When Time Is a River

by Susan Clayton-Goldner

  In a flash, Radhauser thought about the night he’d tried to propose to Gracie. He’d stumbled over the words, desperate to say something unique to the two of them. But after what had happened to Laura and Lucas, Radhauser no longer believed in forever. Gracie had turned to him and smiled.

  “I guess we’re always a little bit in love with the first one,” Radhauser said with a silent apology to Gracie for stealing her words.

  Glen said nothing.

  Radhauser tried again. “I’ll bet it also pissed you off.”

  Glen’s face reddened. “I wanted to kill the asshole.”

  “Christine or Michaelson?”

  Glen leaned forward, as if intent on defending his position. “Who wouldn’t have been pissed? Christine had picked out a wedding dress. And chosen her bridesmaids. We’d been planning it since tenth grade. In high school, we were voted senior couple most likely to get married.”

  Radhauser made another note, then looked Glen straight in the eyes. “Do you spend much time in Lithia Park?”

  “I’ve been there a few times. Who hasn’t? And I dated Christine, but I didn’t kidnap her kid, if that’s what you’re getting at? Why would I?” He balled up the paper bag that had held his groceries and tossed it into the metal trashcan. When it hit the bottom, it made a low note that lingered in the silence.

  “Maybe because you thought Emily was your daughter.” Radhauser studied Glen’s face for a sign, but the kid merely slumped further down in his chair.

  Radhauser continued to push, hoping Glen would break out with something that might lead him to Emily. “Maybe you thought it was about time you got some visitation rights. Or maybe because she and the professor screwed you over and you wanted to get even.”

  Glen’s face tensed. “Shit, man. Are you crazy?” He gestured with his arm, sweeping it around the apartment. “Does this look like a place to raise a kid?”

  “How about your parents, Glen? They have any grandchildren?”

  He straightened himself in the chair. “Yeah, matter of fact they do. My brother in Michigan has two little boys—five and seven.”

  “So, a little girl would round things off nicely.”

  Glen just stared at Radhauser, brow furrowing. “My parents love Oregon, but they moved to Michigan before Christine and I broke up so they could be closer to their grandkids. And besides, Christine swore the kid wasn’t mine.”

  “Did you believe her?”

  Glen’s gaze sought the small, dusty window above the kitchen sink. “I…I don’t know. I figured she’d have red hair if she were mine.”

  “How do you know she doesn’t?”

  “I saw her at the park with Christine.”

  “Did you talk to them?”

  “No. I hightailed it out of there as fast as I could.”

  “I’m a father,” Radhauser said. “And it’s hard for me to believe you could walk away from a child who could be your daughter, without finding out for sure.”

  “I wanted Christine to get a DNA test to be positive, but she refused.” He paused and shrugged. “I’m not all that into kids. The way I figure, I dodged a bullet.”

  “So, you were having sexual relations with Ms. McCabe in the fall of nineteen ninety-five? Say late October, early November.”

  “Look, I got an organic chemistry final tomorrow and I really need to get studying.” He stood.

  Radhauser remained seated. “And I’ve got a missing girl, maybe your daughter, and I need to find her. Now sit back down and answer my question.”

  Glen sat. “Yeah, Christine screwed around with both of us at the same time. But when I said the baby might be mine, she claimed our sex was too planned. Like I lacked spontaneity or something.” He laughed without smiling and shook his head. “But she was right. We always used condoms.”

  “Condoms can fail. Were you in the park this afternoon between 3 and 3:45p.m.?”

  “No.”

  “Where were you?”

  “I went to a matinee at the Varsity Theater on Main Street.”

  “What time did it start?”

  “Around 2p.m. I was there until after six.”

  “Did anyone go with you?”

  He shook his head.

  “What did you see?”

  “After the Academy Award presentations, the theater brought back Saving Private Ryan and Life is Beautiful. I saw them both.”

  “Did you run into anyone you know there?”

  Again, Glen shook his head. “It was dark, man.”

  Radhauser made another note. The Varsity Theater was only a few blocks from Lithia Park. “I need to take a look around, open up your closets, the kitchen cabinets, and check the bathroom.” He gestured with his arm, sweeping it around the apartment. He wasn’t about to leave any lead unchecked. “Is that okay?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Glen said.

