Idyll Fears

by Stephanie Gayle

  Hopkins said, “Should we call an ambulance?”

  Mrs. Forrand seemed dazed. She asked, “Can I see him first? I want to see him.”

  “Okay. Hopkins, who’s with Cody?” I asked.

  “Officer Dix and a neighbor volunteer, Mr. Phelps. You want me to send ’em back here?”

  “We’ll go to them. You stay here and recall all the volunteers.”

  Hopkins said, “Will do.” He gave me a smile. It was hard not to feel good. We’d found the missing kid, safe and sound, two weeks before Christmas.

  Anna zipped her quilted purple coat. “Should I bring Sammy?” she asked.

  “Who’s Sammy?” I asked.

  Mrs. Forrand said, “Cody’s favorite stuffed toy. It’s a raccoon. His Uncle Greg gave it to him.”

  Anna said, “He’s not really our uncle.”

  “He’s Pete’s best friend,” Mrs. Forrand said. “Cody adores Greg. Anna, let’s leave Sammy here. Cody can play with him when he comes home.”

  Mrs. Forrand directed me to the McManus house. Inside, Dix stood with Mr. Phelps. They watched three boys, seated on sofas. Crumbs and juice boxes littered the coffee table. “Cody!” Anna called, bounding into the room ahead of us. She stopped short. “Where’s Cody?”

  “Right here.” Mr. Phelps pointed to the youngest boy, who was drinking from a juice box. He had brown hair and eyes.

  “That’s not Cody,” Anna said, outraged.

  Mrs. Forrand stared at the boy. The expression in her eyes wasn’t one of love.

  “If that’s not Cody, who is it?” Dix asked. He looked to me. I had nothing.

  “It’s Brian McManus,” Mrs. Forrand said. Her voice was colder than the wind outside.

  “You said it was Cody,” Dix said to Mr. Phelps, who had gone goggle-eyed.

  “He said he was.” Mr. Phelps gestured at Brian McManus. “I don’t know Cody that well. They look alike.”

  The two older boys erupted into laughter. The tallest, perhaps twelve, clutched his stomach. Mrs. Forrand walked over and seized his ear. She pulled upward; he yelped. “Ow! Let me go!” He stood.

  “Not until you tell me what’s going on. Where’s Cody?” She twisted his ear.

  He screamed. “Agh! I don’t know. I don’t. We heard people were looking for him, and we thought it would be funny to pretend Brian was Cody.”

  The middle boy scanned the room, searching for an escape route. There wasn’t one. “We thought it would be funny,” he said in a small voice.

  She released the oldest’s ear. He cradled his head. “I’m calling my dad,” he said.

  Dix said, “Oh, we’ll speak to your parents, son. Where are they, anyway?”

  “Dad works at Con Edison. Ma had to check on Aunt Cindy. She’s supposed to be home soon.”

  “So they left you three alone here, huh?” Dix shook his head. “Wonderful.”

  “Where’s Cody?” Anna asked.

  “We don’t know,” Brian said. He slurped the last of his juice. “Really.”

  Neither did we. And I’d had Hopkins recall all the volunteers. Fuck.

  “Did you finish searching your area?” I asked Dix.

  “We had two more houses and yards. Plus one shed,” he said.

  “Mr. Phelps, report back at the Forrand house. Thanks for your help.”

  “You’re stopping the search?” Mrs. Forrand yelled.

  “No,” I told her. “Dix, finish searching your area. Then come back here and tell Mrs. McManus what a help her boys have been.”

  “My pleasure,” he said. “Boys, it looks like Christmas might be cancelled.”

  Over the complaints of the McManus clan, I said, “Mrs. Forrand, I’ll take you and Anna home. We’ll re-coordinate there.”

  “You boys are bad,” Anna said. She stood before Brian. The boy they’d passed off as Cody. He couldn’t meet her gaze. “I hope Santa skips your house.”

  The middle boy, eyes glued to the ground, snorted. “Santa’s not—”

  “Hey!” Dix yelled.

  Anna stared at the boy. “I know Santa’s not real. I’ve known it for years. I’m not stupid.” She turned to walk away. Pivoted and said, “Not like you.”

