by David Bell
He was quiet again. Then he said, “You know, Peg and I lost a baby before Ashley was born. Our first child.”
Griffin looked over at him. He stood with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, his belly bulging out. She didn’t say anything. She just waited.
“What I’m saying is . . . I know what it’s like. You’re not the only one. And maybe you need to look around. A lot of people are hurting. Not just you.”
“Look—”
“And a lot of people care about this missing kid. A lot. That’s why we’re here.” He turned to go back to the other detectives. He gave her a light, fatherly smack on the bicep. “If your head’s in the game, come back. Okay?”
She heard him walk off, his shoes scuffing against the street. If his goal had been to make her feel foolish, then he’d accomplished his mission. Hell, everybody needed to be humbled sometime. Everybody needed to feel like a fool.
“Okay,” she said to herself. “You’re here. Help.”
She walked back over, following behind Twitchell. When she arrived, she heard Phillips telling Todd Friedman that Randi was ready to come across the lawn and into the house. And no one else would go with her.
But then Randi started shaking her head. She shook it like a dog coming in out of the rain.
“Hold on,” Phillips said into the phone. He covered the mouthpiece with the palm of his hand. “What is it, Mrs. Friedman? This is what we brought you here for.”
She stopped shaking and said, “I don’t want to go alone. I don’t.”
Twitchell cleared his throat. “Randi, we talked about this. A little girl’s life is in danger. And we need to move fast because she’s been gone all day. And it’s getting late. If your ex-husband knows anything—”
Randi cut him off. “I won’t go alone.” Her eyes bored in on Griffin. “I won’t go unless she goes in there with me.”
chapter
fifty-four
3:19 A.M.
Trixie stood at the back door, the one he and Erica had come in almost an hour earlier. The dog’s tail stood straight up, and her posture looked fixed and rigid like an arrow. When Michael came into the room, the dog stopped barking but continued to stare at the door. A ceiling fan spun overhead, and on every revolution, its pull chain clicked against its light globe. Tick . . . tick . . . tick . . .
“What’s the problem? Is someone out there?”
Trixie turned her head to look at Michael, her tongue running across her lips with a smacking noise. Then she resumed staring at the door but didn’t bark.
The pain in Michael’s head had become duller, but his heart squeezed in his chest at twice its normal rate, and he heard the blood rushing in his ears. His body felt cold, shot through with ice.
Was Felicity trying to come in the back door and return home?
He went over, the dog moving out of his way as he approached, her nails clicking against the floor. He undid the lock and pulled on the door. It stuck in the humid night air, but he managed to yank it open, almost falling backward as it came free. He expected—hoped—to see a small blond child standing there, her face expectant as she returned to her home and her mother.
But the back porch was empty.
Michael stepped out, the dog beside him. Light rain fell, almost a mist. He saw his car, the beaded moisture on the roof glistening in the glow from a light above the garage. Michael stepped farther out, looking one way and then the other. The neighborhood was quiet, the houses on either side dark. He thought he heard a car door slam out on the street but couldn’t be certain.
“Hello? Hello?”
Trixie stood next to him. He caught a whiff of something sweet in the air. Honeysuckle, he guessed. He looked down to where she started wagging her tail and shifting her weight from one front paw to the other. She no longer seemed agitated, so whatever had grabbed her attention at the back door was gone. The wind? The rain?
He turned to go back in, the dog ahead of him, when something on the ground near the door caught his eye. It looked to be a piece of loose trash at first, but when Michael bent closer to examine it, he saw it was a pink handkerchief, a little crumpled and damp from being out in the rain.
He picked it up. He knew he’d hurried coming into the house, following after Erica who was rushing inside in a panic, so he couldn’t say with certainty that it had been there before.
But wouldn’t he have noticed something like that?
Something bright and pink?
He examined it more closely. In one corner of the handkerchief was a stitched monogram, simple and clear in black thread. The letter “F.”
Felicity?