  “Yes, but if you say no, I’ll get a warrant.”

  Radhauser stood, stepped across the room and opened the door to the small bathroom, checked behind the shower curtain and in the linen closet. He found nothing there or anywhere else in the apartment, the storage locker assigned to Glen’s unit, or the Volkswagen Beetle he kept parked in the gravel lot.

  “I’ll need contact information for your parents in Michigan.”

  “They don’t know anything about that kid.”

  “I’ll be discreet,” Radhauser said. “Just give me the number. And don’t plan on a spring break in Ft. Lauderdale. Or anywhere outside of Ashland.”

  Once inside his car, Radhauser made a note to check the Josephine and Jackson County Assessors offices to see if the senior Glenard Dewar, who loved Oregon, still owned property here.

  * * *

  It was 8:15p.m. when Radhauser got the call from McBride. “The boy’s name is Kenton Jenkins, but everyone calls him Kent. He lives with his mother, Justine Jenkins, in a green Victorian on the corner of Pioneer and Vista.” She gave him an address. “According to his teacher, he has a sweet disposition and the mind of a four-year-old. Apparently, he’s shy around strangers.”

  Radhauser drove back to the Michaelson home to pick up Brandy for the interview. Nearly five crucial hours had passed since Emily’s disappearance. He parked on a side street to avoid the reporters, and came in through the kitchen door.

  McBride sat at the table, manning the phones and jotting notes onto interview forms.

  “Where’s Corbin?”

  “He’s warding off starvation,” she said. “Did you have any luck with the pawn shops or lost and founds?”

  He shook his head. “No one claimed to have seen the necklace before.”

  Radhauser found Brandy in the living room, frantically writing in a spiral notebook. She was desperate to help. And if Kent wouldn’t speak to strangers, he hoped she’d get more information out of him than he could. He cleared his throat in an attempt not to startle her.

  She looked up at him. “I’m making a list of the things we know so far. Did you check out that lead Mrs. Wyatt gave me?”

  “We’re compiling a list of costume rental shops. Most of them are closed now. But I’ll have someone on it first thing in the morning. Right now, I need you to go with me to question Kent Jenkins. Find out if he saw anyone with Emily in the park this afternoon.”

  “Is it okay with my dad?”

  “I cleared it with him.”

  She shot him a grateful look, then leaped off the sofa and practically ran to his car.

  Five minutes later, he pulled into the driveway of the green Victorian, with the wraparound porch, on North Pioneer. It was dark, but there were spotlights on both sides of the house and others pointed up at the tops of the birch trees in the front yard.

  Radhauser parked behind the gray Camry. He doubted Kent was involved, but maybe he saw something that could help. He rang the doorbell, Brandy at his side.

  A plumpish woman opened the door. She wore baggy jeans, a man’s T-shirt, and a pair of gardening gloves. She pushed her horn-rimmed glasse
s to the top of her clipped gray hair and stared at him. Her steel-colored eyes remained steady, but on guard.

  “Are you Justine Jenkins?” Radhauser asked.

  She nodded, wiped the front of her jeans with a gloved hand and smiled. “I was on the back porch planting the window boxes. There never seems to be enough daylight to get everything done.”

  “I’m Detective Radhauser from the Ashland Police Department.” He showed her his badge. “I’d like to talk with you about your son.”

  Her smile faded instantly, the steel in her eyes darkened. “What’s going on? Has Kent done something wrong?”

  “You don’t need to be concerned,” Radhauser said, trying to put her at ease. “We don’t think your son has done anything wrong. But a little girl disappeared from the park restroom this afternoon. Apparently, she and Kent liked to play together.”

  Radhauser introduced Brandy.

  Mrs. Jenkins looked at Brandy, her head cocked. “Do I know you?”

  “We’ve seen each other at the park,” Brandy said. “I sometimes push both Kent and my little sister, Emily, on the swings.”

  “That’s right,” she said. “Kent really loves your little sister.”

  “May we come inside?” Radhauser asked, taking off his Stetson.

  She moved aside so they could step into the house. It smelled like chocolate—something recently baked. She nodded toward an L-shaped sofa with fat green cushions, lining the back wall. Brandy and Radhauser sat.

