she wasn't sexually abused. Had she been, though, genetic material would be nearly impossible to cover up completely. We would have this guy by now. Weather conditions and coyotes hid his crime for him, and I can't believe that was intentional. The only thing we've got to go on is the knife wound, a few muddy footprints made by size eleven, Reebok sneakers, and the hope that maybe, just maybe, your son saw something."
"Ms. Reilly," Anthony began, pausing as if he expected another interruption. "I'd love to help you, but Timothy was traumatized by whatever he saw. He's still traumatized."
"Please, let me speak to him one more time. It'll be my last attempt."
"I understand where you're coming from, Detective. I really do. God knows what I'd do to anyone who did something like this to one of my children."
"Which is all the more reason that you should let me speak with Timothy. He may be able to help us catch this sicko before another child has to die."
Her words conflicted Anthony. She could read it in his body language.
"I have to think of my son's well-being first and foremost," Anthony said. He slowly edged his inner door shut.
"Five minutes. That's all I ask."
Halting the door's sway, Anthony stood silent. At last, he responded. "You've got two minutes. If for any reason I start thinking you're making his condition worse, you're gone."
"Fair enough. Thank you."
Anthony let the detective into his home and led her to his living room. Timothy sat inattentive on the couch, saving his limited concentration solely for slashing Tektites in the latest Zelda video game.
"Timothy, would you mind pausing that? Ms. Reilly is here to see you again."
Timothy did as his father asked. He then turned and greeted Detective Reilly with a smile. He seemed and was a normal, healthy boy in all respects, save one. Timothy wouldn't speak.
"Hi, Timothy." Reilly beamed with real excitement. She liked the boy, and in her own callous way, she even felt the tiniest bit of pity for him. But she needed him to get over it. It was just a dead body, no big deal.
Timothy slunk from the couch and walked over to Detective Reilly. Taking her hand, he dragged Reilly to the Samartino's fifty-two inch, flat-screen TV. On it, Link, a pointy-eared, sword-wielding elf, stood battle ready. He was frozen in time by a miracle of modern technology, the pause button. In one hand, he swung a fierce blade. In the other, he clasped an ornate shield. After all, protecting the lands of Hyrule from the likes of Ganon and his villainous horde was never easy.
As the two stared at the screen, Timothy tugged on Reilly's hand. She took the gesture as a signal for her to lower herself to his height. When she complied, he cupped his hand around Reilly's ear and leaned in close.
"I'm ready to tell you now," Timothy whispered.
"Tell me what?"
"I saw him."
Reilly stepped back, surprised by the revelation. Realizing the need for delicacy, she tempered her voice. "Who did you see, Timothy?"
"A man."
Timothy walked up to the television screen. He touched his finger to the pointed tip of Link's blade. "He stole one of these from her."
"You saw a man take one of those from the bod . . . from the little girl?"
Timothy nodded and hung his head. "Only his was smaller than Link's," he said softly. Then he began to weep. His voice grew louder with his sobbing.
"He was crying, too. He said he didn't mean for it to happen and that the girl was in Heaven now. Then, he stole her knife and made me promise not to tell. You won't tell him I told you, will you?"
"Who are you talking about, Timothy?" Anthony asked, his face riddled with confusion and worry. "Did this man touch you?"
Reilly smiled her most sincere, ignoring Anthony's outburst. "No, Timothy, I won't tell him. I promise. Neither will your daddy. You did a good thing telling me like you did. The man you saw needs help, and you and I can help him."
"Really? I was so scared. He was so sad, and I didn't want to tell on
"Ms. Reilly," Anthony began, pausing as if he expected another interruption. "I'd love to help you, but Timothy was traumatized by whatever he saw. He's still traumatized."
"Please, let me speak to him one more time. It'll be my last attempt."
"I understand where you're coming from, Detective. I really do. God knows what I'd do to anyone who did something like this to one of my children."
"Which is all the more reason that you should let me speak with Timothy. He may be able to help us catch this sicko before another child has to die."
Her words conflicted Anthony. She could read it in his body language.
"I have to think of my son's well-being first and foremost," Anthony said. He slowly edged his inner door shut.
"Five minutes. That's all I ask."
Halting the door's sway, Anthony stood silent. At last, he responded. "You've got two minutes. If for any reason I start thinking you're making his condition worse, you're gone."
"Fair enough. Thank you."
Anthony let the detective into his home and led her to his living room. Timothy sat inattentive on the couch, saving his limited concentration solely for slashing Tektites in the latest Zelda video game.
"Timothy, would you mind pausing that? Ms. Reilly is here to see you again."
Timothy did as his father asked. He then turned and greeted Detective Reilly with a smile. He seemed and was a normal, healthy boy in all respects, save one. Timothy wouldn't speak.
"Hi, Timothy." Reilly beamed with real excitement. She liked the boy, and in her own callous way, she even felt the tiniest bit of pity for him. But she needed him to get over it. It was just a dead body, no big deal.
Timothy slunk from the couch and walked over to Detective Reilly. Taking her hand, he dragged Reilly to the Samartino's fifty-two inch, flat-screen TV. On it, Link, a pointy-eared, sword-wielding elf, stood battle ready. He was frozen in time by a miracle of modern technology, the pause button. In one hand, he swung a fierce blade. In the other, he clasped an ornate shield. After all, protecting the lands of Hyrule from the likes of Ganon and his villainous horde was never easy.
As the two stared at the screen, Timothy tugged on Reilly's hand. She took the gesture as a signal for her to lower herself to his height. When she complied, he cupped his hand around Reilly's ear and leaned in close.
"I'm ready to tell you now," Timothy whispered.
"Tell me what?"
"I saw him."
Reilly stepped back, surprised by the revelation. Realizing the need for delicacy, she tempered her voice. "Who did you see, Timothy?"
"A man."
Timothy walked up to the television screen. He touched his finger to the pointed tip of Link's blade. "He stole one of these from her."
"You saw a man take one of those from the bod . . . from the little girl?"
Timothy nodded and hung his head. "Only his was smaller than Link's," he said softly. Then he began to weep. His voice grew louder with his sobbing.
"He was crying, too. He said he didn't mean for it to happen and that the girl was in Heaven now. Then, he stole her knife and made me promise not to tell. You won't tell him I told you, will you?"
"Who are you talking about, Timothy?" Anthony asked, his face riddled with confusion and worry. "Did this man touch you?"
Reilly smiled her most sincere, ignoring Anthony's outburst. "No, Timothy, I won't tell him. I promise. Neither will your daddy. You did a good thing telling me like you did. The man you saw needs help, and you and I can help him."
"Really? I was so scared. He was so sad, and I didn't want to tell on
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