“It might be good therapy to be the one sitting in the driver’s seat of that bulldozer.”
“Pass on word to John—if he needs some help getting the title cleared, the permits to destroy it authorized, whatever bureaucracy needs to be moved, I’ll lend a hand.”
“I’ll do that. I’m having lunch with Charlotte tomorrow. I’m not planning to mention baby Connor, but I might bring up the house, see if she comments. We’re going shopping to find a birthday gift for Bryce. She’s thinking something baseball as he enjoys the game.”
“He’d enjoy the movie Moneyball if he hasn’t seen it yet.”
“I’ll ask her. The coin sorting room is going to finish work next week at the pace they’re going. Charlotte is going to dovetail Bryce’s birthday evening with the ‘last coin’ celebration. I thought we might make a symbolic purchase of the last coin, then give it to them framed as a late wedding gift. A memento of how they met.”
Paul smiled. “A very good idea. Mention it to Devon and see if he can help us out with the arrangements.”
The lasagna was good. He’d been rushed all day, and it felt good to sit down for a leisurely meal. Paul had seen his wife in a lot of moods, recognized the thoughtful one she was in tonight. “What else is on your mind?”
“Do you think God nudges on small matters like the cold case you chose to bring home because He knew this was the year the baby Connor case could be solved?”
“I don’t think God wastes our time any more than He does His own. There were dozens of cold cases to choose from, but the details of this one sounded interesting to me. I’m as willing to accept that God was involved in that choice as not. I’d prayed about which cases we should tackle together, and this one got selected.”
“I’m praying we have this case solved soon.”
“We’ll find the caller. As Bryce likes to say, a lot of coincidences seem to occur when you pray. If we don’t already have what we need to solve this, I’m sure it will turn up. I’m guessing it’s now a matter of months, possibly only weeks, before this is solved.”
THIRTY
Bryce shut off the desk light and called the workday finished. He walked through the living room and headed to the kitchen. The house was quiet—too quiet for what he had discovered was his preference. He had grown accustomed to Charlotte’s music in her studio or her favorite show being on television, and found himself listening to them during the day. But she’d gone out with Ellie for the evening.
He put chicken strips into a hot skillet, raided the refrigerator for salsa and the cupboard for tortilla chips. The doorbell rang, and he turned off the heat under the skillet, walked through the house, checked who it was, and opened the door.
John. Behind him Paul. Bryce knew with one glance there was trouble. He stepped back to let them enter. “What’s happened?”
“Charlotte isn’t home?” Paul asked.
“She’s out with Ellie this evening. Kimberly Beach is with them.”
“I’ll warn Kim to give us a heads up before they return.” John was already pulling out his phone. “We don’t need Charlotte walking in on this conversation.”
Bryce watched John walk away to make the call. “What’s happened, Paul?”
“Another photo of your wife has turned up. Gage brought it in to the FBI this afternoon. We’ve confirmed it’s authentic.”
“Another photo. This isn’t the first.”
“There are four others that I know of, recovered from the house in the days immediately after she was rescued—likely proof-of-life photos they didn’t use. They’re sealed under a security tag to keep them out of the general case file.”
“Where was this one found?”
John rejoined them, closing his phone. “The uncle of the two men who abducted Charlotte recently died,” he said. “Gage got permission from the family to search his home and business. A box was found that looks like personal belongings of one of the cousins. The photo was found tucked in a magazine.”
“Besides the time gap, why is this one significant?”
“The hand on her shoulder is not one of the men who was killed,” Paul replied. “The photo proves a third man was involved in her case. Is there anything you can tell me now, Bryce?”
Bryce looked at John.
“Tell him,” John said with a nod.
“There was a third man. Charlotte said he whispered ‘I’m a cop, I will kill your sister if you mention me.’ The next day cops broke in, shot the two men, and rescued her.”
Paul winced. “No way that’s a coincidence. Anything else you can tell me?”
Bryce looked to John, back at Paul. “I’m sorry. I can’t say anything further.”
Paul looked between them, then to John. “If I state it’s Charlotte’s butterfly pin on baby Connor’s blanket, will you confirm it?”
“She was there,” John replied.
“The voice on the Dublin Pub tape?”
“She confirmed the caller was the same man who threatened her sister.”
“What are the odds I can get her to say any of that for the record?”
“Very slim to none.”
Bryce stepped in before Paul went further. “You said Gage found the photo. Is he going to use it in the book?”
“He’s assured me he will not,” Paul replied, “but he doesn’t need to use the photo. He’s already realized it confirms a third man was involved. It’s a disturbing photo, Bryce.”
Bryce took a deep breath and let it out. “I need to see it.”
Paul took an envelope from his pocket, offered it. Bryce slipped out the photo. He felt the impact of it as a physical punch knocking his breath out. He put his hand across the photo to block most of the image. The man’s hand on her shoulder was a right hand. The third finger was missing part of the final joint. An old injury, well healed. Bryce felt the muscles in his chest tighten as a whisper of a memory took hold. “I’ve seen that injured hand before.”
