18 - Insignia

Sgt Murphy had kept his promise to Robin. Straight away, lead after lead, he had informed her of his findings - but he had to be discreet. She did too, for it was against police protocol to give anyone not associated with NJPD the information he gave her. They both knew that, but as long as Robin gave no indication she had received the need-to-know details, there was reasonable doubt, and he could feed her the information.

However, much to both of their disappointment, those leads were dead ends or inconclusive. Everyone associated with Robin's parents were gone. They weren't dead, so to speak, but they were untraceable, Sgt Murphy had said. Cash exchanges made everything in law enforcement harder to track, much less prove. The evidence would be logged as circumstantial at best until undoubtably proven by forensics or a sworn admission by one of the parties.

The days grew fewer and father in between for new leads as time passed. Days turned into weeks which turned into a month, and soon more passed. It was nearing summer break when Sgt Murphy gave Robin an update. Her parents' cases were cold - as cold as the bodies laid to rest in the morgue. With no tangible leads to pursue and a fresh body waiting for justice, the detectives needed to shift their attention to the new homicide - a murder which had high hopes for conviction. The voicemail the sergeant had left her had a sombre overhang:

Hey, Robin, it's Sergeant Murphy. I'm sorry, but, my team, we have to move on. Your parents' case has gone cold. I'll continue searching for clues on the side, but nothing has come up for weeks. The police department has been down my throat about giving this case up, but a promise is a promise. I'll continue to keep you updated, but I can't promise that your parents' case will close. I'm sorry. Give me a call if you need to. Again, I'm really sorry, Robin.

She all but melted down in the middle of Barnes & Nobel. Gathering her pride, though, she kept her tears at bay while marching out of B&N and to Bed Bath & Beyond, where Mrs Simms had told her to meet her at 1 pm. But it was merely a quarter past 12 and Robin's brain couldn't handle the thought of reading any longer. Not with the new development - rather halt - about receiving justice for her parents.

Denial struck her on the ride home. The voicemail was an accident. It wasn't meant for her. It couldn't be that only a five-month-old case had gone cold to the point of desertion. Maybe it was a different Robin. For all she knew, he had accidentally called the wrong girl, the illogical part of her brain had rationalised.

Then rage had filled her once inside the walls of her bedroom. As she paced, her heart clenched as tight as her fists. How could Sgt Murphy give up? Yes, he said he would keep her up-to-date, but the last time he had reported anything, she was left with no answers and more questions. The only thing proving the least bit meaningful was the fact that the security cameras on the pike, where her parents' murderer drove them off the road, were tampered with. They had not been running at the time. Apparently, they needed a battery replacement, and nobody seemed to notice until it mattered most. Convenient. Yet, the detectives couldn't prove any foul play, and the only ex-parte witness remained silenced.

Robin, on a basic level, understood justice for her parents was getting nowhere off the ground without persistence or help. Her help - she didn't like the thought. To find something that might actually lead to the apprehension of the killer, Sgt Murphy might need her insight of people who had come by her house all those years ago. There were some very memorable customers who stood on their porch late at night, but most were distant faces lost in her hellish childhood. Maybe if she could find a connection, the case would reopen.

She flopped onto her bed and rummaged her drawers for her sketchbook and pencil. At that moment, Robin thought about nothing besides the dark shadows cast onto the faces of men and the occasional woman who used the knocker around midnight to 4 am. They would start up their random visitation schedules around six or seven in the morning when there was more light in the spring months. She could almost see a person clear as day.

"Robin," someone yelled.

Groaning defiantly, Robin shut her eyes tighter, trying to make the vision of the face clear faster.

The man was young, in his early thirties or late twenties. He had a clean-cut haircut; each strand was stacked perfectly on top of his head like a soldier boy style should portray. He had a long white stick poking out from between his lips. With an agonisingly slow drag, he huffed, and the sickening odour eased from the corners if his mouth. His shirt clung to his body like sweat would on a midsummer early morning run.

"Robin!" The voice was more insistent.

The mystery man's eyes remained hidden. No matter how hard Robin tried, their mug just would not show. Only the insignia of a university mascot shown on the beer-stained tee.

"Robin, are you alright?" The voice was now on the other side of the door with another firm knock in tow.

Huffing, Robin sprang up, hoping the intruder would go away. However, the continued rap at her door told her the person expected an answer and was therefore still waiting. Dragging herself off the bed, she trudged to the door.

"Yes?" She tried to keep the annoyance from her tone as she opened it.

"What's the matter, hon?" Mrs Simms titled her head.

"Nothing."

"You hardly spoke in the car, not that that's entirely new," she said. "Beside the point, you also came in 45 minutes ahead of our agreed time from Barnes & Nobel. You never do that! You're always making me practically drag you out the store." She chuckled a little but stopped short when she noticed Robin did not join. Suddenly, her face hardened. "Did something happen in the bookstore that I should know about?" Her voice was thick as molasses with concern. "Did someone try to hurt you?"

"No. No one touched me in any sort of inappropriate way. It's nothing and I am fine."

Mrs Simms sighed. "What happen, Robin?"

"Nothing. I promise."

