Idyll Fears

by Stephanie Gayle

  “Yes. You?” If Waters didn’t buy my theory, I’d have a much harder time. We needed the FBI’s support.

  She nodded. “Jane Forrand is lying.”

  “About what?” I asked, curious as to what made her sound so certain.

  “Not sure yet,” she said. “But she is. I’m a human lie detector, remember?” She flashed me a feral grin that made me glad we were on the same side.

  My house was cold. Was it worth adjusting the thermostat dial? I left it alone and opened the fridge. Half a second later, I closed it. I didn’t want anything cold. I opened the cabinet to the right of the fridge and found the half-empty bottle of Laphroaig that Rick had given me two birthdays ago. “Cheers, Tommy,” he’d said.

  “Booze?” I’d said. “How fucking Irish can you get?”

  “Piss off, old-timer. This cost me fifty bucks. I’ll take it if you don’t want it.”

  “No.” I’d hugged the bottle to my chest. “I’m keeping it, but you overpaid dearly, dumbass.”

  He’d punched my arm, and I’d put him in a headlock, and we’d drunk a glass each. God, I missed him.

  I poured myself two fingers and replaced the bottle in the cabinet. A promise I wouldn’t drink more. The force was full of cops with red-veined noses, beer bellies, and pasts full of golden days. I wasn’t in a hurry to join their ranks. I took my drink to the living room and sat in my ten-year-old recliner. My fingers rubbed its worn nap.

  I kept my eyes on my drink, away from the peeling kitchen floor and the thousand other items that needed updating or replacing. It was late and I was cold. In two hours, it would be Christmas. And Cody, alive or dead, wouldn’t be home.

  Time for bed. My sheets were cold. Another person would help warm them, but what other person would I bring back here? Someone I never planned to see again, that’s for sure. I thumped my pillow, trying to work out the lumps. Someone I never planned to see again. My specialty.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Christmas Day dawned bright and warm, forty degrees in the sun. For the first time this month, I left my coat unzipped and my head bare as I drove to the station. It was early, people still inside their homes, unwrapping gifts and plundering stockings. At the station, the crew seemed healthier. Of our federal friends, only Cisco was present. He said, “Waters is home, probably assembling that Barbie house. I swapped, so I could have New Year’s Eve in North Carolina. I hate New Year’s here. It’s always freezing, and you can’t get a cab.”

  “Waters has kids?” I asked.

  “Just one, a girl, age six.” Cody’s age. “She’s cute. Named Jasmine. Over-the-top girly. Can’t understand how she came out of Waters.”

  “Waters told me she thinks Cody’s dead,” I said.

  “Yeah?” Cisco didn’t seem surprised. “Stands to reason. He’s been gone three days. Besides, she thinks—” he stopped.

  “That Mrs. Donner may have killed Aaron? She told me.”

  His bunched muscles relaxed. “Yeah. Seems like a bitch to prove, though. Judging from what I’ve seen, no one floated the idea back then.”

  “Grieving mother of a sick kid. Why would they?” I asked.

  “Now that she’s a kidnapper, the shine’s off,” he said.

  “True.”

  “What are your plans for the holiday?” he asked.

  “Me? This.” I swept my hand around. “Then probably home to watch my favorite Christmas special.”

  “It’s a Wonderful Life?” Cisco guessed.

  “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Groundbreaking stuff. The gay elf who wants to be a dentist? Moving.”

  He shook his head. “I hate musicals. Anything where people or cartoons start singing their feelings and then dancing, perfectly timed? Nah.”

  “Thus speaks a man who cannot dance,” I said solemnly.

  “Ha! I’m a hit on the dance floor.”

  “I’ll bet you are.” Cisco, in a muscle tee on a dance floor, would be a sight. I swallowed. The air felt thick. I recalled his kiss. “Time to check equipment inventory,” I said. “See you later.”

  “Watch out for paper cuts,” he said.