John was studying the photo equally intently. “I had the same feeling. You’ve seen it, not just read about it?”
“I’ve seen it, and almost identical to this photo, a hand on a shoulder.”
“Not the case file pictures,” John said, “I know them too well. Somewhere in a video?”
Bryce moved to his office to get the boxes Chapel had sent him, what seemed like a lifetime ago.
He set up the old video equipment in the living room and put in the first tape. The press conference tapes, the newscasts, the community fund-raisers. He played tape after tape, searching for what had triggered that fleeting memory.
He stopped the fifth tape. “There.”
Tabitha had spoken a few words to the gathered guests at a fund-raiser for the family, was coming down the steps from the stage to talk with the gathered reporters. A man from the stage had joined her. The way Tabitha turned, smiled at him, leaned into his space, all spoke of an easy comfort. He put his hand on her shoulder as she turned to face the press.
John saw it and visibly flinched. “Anybody but him.”
Paul held the photo near the screen. The hand injury was the same.
“Who is it, John?”
“Christopher Caleb Cox. Tabitha had quite a crush on him when she was eighteen, nineteen,” John said, his voice not quite steady. “A recent graduate of the private high school, private college that technically was in their neighborhood by a fluke of geography but economically was a world away. He showed up in Tabitha’s life when she was sixteen, in the days after Charlotte pushed her out of the van. Sporadic at first—‘How are you doing, anything I can help with?’ Then as the modeling developed into more travel to New York, he’d help with travel arrangements, business details. He’s five years older than Tabitha. Christopher helped Tabitha with the public events, recruited many of those who came to donate. She trusted him, depended on him.” John looked physically sick. “It’s going to destroy Charlotte and Tabitha to hear this.”
“He put himself in the middle of what w
as going on,” Paul said quietly. “He tracked the family, the investigation, and probably extended how long this went on by what he learned. What better way to be in the center of things than recruit the other sister as his inside source for developments in the case.”
Bryce had seen enough. He moved away from the screen.
Paul was studying the video. “Play it. Let’s see if we have his voice.”
There were two brief exchanges with the press where Christopher’s voice was faintly captured. “The odds of getting an audio match with that weak a sample are small, but we’ll try,” Paul said. “It’s at least contemporary audio to the phone call. What else do you know about him, John?”
“This was thought to be a good guy. Well-respected family, honors at college, president of the class—a clean, attractive image. Most of what I know comes from having read the father’s journal, Tabitha’s diary. They wanted me familiar with the details so I could help answer Charlotte’s questions about what had happened with her family during those four years.
“Christopher’s father was a lawyer, a partner with a downtown firm. Christopher went out to California to get his law degree, get away from his father’s shadow, started a firm out there with a couple of friends from law school. He made a name for himself as a defense attorney.
“After he left for California,” John continued, “Tabitha eventually let go of the idea of the two of them having a future. Thomas was the guy she had met in New York, and as the modeling took off and the press intensity grew there, Thomas was the one she began to lean on. Eventually Tabitha married him. But Christopher was her first crush, her first love.”
John ran his hand through his hair. “I can check with Tabitha, do it casually, but I don’t think she’s heard from him in the past decade. And as far as I know, he’s still in California.”
Bryce could see the line of dominoes lined up to hit his wife, knew she wasn’t ready to absorb this. “Paul, don’t tell any of this to Charlotte tonight. You can’t show her the photo. Not until this is verified.”
“I agree,” Paul replied. “At a minimum I want an expert telling me that hand injury is the same, and I want a voice confirmation that our pub caller is in fact Christopher Caleb Cox. I want to have eyes on where he is today. We’ll have the conversation with Charlotte after we have those facts.”
“Charlotte’s going to want to protect her sister,” Bryce said.
“They’ve been victims once, Bryce, I’m not interested in making them victims again,” Paul said. “We’ll take this one step at a time. John, I want your word—you don’t act on this. You don’t track him down. You don’t have private detectives working his name five minutes after I leave here. Give me a reasonable amount of time. I’ll keep you both in the loop.”
John looked at Bryce, back at Paul. “Forty-eight hours.”
“I can work with that.” Paul pulled out his keys. “I’ll get out of here before Ellie drops Charlotte off and notices my car. If this is confirmed as the guy, you’re going to have to be prepared to step in with both Charlotte and Tabitha. And I’m likely going to need Tabitha in Chicago for a conversation.”
“We’ll be ready,” John promised.
“You’re quiet tonight.”
Bryce stirred as Charlotte joined him on the couch. “A lot on my mind.” She invaded his space, and he welcomed her into it. He liked holding her, and he no longer felt just that slight flinch at the first touch. “Have a good evening with Ellie?”
“We ended up at a bookstore with a stack of art books on the table going back and forth between us. She talked me into buying two; I talked her into buying six.”
Another night he would have at least chuckled. “You did good.” He feathered his fingers through her hair, held back a sigh. She’d had a good evening and he didn’t want to disturb the calm.
“I figured out part of my problem with God.”
His hand stilled.