  Chaos reigned outside the Forrands’ house. Teams of volunteers hurled questions. We hadn’t found Cody? But we’d called them in. Said we’d found him. They’d come back, and now we were going to send them out again? They had kids to watch, dogs to walk, driveways to clear. Underneath it all was a tidal shift. With the weather worsening and no sign of Cody, it was clear that they no longer bet on finding a live child. And of course none of them wanted to find a corpse. I paired Hopkins with Billy. Put them in charge of finding which zones had been left unexplored. We’d send the neighbor volunteers home. The police would search the remaining areas.

  Mr. Forrand appeared beside my car, hat missing, hair wet. “I heard what happened with those McManus boys. I’m going to sue their parents!”

  “I understand you’re upset, sir.”

  “Upset! Those little shits cost us precious time. Half the volunteers are headed home. Cody’s been gone over five hours. No one is looking for him. You don’t have children, but if you did—”

  “Sir, I need to reorganize the search.”

  “If you hadn’t bungled this search to begin with, Cody might be home.”

  It was fear talking. His son might be dead. Yet his words rankled. Should I have dispatched teams faster? Not redrawn the maps? I should’ve made sure it was Cody at the Beech Street house before I recalled the volunteers. But who could’ve predicted those kids would pull such a prank?

  “Excuse me, Mr. Forrand, I need to call in.” I got in my car. He stood beside it, eyes scanning the whitewashed world. I picked up my handheld and asked to speak to Finnegan. He’d better be back from Sweet Dreams.

  “Chief, you need a cell phone,” Finnegan said when he came on line.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I’d been told this by the mayor and the selectmen. Were they willing to foot the bill? Nope. “Look. Cody Forrand is still missing. Some brats in the neighborhood pretended one of them was Cody, and we called off the search. Too soon. Now I’ve got the neighborhood searchers packing it in. How many men are at the station?”

  “Four, but they’re all out. There was an accident on Main. Three cars. Plus a medical emergency. Old guy shoveling. Probably heart attack.”

  “Can we get the staties? Maybe a helicopter? This kid won’t survive out here.”

  “Have you considered that he isn’t out there? Maybe someone took him?”

  “I’ve got no evidence he was snatched. Ask more neighboring towns to keep an eye out, will you?”

  “Sure. I’ll try the staties too, but blizzards stretch ’em thin. They might not be able to assist.” He sounded aggrieved. No one liked a missing-child case.

  “If you can’t reach me, call Hopkins. He’s at the Forrands’ house.”

  “Of course he is. While the rest of you get snowed on.”

  Finnegan’s teeth weren’t chattering either.

  Mr. Forrand had moved away from my car. I got inside his house without attracting his attention. In the kitchen, Mrs. Forrand hovered by Hopkins, who tapped a map. “Here,” he said. “They came back when we said he’d been found.”

  I looked over his shoulder. “Is that the only area left to explore?” It was nearly three miles away. Lots of houses. “That and here,” Hopkins tapped the map with a pencil eraser. “I sent Klein to check them out. He’s due back any minute.”

  I said, “Finnegan’s going to call the staties. See if we can get a helicopter.”

  “In this weather?” Billy asked. Mrs. Forrand was on the verge of tears. I jerked my head toward her and gave him a death glare.

  I said, “We’ve asked neighboring police to keep an eye out. Billy, head back. Give Finnegan a copy of Cody’s picture for distribution. Help make calls.”

  “You don’t need me to search?” He unfolded himself from the chair. His cheeks were still
red, but he had energy reserves. Blessed are the young, for they are fit.

  “I’ll take the last area. Send the others back to the station. Hopkins, stay here and write up your notes.”

  Jessica, Mrs. Forrand’s sister, entered the kitchen as Billy exited. “Hey, what’s going on? You’re leaving?” she asked. “Aren’t you going to go back out and search?”

  I took the map from Hopkins. “I’m checking the last unsearched area,” I told her. “After that, we need to regroup and see if we can get more state resources.”

  “If he’s out there and you leave . . .” she lowered her voice, “he could die.”

  “If we can get a helicopter, we can search a wider area.”

  She looked bedraggled. “Fine, but make sure you keep us updated. They’re losing their minds.” Mrs. Forrand wept quietly by the sink. Jessica rubbed her back and murmured, “Stay strong, Jane. Cody needs you.”

