“No,” I said. The only thing I wanted was for the sheriff’s radio to hiss and crackle and say He’s OK, for the good news to come in quickly—good news was always better when it was fast—and for all these people to leave. I wondered if the rumor about my whereabouts had already sneaked out the sheriff’s office door. If Sherry knew, soon everyone would.
I answered the same questions again. Had I noticed any strange behavior? Had he been hanging out with any new friends? Was there anywhere I hadn’t thought of that he might have gone? Could he be at a friend’s house without telling me? They stopped asking this after a while, so I knew the friends and football teammates had been called, no extra boy discovered. Could I sign this form? And this one, for the release of the things in his room? It was Mullen who was filling out the details and who placed the clipboard gently on my knee. I signed, then watched as he checked it over and signed his own name, tapping his pen a few times before committing and then tilting the clipboard away from me.
Could he have gone to his father’s house?
“No,” I said.
As though his father’s was a place in the realm of reality, a place the kid could just go. I felt the officers looking at one another over the top of my head. “He doesn’t have a father.”
“Technically speaking . . .” Lombardi started.
He couldn’t have gone there. He didn’t know the town name. He didn’t know his own father’s name. All the lies we’d lived. He might have gone anywhere, thinking he was chasing down the truth. But I couldn’t forget the feel of my palm against his soft cheek. “He and I had a big fight,” I said. “He’s never—talked to me like that. And I . . . I hit him. I’ve never laid a hand on him before.”
I was ashamed, and started to cry. I had never meant to hit my kid. It was the promise to myself I had kept all these years.
“Enough,” Keller said. “Let’s give Ms. Winger some air here.”
Mullen hustled the crowd away. The sheriff sat on a couch arm and leaned down so that I had to see him. “I don’t want to get into any details you don’t want to share,” he said, his voice low. “I’ll only ask once. Are you sure?”
He smelled like hay. I concentrated on not gagging. “He doesn’t have a father.”
He waited, then pulled away. “OK.”
The party of men grouped and regrouped in the rooms of the apartment and in the hallway, fidgeting like a first-grade choir. The radio hisses came further apart. The extra people began to peel off in pairs and out the door. The neighbors across the street, who had been on their lawn all evening, went inside. The night passed as I sat staring at my own knees, listening for a phone, the radios, for Joshua’s shoes on the stairs, and for everything to be fine.
“Anna.”
I blinked up. The sheriff. I hadn’t forgotten he was here, but I’d almost managed to forget that I was. Tennessee, Kentucky, Ohio, all the way through Chicago, apartment after apartment and never a single yellow wall among them. Somewhere back there, in a strange cupboard over the window in Kentucky or out in the storage shed in Chicago—that’s where I was. Lost. I was still there, and Joshua was still there, and when I woke up from this nightmare, we would be together. He waited just there for me now.
“It’s time to get some rest.”
“I’m not tired.”
“People in distress always say that.”
“Did you read that in the manual?”
He slid his hand up and down the kitchen doorway. “I’ve sent all my people on. I’ll stay—”
“No.”
“I think you need—”
“Please don’t.”
I saw that he wasn’t here at all, either. He was back in the musty barn. His problem. Kentucky, Tennessee. I was back then, and if I chose to move on, I would take a different way. I’d never see that barn. I’d never see this town. I would take a different turn and never spot the familiar sign of the Dairy Bar. I would have Joshua by my side. I’d have everything I’d ever wanted, if only I’d never come here.
“OK,” he said, and closed the door quietly on his way out.
Finally alone. The clock over the door said 4:00 a.m.
I walked to Joshua’s room and stood in the threshold. They’d been too careful with his things. The tidiness was the worst insult. Everything was in its place but the boy.
But that was a lie. None of it was in its place. I had made sure of that, hadn’t I? That nothing about us had a place to call home?
Joshua, alone, dark road, the driver doesn’t see him—
I tried to turn off these thoughts, but the worst-case scenarios were patient. As soon as I discarded one, another rose to the surface.
Joshua, alone, fallow field short cut, he twists an ankle—
Joshua, alone, black alley, an arm darts out and grabs him—
I went to the window and yanked up the shades. The street below was silent and gray. Up and down the block, nothing moved.
If he walks up the block now, I won’t be mad. If he walks up the block now, I will make everything right.
Something moved in the corner of my vision and my eyes leapt toward it.
A black truck, Indiana plates. And, inside, someone—
I recognized the sheriff, his black hat tipped back against the frame of his open window. He stared down the empty street.
He was back at the barn, but he was also here. Where was I?
I turned to Joshua’s bed and lay down on the covers. I pressed my nose into his pillow to find his scent. His shampoo, because he wouldn’t use mine. The gel he used on his hair to get it to hang straight into his eyes. Under all these perfumes was the scent I craved. Dirt under the fingernails, sweat on the back of the neck. I was here. I breathed in what was left of my son. I would never change the sheets. If it came to it, I would never change a thing ever again.
I DIDN’T SLEEP. Up at dawn, I made coffee I didn’t want. The apartment was too quiet. After several hours at home by myself, I slipped out the back door and around to my truck and drove downtown. I made it through security at the courthouse without too many pitying looks. Deputy Lombardi wasn’t on duty to dump out my purse this time. At the door to the sheriff’s office, I lost my nerve.