“I don’t know what I can trust Him to do. I was sitting across the table from Ellie tonight and it just struck me. I know what I can trust Ellie to do in a situation, and I can’t say the same thing about God. I thought I could trust Him to keep me safe, and He didn’t. I thought I could trust Him to answer my frantic pleas to save a baby’s life, and He didn’t. I don’t know what I can absolutely trust Him to do.”
He felt her dilemma deep in his chest. The sadness in her voice was layered with her history. “I don’t have answers for you, Charlotte.”
“God is good.”
“The Bible says He is good, holy, and perfect.”
“I don’t understand His decisions.”
Bryce put his other arm firmly around her to complete the hug. “You want to understand and be able to predict God. It can’t be done, Charlotte. You simply have to trust both that He loves you and that He is making the right decisions.”
“I need it to make sense, Bryce.”
“We would all like that, and it likely will make sense one day, from the perspective of eternity.” He rested his chin against her hair. “You weren’t forgotten, Charlotte. Explanations, reasons, would be nice to have, but the more important question is simply was God paying attention? He was, to every moment of those four years. He didn’t treat your prayers lightly. He didn’t dismiss your words. I can’t explain His decisions, but I can say ‘trust Him.’ You weren’t forgotten.”
“Trust seems so easy for you, Bryce.”
“Not easy. Anything but easy.”
“I have a hard time praying like you do. I start the conversation with God, and all the stuff that hurts comes jamming into the conversation, wanting answers. And with that comes the feeling that God let me down. It takes about two minutes for my frustration level with God to get too high, and my only option is to stop praying and go do something else. I can’t seem to get past that.”
“I think God would rather have those honest two minutes with you than an hour where you gloss over what’s really on your mind.” He turned toward her. “What brought this topic up? Did Ellie say something?”
“Not directly. It was a quiet remark she made about John, the fact she could depend on him. Made me think how I can depend on you, followed by how I wish I could depend on God.”
“You can. That’s one of the things about Him I’m sure of, Charlotte.”
“It’s just hard to get comfortable with that. God will make decisions that are hard for me to accept. It’s something I know from firsthand experience.”
“God’s more dependable than I am, Charlotte. Maybe it doesn’t seem that way, but it is true. Keep wrestling with that fact until you realize it’s true.”
“God is probably tired of all my doubts, but I’m trying. I want a comfortable relationship with Him, Bryce. I see what you have, and I wish that was my relationship with Him too.”
“It will heal. He loves us the same. Your journey is just different from mine. There are wounds and scars from what happened. Choose to trust God, even before you fully understand. There will be a day where you know you can love Him without reservation.”
“I hope there will be.” Charlotte suddenly leaned back. “Other news. I think Ellie’s going to tell John yes. She’s pretty quiet about that kind of big decision, but I think she’s made it.”
“Yeah?”
“I know her. It was in her voice when she mentioned they’d been out last night. I think she’s decided to marry him. She hasn’t told him yet, but it’s like she’s ninety-five percent decided that she will. It’s going to be so much fun helping her plan a wedding.”
“You’ll enjoy every minute of it.”
“Keep an eye on John for me, would you?” Charlotte asked. “As soon as it’s official, I’m going to so enjoy teasing him. It will be a pleasure to see him settled. He’s probably already chosen an engagement ring for her, but I was thinking we should offer to design the wedding rings if they would like. And I want to do a tiara for Ellie to wear with her veil. Something elegant.”
Bryce smiled. �
��I’m now hoping this isn’t going to happen too soon so you two can spend the next few months giggling over the wedding plans. She’s a good friend to you, Charlotte.”
“The best. They both are.” She curled her feet up and shifted around to get more comfortable. “Are you okay staying up a while tonight? I’m wide awake. I wouldn’t mind even watching a Mets game to fill some time.”
He reached for the remote. “I’ll find us something to enjoy. Tell me what else you did this evening.” He listened as she gave the run-through and wished he could give his wife a month of these enjoyable evenings before she learned about the photo and what it meant. Once more she was going to feel deep pain, and he couldn’t protect her. That’s what was so agonizing to him about what was coming. He listened to her happy chatter and made a memory of this night, knowing it might be the last easy evening for a while to come.
Bryce worked because he didn’t know how else to fill the time, reading through financial reports, completing due diligence on organizations, evaluating projects being developed. He got through the mail, and he waited for Paul to confirm a name that was going to rip his wife’s world apart once more.
John called midafternoon on the third day. “Paul just phoned me,” John said quietly. “He’s got confirmation. Christopher Caleb Cox is the man we’ve been after. He’s the man in the photo with Charlotte, and he’s a voice match to the baby Connor call.”
“Find Ellie, Charlotte’s going to need her, then tell Paul to come over.”
“Expect us within the hour.”
His wife was sitting at the back patio table, her sketchbook open and her focus on the birds visiting the feeder. Bryce stepped outside first. “We’ve got company, Charlotte.”
She looked around, saw Ellie and John behind him, and a smile lit her face. Bryce knew Charlotte was hoping to hear the best kind of news, a wedding, and ached because he had no way to cushion the shock that was coming.
Unspoken Page 34
