“The crime van is ready,” Conte said. “But this is going to take a while to process. Maybe even a couple of days. This place is huge. And we haven’t even looked inside the house yet.”
“I’ll get the warrant for inside the…”
Odom turned again. Something caught his eye. What the hell was that?
This time Conte saw it too. “There it is,” he said. The hulking cop in the suit stepped into the underbrush around the home. He reached into the weeds and pulled something out.
“What is that?” Odom shouted.
Conte carried it in his arms, digging his thick fingers into fur. “It’s a rabbit.”
“Rabbits? Shit,” Dodge spat. “Sheila’s got a million of them. She lets them run around free in the house.”
There were some rabbit pens next to the home, but they were empty. “Do any of them get outside?” Conte asked.
“I guess so. Why?”
He held the rabbit out so Dodge and Odom could see the hocks of its feet and the fur on its belly marked chocolate brown. “Because this bunny is covered in someone’s blood.”
2
Don’t Talk to Strangers
It was the perfect day to take a walk. Not everyone is allowed to go all the way to the pet store. Not everyone has the responsibility of watching her brother. Or even better, not everyone can take care of a pet. For Amy, it was shaping up to be a perfect day.
The pet store Amy and her brother Donald were headed to is probably the biggest pet store in the city of Manchester. Its massive, barn-like store structure anchors one end of a strip mall on busy South Willow Street. The other end of the strip mall is a sporting goods store, and there’s nothing in between.
The only other bit of commerce on this property is a Mexican fast food restaurant that sprang up in the parking lot.
The afternoon was slow, though Sundays are busy at the pet store. It was the perfect time for Amy to bring her brother to the store to look around and play with the animals. Both she and Donald are developmentally disabled adults, and they walked the two and a half miles to the store.
Owners are encouraged to bring their animals inside and browse the store with their pets. Amy liked to stop and scratch dogs behind their ears, but cats were her favorite. Her mother owned cats. She wanted to look at cats with Donald. But…where had Donald gone?
“Donald!” she called out in a voice a little too loud. It was up to her to watch him, and that’s a grown-up responsibility. Donald was always doing his own thing, driving her crazy. She knew she was not supposed to lose him in the store. Donald had epilepsy. What if he were having a seizure right now?
Amy found her brother standing at the end of one aisle talking with a woman. She was a striking figure with long blonde hair down past her shoulders, about five-foot-four, wearing a heavy black coat. They were looking at rabbit hutches.
“Donald, you know you’re not supposed to talk to strangers!” she chastised her brother as if the older woman could not hear them.
“It’s all right, angel. We’re just talking about rabbits,” the woman said. Her voice was soft and smooth, with the slightest lilt of a Southern accent. It sounded pleasant to Amy. “Have you ever taken care of a rabbit?”
The woman produced a full-sized white mottled rabbit from…where?…under her coat? Up her sleeve? Like a magician? It squirmed a little bit while being moved, like a house painter on a rickety ladder. The woman gestured for them to pet it and they did.
“He’s so furry. What’s his name?”
“His name’s Little Satin.” The siblings stepped closer to the woman as their hands ran all over the rabbit. “He likes you,” the woman told them.
The girl watched as the rabbit twitched its nose, trying to catch her scent. She adjusted her thick glasses and talked “Bunny.” The woman showed great patience with both the animal and the siblings.
“So, have you, darling?”
Amy looked up. “Have I what?” she said loudly.
“Ever taken care of a rabbit?”
Amy thought about it, twisting up her face to demonstrate the great attention she gave the question. “I don’t think so. We’ve had lots of pets, but we’ve never had a rabbit.”
The woman shifted the rabbit in the bow of her arm so it was now just out of the couple’s reach. “How would you like it if I gave you this rabbit?”
Amy didn’t respond; she only blinked.
“How about,” she continued, “if I gave you one-hundred dollars to take Little Satin for me and take care of him.”
“Whoa,” Amy blurted out laughing. “Why can’t you take care of him anymore?”
The woman rubbed her nails through Little Satin’s back. “I had a fight with my boyfriend, and I’m not going to stay with him ever again. I have to take care of myself, but I need someone to look after my babies. Someone has to look after my rabbits for a little while, darling.”
“You have more rabbits?”
The woman gestured to the parking lot. “In my car. Satin’s sister and brother, Sapphire and Snookster.”
Amy looked at Donald, then back at the woman with the long blonde hair. She liked the way the woman talked to them. She didn’t talk down to them, like some people did. She listened to what they had to say. “But we don’t have a cage or anything.”
The woman looked over at the hutch on the shelf. “What if I bought you this hutch? That way, all three rabbits will have a place to sleep tonight.”
Amy was excited. Not only was she getting the bunny and hutch for free, but also she was getting one hundred dollars to take care of it. That was a real grown-up responsibility. Then again, another complication occurred to her. “We can’t carry the hutch home.” Donald asked if they could take the bus, but Amy didn’t know if they even let rabbits ride the bus.
The woman smiled. “Then I’ll give you a ride home, darling.” They all walked out of the store together. Donald stroked Little Satin’s fur as his sister held the rabbit. The woman led them through the parking lot to her awaiting car, a green sedan. It was turning out to be a perfect day.
“You are an angel, darling, for taking my baby,” she told Amy.
“What’s your name?” Amy asked.
And sweetly, as sunbeams for cherubs, she told them, “My name is Sheila LaBarre.”
3
Proof of Murder?
Writers who describe crime in a small town often try to make the community seem smaller than it is. Just a wide space in the road, where nothing extraordinary happens. Communities that the evils of the world have failed to notice. As if that town were the sole repository of innocence and purity left in the Western world, then the suspect is one who not only committed a crime but also soiled an Eden.
Epping, New Hampshire, is a small town, but probably no more or less shocked by violent crime than any other. Much of New Hampshire’s modern development occurred south to north, along the pathways of the two major arteries out of Massachusetts. Along Interstate 93, Salem grew into a major retail destination; Derry and Londonderry became huge bedroom communities. Up Route 3, a.k.a. the Everett Turnpike, Nashua became a fine city that was named Best Place to Live in America twice: in 1987 and 1997. Both highways shake hands in Manchester, the state’s largest city