today? Gray Talbot.”
“No kidding?”
“In the flesh. Or suit.”
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“The savior of suburbia checking on his constituents.”
“What do you mean, savior?”
“After Daniel Linwood disappeared, Gray Talbot came
in and rattled the cage until someone changed the lining.
Made a big stink about how the town was becoming a
cesspool, how the crime rate was simply unacceptable. He
got state and federal funding to rebuild Hobbs County
pretty much from the ground up. Nearly doubled the police
force, turned a hellhole of a town into a damn fine place
to raise a family. There’s still work to be done, but that
place is pretty unrecognizable compared to what it was.”
I thought about what Wallace said, and agreed with
him. Even Stavros, the driver, had said the same thing.
“Daniel Linwood’s kidnapping was a terrible thing, but
the silver lining is he forced change,” he continued. “That
boy basically returned to a brand-new, safer home and community. That’s all Gray Talbot. Rumor has it he contributed
close to a million from his own coffers to aid the effort.”
“I thought his suits looked nice. Guess he’s got enough
money for them.”
“I have Gray’s home phone number. It’d be great to get
him on record for this story as well. He’s got a lot invested
in Hobbs County, both in time and money, and I’m sure
he’s expecting a heck of a story from you as well. You
don’t construct a house and then not care how it’s decorated. Get to it,” Wallace said. “All story, all the time. I
want to see ink on your eyeballs. If I hear you had a single
drink with Jack, you’ll be reporting on the passing of
venereal diseases in the champagne room. Show me the
copy before you send it to Evelyn.”
“No problem,” I said.
“Then tomorrow morning, I’ll send over a copy of the
paper with a fruit basket to Ted Allen and Paulina Cole.”
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“Do me a favor, leave my name off the card,’ I said.
“Enough people in this town hate me.”
“If they hate you it’s because you’re doing a good job.
You’re getting the scoops they want. So go make some
enemies. Just make sure they’re the right enemies.”
“Operation Piss People Off to commence immediately, sir.”
I gave Wallace a halfhearted salute and returned to my
desk. I sent Jack a quick e-mail declining drinks.
I pushed all that aside and got to work. Punching keys.
Making enemies of the right people. Something still didn’t
sit right with me about the interview. I needed to pinpoint
it. To do justice to the story. To give justice to Danny
Linwood.
6
“It’s called ‘declared dead in absentia,’” Amanda said.
“It’s when a person is presumed dead, yet there is insufficient evidence to prove such a death occurred.”
Darcy Lapore chewed her gum thoughtfully. At least
Amanda assumed it was thoughtful, because her brows
were furrowed as if creating space for a gopher to hibernate. Regardless, she continued. Amanda Davies had been
working at the New York Legal Aid Society for several
years. In that time, she’d witnessed some of the most
horrific cases of neglect and abuse. And she’d seen children taken from the depths of hell and given hope. Yet, as
she sat there with Darcy Lapore, Amanda couldn’t recall
ever working on a case as bizarre as that of Daniel
Linwood.
“However, if a person has either been missing for a significant amount of time—for adults it’s usually seven
years—or has disappeared under unusual circumstances,
the death certificate can be sped up. It’s a way to both give
the family some closure, and to make sure they get any
benefits they’re entitled to, like life insurance.”
“So…the Linwoods have been collecting their son’s life
insurance?” Darcy asked. Amanda mentally slapped her
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head, then for fun mentally slapped Darcy’s head. Then
she reminded herself that no matter how often she wanted
to strangle the stupid out of the girl, she couldn’t get mad
at Darcy. Kind of the same way you couldn’t really be
upset with a puppy who peed on the rug. Though most
puppies did eventually learn to hold their bladders,
Amanda did wonder whether Darcy would ever really
commit to the job. The girl meant well, but for some reason
her ability to recall thousands of shades of lip gloss and
memorize every designer from Betsey Johnson to Umbro
outweighed her ability to retain legal aid information by
a multiple of, oh, about a trillion. The children they worked
with needed passionate advocates.
“Daniel didn’t have life insurance,” Amanda continued,
not letting an ounce of condescension drip into her voice.
While Darcy would never win employee-of-the-month—
or day, or even minute—in addition to being a colleague,
she’d been a better friend than most people Amanda had
ever known.
Last year, when Henry ended their relationship, when
Amanda had no place to sleep, Darcy opened up her
home and her sofa bed without thinking twice. Darcy’s
husband, Nick, moaned for a millisecond, but apparently
Darcy gave him a look that first night and Nick never
peeped again. Amanda knew Nick brought home a salary
closer to seven figures than six, so Darcy didn’t need
nonprofit work, or any kind of work for that matter. Nick
didn’t get home most nights until midnight, if not later,
so if her generosity was for companionship Amanda
didn’t know, but she was thankful for it, nonetheless.
