The Drowning Child

by Alex Barclay

‘Yes,’ said Gary. ‘A young woman said she saw Caleb at French Prairie rest area – it’s about a forty-five-minute drive from here.’

  ‘And what makes this so credible?’ said Sylvie.

  ‘She’s an artist, she draws portraits,’ said Gary. ‘As she said to Salem PD: “Faces are my thing.” She’d have that kind of attention to detail …’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ said Ren. ‘What the fuck is going on? Did this woman say anything about Caleb’s demeanor?’

  ‘She said that he seemed agitated,’ said Gary. ‘Wilsonville PD are on their way there now.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ said Ren.

  ‘Tell Teddy Veir,’ said Gary.

  ‘Any sign of John?’ said Ren.

  ‘No,’ said Gary. ‘but we located Jimmy Lyle’s rental tucked into the back of the church car park, close to the funeral home. So he has access to another vehicle—’

  ‘Or he has someone else to help him out …’

  Ren pulled up outside the Veirs’ house. Teddy’s car was there, but instead of Patti Ellis’s, there was another car. When Teddy brought Ren in, she saw Alice Veir sitting on the sofa.

  What the heck?

  ‘Alice … when did you get here?’

  ‘About two hours ago,’ said Alice.

  Weirdness. ‘Did you stop anywhere along the way?’

  She nodded, but it was as if to buy time. ‘Yes – French Prairie Rest Area.’

  Ren’s heart started to pound.

  They locked eyes.

  ‘At what time?’ said Ren.

  ‘About four p.m.,’ said Alice. ‘I stopped for gas, picked up some water.’

  Assured. But lying.

  ‘Why do you ask?’ said Alice.

  ‘Just wondering,’ said Ren. Wondering why I’m getting the sense you know exactly why I’m asking. ‘Did you see anything out of the ordinary while you were there?’

  ‘No,’ said Alice.

  ‘No?’ said Ren.

  ‘Did you see John there?’ said Teddy. ‘Is that what this is?’

  ‘No,’ said Ren.

  What do I do here? Leave them? Alice Veir is picking up on something. I’m picking up on something.

  ‘Ladies, can I ask you both to stay here for the time being? I’m going to have a family liaison officer come sit with you.’

  They nodded.

  Ren looked across their tense faces, behind them, to the walls, to the family photos.

  How moments are captured, years pass, and lives are turned upside down.

  Ren went into the hallway again and called Gary.

  ‘Something’s up with Alice Veir,’ she said. ‘She was also at French Prairie – two hours ago. She’s here with Teddy. Can you send a family liaison officer, please? I don’t want to leave them alone.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Gary. ‘Also, the results came in on the Lister Creek landfill search … two things were found: the first was Caleb Veir’s suitcase. The second was Rose Dennehy’s cell phone.’

  ‘Rose Dennehy’s cell phone?’ said Ren. ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘It wasn’t in the suitcase,’ said Gary, ‘but it looks like it was part of the same garbage collection.’

  ‘What’s that all about?’ said Ren. ‘Caleb stole Rose Dennehy’s cell phone? John Veir did?’

  ‘We’ll know more when we get into the phone.’

  Ren drove in the direction of Tate PD, her thoughts back on Alice Veir.

  Yet again, she’s in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong place.

  Is the sighting of Caleb fake? Did Alice pay that woman to come forward? What is going on? She is obsessed with the unreliability of eyewitness testimony. Does she know we know about Lister Creek? Could Paula Leon have called her?

  Ren’s cell phone rang. She picked up. ‘Beckman.’

  ‘Hi, Ren – just to let you know, based on the samples your guys sent in, we got a match for the water in Luke Monroe’s sphenoid sinus: he was drowned in Rose Dennehy’s koi pond.’

  Holy shit.

  Ren’s first thought was John Veir.

  The next was J. J. Nash.

  Ren called the CAST agent.

  ‘Ren Bryce here – did you lift any prints from the cell phone?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said. She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘John Veir’s.’

  Ren frowned. ‘John Veir? And what did you get from the phone dump?’