  Back in my office, time passed slowly. I read two newspapers at my desk. The New York Times and the Idyll Register. The most interesting story in the Times was about the woman who’d been injured by the Cat in the Hat balloon during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. The balloon struck a lamppost that rained metal onto the spectators’ heads. Ms. Caronna had sustained a head injury and been in a coma, waking on Sunday. She’d probably sue Macy’s or the city, or both. The Idyll Register carried two articles on Cody. One, a wrap-up of the case to date, stressing the involvement of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The other was a collection of thoughts from Cody’s first-grade classmates. “We miss you” and “Come home soon!” dominated the list. One boy, Joe Borden, wrote, “Come play Super Nintendo with me.” I wondered if the kids understood why Cody was missing. Surely teachers and parents had explained to them. Then again, maybe they’d tread lightly on the abduction, since their own kids weren’t at risk. A random stranger hadn’t grabbed Cody; a woman who’d known him for years had. The parents might take comfort from this. They didn’t have to worry about lurking pedophiles, not today.

  I checked with the patrol and was hearing about the nudist runner who’d been spotted in the woods, when Cisco found me and said, “Cody sighting near New London, looks like it might be legit. We haven’t got anyone close.”

  “You going?”

  “I could use another pair of eyes,” he said.

  Klein, nearby, perked up, as if it was an open offer.

  “Gimme a minute.” I fetched my things from my office. I likely wouldn’t come back but would head home after we checked out this tip.

  “Merry Christmas,” I shouted as I left. “Stay safe.” Stay safe was a phrase my super used when I was a rookie. Back when I was community-policing in neighborhoods rife with bad guys with guns, it meant something. I still used it. Idiots with guns, addicts with knives, or plain bad drivers killed cops every day. So I guess it still meant something. It meant be careful. Take nothing for granted.

  “You mind if we take mine?” Cisco said, twirling his car keys.

  “Not at all.” I was half in love with his ride. “So, what’s the deal?”

  “We got a sighting near New London. Kid fitting Cody’s description, with a single woman. Caller saw them at a Hilton Inn during her two-day stay. She spotted them at the pool. Said the kid was cannon-balling, into the shallow end.”

  “Sounds like Cody.”

  “Later, she’s watching the news. Sees an item about Cody, and she says pool boy looks just like him.”

  “Anyone check with the hotel?” I asked.

  “We called. No one registered under Donner, but there is a woman with a child registered under the name Pitts.”

  “Pitts,” I said. “Like her maiden name?”

  “Yeah. Maybe she’s using IDs from back then. Who knows? Front desk says the woman and kid are due to check out tomorrow.”

  “A Hilton in New London? They didn’t get far.”

  “She may have needed a spot to lay low, regroup.”

  “How’s she paying for the room?”

  “Cash. Front desk remembered. It’s not as common as it used to be.”

  This was looking good. Real good. If they were staying at a hotel an hour away, we could have Cody back on Christmas Day.

  “Who knows if it’s them,” Cisco said, attempting to pour water on my dreams.

  “It sounds good.”

  He looked over at me, his dark eyes narrowed. “Yeah, it does.” He looked back at the road. “Waters will be surprised as fuck if we find him.”

  “I’d like to see that.”

  Cisco made the hour drive in forty-five minutes, despite congestion around Willimantic. “Okay,” he said. “Plan is we sniff around. Get eyes on the kid. If we confirm it’s him, we call in the troops.”

  I checked my gun, but
toned my coat, and walked with Cisco into the lobby. A massive tree decorated in gold and silver dominated one side. We walked to the large front desk, where a young woman stood, frowning. She scrubbed the blank look from her face when she noticed us. “Merry Christmas,” she said. “Welcome. Are you checking in with us tonight?” Her name tag read Pamela. She wore a blouse with a lace collar.

  “Hello. I’m Agent Cisco, and this is Police Chief Lynch. We’re here because you have a woman and child staying here. The child matches the description of a boy we’re looking for who was abducted three days ago.” He said all of it the same way he’d have said, “Yes, we’re checking in. Two nights. Registered under Cisco.”

  Pamela’s eyes got round. She made a soft, “oh?” sound.

  “We need to know the room number of Ms. Pitts.”

  “Ms. Pitts, right.” She started tapping on her keyboard.

  “Is the pool open?” A man yelled across the lobby. He carried a towel and a paperback.

