway. Her health had started to take a turn for the worse."

"Was Sheila ever physically abusive to any of the foster children?"

"No."

Both Tyler and Andrea had spoken in unison, but it was clear that Sheila had done enough damage without needing to lift a hand. Sylvie began to warm up to the idea that their unsub might have been one of the children placed in Sheila's care.

"It's my understanding that Sheila had about thirty-six children in and out of her home over a span of fifteen years. Do you know if any of them would have wanted to hurt Sheila?"

"No," Tyler said a bit too hesitantly for Sylvie's liking, but she got the sense that he wasn't hiding information as much as he was thinking back to his childhood. "As Andrea said, we were the last batch of kids to be placed here before Sheila's health started to decline. She—"

"…was a cold-hearted bitch."

A deep voice came through the screen door before it swung open and revealed a tall, lean man whom Sylvie recognized as Mitch Swilling. The picture that Bit had uploaded to their files must have been from a time when the man had an affinity for facial hair. He was currently clean-shaven, and his thin lips were compressed in disgust.

"Mitch," Tyler greeted in a rather deadpan tone. It was obvious that the two men didn't get along. "It's been a while."

"Years, but who's counting?" Mitch had yet to take his gaze off Sylvie, but it had nothing to do with her looks and everything to do with her reason for requesting to speak with them. "You the fed?"

"Consultant." Sylvie stood from the chair, her movements deliberate. She shook his hand, determined not to display any emotion when he tightened his grip more firmly than needed. "I appreciate you taking time off work to speak with me, Mr. Swilling."

Sylvie had purposely phrased her statement in such a way as to prompt a typical person's reply, which would normally contain detailed information. Considering that Bit hadn't been able to ascertain an employer for Mitch, she was interested as to how the man made his living.

Unfortunately, Mitch didn't take the bait.

"Why are you here asking questions about Sheila?"

Sylvie reclaimed her seat, not letting on that Mitch's decision to remain standing unsettled her. It was clear that had been his intention, but she had learned from the best not to wear her emotions on her sleeve.

"I've got to say that I'm a bit curious about this line of questioning, too," Tyler said after he let his gaze slide away from Mitch in disgust. Depending on how long Theo wanted to remain in Ann Arbor, Sylvie would suggest speaking with each of these people on an individual basis. They were liable to garner more information that way. "You asked if we knew of anyone who wanted to hurt Sheila, but it wasn't like she was murdered last year. She had a stroke."

"We have it on good authority that a donor recipient's life is in danger, and we believe that the imminent threat is in connection to the transplant operation," Sylvie replied without giving away too many pertinent details. "We're merely touching base with anyone associated with the donor, the recipient, and those individuals involved in the operation."

"Are you saying that she was murdered?" Andrea asked in confusion.

"No, I'm not saying anything of the sort. There are just some details that we need to confirm regarding her status as an organ donor."

Tyler's hand found the back of his neck once more. He didn't handle stress well, and she figured that he popped antacids daily. Working on commission probably didn't help his anxiety level, either. Mitch, on the other hand, didn't react to her response one way or the other.

"You mentioned that the three of you were the last of the foster children placed in Sheila's home, but did you ever meet any of the previous foster kids? Maybe someone who harbored resentment toward her?"

"We all resented her." Mitch didn't mince his words. "The foster system is broken, and by the time the kids reach their teens, they know the difference between a bad placement and one that can get them through until the age of eighteen. This place was the latter. Doesn't mean it was all peaches and cream. You still haven't answered our questions."

"And your social worker?" Sylvie asked, refusing to allow her emotions to enter her voice. "I believe his name is Fred Dawkins. Was he aware that Sheila wasn't the model foster mother? Did anyone inform him that Sheila was ignoring her responsibilities?"

Mitch began to laugh, but he let it fade when Andrea shot him a sideways glance of annoyance. She crossed her legs and slipped her hands in between them as she answered Sylvie's questions.

"Mr. Dawkins went above and beyond in his duties as a social worker. He was always there, always willing to meet us if we needed him." Andrea gave a small smile as she recounted a few memories. "He would meet us at the youth center and play basketball with those who wanted a game or just sit on the bleachers and talk to us."

"Look, Dawkins knew that Sheila wasn't the best placement, but the choices were slim back then. I'm assuming they still are," Tyler said as he finally lowered his hands. "I wouldn't want that man's job, and I get why he checks on the kids often. If anything goes sideways, he is the one who would shoulder that responsibility."

Fred Dawkins didn't fit the profile, but that didn't mean he wouldn't have an idea as to who might harbor such deep-seated hatred toward Sheila Wallace that all sense of right and wrong had gone out the window. Sylvie had a meeting scheduled with him later this afternoon.

"And your thoughts on Fred Dawkins?" Sylvie asked Mitch after she had caught the slight shake of his head.

"I have none. Are we done here? I have somewhere to be, and it is obvious that you're not going to share the real reason you're here."

"Thank you for your time," Sylvie said, reaching for her purse. She pulled out three business cards. "Here is my contact information. If you happen to think of anything in the coming days regarding our conversation, I would appreciate a call."

Sylvie sensed that Mitch wasn't going to move out of her way, so she gracefully stepped around him. The screen door would have clattered shut behind her if she hadn't kept ahold of the handle. There were low murmurs of conversation drifting through the screen after her departure, but she couldn't make out what was being said between the three of them.

Sylvie had made it halfway down the drive before Tyler's voice brought her to a stop. She turned and waited patiently for him to reach her.

"Dawkins has a son around our age. I haven't seen either of them in years, but Shane used to come to the youth center with his dad every now and then." Tyler smoothed his tie before buttoning his jacket in such a manner that it was almost as if he were uncomfortable with providing her with such information. "Shane used to say that if he were in our position, he'd kill her. Sheila, that is. It's not my intention to get anyone in trouble or on the radar with the feds, but I thought you should know."

"Thank you, Mr. Doss." Sylvie didn't turn around quite yet. She got the distinct impression that Tyler had waited until they were alone to part with his opinion on Fred Dawkins' son. "Why share this with me now?"

The screen door suddenly opened, and Mitch came strolling out, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Tyler and Sylvie still standing in the driveway. They were far enough away not to have their private conversation overheard, which was probably the only reason that Tyler answered her question.

"Mitch and Shane were friends…probably still are," Tyler murmured as he began to walk down the driveway. "I left my old life behind as much as possible, Miss Deering. I'd like it to stay that way."