The Last Time She Saw Him

by Jane Haseldine

  I press my face against his shiny black hair and whisper that everything is going to be fine. It has to be.

  “Are you all right, Julia?” Detective Russell asks. Russell holds a sealed plastic evidence bag in his left hand that contains Will’s favorite yellow and white baby blanket inside. I stare intently at the blanket, which looks both beautiful and obscene in its current state.

  “Have you found Will?”

  “Not yet. We’re still collecting evidence.”

  “That’s not enough.”

  “We were just questioning Logan. We’ll need you both to come down to the station later to answer some questions.”

  “I can tell you what you need to know right now. Two people broke into my house. I heard two distinct sets of footsteps, so you have at least two suspects involved. They kidnapped Will and when I ran outside to find him, I got hit on the back of the head. Someone called me ‘stupid girl’ right before I went down. And there was a phone message. A warning. The connection was bad and the caller didn’t leave a name.”

  “Did you see the people who broke into your house?”

  “No, I didn’t see anyone. But I smelled cigarette smoke,” I answer.

  “We checked your home security alarm. Someone disabled it.”

  “That’s impossible. I set the alarm right after I put Logan and Will to sleep,” I say and then kick into full reporter mode. “We don’t have many neighbors way out here in the country, but you need to canvass the neighborhood to locate any witnesses. Maybe someone saw a suspicious person or vehicle in the area. And registered sex offenders. You need to start knocking on doors right now.”

  “We’ve got it covered already.”

  “There’s a gas station about five miles from here. They’ve got to have a surveillance tape,” I continue. “And shoe prints. We had a bad storm a few days ago, so there could’ve been mud on the suspects’ shoes. I didn’t hear a car engine, but you need to check for tire tracks outside. We have a long gravel driveway. Go out there and look now if you haven’t done it already.”

  Russell turns away from me and says something quietly into his two-way radio.

  “Just got word the police chief is on his way over. He wants to talk to you,” Russell says and retreats back toward the garage.

  I reach my hand to the back of my pulsing head. I ignore the pain and refocus my attention on Logan, who is still glued to my side. I squat down and squeeze Logan as hard as I can.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. It’s all my fault. I hid under my bed like a scared baby.”

  “Don’t you say that for a minute. Nothing is your fault. You’re the brave one in all of this. You called the police and saved me.”

  “Someone bad took Will,” Logan says.

  I can’t let my worst thoughts go there. If I do, I will lose it and never come back.

  “Did you see the people who broke into our house?” I ask.

  “No. The police asked me that already.”

  “We’ll get Will back, I promise. But it’s really important we both tell the police everything we remember.”

  “Okay, I’ll try,” Logan responds in a small voice.

  The reflection of a massive silhouette passes by the front window, and I instinctively draw Logan closer. The stranger enters the doorway, and I immediately recognize the red hair and perfectly manicured beard of Police Chief John Linderman. When Linderman and I first had disagreements over stories, I branded him the “Red Devil,” which quickly caught fire around the newsroom. But through the years, we developed a mutual respect, or at the very least, a mutual tolerance for each other.

  “Logan, I hear that you were a very brave young man,” Linderman says.

  “Thank you, sir,” Logan answers.

  “How are you holding up, Julia?” Linderman asks and beckons Logan and me over to the sofa. “I heard you got pretty banged up out there.”

  “Tell me what you have on my son’s case.”

  Linderman reaches out his mammoth hand and envelops mine for a second. The simple act of compassion catches me off guard, and the stinging pain of tears begins to start. I blink hard and look intently at a plastic cup filled with water on the coffee table until I steady myself.

  “I called the FBI, and an Amber Alert went out right after Logan called 911. Critical Reach is distributing the alert to other law enforcement authorities and the media. Our K-9 unit is here, and we’re tapping your phones to trace any calls if this is a ransom situation. We’re also canvassing the neighborhood and scouring for registered sex offenders. Were you and David on anyone’s shit list recently?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You being a crime reporter has its perks of pissing people off. David used to work in the public defender’s office, right?”