Mrs Simms knew that Robin was not going to give her what she wanted. She walked to the doorway and faced Robin. "Okay. I won't force you to open up to me, but if you want to talk, I'll be here." Turning around, she headed for the stairs leaving Robin to watch.

Robin shut her door and toddled back to bed. Flipping the cover of the sketchbook, she began drawing the logo. Within a mere ten minutes, the photo from her brain was in front of her. Where was it that she had seen the mascot before besides on the man? She stared at the insignia intensely. It was on the tip of her tongue, but too far off to say. With a huff, she flopped back down on her bed, frustrated by not remembering. She closed her eyes and let minute after minute pass.

"Robin!" Tyler barged into her room, the door slammed into the wall. "Oops, sorry," he apologised to it with a gentle pat.

"What is it, Tyler?" she asked, defeated.

"Did something happened in the bookstore."

"Who told you? Your mother?"

"No, my father actually. Word travels fast in this house," he admitted.

"He sent you up to check on me?" Quirking her brow, she almost snorted. Why did he care? she wondered.

"He didn't need to."

"Whatever. So, what about the store?" Robin so did not want to chat about the call she had received.

He rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that crap."

"What do you care anyway?"

"I care because you're a part of this family," he said. "And that means being there for one another."

Her eyes met his. "What?"

The corner of his lip tugged upward. "You're my friend, Robin; I care about you."

He cares about me? Robin kept repeating that over and over. It felt so foreign, and his admission scared the hell out of her. No one except her ex-boyfriend had uttered those words. It had been years since she heard those thee words strung together in the same sentence.

She swallowed. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you care about me? Besides the fact you said I'm your friend and all?"

Tyler walked to the bed, so Robin moved over to give him space to sit. He looked her straight in her eyes, and Robin couldn't bring herself to look away even though her cheeks were fire truck red. His eyes were so captivating. "Because I don't want you to go through life thinking that nobody gives a damn about you and how you feel, and what you're going through."

"You're not shrinking me are you?" Robin felt the need to distance herself from the seriousness hanging in the air with a nervous chuckle.

It worked. Tyler flashed a smile and shook his head. "No. I am definitely not going to shrink you."

Robin played with her nails, looking everywhere but at him, knowing full well that she would become trapped in his crystal blue eyes if she did. The silence loomed in the room, it was so quiet, it was loud. Until she spoke.

"...I got a call from the sergeant working my parents' case. He said it went cold." Her voice was almost inaudible by the time she finished.

Tyler's face fell. "I'm so sorry." He put a hand on her shoulder, but Robin flinched and shrugged his palm off.

"It is what it is." She tried to sound nonchalant, but inside she wept.

"Is there anything I can do to help you? Anything?"

"Nah. But thanks."

"Yeah. No prob." He waited. "So, what are you going to do?"

"About what?"

"The case?"

"What can I do?"

"I dunno. Maybe we can find a lead the police can't and reopen the case."

She snorted. "How?"

"Well, start with what you remember of the crash?"

"...I can't."

"You don't have to go through it alone, Robin. I'm here, listening."

"It's painful, Tyler."

"I know it is, but I also know you're trying to find the killer too."

"How-"

"Your drawing. That's the mascot for Rider University. It's a good school - almost a two hour drive south of here."

Her eyes found the sketch.

"How did you know that - the part about the mascot?"

"I was searching universities last year and came across that one. I suppose I liked the mascot, but I'm not going because the tuition is so high."

"Oh. That's a shame."

"Eh, I didn't want to go there anyway. I much rather go somewhere closer to home. I decided I'd rather live at home and commute instead of paying for boarding or whatever. Plus, no one I know is going there."

"Where are you going?"

"Well, I applied for Rutgers University and several other universities in Pennsylvania and New York. They're all relatively close by."

"That's nice."

"Yeah, it is. Anyway, why were you drawing Rider's mascot if you didn't know that it was?"

Robin shrugged. She had already told him more than she had planned.

"Rob?"

"I don't think it belongs to the man who hit my parents' car."

"Why not?"

"The man who hit us just had a different - I don't know much how to describe it - but he was different than the one who wore the shirt."

"You saw the guy who killed your parents?"

"Yeah."

"That's fantastic!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, you can ID him, right?"

"I guess so."

"Here, give me your sketch book."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to draw him according to what you tell me he looks like."

"You can draw?"

"Yup."

"I didn't know that."

Tyler winked. "I'm a person of many secret talents. Now, start talking."

Robin nodded and closed her eyes. She explained the coldness of the murderous eyes, his clean shaven head that had a sheen to it, his full lips in an unpleasant pout, the tattoo tickling his temple, his stone cold expression, and the snarl he gave her before slamming into the car last January.

"I don't know if we'll ever find him. He could be across the country, living it up on the beach, partying his butt off for all we know." She slumped her shoulders.

"I know deep inside you want justice though."

"...I guess you're right. I want the bastard who killed my parents to rot in jail." Her eyebrows knitted together as she took the sketch from his hands.

Word Count: 2157

A/N: I'm dedicating this to BorderBell's A Woman's War. Join Grace, a nurse with stubborn wit, and Edmund, a wounded soldier in World War 1, as they take a hilarious journey filled with love and romance in this lovely historical fiction.