Which meant forgiving occasional, scratch that, regular
lapses in judgment.
“You know, you should have come out last night,”
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Darcy said. “They gave out gift bags at the end. Each one
had a tube of La Mer. I swear it’s like rubbing liquid silk
on your skin. And Nick’s friend Spencer, remember the
one I told you about? He was there, and honey, that boy
can wear a Brooks Brothers.”
“I’m sorry, Darce, I was tired. I’ll be there next time.”
“Wow,” Darcy said sardonically. “If there ever is a next
time, you’ll have to clone yourself, like, fifty times to
make up for all your excuses.”
Amanda turned to her, said, “I’m sorry, it’s just…it’s
not me. I don’t get all giggly for that kind of stuff. If I’m
going to meet someone, it’ll happen the way it’s meant
to happen. Like…”
“Like a fugitive asking for a ride out of the state.”
She smiled. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“Well, fine. I’ll tell Nick to tell Spencer to find another
playmate. But, Amanda?”
“Yeah?”
“Next time you might want to come just for the moisturizer. Your dry-as-dust forehead will thank you.”
Amanda
shut her gaping mouth, then play-slapped
Darcy. She never wanted to be rude, and surely appreciated
the effort, but she wasn’t a socialite, the kind of woman
who spent more time getting dressed than she did sleeping.
And that’s what she missed most about Henry. Those
nights where it was just the two of them, cuddled in sweats
and T-shirts, relaxing on his couch, watching a funny
movie, talking, making love, then falling asleep. Bodies
intertwined as though there was no world other than theirs.
And for a while, there wasn’t. Then the world decided to
have some fun at their expense, and dispatched a killer into
their midst. And while they survived, their relationship
died horribly. And now Amanda’s nights were spent full
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of sorrow for her loss, guilt for imposing on Darcy, and
desire to just move on and forget everything.
“Hey, Amanda, you see this?” Levi Gold, one of the
NYLAS’s partners, came into their office waving a copy
of that morning’s New York Gazette. He laid it on the table
in front of Amanda and Darcy, then underlined the
headline with his finger.
“I Just Want To Be a Kid”
Long thought dead, Daniel Linwood grasps for the
life nearly taken from him
by Henry Parker
“That’s our guy, Daniel Linwood,” Levi said. Levi was
a short man, yet always walked with his shoulders rolled
back as though it might add an extra few inches. His
balding pate was neatly combed over, his gold wedding
ring always buffed to a polish. As he leaned in close,
Amanda could smell a whiff of Hugo Boss. And though
she’d never tell him, she’d once spied him inserting lifts
into his loafers.
“Whaddaya think, we’re handling this city’s top legal
aid case. Pretty sweet, huh? If my bonus doesn’t hit four
figures this year, I’ll be seriously pissed.”
Darcy was out of her seat ready to give Levi a hug, but
Amanda couldn’t stop staring at the byline. She hadn’t
spoken to him in months. Hadn’t read the Gazette since
they broke up. Suddenly Amanda grabbed the paper,
opened it to Henry’s article and began reading.
When Darcy saw the story’s continuation, saw the
Gazette’s emblem atop the margin, noticed the byline, it
dawned on her.
“Oh, babe,” she said. “You don’t need to read this.”
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“I want to.”
“Really, Manda…” She moved to take the paper.
“If you touch it you’ll be wearing your wedding band
on a stump.”
Darcy withdrew, protectively holding her hand.
Amanda read the whole story in silence. When she was
finished, she closed the paper and handed it back to Levi.
“Sorry for hoarding your paper.”
“Don’t worry about it. Least some of the newsprint
rubbed off on you instead of me.” Levi smiled and walked
out.
“Does it still hurt?” Darcy asked. Amanda could tell
along with the sympathy there was a note of curiosity in
Darcy’s voice. She’d never been hurt like that, never had
to see an ex-lover’s name in front of her. She was the kind
of girl men fawned over, men who would never hurt her,
because her beauty was what they craved, and they knew
she could walk away in an instant. If she left, another man
just like them would be waiting around the corner to scoop
her up. Amanda never had that luxury. She’d always told
herself once she found the right man, she would never let
him go. She never wondered what it would be like if he
left her. Never wondered if he was simply carrying on his
life while she cried herself to sleep.
“It hurts,” Amanda said. Then she turned to Darcy.
“Hurts more today than usual.”