  Another two inches of snow had fallen. I had to clear the rear window and windshield of my car. I eased it onto the road using a combination of speed and prayer. Hey, God. You listening? Take your finger out of your ear and let’s do this.

  The area to be searched had plenty of houses. No one had seen Cody. I asked people with basement doors and outside access to look inside. They obliged but found nothing—except one woman who shouted, “Oh! He did buy the necklace!” She’d found her Christmas present early. I rubbed crusted snow from car windows and peered inside. My fingers throbbed. The snow was over my boots, soaking my pants. Cody would be in worse shape. Only he wouldn’t feel it. He’s not feeling anything. Six hours. A healthy kid couldn’t survive this. And Cody wasn’t a healthy kid.

  “Shut up,” I told myself.

  I checked under porches and in garages. My nose dripped as I trudged through snow to check another shed. The door was ajar. Inside, I saw red. Cody was wearing red. I pushed the stiff door a few inches so I could squeeze inside. Two filthy windows failed to let in the dim light. I walked toward the red, avoiding a mower and a rake. Smacked my leg into a large table. I edged closer. It was a coat, hanging from a nail. I picked it up. Too much fabric. Too big. Hell. I stumbled outside. The snow had quieted the world.

  What if he was somewhere out here, buried under a drift? We’d need the medical examiner. A cold flake attacked my temple. As long as it wasn’t Damien Saunders. Please let them send someone else.

  Four weeks ago, I’d have been happy to see Damien. Was happy, when he invited me to a restaurant just across the Massachusetts border. I’d thought he was being protective of my reputation. When I showed up, he sat at a table in the back with five others, three men and two women. One look at Kate, with her butch haircut and flannel shirt, and I knew this wasn’t a date. It was an initiation, into a club I didn’t want to join.

  They called themselves GALP, Gay and Lesbian Police. Three, including Damien and me, were from Connecticut; three were from Massachusetts; and one was from Rhode Island. They sometimes met at each other’s houses, but not often. They were paranoid their colleagues would see out-of-state cars in their driveways and ask questions. The Rhode Island officer, Sally, said she’d been given a polygraph and asked if she was gay during her hiring process. Damien listened to their fears and smiled gently. That smile made me want to tip the table, watch the silverware clash to the ground, the glasses spill foam onto the floor.

  The cop from Hartford, Lou, asked what it was like for me, now, at work.

  “Fine,” I said. Damien pursed his lips. He knew about the magazine incident. “I mean, they’re not throwing me a pride parade or anything. I don’t want them to.”

  Then they spiraled off into what they wanted. To be able to attend events with their boyfriends and girlfriends; to be able to train officers on how to handle young gay offenders; to receive backup on dangerous calls. Because if your fellow officers knew you were gay, would they come? Some hadn’t in the past. Everyone had horror stories.

  I leaned back, drank my beer, and watched Damien. He wanted me to join the flock, to help other gay officers.

  They were cops. They read my resistance, felt my anger and confusion. They all said, “Hope to see you next time.” Only Sally had the fear, or courage, to ask, “You’re not going to say anything, about us?”

  “No. I would never do that.” She didn’t know me. I didn’t blame her for asking.

  In the parking lot, Damien approached me. His scar was white on his tanned face. How was he tan? I didn’t care how or why. I didn’t care at all. “Thomas,” he said. I’d told him to call me Thomas because no one else did. I’d been stupid. “Thomas, I’m sorry. I thought you’d be happy to meet some fellow officers, but I get the impression—”

  “Next time you want me to join a club, ask. Don’t make me drive a hundred miles to listen to the gay version of the ‘I Have a Dream’ speech.”

  “I just thought listening to their stories might make you . . .”

  “What?” I said.

  “More sympathetic,” he finished.

  He was finding fault with me. Him. The guy who’d made me drive all the way out here, thinking it was a date. He’d lied, essentially. Fuck him. I didn’t need his goddamn disappointment. I had plenty of my own.