  “For five years before he went into private practice.”

  “He may have racked up some enemies too. Maybe a case he lost and the guy is looking for revenge. I need you both to think about anyone who might have it out for you and let us know.”

  Linderman is good. I nod in approval.

  “David had a case a while back when he was a public defender. The guy, his name was Joe Matthews, went away for ten years for killing his girlfriend in a domestic. Killed the woman right in front of their three-year-old. I covered the trial. Matthews went wild when the judge gave the sentence. He attacked David, knocked him on the ground, and the bailiff had to break it up. Matthews sent David a couple of letters from jail, blaming him for losing the case, and he threatened he’d get David when he got out.”

  “We’ll check him and anyone else David comes up with.”

  “I already told Russell this, but there’s a gas station about five miles from here. They may have a surveillance tape.”

  “You were always a thorough reporter. We already sent an officer down to the gas station to get the tape. I put Detective Navarro in charge of the investigation. Navarro just got here. He’s getting briefed by the detectives out front.”

  “David. I need to call him.”

  “We did already. Your husband was just leaving his law firm. He’s on the way here now,” Linderman says and stands back up to his impressive six-foot-five frame. “Logan, hang in there, young man. I’ll tell Detective Navarro you’re ready to talk to him.”

  As Linderman leaves, I look around at our once-perfect house. The meat loaf I made for last night’s dinner is still sitting on the kitchen counter and one of Will’s green pacifiers pokes out from beneath the love seat.

  A strong hand grips my shoulder and I turn with a start.

  “I let myself in through the garage. Didn’t mean to scare you there,” Navarro says. He sits down on the other end of the sofa and stares back at me with both grave concern and controlled rage. “Julia . . .”

  “You don’t need to say it. I don’t want anyone else to tell me they’re sorry right now, not even you. Just ask Logan and me what you need to. Let’s just do this, okay?”

  Navarro nods and fixes his attention on Logan.

  “Is it all right if I talk to you first? Your mom is going to be right here.”

  Logan looks up at me and I respond with a reassuring nod.

  “I know you’ve been through a lot tonight, son, and I’m sorry. I need you to tell me whatever you remember, even the small stuff you think might not be important. Tell you what, are you hungry? I am. I usually don’t get up in the middle of the night like this, so I need a little sugar to keep me going.”

  Navarro pulls a package of six small powdered sugar donuts out of his coat pocket. He opens the packet and pops one in his mouth and then pushes the donut packet across the coffee table toward Logan. Logan carefully reaches his hand across the table and picks up a donut.

  Donuts and cops, I think to myself. How damn cliché, Navarro.

  “I understand that some people broke into your house and took your little brother. That must have been very scary,” Navarro says, stuffing another donut in his mouth. “I know I would’ve been scared if
someone came into my house, especially if I was sleeping.”

  Logan looks at Navarro and nods in agreement.

  “I need your help. Do you think you can help me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Logan says.

  “Call me Ray,” Navarro says. “Now, can you tell me what you remember?”

  “Well, sir, I mean, Ray, sir,” Logan starts. “My mom told me a bedtime story and I went right to sleep.”

  Logan looks over toward me, and I gesture for him to continue.

  “I was having a bad dream and woke up. I heard a sound down the hall and called out to my mom, but she didn’t answer. My nightlight went out and the hall light, too. Mom always leaves the hall light on for me. I got scared and hid under my bed.”

  Logan begins to fidget, and I put my arm around his shoulder and hold him as tightly as I can.

  “It’s okay, Logan. Everyone is afraid of something. I’ll tell you a secret,” Navarro says and leans in toward Logan. “I’m scared to death of bats.”

  “Bats aren’t that bad,” Logan says as he tries to suppress a slight smile.

  “You’re braver than I am,” Navarro says. “So let’s keep going here. After the lights went out, what happened?”