The first time I’d come to this door, another boy had been missing. Was still missing. That first time I’d stood here, hesitating to go inside, I’d almost run.
What would have happened if I had?
Joshua might still be gone. But would I still be standing here now?
Because I wasn’t here to work a case, pass along information, or even look at anyone’s handwriting. I was here to see the sheriff—simply see him. To see—Russ. If I’d walked away the first time, I wouldn’t be seeking the sheriff to help steady my anxiety.
Or maybe I would. Wasn’t this where family members of the missing came to do their hoping?
This wasn’t the headquarters of Joshua Watch, though. The courthouse square was empty; no posters or news vans.
I reached for the doorknob again. I couldn’t stand being here. I couldn’t stand not being here. I should have stayed home, in case Joshua came back.
I let my hand drop from the door and turned for the stairs. Two steps away, the door to the office opened behind me and the voices of two men bounced down the hall.
“Anna?”
Russ, of course, and one of the hard-eyed officers. I stared at their boots.
“Go ahead,” Russ said. “Tell them I’ll be right down.”
I watched the other man’s feet walking past. “Ma’am,” he said.
“You should be resting,” Russ said. “Has something happened?”
I nodded: yes, I should be resting. And then shook my head: no, nothing had happened. I found I was still nodding when I should be shaking my head, and then still shaking my head long after I should have stopped.
“Come with me.”
I followed his boots down the hall, past the elevator. There was a window at the end of the hall that looked out over the
courthouse green, nearly the same view I’d seen on my first visit to his office. The same jeweler, the same karate school, all the snug businesses living under the shadow of all the protection there was.
The sheriff took out a set of keys. A door opened up into a dark, windowless vestibule, crammed to the ceiling with storage containers and boxes. He squeezed through and, using the keys again, opened another door that swung out to reveal his office. He took my elbow and led me toward the chair in front of his desk.
“Secret passageway,” he said. “In case Bea Ransey comes calling.”
I began to nod, then stopped. Some people could understand how I felt, but most didn’t and never would. Bea Ransey was not a joke.
My throat was tight, my eyes puffy from crying. I didn’t want to cry. But then—Joshua’s schoolbooks, pulled from the closet. The sight of his cereal bowl in the sink from the morning before, the morning I’d hidden from him in the shower. The alarm in his room going off at the customary time.
And now, this joke that was not funny. I buckled and fell into the chair.
“Hey, now. I’m sorry,” Russ said. “I don’t know what I’m thinking.” He unloaded a pile of paper from another chair and brought it close to mine. He unearthed a smashed box of tissues from his desk and held it out. When I didn’t reach for them, he pulled out two and put them in my hand. “Now, come on, Anna. We’ll find him. Remember how we talked about kids not getting far? Remember? The odds are with us on Joshua.”
“Aidan,” I said, gulping around the lump in my throat. I pushed the tissues at my nose. “Aidan’s been gone for—almost two weeks.”
“Aidan is a different case. You can see that.”
“But he shouldn’t still be gone. What if Joshua is—is a different case?”
“Joshua is a runaway. He’s on his own—now, hear me out. I’m not saying that to upset you.” He was using his talking-to-horses voice now. I felt myself start to relax against my will. “What I’m trying to say is that Aidan was taken. He’s got an adult in charge of things. Joshua’s got no resources. No matter how smart he is, he’s just a kid. He’ll make a mistake, and when he does, we’ll go get him.”
“But—” But there was no way to make Russ understand what I knew, which was that Joshua was more than a different case. He was a special case. He was more accustomed than most people of any age to flight, to starting over, to lying low, to going unnoticed. I hadn’t given him these skills on purpose, but I must have been teaching them by example.
All I could hope was that he learned quickly that being a special case was no fun.
“What about—what theories do you have?”
He stared at me just long enough. I must be playing the type. Bothersome loved ones must do this. They develop theories. They come visit. They take up time.
“What theories have you come up with?” he said.
“Two boys missing from the same town within two weeks?” My mind raced. I knew I sounded desperate. “Did Aidan have any contact with Joe Jeffries?”
His head snapped up. “What’s this?”
“He’s new in town.”
“He’s actually old to town.”
“Joshua said he had a thing for—little boys.”
Russ wiped his face with his hand. “I can’t believe you’re going to make me defend that dipshit, but I’m pretty sure that rumor falls under the category of idle. The stuff kids say about teachers they don’t like. Anna, I think we have to be honest with each other. If you’re willing to entertain crazy theories about guys who held your hand last night while we combed your apartment, then you should be willing to entertain the craziest idea of all.”
I felt a little hope flutter inside me. He would know what to do. That’s why I had come. He would know, and he would save us both.
“You need to consider the possibility,” he said, slowly searching my face and laying a hand on my arm. “That Joshua went to find his dad.”
“But—”
“I know. He doesn’t have one. Let’s call him whatever you want to call him, but—the craziest story might be the right one.”
The craziest story was the one I had written. He would never understand.
