A Merciful Secret

Leak?

“Look,” started Truman. “This case has nothing to do with me and—”

“I know. Go tell it to someone who matters. But I think coming from you instead of me, it might get a little more notice. Interview the judge’s executive assistant. She’s turned over the visitor logs, but they’re not complete. Video should back up her story.” Brody frowned. “If it hasn’t been tampered with.”

“Why doesn’t the assistant just tell the investigators?”

“Because she believes she’s following the judge’s wishes. Total dedication and all that bullshit.”

“Doesn’t she understand this is a murder investigation?”

“She does. But I think she’s afraid of making the judge look bad.”

“An affair?”

Brody shrugged. “He was single. I don’t see the problem.”

Maybe she’s protecting someone else.

“I’ll mention it to Mercy. She’ll figure out who to tell. Why are you covering your ass?”

“I always cover my ass,” said Brody, lifted one shoulder. “I think of it as being smart.”

“All I have to do is say I got the lead from you.”

“Very true. But every law enforcement agency I’ve ever worked with hates to admit they got information from a reporter. They don’t like attributing leads to us. Makes them look lazy. And possibly gullible if it goes nowhere.”

True.

“If you’re done manipulating me, you can get out of my office now.”

“Can you recommend a place to get a good cup of coffee? Not the watered-down diner brew.”

“Coffee Café,” Truman said reluctantly. “Two blocks up on the left.”

The tall man touched two fingers to his brow in a casual salute and silently left.

Truman stared after Brody, feeling as if he’d been professionally dissected and glued back together.

What the fuck just happened?

Mercy knocked on the door of the small Craftsman home and waited.

The three snowmen in the front yard had lifted her spirits as she parked at the curb. The silent trio testified that good people lived here. People who believed in getting their kids outside to experience the elements. She hoped Morrigan had helped build them.

Mercy had been driving to work when she’d abruptly pulled over and made calls until she received permission to visit Morrigan’s temporary foster home. She’d awoken with the child’s face front and center in her brain, and knew she’d never focus at work if she didn’t see that the girl was in good hands.

A sense of responsibility for Morrigan poked at her consciousness. For her own sanity, Mercy knew that she’d keep tabs on the child until her mother returned. Maybe even after Salome returned.

What if Salome isn’t fit to care for her? Or is arrested?

She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

The woman who opened the door had a toddler on her hip. “Good morning,” said Mercy. “You must be Hannah?”

Hannah was around Mercy’s age, very slim, and wore her blonde hair pulled back in a messy but stylish bun that Mercy immediately wanted to duplicate. Her smile was kind, but the lines around her eyes indicated she’d been up half the night. Somehow Mercy suspected the woman didn’t mind. She’d immediately picked up a sense that Hannah was happy to dedicate her time to caring for children.

“Yes, and you’re the agent that Morrigan has been talking about nonstop.”

Mercy couldn’t hold back her smile. “How’s she doing?”

“I’ll show you.” Hannah flashed a deep dimple and gestured for Mercy to follow. The toddler’s round blue eyes stared over Hannah’s shoulder as Mercy trailed behind through the home. She must be Hannah’s child. They have the same hair and eyes.

The home was neat and clean and smelled like pancakes. Peals of girlish laughter reached Mercy’s ears. All good signs.

They entered a family room where Morrigan sat cross-legged on the floor next to another girl of the same age. Both gripped video game controllers and were focused on the television, where they’d dressed an animated model in denim shorts, green hair, and spike heels. Giggles ensued as one of them changed the hair to bright pink.

“She’d never held a game controller before,” Hannah whispered to Mercy. “I almost hated to let her do it. I loved the idea that she’d never been plugged into electronics, but Jenny insisted they both play. Morrigan mastered it within minutes.”

Mercy nodded, understanding Hannah’s reluctance. This generation of children would never know what life had been like before the Internet, video games, and social media. Morrigan had been innocent and pure. A rarity.

Survival without electricity and modern amenities was bred into Mercy’s bones. But every day it grew harder to stay on her toes, ready to respond if the electrical grid failed or a catastrophic natural disaster occurred. Some days she needed to vegetate in a jetted tub and watch movies on Netflix and forget that these luxuries could vanish in the blink of an eye. The relaxation never lasted long; awareness of an alternate harsh reality always simmered just below her skin.

“She’s a good kid,” Hannah continued. “Polite and kind. She wept over her grandmother, but has a strong faith that she’s moved on to a better place. She said her grandmother had a lot of pain.”

“Has she mentioned her mother?”

“She says she’ll be back soon. It doesn’t disturb her at all that she hasn’t called. She does wish her mother could have said good-bye to her grandmother . . . and sent her off with ‘words of guidance.’” Hannah paused. “That’s exactly how she said it. It was such an odd phrase for a child her age.”

“Hello, Morrigan,” Mercy said.

Both girls spun around, and Morrigan’s eyes lit up as she spotted Mercy. “Hi, Mercy. Did you see what I did to her hair?” The girl pointed at the screen, delight on her face. She wore flannel pajamas patterned with cat faces, similar to the pajamas Jenny wore. Both sported matching braids, and Mercy wondered if they’d done each other’s hair.

Mercy had done that with Rose.

“Does she have to leave now?” Jenny asked, her eyes pleading for Mercy not to take away her playmate. Morrigan’s expression mirrored her new friend’s.

“No. I’m just here to visit and see how you’re doing.” Clearly she’s in a good spot. A weight lifted from her shoulders; she hadn’t realized she carried stress about Morrigan’s safety.

“Have you heard from my mom?” Morrigan asked.

“Not yet.”

“Okay.” Morrigan turned to Jenny. “Let’s find her a ball gown.”

Mercy exchanged a look with Hannah. No anxiety in that child.

The two of them headed back toward the front door. “She’s amazingly well adjusted,” said Hannah. “I’ve had a number of temporary fosters and usually they’re emotional and scared. It’s almost eerie that she’s doing so well.”

“Do you think she’s avoiding the feelings?”

Hannah thought. “I don’t think so,” she said slowly. “She was very open with her sorrow about her grandmother, and she exudes confidence about her mother’s return. I think she’s simply a resilient, well-grounded kid.”

“Knows how to roll with the punches.” Mercy approved. Morrigan had held it together quite well during their emotional hours together. Mercy’s admiration for the child grew.