  “I felt like a little baby hiding under my bed, and I was going to come out, but then someone ran into my room. I thought it was my mom. But the person dropped their flashlight on the floor, and I saw their boots. My mom doesn’t have boots like that, and we aren’t allowed to wear shoes in the house anyway because of Will and all the germs and stuff.”

  “That’s good, Logan, real good. Can you tell me what the boots looked like?” Navarro asks.

  “They were brown. And they stunk, kind of like when you’re driving by a farm and you can hardly take it because it smells so bad.”

  “Like manure?” Navarro asks.

  “Yes, sir, I mean, Ray, sir,” Logan says.

  “Were the boots big, like a man was wearing them? Or were they smaller, like women’s shoes?”

  “It was dark. I couldn’t really tell.”

  “Okay. So this person is standing over your bed. Did they say anything?” Navarro asks.

  “Well, they did, but it wasn’t nice. Mom and Dad won’t let me say those kinds of words.”

  “It’s fine this time. Your mom and dad aren’t going to mind,” Navarro replies. “Right, Julia?”

  “Absolutely. Tell him what you heard,” I say.

  Logan clears his throat nervously. “They said something really bad. It was something like, ‘Selfish is as selfish does. Dirty, selfish little girl. Dirty, selfish little whore.’”

  A tear slips down Logan’s cheek, and he wipes it away with his pajama top.

  “Hang in there,” Navarro says. “Logan, buddy, can you tell me if the voice was a man’s voice or a woman’s?”

  “I’m not really sure. They just sounded really angry. It was definitely an adult’s voice though,” Logan says. “Then they started humming.”

  “Humming? Like humming a song? Do you know what song it was?” Navarro asks.

  “No, I’m sorry I don’t,” Logan says. “I think I might have heard it when Dad used to take me to church, but that was a long time ago, and I’m just not sure. I’ll let you know if I remember.”

  “Great, a crazed, angry, religious hummer,” Navarro mumbles under his breath and then turns his attention back to Logan. “You’re doing real good. What happened after the person in your room started humming?”

  “I was sure they were going to look under the bed and find me. I closed my eyes for a second. Like if I opened them, they’d be staring right at me.”

  “But they didn’t find you.”

  “No. The person left. I heard them run out of my room real quick, and they never came back. I stayed under the bed until my mom came in. She told me to lock the door when she went to go look for my brother. Then a few minutes later, I heard my mom scream for Will outside. That’s all I can remember.”

  “That’s okay. You did great. Do me a favor. If you think of anything else, you tell your mom or dad right away. All right?”

  “I will,” Logan promises. “Is Daddy going to be here soon?”

  “He’s on his way,” I answer.

  “Can I go in my room?”

  “Just be careful what you touch. I’m going to talk to Detective Navarro out here for a minute. Let me know if you need anything,” I say and trail Logan’s retreat until he is safely out of earshot.

  “Please tell me you have something,” I implore Navarro. Before I can pump him for information, Russell turns the corner from Will’s room holding another plastic evidence bag.

  “We just found something under the little boy’s crib,” Russell says. “It looks like an Indian arrowhead.”

  Russell holds the plastic bag up for Navarro and me to inspect from afar.

  “I didn’t know what it was at first, but one of our patrol guys is half-Indian and he confirmed it. Does this belong to you, Julia?” Russell asks.

  (“I promise, I’ll never leave you. Not in a million years. You’re my bright spot. We were born into a bad life, but we’re going to be okay. You’ll see. We’re going to come out of this all right.”)

  Ben’s last words swirl in my head like a mammoth black funnel cloud roaring in my ears. I no longer see the evidence bag, or Navarro or the cops canvassing every inch of my house for clues. I’m back in Sparrow in our room on the night Ben disappeared. The Indian arrowhead under Ben’s bed was one of the few pieces of evidence the police found in his abduction.