  ‘I got video of Luke Monroe …’

  Oh, no. ‘Being … drowned?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ John Veir … A shiver ran up her spine. ‘OK, thanks,’ she said. Her mind went into overdrive.

  There was one other person she knew was in the area that day, one person who hadn’t been questioned, who hadn’t been ruled out.

  Her final thought, the most horrifying one, was: Caleb Veir.

  The sighting’s not fake. It’s real: Caleb Veir is alive. Caleb Veir killed Luke Monroe.

  Jesus.

  Christ.

  70

  Shannon Fuller was white-faced, sitting on the floor of her living room, her back against the sofa. In one shaking hand, she gripped the phone. In the other, she clutched a square of white paper.

  She called John Veir. He picked up right away.

  ‘Hey …’

  ‘Please,’ said Shannon. ‘Please … please come over. To the bar. I need you.’ Her voice cracked. ‘I … it’s Seth … it’s Seth.’

  Fifteen minutes later, John Veir walked into The Crow Bar. Shannon was slumped in Clyde’s chair, her head on the table, her body wracked with sobs. John rushed toward her. Shannon stood up, turned to face him. For a moment, he faltered.

  ‘You fucking asshole!’ she screamed. ‘You fucking asshole!’

  She walked over to meet him, shoved him hard in the chest. He staggered back.

  ‘What the … what are you doing?’ said John, regaining his balance.

  ‘Don’t!’ she said. She lunged for him, lightning fast, shoved him harder and he was on the floor.

  John stared up at her, wide-eyed. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ she said. ‘Don’t you dare!’ She held out the small white wrapper she had in her hand. ‘He OD’d! He OD’d on fentanyl and you gave it to him. Have you lost your mind?’

  John struggled to his feet. ‘I did not—’

  ‘Liar!’ screamed Shannon. ‘You liar! He told me about Merrifield, he told me about you. And he said he was done with it all, done with drugs. And you fucking give him fentanyl. Are you out of your—’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking—’

  ‘Oh my God!’ said Shannon. ‘Don’t make this worse. But you need to tell me why. You need to tell me why, because I’ve been wracking my brains here, trying to work out why the man who’s supposed to love me, or have loved me – or may never have loved me, let’s face it – would give this fucked-up drug to the only family I’ve got left in the world. And I have no clue why you would do that, John. No fucking clue. I’m losing my mind here, trying to figure it all out.’ She paused. ‘The only conclusion I can come to is that you wanted Seth dead – but why? Why? You looked out for Seth in prison. You like Seth—’

  ‘I do like him!’ said John. ‘I did not want him dead! I was trying to help him with his pain. After the assault—’

  ‘But you know the risks,’ said Shannon. ‘I’m just not processing this. You hate drugs! You hate even having to take your prescription drugs. You watched him almost die in his cell, you saved his life. What changed? Why did you want to kill my baby? Why?’

  ‘I … didn’t think he would die,’ said John. ‘I didn’t want him to die—’

  ‘You’re lying!’ said Shannon. ‘You’re still fucking lying.’ She walked up to him and slapped him hard across the face. ‘Tell. Me. The. Truth.’

  John Veir was pale. ‘I … I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’ screamed Shannon. ‘Sorry? What have I ever done
to you? You loved me! I loved you! Why did you do this? Tell me!’

  ‘I … I … can’t,’ said John.

  Shannon reached into the back of her waistband and pulled out Seth’s gun. ‘Yes, John. Yes, you can.’

  The door opened and they both spun around.

  71

  Ren’s heart was pounding.

  The anger at Aaron Fuller for having his PlayStation, the anger at his father for giving it away, the anger at his mother – why? – the drowning in the koi pond, quitting the job at Rose Dennehy’s … I know what you fucking did, John Veir. You found Rose Dennehy’s phone wherever Caleb had hidden it. You knew it wasn’t his, so you went through it to see who it belonged to – and you found the video he’d made.

  Ren’s stomach turned at the thought that Caleb Veir recorded what he did to little Luke Monroe.

  Selfies, videos – that’s what kids do.

  Oh, God. He’s just a kid.

  A damaged one. An abused one.