  “Yes, until 10 p.m. tonight. That way.” She pointed. “Sorry,” she said.

  “No problem,” Cisco said. “Room number?”

  “Room 311. At the end of the hall.”

  “That’s great,” Cisco said. “Do you have her car information?”

  “We ask for the guest’s license-plate numbers when they check in.”

  Cisco gave her a smile like she’d invented sliced bread. “Great. I need you to call Ms. Pitts and tell her that her car alarm is going off. If she says she doesn’t have one, say it’s the car with her license plate. Gently insist she come down and take a look. Don’t place the call until we get upstairs, okay?”

  “How will I know you’re up there?” she asked.

  He held up his phone. “With this. What’s your number?” She recited it for him and he typed it into his phone. “When I call you, you call her about the car. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Great,” Cisco said.

  We stalked toward the elevators. “Flirt,” I muttered.

  “Me?” Cisco put his hand to his chest.

  I shook my head and stabbed the Up button. “What’s the plan?”

  “Stake out the hallway, call Pamela, and wait.”

  We got in the elevator and ascended to the third floor. The doors pinged and opened. We faced a large glass mirror, under which a small desk with a tiny potted Christmas tree stood beside a squat black phone. We turned right. Signs showed us room 311 was to the left at the end of the hall. We stood outside, ears cocked for crying or conversation. Nothing. Cisco walked to 315 and made the call. Then he walked back. We heard the phone ring inside 311. It rang four times before someone picked up. We heard a female voice talking, and then silence. Was she coming or not? More murmurs, and then the door opened a crack. We stood out of sight until she stepped out, past the doorway.

  “FBI!” Cisco yelled. He stepped in front and backed her inside the room.

  “Mommy?” a small boy cried out. We looked. He was small, with dark hair and dark eyes and a runny nose. He wasn’t Cody Forrand. His right eye sported a shiner turning green-yellow.

  “Did he send you?” the woman asked. She was a good fifteen years younger than Sharon Donner. Thin and worn at the edges, with a split lip.

  “Who?” Cisco said.

  “Alex,” she said.

  “Who’s Alex?” he asked.

  She looked behind Cisco. “My husband.” Her eyes welled with tears.

  “Alex hits you?” Cisco said.

  The boy came forward. He wrapped his arms about his mother’s left leg and said, “Go away!” I admired his loyalty. I doubted his piece-of-shit father had.

  “It’s okay, pal,” Cisco said, bending to squat so he was eye level with the kid. “We’re here to help you and your Mom.”

  “Why did you come here?” she asked.

  “We’re looking for a boy who was abducted. Your son looks a lot like him. You, however, are much younger and more attractive than his kidnapper.” She brushed aside his compliment, but she was pleased all the same. “What happened?” Cisco asked. “Why are you hiding?”

  Ms. Pitts, whose real name was Amanda Molton, told him all about her abusive husband. She’d called the cops on him more than once. He’d be out of jail a day or a week later. Two days ago, he’d come home, drunk, annoyed that dinner wasn’t waiting. He’d expressed his displeasure by hitting her with a drinking glass. Jacob, her son, had run into the room to defend her, and Mr. Molton punched him. Jacob was out cold. Amanda was frantic. Her husband restrained her from taking him to the doctor. She had to wait until her husband fell asleep. Then she gathered clothes and her son, and she drove five hours south until she reached the hotel.

  “I should’ve stayed somewhere cheaper, but it’s Christmas, and he loves the pool, and it’s near the aquarium.”

  “They have beluga whales at the aquarium,” Jacob said.

  Cisco found out where she lived and left to make some calls. He was gone long enough for us to become uncomfortable and then pass through it. When he returned, Jacob sat beside me, explaining the differences between dolphins and porpoises.

  Cisco asked Amanda if she had family she could stay with for a while. Amanda looked at her son, who was busy explaining to me again why whales aren’t fish. Her mouth got tight. “My sister, but Alex looked for me there. She called me, yesterday.”