  Mrs. Jenkins removed her gloves, releasing their warm earth smell. She set the gloves on a small table and slipped her glasses off the top of her head and put them back on, then stood with her arm resting on the leather recliner across from the sofa.

  “I heard about it on the radio.” Mrs. Jenkins turned back to Brandy. “It must be awful for you and your parents, but Kent couldn’t be involved. He’s a good boy. He doesn’t know he’s big. He likes to play with stuffed animals like the little kids.”

  Radhauser slipped the necklace from his inside pocket and showed it to Justine. “Does this belong to you?”

  “No. Do I look like I’d own something like that?”

  It was the answer he’d expected. “I’d like Brandy to speak with your son. He knows her and may be less intimidated and more likely to talk to her than to me.”

  “Please,” Brandy said. “You have to help us. I know Kent is a nice boy and my little sister likes him a lot.”

  Mrs. Jenkins started to pace, but kept talking as if she hadn’t heard Brandy’s plea. “Besides, I drop him off with his babysitter and pick him up every day. We left the park early this afternoon because Kent had a dentist appointment. After that we visited his grandma in Medford. You can check it out. He’s been with me the whole time. Do you think he’s been lugging around a toddler in his backpack?” She clutched her hands.

  “We can do this here, or I can arrange for someone to talk with him at the police station.”

  “He’s in the kitchen.” She glanced at her watch. “I try to have him in bed by nine o’clock. I don’t like to interrupt his routine.”

  Radhauser stood and stepped forward. “We won’t take long.”

  Mrs. Jenkins led them into a bright yellow kitchen with black and white checkerboard tiles on the floor. Kent sat on a barstool with a half-full glass of milk and a plate with two chocolate chip cookies in front of him. He wore his white gloves and a pair of Superman pajamas—his stuffed Pooh bear seated on the next stool.

  When Brandy touched his shoulder, he turned and grinned up at her.

  “Hi,” she said. “Do you remember me?” Just as Radhauser had instructed, she kept her voice low and non-threatening.

  Kent nodded. “From the park. Emily’s big sister.”

  Brandy smiled and showed him one of the flyers with Emily’s photo on it.

  He pointed a stubby, gloved finger at the picture. “Emily fly up high. She my friend.”

  Again, Brandy smiled at him.

  He sucked his bottom lip. “My total name is Kenton Robertson Jenkins. But my mom calls me Kent. Superman’s name was Clark Kent.” He smiled. “I want to be a superhero, too.”

  “Emily likes playing with you a lot. And so, I’m hoping you can help me with something.”

  “Sure. You can be Lois Lane. I’ll call you from the phone booth. I’m a good helper.” He glanced at his mother, who stood in the kitchen doorway. “Just ask my mom.”

  “Did you see Emily today at the park?”

  He nodded. “Sh…sh…sure. With Pooh bear.”

  Radhauser stood in the doorway next to Mrs. Jenkins. When Brandy shot a look toward him, he nodded. The kid was doing a good job.

  “He stutters when he gets nervous,” Mrs. Jenkins said.

  Brandy lifted Kent’s Pooh bear from the barstool beside him and sat. “Emily loves her Pooh bear.”

  Kent took the bear from Brandy and held a cookie to its embroidered mouth. “Me, too.”

  “I want you to think hard,” Brandy said. “Was Emily in her stroller when you saw her with Pooh bear today?”

  He closed his eyes and scrunched up his face as if thinking. When he finally opened them, he grinned and shook his head. “N…N…No.”

  “Was I with her?”

  Still shaking his head, he said no again. “A real Pooh carried her. He had balloons and wore gloves like mine.” Kent held up his gloved hands, flapping them around nervously.

  Brandy and Radhauser locked gazes.

  He’d better pay Mrs. Wyatt a visit.

  “Where did they go?” Brandy asked.

  The boy shrugged. “Prob…probably P…P…Pooh Corner. Emily had a yellow balloon. It was pretty.” He smiled and clapped his hands.

  Great. Radhauser imagined the headline. Kidnapped toddler found carrying a yellow balloon at Pooh Corner. If only it could be true. If only they’d find Emily safe, and happy. He’d follow up and interview every person who’d rented a bear costume. But that would take time and manpower. Radhauser didn’t have much of either.