I shook the sheriff’s hand off. “You’re wrong.”
He pulled back, rubbing the palm of his hand on his pants as though he’d just pulled it from fire. “I have been known to be wrong. A time or two.”
The door to the office swung open.
“Oh!”
Sherry, a stack of folders in her arms, jumped backward. She looked between us several times. “I thought you went to interview—I’m sorry. I’ll come back.”
“That’s fine,” Russ said. He stood and went to the far side of his desk. Once there, he didn’t seem to know what to do. He swept his hand over the mess. “You can—whatever.”
Sherry stood in the doorway. Finally, she dropped the files and came to my side. Without knowing how she got there, I was suddenly inside Sherry’s arms, held fiercely.
“You poor thing,” Sherry whispered, rocking us both. “I have to believe it’s going to be OK. I have to believe it.”
Every nerve in my body bucked the embrace, but I held on. I needed someone to believe for me.
Chapter Twenty-four
When I arrived home, there they were. Not just the man from Russ’s pool of sunglass wearers they’d left outside the apartment, but two more. And instead of the brown-and-tans I’d come to know as the county uniform or the black-and-blues of the state troopers, these were wearing suits with unimaginative ties. Feds.
My mind leapt ahead to Joshua. He’s found. Or—
I hesitated on the sidewalk, and they turned in my direction.
I couldn’t move. All the logic I could muster told me that any news—good or bad—would have come from the local guys. From Russ.
“Anna?” the taller of the two said, taking off his sunglasses. And then the reason for their visit started to work its way up from the millions of years between this moment and the last time I’d given my job the least bit of thought. Somewhere, under all that had happened in the last thirty hours or so, was another problem altogether. I’d forgotten about the dead man and the note of warning I’d told him to ignore.
“Kent.”
He met me where I stood and took my hand. With his sunglasses off, his eyes were too blue and piercing. I looked down at my hand in his. So many people touching me today.
“You’ve already heard,” he said.
“Yes.”
“So—onward. With the guy dead, it’s a new game. Who called you?”
“His secretary.”
Kent’s eyes went distant, then refocused. “Really. How interesting.” He threw a grimace over his shoulder at the other man, who hung back. “Hear that, Jim? Anna, you’re already helping us.” He pulled me gently toward the door. “Jim Kaleb, Anna Winger.”
I met the other man’s eyes in way of greeting and then turned back to Kent, who curled over me like a funeral director around the bereaved. He was taking too much care with me.
“You’ve already heard about Joshua, then.”
“Keller called me.” He pulled me into his ribs a bit and let me go. “I’d tell you not to worry, but I know you will anyway. And that’s your job. I just need to talk to you about your other job. Can we bother you for a few minutes?”
Put that way, I could only say yes. All I wanted to do was go upstairs and make sure Joshua hadn’t sneaked back on his own and then sit with my phone in my hand until someone called. Today. It had to be today. If Joshua was gone another night—
I couldn’t bear to think about another night. How quiet the apartment had been, how every noise the refrigerator made became the sound of a key in the lock. Once around six, one of the neighbors had walked by the door and slowed down. Probably Margaret. The night before, when several pairs of heavy, regulation footwear marched up and down our hallway, I had heard the telltale broomstick striking.
Now, walking through the bui
lding and up the stairs with Kent and his partner, I imagined all the faces pressed to peepholes as we passed and all the phone calls among the Booster moms to discuss the ruckus. My life as a well-hidden woman was over. In an instant, I felt the old panic. When Joshua came home and everything quieted down, we would pack up our things and find another place to start over. But Joshua was gone. And if he didn’t come back in a day or two days or a week or a month, this was where I had to be. I would remain here, under glass for the entire county to stare at and whisper about, for Ray to find me, until Joshua came home.
“I can make this easy for you,” I said as the two men settled in on my couch. I’d pulled the dining room chair Joshua normally chose from the table and sat across the coffee table from them. “I messed up.”
Kent and his partner exchanged a look. Jim slid a notebook out of his jacket. Kent leaned forward on his knees. “How do you mean?”
“I was distracted that day, I think. It’s hard to think about it. Was I distracted enough that I missed something, and this man’s family has to bury him?” I took in a deep, shaking breath and looked at each of them in turn. “I left something out of the analysis. I didn’t mean to. It was a mistake. But I don’t know how much of a mistake, and if hearing the entire analysis might help now.”
“I’ve seen the write-up,” Kent said, glancing at Jim as though he wished he’d come to talk to me alone. “It seemed like sturdy work.”
“No, there was nothing wrong with what I said. It’s what I didn’t say.” I watched the other man jotting down notes. “This is all from memory, Mr. Kaleb. I hope you’ll put that in. I don’t trust my—current state of mind.”
“Of course,” Kent murmured. “Do the best you can. Do you remember what it was that you left out?”
I tried to call back the moment when I’d meant to finish off the analysis but had been distracted by my personal life. I remembered exactly what I’d left out and why. It had seemed to me that the letter writer’s secrets were being exposed when they didn’t have any bearing. Those damn dangling y’s and p’s. But I knew better. Something that seemed unconnected might be the connection that mattered.
The Day I Died Page 19
