The Plan

Chapter 13

Summer of 1997

The street had been her home. It had been her haven.

Months of wandering around taught her about life. It’s survival.

She fought, begged, and worked for food.

The street was her teacher—her mentor.

“Hey, where are you going?” her constant companion she only knew as Cal asked.

“I’m going to find a home,” she said.

“This is our home.”

“No, I meant a real home with food and warm bed.”

“An orphanage? It’s worse than the street, you know that? People always tell you what to do, they make you do chores, and they give you away like you’re a piece of bread.”

“I can do chores.”

“I thought you like it here. You said you’re hiding. Going into the system is not hiding.”

“It’s okay. They don’t have to know who I really am.”

She went to St. Catherine—the newly established orphanage—and they had been good to her.

 

March 28, 2011 (8:00am)

Leonard Carlson smiled awkwardly as Tanaka entered his office.

“Detective,” he shook her hand. “You told me you have some questions?” He ran his hand through his black balding head as he sat down on his chair.

“Yes,” the detective took the seat across his desk without any invitation and got down to business. “We’re investigating the series of murders that had been happening. You must have seen it in the news.”

“The green-eyed killer?”

“Yes, and we believe the killer is hunting people who have been involved in the case of Peter Thomas back in 1996. The one you took over after Jackson Howard’s death.”

He knew this was coming. “Am I in danger?” he asked.

“We can’t be sure of that, Mr. Carlson. We believe the killer is from the defendant’s side. If you didn’t do anything back then, anything that could have led to Peter Thomas’ conviction—assuming he’s innocent—you don’t have anything to fear because we believe the killer is out for justice.”

He paled. That’s the sad thing. He did something bad. He shook himself mentally, focusing on the topic, “Yes, yes, I understand. How can I help?

“Can you tell me about the Peter Thomas case? Was there something weird?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Tanaka shrugged, “you tell me.”

“I can’t just give out information about the case, you know that. But to answer your question in general, no, there was nothing weird about the case.”

“Are you sure?” she looked at him intently, her eyes unbelieving.

He hesitated, “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Well, if you remember anything, call me at this number,” she handed him her card.

He did not answer.

“Mr. Carlson,” she said at the doorway, “if you did something back in ’96, I think you should call for protection.” With that, she left him, walking slowly down the corridor.

“Detective!”

She almost jumped with joy when his scared voice called her. She willed her face to be blank and turned, “Yes?”

“I did something.”

(1:00pm)

“No family member came to claim her, no living relatives either. She was the very best example of an orphan. And she’s a good hide-and-seek player. No trace. None,” Fowler reported.

“And Phoebe Knowles?”

“My man has been following her around as you wanted. And there’s something fishy, I know, I changed my mind. She’s fishy. She’s been following guess who?”

“Who?”

“Leonard Carlson,” Fowler waited for the name to ring a bell.

“The other lawyer?” he finally remembered.

“Yes, the lawyer who replaced Jackson Howard.”

Sean breathed deeply and with a sigh, he said, “It’s her, I just know it.”

“I’m not going to argue with that. I looked at her records at St. Catherine and it’s thin. Not a half-inch thicker. When she came to the orphanage, she claimed she lost memory of who she was. That’s when they started calling her Phoebe just for the sake of a name.”

“Didn’t they report it or something?”

“Of course they did. But you know the system. And there are 2,000 children missing every day in the States alone—you can’t expect them to notice one little girl.”

He nodded in agreement, “Particularly if someone’s not looking for them—like Kyla Howard.”

“Exactly,” Fowler said, his eyes concerned, “You and I believe she’s the killer, right? Phoebe Knowles? But I’m telling you, man, I’m not talking to the police. I hate their stupid asses. So if you’re thinking of alerting the police about this woman, you do it on your own.”

“No, I’m not thinking about that.”

“Then what are you planning to do?”

“I’ll have a talk with her.”

“What?! Are you fucking crazy? This woman is a fucking killer!”

“She has the answers to my questions. Answers that even you can’t find,” he fixed the man intensely.

“What about this Leonard Carlson guy? She’s been following him and she’s definitely planning something.”

“I don’t care what she does to him. I just want to have a little chat with her.”

“What if she kills you? She won’t hesitate if she knew you know something.”

“She won’t.”

“Why?”

His brown eyes met Fowler’s and he said, “Because I know where to find the man who killed both our parents.”