Chapter Twenty

A faint fetid mildew made itself known as Sylvie pushed through the glass door of an aging office building located in the heart of downtown Ann Arbor. There were hints of upgrades here and there, but its history remained intact for the most part.

Fred Dawkins had postponed their initial meeting, not that he had bothered to call Sylvie before she had arrived at his place of work. He had phoned later Saturday night to apologize and reschedule their meeting for Monday morning at nine o'clock. She had intentionally arrived early, not wanting a repeat of Saturday.

"Bit, have you confirmed that Cav Buckley left town?" Sylvie asked, adjusting her cell phone so that the strand of hair that escaped her bun didn't get caught against her ear. "The man's history when it comes to fixating on someone speaks volumes. Brook needs to take this seriously."

"From what Boss told me Saturday night, she took care of it. I also called Buckley's office this morning, asking to speak with him. The receptionist patched me through, but I disconnected when he answered the call." There was a pause before Bit confirmed Sylvie's suspicion. "I was able to verify his departure another way too, but I know you're about to meet up with Dawkins. There's no need to go into specific details."

"That's probably for the best," Sylvie murmured as she glanced to her right. She had spotted a small coffee shop on Saturday, but the place has been closed for the weekend. Given the number of patrons sitting at the tables and those lingering near the condiment area, it was the go-to place during the workweek. "Thanks for the update, Bit. I'll let you know if Dawkins adds anything of importance to the investigation."

Bit made it sound as if Brook had put the confrontation with Buckley behind her. Sylvie couldn't shake her unease. The encounter had revealed just how far the man was willing to go for Brook's attention. Would her warning only serve to pique Buckley's interest, or had her veiled threat successfully deterred him? Sylvie trusted that Brook would let everyone know if she suspected the latter.

Sylvie made her way over to the short line in front of the cafe's cash register. The lull promised a swift transaction, and she seized the opportunity. When it was her turn to place her order, which was her usual Chai tea, she also added a hot coffee. She would attempt to use it as liquid encouragement in hopes of acquiring Fred Dawkins' trust.

The barista had both beverages ready in under a minute. Sylvie politely asked for a holder before securing both cups. She then retraced her steps toward the elevator bank. While she waited for the doors to slide open, she thought over the interviews that she and Theo had been able to conduct yesterday at the hospital. The administrative staff had nothing useful to add, leaving Theo and Sylvie back at the hotel for most of the afternoon performing some administrative duties of their own.

Theo was currently attempting to locate Shane Dawkins. The social worker's son had all but dropped off the map after college. Not even Bit had been able to locate him through social media, financials, or other online footprints.

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."

"We've attempted to locate Shane, but we can't seem to find an address for him. We're hoping that he remembers someone or maybe even recalls a conversation that might help us in our investigation."

"Ms. Deering, I haven't seen my son in years." Fred visibly swallowed as he wrapped his hand around the disposable cup. Once he was in control of his emotions, he continued speaking. "Shane dropped out of college, started living on the streets, and he cut all ties with me and his mother. We tried getting him help, but…"

Sylvie couldn't imagine dedicating her life to helping children, only to lose her own child. She wasn't sure what had prompted Shane to leave behind college, his friends, or his family. Observing Fred's body language, she wasn't sure that even he understood where it had all gone wrong.

"I wish I could help you, but as I already stated, I did my best to place children where I thought they stood the best chance of making it to their eighteenth birthday. The truth? I didn't like Sheila Wallace. No one working in this office was fond of the woman, but she never physically abused the kids placed in her home."

Sylvie's stomach churned at the way Fred attempted to assuage his choices. His small speech spoke to his knowledge of neglect. It was clear from his words that he had placed older children in Wallace's care who he thought could handle such mental and emotional abuse.

Fred glanced down at his desk. She caught his slight hesitation when he reached for her business card. He was withholding information from her. This moment was the first time since she sat down that she had hope for a break in the case.

"It will take me a couple of days to gather the requested files," Fred said reluctantly as he tucked her card into his keyboard so that it was facing him. There was something in his mannerisms that suggested he was about to divulge an important detail. It didn't help that the fluorescent lights caused his features to appear rigid. "As you read through the records, you need to remember that teenagers embellish facts…make accusations. I would like to reiterate that I did my due diligence on Sheila Wallace's home and discovered nothing that would suggest she physically abused those children placed in her home."

Sylvie barely managed to contain the spark of anger that originated upon hearing his statement. He was suggesting that one or more of the teens placed in Wallace's home suggested otherwise. Had they mentioned something damning in their interviews, only to then be ignored?

"Mr. Dawkins, whose file will I discover such accusations?"

"Mitch Swilling."

Sylvie thought back to Mitch's reaction to her line of questioning. He had been the one to suggest that Wallace's home hadn't been ideal, but he had implied it had been better than most. When she had purposefully brought up Fred Dawkins, Mitch's bitterness had been undeniable. Something had transpired between them, and the details were in those files.