by Rick Mofina
Faith turned and saw him reacting to his phone.
“What is it?” she asked.
“A TV station—something’s going on. I don’t know what it is.” Then to Officer Ramirez: “Something’s happening! Dammit, you’ve got to know!”
“Sir, I’m sorry. I’m not looped in.”
Cal went back to his phone and texted, We’re not aware of a discovery. Can you elaborate?
The station didn’t respond immediately, forcing Cal to speculate while considering the times he’d been on the other end of the phone calling an anguished family. The Star-News policy was clear: it was not a reporter’s job to inform a family of a death. That was for the police. If a family was not aware, the reporter was to back off. But not every newsroom had the same policy. Cal knew of reporters who went fishing with a family, bluffing by asking them to comment on “the new development” when in fact there was no new development.
Was Channel 77 fishing with him? Not likely, given the way the detectives had torn out of headquarters. Cal didn’t know what to think. Channel 77 hadn’t got back to him by the time they’d turned down their street. The car slowed as they neared their house and he and Faith sat up, not believing what they were seeing.
Yellow crime scene tape bordered their yard. Unmarked police vehicles filled their driveway. Crime scene technicians were pulling on coveralls and entering their house carrying equipment. A group of newspeople recorded from the street.
Ramirez touched one hand to her earpiece, then grabbed her portable radio and said a subdued “Ten-four,” then she turned to Cal and Faith. “Because the techs are processing your house, it’s been arranged to take you to your neighbors’, the Clarks.”
Sam and Rory Clark lived four doors down. Upon spotting the Hudsons, news crews that were parked outside their house, some with cameras on their shoulders, trotted over to join those already at the Clarks’ house. The instant Cal and Faith stepped from the police car, questions were tossed at them.
“What’s your reaction to the discovery?”
“Have police confirmed what they found on Emerson Avenue?”
“Can you give us a statement?”
Bewildered, horror blossomed on Faith’s face.
“What’s happened, Cal? What’re they talking about?”
“Don’t say anything,” Cal said, pulling her to him as they rushed to the house with Ramirez. “Don’t look at them and don’t say anything.”
“Tell me what’s going on!” Faith screamed at Ramirez.
“Please, ma’am, let’s get inside,” the officer said.
Samantha and Rory Clark greeted them at the door, closing it to the news cameras scrutinizing them from the street. Inside they comforted Cal and Faith with hugs.
“Did they tell you what’s been happening?” Sam asked.
“No.” Faith shook her head. “Do you know anything?”
“No.”
“Something’s happening now on Emerson, though,” Rory said. “There’ve been suggestions on the TV news. We’re watching now. Come on in, we’ve got fresh coffee and some food in the kitchen.”
Michelle and Jack Thompson rose from the sofa, joining Pam and Dean Huppkey in the kitchen, consoling the Hudsons, offering encouragement.
“We’ve been praying hard.” Pam clasped her hands over Faith’s.
“If there’s anything we can do,” Dean said.
Cal nodded but kept his eye on the TV, catching something.
“Turn it up,” he said.
Rory found the remote and raised the volume.
“Stay with us. We’ll take you live to the scene after this break...”
“What scene?” Cal looked around, his gaze stopping at the two uniformed officers who’d replaced Berg and Ripkowski at the Clarks’ house. “Does anyone know what they’re talking about?”
Head shaking from the two officers. “Sorry, sir.”
Like everyone, Cal kept his eyes on the TV but he also reached for his phone and made a call. Commercials cut into the newscast, health insurance for senior citizens. “After your death your family will receive...”
“Chicago Star-News, hold please,” said a young woman’s hurried voice.
Cal cursed under his breath. The newsroom assistants were too quick to put people on hold when they were busy. He watched a luxury sedan cut across the desert, raising a curtain of dust. “The drive to your new horizon.”
“Chicago Star-News, how may I direct your call?”
“Stu Kroll, please.”
“Mr. Kroll’s in a meeting. May I put you through to his voice—”
“Get him! It’s Cal Hudson!”
A second passed, then the young woman shouted, “Stu! It’s Cal!”
Three seconds later: “Cal, man, how can I help?”
“What the hell’s going on at Emerson?”
A silent beat passed.
“Tell me what you know, Stu.”
Cal saw the TV screen cut to a jittery live aerial shot, capturing a neighborhood from above.
“They found something,” Stu said. “We don’t know what it is, but it looks serious.”
The TV images pulled in on activity surrounding a strip mall. Police vehicles dotted the area. It was cordoned off with tape. The focus was at the rear of the mall, on one of the Dumpsters. Technicians in coveralls were carefully working around it but the entire Dumpster was draped with huge yellow tarps.
“Cal?” Stu, who was likely watching the same images in the newsroom, said gently, “Do you want to talk to us?”
Cal didn’t answer, transfixed by what he was seeing. He knew the significance of the tarps. They protected evidence from contamination.
