The sun did little to warm the chill developing in my body as I steered onto the highway and headed southwest. It was too convenient, Abbie’s death. The one person who could answer questions about exactly why the Kendalls accepted her as Callie was gone. And I certainly wasn’t about to walk up to Judge Kendall and demand an explanation.
“Let’s walk through this. What if the Kendalls knew she wasn’t Callie?” I said.
“That theory makes no sense. Why would they publicly perpetuate the myth that their daughter had been found?”
I bit my lip, considering. I remembered those cool gray eyes and shivered. “Judge Kendall is up for appointment to a federal judgeship,” I said. “A big deal, right?”
“It is a prestigious position,” June agreed.
“A lot of power, prestige. He wouldn’t want to jeopardize that. Right? He wouldn’t want anything from his past coming to light that would cast doubt on his character.”
“Investigators always look at the family first. It’s standard procedure,” she reminded me. “Judge Kendall was never named as a suspect or a person of interest.”
Could anyone cover their tracks that well?
“Your expression suggests you are angry,” she said.
“This is my thinking face,” I explained.
“Where are we going now?” she asked.
“North Bethesda,” I told her. “There’s another person who might have some insight into the Kendalls’ relationship with their daughter.”
“What makes you think there was an issue in the relationship?" June asked, fishing in the bag at her feet and pulling out the other half of her turkey sandwich.
“I can't explain it. It’s just a hunch, a feeling in my gut. I’ve met a lot of families, a lot of dysfunctional families, and the Kendalls are ringing that bell for me.”
“I do not hear a bell,” she said.
I smiled. I loved the literal mind of June Tucker. “You’re a fact girl, aren’t you, June?"
“I rely heavily on facts,” she agreed as she chewed a bite of sandwich.
“As a researcher, I too have to rely on facts. But in my line of work, it was essential to develop instincts as well. And my instincts are telling me that there’s something off about this entire situation.”
“But nothing you discover will change the fact that Callie is dead.”
June had me there.
“If I can find information that will give the Bodines any hope at all that their father was not involved in Callie Kendall’s murder, I intend to do it.”
“That makes sense. It’s our duty as friends to ease their suffering.”
“Then let’s find some answers for them.”
“Perhaps your instincts are rooted in fact,” she suggested. “I was certain there was something false about Abbie Gilbert’s story but was unsure what the falsehood was until I did my research.”
“Then let’s do a little research in Bethesda,” I said.
“What is in Bethesda?”
“The junior high music teacher who reported signs of suspected child abuse involving Callie Kendall in 1998.”
June frowned. “My research did not uncover any such report,” she said.
“It was sealed and recanted,” I explained. “It took some digging, and the case file is basically empty. The only thing that exists is the date, the accuser’s first and last name, and her written retraction.” I really owed Leah Mae for her social media research skills.
“If this teacher recanted her concerns, that means she was wrong.” June frowned.
“We’re just tying up loose ends," I assured her. “It’s probably nothing. Let’s go into this with an open mind."
In my time as a social worker in Pittsburgh, I had seen a lot. Not everything, but enough to know that people were capable of just about anything. Including filing false abuse and neglect reports. I’d seen angry exes file reports of child abuse against their former spouses just to get back at them. I'd also seen well-meaning people with genuine concerns file complaints only to have the investigations show the claims were baseless. In those situations, relationships were damaged, reputations tarnished.
But someone at some point looked at Callie Kendall and wondered if someone was hurting or neglecting her. And June and I were going to ask that woman some questions.
We took a break at a rest stop and let the dog and pig stretch their legs. Both pig and puppy drew a crowd of admirers before we got back in the car and headed south into North Bethesda. Cece Benefiel retired from teaching in Richmond and moved to Maryland to be closer to her children. It also made her conveniently closer to us.
North Bethesda was tidier than Abbie Gilbert’s town. Wide sidewalks crisscrossed under canopies of neatly trimmed