“Come on,” she said, standing up. “Lychee martinis at
lunch today. On me. And afterward we’ll work on bringing
young Mr. Linwood back to life.”
For once, Amanda was more than happy to indulge
Darcy.
7
Iarrived at my desk to find Jack O’Donnell waiting for me.
Sitting in my chair, in fact. He was wearing a brown suitcoat
and gray slacks with several patches sewn in. In fact, during
the few years I’d gotten to know him, Jack had shown as
much taste for fashion as your average wino. Pants are
pants, he told me one night over a beer. Just because they
rip doesn’t mean they stop being comfortable. You have any
idea how much money I’ve saved over the years by giving
my money to tailors instead of garment salesmen?
The look on his face read “mildly perturbed.” His
posture said, “I’m sitting in your chair. So what?”
Big red veins tubed down the sides of his nose. His eyes
were mildly bloodshot, and it was clear though I’d
declined his drinking invitation last night, he’d hit the
town with his more reliable friend Jack Daniel’s, maybe
met up with their buddy Jim Beam and set sail on a voyage
with Captain Morgan as well.
Jack was holding a copy of that morning’s edition of
the Gazette, the front page held up and turned my way so
I could see it. He slapped it with his hand and said,
“Knocked it out of the park, Henry. Of course you know
I plan to take full credit for this. I’ve already told the
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whole newsroom you couldn’t find an acorn in a squirrel’s
paw without my help.”
“And just when people were starting to respect me,” I
said. “You think this will convince Rourke to hold off
making another shit bag?”
Last year, the Gazette’s sports editor, a rough-andtumble jackass named Frank Rourke, decided it would be
funny to leave a paper bag full of shit on my desk. Apparently this was the highlight of the week for a lot of journos.
And a month later Jack forwarded me the Photoshop
image of my face superimposed onto that of a dog taking
a big, steaming poop. That’s when I became convinced that
the more literate some people are, the more puerile their
sense of humor was.
“You should be proud, Henry. Big interview like that,
not to mention the sensitive subject matter, you could have
had all the media watchdogs all over you if you’d messed
up. You want people talking about the story itself before
the quality of the coverage. Best kind of press for a reporter
is no press.”
“That’s a trick I haven’t quite mastered yet,” I said.
“It’ll come,” Jack offered. “You have the brains and the
talent. Just keep doing what you were born to do and the
rest will come.”
“It felt good to be in there,” I said.
“I bet,” Jack said, and I knew he must have written a
million stories like it. “Good mixture of fastballs and softballs. Nobody wanted you to give the Linwood kid the
third degree, but there are a lot of unanswered questions.”
“Tha
t’s one thing that’s strange. All those questions,
and yet I’m the only one asking them.”
“What do you mean?”
“This Linwood story, it’s really just incredible. I mean,
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this family, the Linwoods, it’s like the sun has finally
come out after a thousand years of darkness. Now they
just want to move on with their lives, let Danny be a kid
again. But nobody knows where he went, who took him,
and why he can’t remember a thing before the day he
came back.”
“So you think he’ll, what, just be left alone now?” Jack
said. “Uh-uh. Now’s when the vultures start circling.
Long-lost relatives come out of the woodwork. An uncle
somewhere who claims to be Daniel’s best friend even
though he hasn’t seen the kid in years, wants some of the
money folks donated. Some cousin will write a book about
how Danny wasn’t such a good kid, maybe he picked his
nose when he was a toddler and put gum in a girl’s hair.
It’s sad how much money there is in the misery of others.”
I had to shake my head. I knew Jack was right, but after
my interview I hoped the cops would pick up the slack,
ask the really tough questions. Though Danny was technically a ten-year-old boy, he’d forever be known as the
one who came back. Even strangers would hesitate a
second, wondering where they knew his name from. And
without that closure, the questions would never cease.
“You know, it’s funny,” I said. “All this commotion
over Daniel returning, yet the cops have no leads and
nobody really seems to be digging that hard. Even Shelly
Linwood herself seemed unconcerned as to why the cops
weren’t doing more.”
“When your dog runs away, then shows up an hour
later, do you really care where it went? You’re just happy
the thing’s back.”
“This isn’t a dog, Jack. It’s a child. Somebody took him
and kept him for almost five years.”
“Yeah, somebody took him. And then either they got
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bored of him or he managed to get away. And the world
keeps on spinning.”
“That’s your answer?”
“I don’t need to answer,” Jack said. “It’s not my kid, and
it’s not my story.”
“You don’t think it’s weird that Danny doesn’t remember a minute of what happened? Or where he went?”
“Strange things occur every day in this world, sport.
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