And whenever news cameras were near, they also concealed a corpse.
16
Cal and Faith watched the TV news chopper’s vibrating aerial view of the forensic technicians in white coveralls working behind the strip mall.
In the short time that had passed since the Hudsons had arrived at the Clarks’ home, police had erected a canopy over the tarps and the Dumpster. Every few minutes a technician would emerge from the canopy and transfer bagged evidence to one of the police trucks parked nearby.
“Please, why can’t you tell us what they’ve found?” Faith pleaded with the officers in the house.
“Ma’am, we’re not part of the work at that site,” Ramirez said. “We don’t know.”
“But they found something!” Faith was sitting between her friends on the sofa. “What does this mean, Cal?”
Almost whispering, he said, “I don’t know.”
But Cal knew.
He and Faith were distressed but they were not stupid people. Deep down both knew that those bags could be holding something that could be identified as a piece of evidence, or a weapon.
Anything.
“We should be there, Cal.” Faith stood. “We should go now.”
Ramirez and the other officers traded quick glances before Ramirez stepped forward. “Excuse me, but it would be best if you stayed here.”
“Why?” Cal asked. “We’re not under arrest.”
“That’s correct. You’re free to go wherever you wish... But, sir, you have to let the crime scene people do their work. I’m sure Detectives Price and Lang will advise you at the appropriate time.”
“Advise us of what?” Faith said. “What do you know, Officer Ramirez?”
A phone rang. Jack Thompson answered his, turning from the group to take his call. The two other officers watched him.
Ramirez shook her head at Faith’s questions. “Ma’am, I don’t know anything concerning the matter on Emerson Avenue.”
“I think you do.” Faith’s face creased with anger. “I think all three of you know. And I think you should tell us the truth. I want you to tell us if you’ve found
our son—” she pointed at the TV “—in that Dumpster!”
“Ma’am—”
“Why are you even here, to help us or to spy on us?”
“Ma’am.” Ramirez’s face was sincere. “I know you’re upset but I’m not part of the investigation. I don’t know what they’ve found.”
Faith looked at Ramirez for a long tense moment before relenting. She believed her. “Somebody knows what happened to my little boy.” Her voice broke. “Somebody knows.” Michelle and Pam supported Faith as she crumpled back to the sofa.
“Cal?” Jack Thompson extended his phone. “Call for you. Some woman. I told her this wasn’t a good time but she insisted, said it was important she talk to you now.”
“Who is it?” Officer Ramirez stepped between them, holding her hand out for the phone, checking it for caller ID, noting there was none and logging the call in her notebook.
“She said her name was Beth Gibson,” Thompson said. “Said I showed her a house once and she met Cal and Faith at a community meeting. Just wants to offer her support.”
Ramirez hesitated. “I don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” Thompson said. “I’m in real estate. I might not remember this Gibson lady but I meet a lot of people and my number is posted everywhere.”
Ramirez took the phone and spoke briefly with the caller to verify her identity until she was satisfied. Then she handed the phone to Cal and made more notes.
“Hi, Ms. Gibson?” Cal said. “We appreciate the call but this really is a bad time.”
“This isn’t Beth Gibson, Cal.”
Cal caught his breath and his mind raced before crashing full bore into memory, recognizing the voice on the line.
“Don’t say my name, just say, ‘Yes, thank you,’ and go to a spot where you can talk privately.”
“Yes, thank you.” Cal gave the officer a thumbs-up and walked down the hall, leaning against a windowsill where he was able to see if anyone approached.
“Are you alone now, Cal?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone recording this?”
“No, not this phone.”
“Now, do you know who I am?”
“Yes. How did you know how to reach me?”
“I figured your friend Jack Thompson the Realtor might be with you. I saw him near you on the TV news the other day and figured they hadn’t executed warrants or cloned his phone, correct?”
“Yes.”
“It’s been a long time, Cal.”
“Why call me now?”
“I’m broken up over what’s happened to your son.”
“Are you?”
“Cal, after all we went through, why would you question my true feelings about people who harm children?”
“I can’t talk now. Is that why you called, to share your feelings?”
“I’m watching your situation and I know that at some point they’re going to lean on you and lean hard, believe me.”
Cal swallowed.
“Under no circumstances are you to reveal or even hint at what we did. Do you understand?”
Cal said nothing.
“Do not breathe a word, Cal. It has absolutely no impact on Gage’s case. All you need to remember is that we did the right thing and we sure as hell don’t want to open a Pandora’s box. Not now. It wouldn’t be good for anyone if this slipped out. Do you understand?”
Cal said nothing.
“Tell me you understand, Cal.”
“I can’t believe you would call me with this crap at a time like this.”
“I need to make sure you’re thinking straight. Before I go, I want to tell you one last thing. Your situation has reignited my rage toward the vile things that slither through this world. So I want you to know that I’ll help you behind the scenes in any way I can. You got that?”