  “Jesus, this can’t be happening again. There was a call, a warning on my answering machine right before the break-in. The caller said someone was coming back for me this time. It’s all connected somehow.”

  “Julia, what’s going on?” Navarro asks.

  “It’s Labor Day, the anniversary,” I cry out.

  “Take it easy,” Navarro answers and grabs my arm to try and calm me down.

  “You don’t understand. There’s a thirty-year-old case of another missing boy that’s directly related to my son’s disappearance.”

  “Who’s the kid?” Navarro asks.

  “It’s my brother, Ben. Whoever took him just kidnapped Will.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The first fingers of daylight slowly break through the darkness of the previous night and cast a fuzzy glow behind two weeping willow trees that stand like bookends on either side of the front yard. David and I planted each tree right after the births of Logan and Will. Just two days ago, Will and I sat underneath his tree and I watched as my baby swatted at the high branches, and Will laughed in delight when he managed to catch one in his hand.

  Navarro and I greet dawn in his unmarked police car, where I recounted the story about my brother and the day he was kidnapped. Navarro immediately briefed his team and left a message with Detective Leidy at the St. Clair Sheriff’s Department to gather information on Ben’s cold case and possibly pinpoint any threads that could connect to Will.

  “Did the cops think the Indian arrowhead under your brother’s bed had some kind of meaning?” Navarro asks.

  “No. They were never able to determine whether it was a symbol or just something accidentally dropped by the person who took Ben. I always thought it did though.”

  “What about the guy in the green Caddy?” Navarro asks. “Was he ever found?”

  “No. It was a dead end. Leidy figured the guy was an out-of-towner visiting Sparrow for the Labor Day weekend.”

  “How about your dad?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Gloves are off, Julia. Your dad had a record. He’d be a suspect even without one. Family always is. You know that.”

  “My dad had an alibi that checked out. That’s what Leidy said. My dad got a temporary job installing flooring in a factory in Fort Wayne, Indiana. It was night work. The foreman vouched for him. I never saw my dad after that night, but I always wondered if he was trying to change. My dad could con the best of the
m, but he was doing honest work for once. I’d like to think he stayed that way.”

  “If a man doesn’t come back for his own kid, I doubt he changed much.”

  I ignore Navarro’s comment and instead stare at the dashboard clock. Six a.m., exactly eight hours since Will was snatched from his bed. I push down the unimaginable that could have happened in the past few hours and instead visualize my little boy as though I am seeing him for the first time. Will, with his white blond hair glistening like pure spun gold against the sun as he chases Logan up and down the banks of the lake. Will, my hundred-percent all-American boy, his arms overloaded with Matchbox cars as he climbs up the steps to bed, refusing to part with his precious bounty. Will, who already knows how to expertly work me as I easily cave to his whims and read The Very Hungry Caterpillar for the umpteenth time to him before bed. And Will, with a child’s unspoiled trust, who believed I would chase the monsters away and always protect him from harm.

  Jesus. Will, where are you?

  Guilt and self-loathing course through me as I realize it’s my fault, all of it, my fault again. My heart begins to beat so hard in my chest, I am surprised Navarro can’t hear it.

  Instead, Navarro picks up a paper cup from his dashboard and spits something inside.

  “Sunflower seed casings,” he says. “I quit smoking two weeks ago, so I’ve got to put something in my mouth. I tried gum, but it’s like chewing on a piece of disgusting rubber you can’t spit out. I quit drinking after you left. So the cigarettes were my final vice.”

  “I’m glad you finally quit them both. The booze especially.”

  “Ten years too late though, right?” Navarro answers and tosses the remains of his chew out the driver-side window. “Your brother’s abduction must have been a heavy thing to carry around for such a long time. And for a kid who could’ve been a potential witness not to remember anything, that’s got to make you feel a world of guilt.”

  “Am I a suspect? You think I snapped and did something to my own child?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Yes, you did. Family members are always the first people you look at. Remember who you’re talking to here.”