  Snow dripped down my neck. The cold made me shake. I’d have to return to the station. With no idea where Cody was. In the car, I drank the last of the water and wished for another bottle. I flexed my stiff fingers and exhaled a gust of frozen air. Time to pack it in. Head to the station and refocus the search. Should I head back and tell the Forrands? Or give Hopkins the honor? My toes stung. Fuck it. Let Hopkins break the news. He’d been warm all day.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  At my office desk, wearing dry socks, I’d hoped things would seem less bleak. And they might’ve, if a state police officer hadn’t been cataloging all of my search errors over the phone. His complaints included that I hadn’t contacted the state police soon enough and I hadn’t contacted any news agencies. I’d assumed that Cody had gone off on his own. That he hadn’t been snatched. I’d allowed these assumptions to drive the search. I’d gotten the dog involved too late. I’d asked for a helicopter when all available copters had been dispatched.

  Instead of telling him I’d pitched the idea of contacting the press; instead of confessing that I hadn’t known we’d had a search dog; and instead of asking how I could know the helicopters’ availability, I asked, “What do you suggest we do now?”

  “Get the parents on TV, pronto. Send men to any house where you got no response. Put that kid’s face everywhere. Do it and do it big. Because if this goes bad, you don’t want it to look like you didn’t put in the effort.” My fingers and toes throbbed from exposure, and this guy thought I hadn’t put in the effort? “Chief, this is going to go one of two ways. You’ll find the kid or you won’t. If you don’t, or if the kid is dead, people won’t blame the parents for letting him play outside. They’ll blame you.”

  I put Dix on flyer duty with Klein. Dix had kids. He knew what we needed. “My daughter, Cara, had a school report and she insisted on these plastic sleeve things. They’ll protect the flyers from the snow.” I sent Billy to check the houses where we’d failed to rouse anyone. Hopkins was in charge of telling the Forrands we wanted them to make a public appeal. I was in charge of getting TV coverage.

  You’d have thought it would be easy. Missing kid in a blizzard. Networks live to cover that stuff, right? Except today some famous Hollywood couple had split. The actor had been cheating on his wife with his young co-star. The movie they’d starred in was about an extramarital affair. “Hollywood is three thousand miles away,” I told the guy at Channel Four. “This boy is local, and he needs help.”

  He said, “I’m sorry, but people care about this gossip. They eat it up. Besides, we’ve got deadlines. Maybe if you’d come to us sooner.” The news crew couldn’t reach the Forrands in time. Not with the roads the way they were. I finally got someone at Channel 7 to agree to run it on the seven o’clock news. The oth
ers would pick it up for the ten o’clock report. When most folks would be in bed, exhausted from shoveling.

  A copy of Cody’s photo sat on my desk. I pinched the bridge of my nose. We had to keep looking. He might be somewhere we hadn’t searched. Warm and safe, but scared.

  You don’t believe that.

  All the men who should’ve left during shift change stayed. They called other stations. Put up flyers. Checked more houses and garages and sheds. Finnegan insisted he could help; that he could work the break-in and the Cody search. Mrs. Dunsmore had dinner delivered. She warned me the selectmen would grumble at the expense. “Which is why I classified it as a training,” she said with a smile I’d come to fear most days.

  “Thanks. You should go home.” She’d gotten in earlier than I had.

  She rubbed her crucifix and looked toward the window. The storm had died. A bitter cold had set in. “Do you think we’ll find him alive?” she asked.

  I rubbed my hair. It had dried stiff. “He’s been gone ten and a half hours.”

  “Do you think someone grabbed him?” She’d worked at the Idyll Police Station for twenty-nine years. She knew what happened to kids who were snatched.

  “I hope not.” If you ask cops to rate their most hated criminals, pedophiles are number one. I was no exception. Four years ago, I’d had a case. A guy took his girlfriend’s daughter to Central Park. Claimed the girl took off after her balloon floated away, and he lost her. A dog walker found her body three days later, off a path in the Ramble. Rick, my partner on the force, had said it was the boyfriend from the get-go. The boyfriend always dated women with young daughters. Was always such “a help” with babysitting. Never minded braiding the girls’ hair or taking them to the movies. He almost got away with it. We had no forensics, no witnesses. Until Rick remembered the girl loved ponies. We went to the stables in Central Park. Found out the scumbag had brought the girl there the day she disappeared. A young woman working there recalled when she saw them. It was two hours after the guy said the girl ran off. We got a search warrant. Found the evidence we needed to prove he’d raped and killed her. Rick might not have ended on a high note, but he got justice for that girl. Sarah. Her name was Sarah.