Cal saw Officer Ramirez approaching.
“Yes, we appreciate your prayers. I really have to go. Thank you for calling, Ms. Gibson.” Cal hung up.
“Everything okay?” Ramirez asked.
Cal responded with a slight nod.
“The detectives just alerted me to bring you and Mrs. Hudson back to headquarters straightaway. They need to talk to you both.”
17
Twenty minutes later, Cal was back at River Ridge police headquarters in Interview Room 402.
Again, he was separated from Faith, and again, Detective Rachel Price was sitting across the table from him, her face as sober as a funeral usher’s.
The tiny red light on her microrecorder blinked as she spoke.
“We’ve made a discovery at Emerson Plaza, approximately two miles from the fairgrounds.”
Cal’s heart began beating faster and his attention went to the legal-size pale blue file folder upon which Price rested her hands, palms down.
“We’re confident it’s connected to Gage but we need you and Faith to confirm it for us.”
Price opened the folder and at that moment Cal heard a pained cry coming from the room across the hall.
* * *
In Interview Room 403, Detective Leon Lang had withdrawn six crisp color photos from a folder and set them on the table before Faith.
Her searing cry had pierced the walls and she clamped her hands to her mouth, her tears rolling over them as she stared in horror.
“Can you identify this as belonging to Gage?”
The first photo showed the immaculate sole of a small SkySlyder sneaker, amid rotting fruit, spoiled vegetables, plastic water bottles, cans and pizza boxes. The second and third were from different angles in the trash, showing that the shoe was size five, with a diamond and sawtooth traction pattern. The next three presented the shoe on a clean surface against a ruler for recording evidence. The shoe was blue.
Faith began nodding, for she’d recognized the green neon laces, recalling how happy Gage had been after she’d helped him thread them in that zipper pattern.
Thanks, Mom, now they look so cool!
* * *
Cal ran his hands through his hair as he stared at the same images.
“Yes.” His eyes glistened. “I can confirm that this is my son’s shoe.”
Price nodded, wrote briefly in her notebook, then looked at Cal. “Thank you. I understand how hard this must be.”
“Did you—” Cal cleared his throat. “Did you find him, or anything else?”
Price let his question go unanswered for a beat.
“No.” She looked at him. “But we have more questions.”
* * *
Fingers trembling, Faith pulled tissues from the box, pressing them to her face.
“Oh God, is he still alive?”
Lang stared at her straight-on.
“We’ve found nothing to confirm that he’s been hurt. And unless something emerges, we work on the belief that Gage is alive.”
Faith nodded, taking deep breaths and pointing at the photos.
“What does this mean...? Where is he? Where’re you looking?”
“It could mean anything. There are a few possibilities, but the key fact is we’re getting closer. We’re searching and canvassing the area.”
Lang leaned forward so that he had Faith’s full attention, and when he did, he clicked his pen and positioned his notebook.
“Now, I need your help with some new questions.”
* * *
“Cal,” Price started, “would Gage have any reason to be at Emerson Plaza, or have any connection to it?”
“No, it’s not even near our place.”
“That’s right. As I said, it’s two miles from the fairgrounds and just shy of three miles from your home.”
“So how did his shoe get there?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine.”
“What about security c
ameras?”
“The plaza was vandalized last week and the cameras were destroyed.”
“Are you thinking that it could be linked to Gage?”
“We’re not ruling anything out.”
“What about all those carnival workers?”
“We’re still interviewing everyone who was working the attraction and those in the trailers behind it. Some people who were at the fair at the time are stepping forward and we continue to follow leads.”
“I think that it had to be someone inside who took Gage.”
“As I said, we’re looking at everything. Now, coming back to the plaza and my questions, do you and Faith have any connection to it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Ever stopped there? Ever interacted with any of the businesses?”
“No. Wait, maybe. No. I can’t remember. I’m sorry.”
Price let Cal’s answer stand for a moment before making notes.
* * *
Detective Lang slid a new photograph across the table to Faith.
It was taken from the small parking lot framing the store and office fronts of Emerson Plaza. There was the florist, the hardware shop, the corner store, the hair and nail salon, the tax office and the unit that was boarded up.
“We need to be clear,” Lang said. “Have you or Cal ever had any dealings, even the slightest contact, with any of the people or the businesses at this plaza?”
Faith thought the strip mall looked sketchy. The fact Gage’s shoe was there and in a Dumpster twisted her insides.
“Faith?” Lang said.
“No,” she said.
“No?”
“No, I’ve never had anything to do with that place.”
“I need you to think carefully because a few minutes ago Detective Price and I talked to the people who work there and a couple of them told us a different story.”
Faith’s face whitened.
“Faith, remember earlier today, I said how we need to work together on a foundation of honesty and truthfulness?”
She said nothing.
“I need you to be truthful with me.”
She remained silent.
“Faith, do you recall being there?”
Lang clicked his pen and looked at his notes.