  Brandy gently took the boy’s shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. “Are you sure a for-real Pooh bear carried Emily?”

  Kent nodded his head three times.

  “It wasn’t Teddy Bear, Smokey Bear or Panda?” Brandy said.

  “No,” he insisted. “It was a real Pooh bear. With a yellow shirt.”

  “Was Pooh bear big, like a grown-up?”

  “Yep.”

  “Was Emily crying?”

  He shook his head. “She was happy.”

  Again, Brandy shot Radhauser a look. He looked away, but not before he saw the hope in her eyes. Maybe Mrs. Wyatt really was telling the truth this time. Dressing up would be pretty clever of a kidnapper. Perfect for a health fair full of kids and bear costumes. A place where no one would be suspicious of a costumed pervert carrying a laughing toddler.

  “Kent makes up stories about his stuffed animals all the time. He thinks they’re real,” Mrs. Jenkins said to Radhauser. “He has a great imagination.”

  “Before we go, I’d like to take a look at Kent’s bedroom,” Radhauser said.

  “What for?”

  “Because he was one of the last people to see Emily in the park.”

  “Do you think he has her hidden under his bed?”

  Radhauser said nothing.

  “Look as much as you want. You won’t find anything.”

  While Kent finished eating his cookies, Mrs. Jenkins led them upstairs, down a hallway, and into a small, but neat bedroom with a twin bed, an ancient mahogany dresser, and bright yellow and green plastic cubes stacked four feet high and crammed with children’s books, toys, and stuffed bears. The walls were covered with framed Winnie the Pooh prints. “Why does your son wear those white gloves?” Radhauser asked.

  “When he was little, he tried to pick up a flaming log because he thought it was pretty.” Her gaze landed on Brandy’s cheek.

  Brandy didn’t turn away. “An escalator accident. But from what I
understand, burns are more painful and leave the worst kind of scars.”

  Mrs. Jenkins winced. “Kent wears gloves because he thinks his scarred hands are the reason people stare at him.”

  Radhauser didn’t know what to say.

  “My Kent wouldn’t hurt a flea,” Mrs. Jenkins said.

  Radhauser scanned the boy’s bedroom. When he spotted the empty box of animal crackers in the wastebasket, he nodded to Brandy.

  She covered her mouth with her hand and ran toward the wastebasket.

  He pulled her back. “Do you keep these animal crackers on hand for him?”

  “No,” Mrs. Jenkins said. “I don’t like him eating a lot of preservatives. I don’t have any idea where he got those.”

  “Do you mind if I take this empty box?”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “No. Go ahead.”

  He slipped on a pair of latex gloves, lifted the box from the garbage and placed it inside an evidence bag.

  “What’s going on?” Mrs. Jenkins voice sounded higher, panicky.

  Brandy looked as if all the air had left her chest. “I gave Emily a box of animal crackers like those. Just minutes before she disappeared. Is it okay if I ask Kent where he got them?”

  “Oh my God.” Kent’s mother lifted her glasses and rubbed her eyes before she regained her control. “It doesn’t mean anything. I told him never to ask for food. But people feel sorry for him. They give him things all the time.”

  Brandy touched Mrs. Jenkins’ arms. “I don’t believe Kent would do anything to hurt Emily. She probably gave them to him. We’ve been teaching her to share.”

  “Go ahead,” Mrs. Jenkins said. “Ask him.”

  Brandy took the stairs, two at a time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Back home, Brandy lingered in the hallway just outside Emily’s bedroom, realizing how terrible their lives would be if they didn’t find Emily alive. Brandy thought about what Kent had said when she’d asked him about the cookies. “I wanted to go with Emily. Big Pooh bear said no. But he gave me cookies.”

  Mrs. Wyatt had claimed to see a costumed person loading a little girl into a car seat around 3:30. If that person was the kidnapper, it was probably a good sign he’d used a car seat to keep Emily safe. For the first time since Emily disappeared, Brandy had some real hope that Emily wouldn’t be harmed. Anyone who’d dress in a bear costume to entertain kids and give Kent cookies so he wouldn’t be sad, was probably kind. She was grasping at straws. No kind person would take Emily in the first place.