  “Okay. Stay here for the night. Tomorrow, someone from your town’s police station will be in touch. If they’re not, call me.” He handed her a card. “You’ll get a restraining order.” He held up his hand. “Another restraining order. The old one expired. Does your husband have any bad habits besides drunken violence?”

  “You mean like drugs?” she asked.

  Jacob looked up from the book he’d been using to illustrate several of his points. “Hey, what’s that?” I asked, pointing to an illustration of a hammerhead shark.

  He rolled his eyes so far back I thought they’d disappear into his skull. “It’s a shark. A hammerhead.”

  “He smokes weed, but not often. He had some pills a while back,” she said, keeping her voice low. She’d noticed her son’s interest in the conversation.

  “Hammerhead,” I said. “Do you think you could use his head to put a nail in the wall?” I mimed hammering. “Bang, bang. Thanks for your help, Mr. Shark.”

  “You’re ridiculous,” Jacob said.

  “Jacob!” his mom chided.

  “It’s okay.” I leaned toward him. He smelled of cereal and milk. “I am ridiculous. Everyone says so.”

  “Are the drugs in the house?” Cisco asked.

  She shook her head. “His car.”

  “Good,” he said. “Make sure you tell tomorrow’s cop that.”

  They chatted while Jacob told me about the breeding habits of sea turtles. It was a grim story. Mother turtles crawled out of the ocean at night to dig a sand pit and lay up to 120 eggs in that nest. They covered the hole and swam away. Sixty days later, the baby turtles dug themselves out of the nest, a process that could take days. The hatchlings then made a run for the sea. Sharks, fish, and birds picked them off as they tried to scramble into open water and swim to safety. Only one in one thousand baby turtles survived to adulthood.

  “That’s terrifying,” I told Jacob. “I’m going to have nightmares about that.”

  “That’s nature,” he said.

  “Are you going to the aquarium tomorrow?” I asked.

  “Maybe!” He turned to his mother. “Mom, can we go again?”

  “We’ll see,” she said. She mouthed “expensive” to me.

  “Well, we need to go, but if you have any trouble, call me,” Cisco said.

  “Thank you,” she said. “And good luck, with your case.”

  “Hey, Jacob, Merry Christmas.” I handed Jacob a wad of cash I’d taken from my wallet. “Maybe you can buy something from the aquarium gift shop tomorrow.”

  “Oh boy!” Jacob waved the bills.

  “Oh, you don�
��t have to—” she said.

  “Merry Christmas,” I said, pulling the door closed behind me. The lock clicked.

  “That was nice,” Cisco said.

  “Not as nice as what you did. You think the cops will follow up?”

  “They’d better,” he said. “Or there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “Good thing Wright wasn’t here,” I said.

  “Why’s that?” he pushed the elevator button.

  “He has a thing about men who hit women and children.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” Cisco asked.

  “Wright has it more than others.”

  The elevator pinged and the doors opened. We stepped inside. Cisco rolled his shoulders. “So much for being heroes on Christmas Day,” he said.

  “I think we did okay back there.”

  “We didn’t find Cody.”

  “Did you think we would?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “Makes two of us,” I said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Once we’d called in our failure to find Cody, we agreed we could murder a hamburger. We ate at a pub a few miles up the road from the hotel. It had a roaring fireplace and wreaths on the walls. The burger was good, as was the beer. The company was good, too. Cisco told me funny stories from his days at Quantico. I told him about the more entertaining nutters I’d met on the job, back in the city.

  When the waiter came with the bill, he said, “I wish I got along with my brother as well as you two.” We didn’t contradict him, but the guy’s eyes needed checking. Cisco was clearly Puerto Rican. I was half a foot taller and Irish white. Besides, I liked Cisco, and not as a brother.

  In the car, Cisco half hummed a song I didn’t recognize. The streets were quiet. He pulled off the highway and turned down a stretch of unfamiliar road. Then he pulled into the Red Roof Inn’s parking lot.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “Home sweet home.” He nodded toward the long, two-story building. “For now.”

  “They couldn’t put you somewhere nicer?”

  He smiled quickly. “Los federales are tight with the wallet.”

  We sat, the heater providing the only sound. “So, are you going to invite me in?” I asked.