“That makes this worse,” Michael said. “I’ll recommend charges for intentional homicide, evidence tampering, and coercing a minor to withhold testimony.” Ryan noted it should be about Annie as much as Andrew—she was four and had been forced into secrecy. Rose agreed: “We need to protect the child and bring the full weight of charges.”
Katherine, Fiona and others talked quietly in the car on the way back. “Do you think Annie really understood?” Fiona asked softly. Katherine shook her head, eyes red. “She’s a child. The worst part is when a child understands too much and isn’t allowed to speak.” Fiona squeezed Katherine’s hand.
That evening Michael reviewed the case files. He opened a photo of Annie drawing by the window—her face serious beyond her years. He wrote in his notebook: “Some people hide traces. Others rob their children of childhood.” Tomorrow the case would move to indictment; the cement might cure, but consequences would not fade.
The next morning a larger team gathered at 17 Maple Lane. The house was cordoned off with yellow tape; neighbors watched from behind curtains as forensic crews returned to fully remove the forty-centimeter concrete pad in the kitchen where Annie had indicated. The saw screamed and light tile shattered. A sharp odor rose from beneath.
Laura put on gloves and told everyone to stand back. Technicians pried and then began hand-digging. Sweat ran down one tech’s face as he worked in a cold kitchen. Ten minutes later a firm edge of fabric appeared.
“Careful,” Laura ordered. They cleared soil around the bag. A large, dense sack came into view. Ryan stepped back and motioned for a cloth sample. When they unzipped the bag, a musty, heavy smell filled the room. One of the men had to step outside for air.
Inside the sack was what remained of Andrew Grant. Time had taken its toll, but identification was certain. Ryan photographed everything methodically. Laura pulled a small case from near the body: another battered phone.
“Send these to techs. Time of death looks at least seventy-two hours ago,” she said. Forensics noted the head injuries consistent with a single, severe blunt blow delivered from behind while the victim was standing. Ryan noted the wall clock that had stopped. The watch face glowed 2:42 a.m.
“That syncs with the surveillance and the time Margaret left with the child,” Laura said. Michael called Rose. “Prepare the charges—it’s clear.” Margaret sat in the county lockup, the light over her small cell casting hard shadows. Rose came in with a heavy file.