  You saw Luke Monroe, his little neck gripped, his head pushed into the pond.

  And that was the moment your world fell apart. You knew what your son done, who your son was. Your twelve-year-old son was a killer.

  You were horrified. But you love your son. You knew what Jimmy Lyle did to him. You always knew he was damaged. You just didn’t know how badly. But you love your son. You felt responsible, because you went off to war and you left him behind, and you left your wife behind, and they fell apart. You love your son. More than he will ever understand. Because that’s not something he can understand. Even though you thought, you hoped, he could.

  Did you confront him? Did you look into those angry black eyes and ask him why he did it? Was that when you locked him in his bedroom? He’d have been crazed at this point – he hated you. He knew you knew his secret. He just didn’t know what you were going to do about it. He thought maybe you were going to call the police, that he’d end up in prison. He figured you wanted to get rid of him anyway, that you never liked him. There was no way he could make it out his bedroom window on the second floor, it was too high. So he kicked at the door, he kicked and he kicked and he kicked.

  You couldn’t let him go to prison, could you? So you ran through your options and you chose to save him. You would have him disappear, let everyone think he was another tragic young victim – that way no one would ever suspect him of being a killer. Meanwhile you would get him somewhere he could have the help he needed, and eventually you would bring him home, cured. You believed that that was possible.

  You just didn’t realize what a mess you would make.

  So you called your sister and asked her to help you save him. She was only three and a half hours away. You were lucky.

  Why, though, why did she help you? Isn’t she honorable? Doesn’t she believe in justice? She is so desperately earnest to save Anthony Boyd Lorden, to right that wrong, why would she jeopardize everything she’d fought for to save a child killer, even if he was a child himself, even if he was her own nephew? How did you talk her into getting involved?

  Weren’t you lucky Alice agreed – and that she was only three and a half hours away.

  And weren’t you lucky that Merrifield escaped the day before? He was the perfect person to pin this on. There was a history there, with you, with Seth. So easy to blame him for Caleb’s disappearance.

  Weren’t you lucky?

  Lots of luck.

  Ren’s heart started to pound.

  Oh my God: this was planned, it had to have been. You didn’t just find the phone and confront him and then everything magically fell into place. You knew weeks ago that on Monday, March 6, Alice would be in Portland on a speaking engagement. She would be close by. And Teddy wouldn’t be home. And you planned everything around that.

  But what about Merrifield? You knew he was dealing. You knew that Lockwood was bringing drugs into BRCI via his sister, Serena. So you worked that into your plan: you approached Lockwood and blackmailed him into helping Merrifield escape. After all, who would suspect the good, kindly, nerdy therapist?

  For some unknown reason, Alice agrees to help. She knows not to drive her own car – she borrows Paula Leon’s. She drives that car into Lister Creek Rest Area where you transfer Caleb from the trunk of your car into hers … But how did you persuade him to go along with all this?

  How come he didn’t fight you off? Fight her off? Or was he willing to leave Tate behind him? Had you told him enough stories about prison and inmates to terrify him? Did he trust you, was he willing to go along with your plan, spend the next few years in some facility where they could cure people like him?

  No. You drugged him. That’s what you did. Your wife’s Xanax. Caleb had no clue what was going on. You gave him a spiked drink, and he was knocked out for the entire ride.

  And Alice Veir, I know what you did. You drove back to your hotel and … what? How did you move Caleb? He woke up. He woke up, and you told him what was happening. And maybe he resisted, maybe not, but you parked beside your rental that evening, transferred him into the trunk, returned the keys to the innocent Paula Leon. Then you drove the four-hour journey home.

  You arrived at your house in darkness. You have no close neighbors, anyway. You could enter unseen. Days pass – Caleb resents you, you resent him. Or maybe you loved spending time together. I’m guessing the former.

  Then you get a phone call from your brother, he’s freaking out, the police are getting closer, they’re asking too many questions, he’s running out of stories, his lies are catching up. Then John Veir’s final panic, the desperation to find another suspect: this time someone who wouldn’t talk, his last-ditch attempt to frame someone was Seth Fuller: he nearly killed Seth Fuller to cover up Caleb’s crimes.

  It doesn’t work. John calls you, and you get in the car with Caleb and you drive again. You have rehearsed the story he will tell, pieced together all the evidence you have been fed by your brother, used your brilliant lawyer’s brain to create a convincing story that the police will believe, that will hold up to scrutiny, that will hold up in court, if it comes to that. Only problem is … Caleb runs. You stop at French Prairie Rest Area and he thinks: screw this. He doesn’t want to go back to his father, back to the scene of his crimes, back to a home where he will be scrutinized, watched, encaged, worse than ever before.

  You trusted him too much. Caleb runs, and his story is rough, and unpolished. His narrative has holes. Now, you and your brother are hoping he won’t be found.

  But he is seen by the wrong woman at the wrong time – a woman whose life isn’t led like yours – on fast-forward, but a woman who is watchful, who knows faces, who studies them, their angles, their features. She knows she has seen that missing boy, Caleb Veir. She may say she is a little less convinced than she really is, just so she doesn’t sound too crazy, but she knows, she knows it’s him.

  There is nothing else you can do – you have to continue your drive to your brother’s house. Anything else would raise suspicion.

  Oh, fuck: Seth Fuller doesn’t know where the packet is. It had to have been close to him when he was found. That means Clyde Brimmer or Shannon has it. If Shannon Fuller knows you nearly killed Seth, she will kill you, John. If you don’t kill her first.

  72

  Shannon Fuller stood with her back against the bar counter, her thoughts on a horrifying loop, her heart shattered. Not one person she loved, all of whom she had loved so fiercely, had been honest with her: not Aaron, not Seth, not John. Everyone had lied to her. What a fool she was. How humiliating it all was. She thought her heart had been as broken as a heart could be, but it just kept on coming. She couldn’t believe that there could be a lower place to which she could be plunged. The place where she now was. She was standing upright, but she felt there was another version of her, some shadow version that was collapsed on the floor at her feet. She would never recover. The hits had come one after the other. But she knew, at least, that Seth, she could forgive. Seth had more demons than s
he had ever known, but she knew she was right to have always trusted in his beautiful soul. And she would do everything she could to repair that, even if it took the rest of her life.

  The phone rang, and it startled her from her thoughts. She let it ring. It stopped, then it rang again. When it rang a third time, she picked up.

  ‘Shannon, it’s Ren Bryce.’

  ‘Hi,’ said Shannon.

  ‘Have you seen John Veir in the past twenty-four hours?’

  Shannon’s eyes flicked over to where John sat, ashen-faced by the wall, as she pointed Seth’s gun at his heart.

  ‘No,’ said Shannon.

  ‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘I don’t want to alarm you, but please, if he shows up, don’t let him in. I need you to lock up the bar, the house. Do not let anyone in. I’m on my way over.’

  ‘What?’ said Shannon. ‘Why?’ She stayed calm, but her heart had started to beat wildly.

  ‘I’ll speak with you when I get there,’ said Ren. ‘I’ll be ten minutes.’

  ‘Please,’ said Shannon. ‘Tell me. Why? What do you mean?’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Ren. ‘I’ll speak with you when I get there.’

  ‘OK,’ said Shannon. She put the phone down.

  ‘Who was that?’ said John.

  ‘None of your business,’ she said.

  She was staring, now, at two people who thought nothing of taking lives, or of telling the most horrific of lies, of being colder than any two people she had ever been faced with.

  And she was pointing a gun at them. And she wanted them to be gone.

  73

  Caleb Veir’s steady gaze moved between Shannon Fuller, and his dad. Shannon, Aunt Alice, his mom, his dad … there were a whole load of messed-up adults in his life.

  Shannon had asked him five times what had he done, what had he done to her baby. He hadn’t answered her.

  He thought back to that day, sitting in a tree at the edge of the Fullers’ front yard where he could see into Shannon’s bedroom. He knew that asshole Aaron was at practice for another hour, he knew that. He figured if Shannon was going to take her clothes off and he was going to see those giant titties the boys all talked about, now would be a good time – when she was alone.