Michael took a step toward the side of the house, hoping to look over there. But then he remembered Erica sleeping inside. She could identify it.
He dashed inside the house, the door making a soft whoosh as he closed it behind him. Trixie ran along beside him, her tail swinging as she jumped and barked at his excitement.
“Erica!”
When they passed the foyer at the front of the house, he heard something banging against the outside of the door there. The handkerchief still in his hand, he stopped in his tracks, the dog turning her attention to the unusual sound.
“Felicity?” he said, even though there was no way anyone could hear him through the door. And realizing that the girl—if it was her—wouldn’t know him from the man in the moon. She might return home and find a complete stranger opening the door to greet her.
But if she was there, he couldn’t let her get away.
He started to undo the lock, the bolt clacking loudly, and heard Erica behind him.
“What is it, Michael?” she asked.
He turned as he fumbled with the second lock. Erica looked sleepy, one side of her face creased from the pillow. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, her shoes off. She sniffled.
“Someone’s at the door. I think it’s her. I think it’s Felicity. Look.” He held the handkerchief up. “‘F.’ It’s monogrammed ‘F.’” He tossed it in the air between them. “She’s here.”
He pulled the door open.
He heard Erica say, “That’s not—”
And then a body crashed into him, sending him backward and onto the floor where he landed with such force that the breath went out of him.
chapter
fifty-five
3:26 A.M.
Griffin slowed her pace as she crossed the lawn, allowing Randi to keep up with her. The woman seemed determined to walk a couple of steps behind Griffin despite being the person Todd Friedman really wanted to see inside the house. But Randi came along like a kid going into a doctor’s office for a shot. Griffin resisted the urge to reach out and take her by the arm, propelling her across the lawn until she stumbled up the front porch.
The rain had stopped for the moment, but the grass beneath their feet remained slick and damp. The rich scent of moist earth rose from the ground like a mist. The clouds above were in motion, clearing the sky. The moon, father away and distant, peeked through briefly before being hidden again.
It had taken Phillips fifteen minutes to talk Todd Friedman into allowing Griffin into the house with Randi. She’d had to promise to leave her gun and any other weapon behind, and to keep her distance from Todd and not make any sudden moves.
“You could send me in there in a straitjacket,” she said.
“You don’t need to do this,” Twitchell said.
“Because I’m too emotional?” she asked. “Or because I can’t separate my personal feelings from my job?”
Twitchell almost rolled his eyes at her, but he didn’t. And he said nothing else until she walked away with Randi.
When they reached the porch steps and started up, the front door swung inward. For a moment, Todd Friedman appeared there, but he quickly jumped back out of sight as though he expected to be smashe
d by a hail of bullets. Griffin and Randi stopped halfway up the steps, awaiting further instructions from the man, reluctant to make any movements that might spook him more.
He spoke from out of sight, his voice high and frantic. “Did you bring a gun?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“How do I know?” he asked.
“She didn’t, Todd,” Randi said. “I’ve talked to her for a long time tonight. She’s a decent cop. I can tell.”
Griffin appreciated the kind words. She wasn’t sure whether she deserved them. After all, she’d violated protocol by going to talk to Tiffany Flowers alone. And she’d been standoffish and pissy with her partner. Other than that, she’d been on her best behavior.
“We just want to talk to you, Mr. Friedman,” Griffin said. “You can let us in, and if you change your mind, just tell us, and we’ll leave.”
For a moment, a silence stretched out between them all. Griffin didn’t look back, but she knew her colleagues stood out at the curb watching, their eyes pressing against her back and pushing her forward. They remained silent, their collective breath held as they hoped for a peaceful resolution to the standoff.
“Okay,” Todd said, his body still hidden. “But move slowly. And if I tell you to go—”
“If you tell us to go, we’ll go,” Griffin said. “We promise.”
She nodded to Randi, and the two of them went up the steps the rest of the way and into the house. They entered a darkened living room, which smelled of cigarette smoke and stale beer. Even though she’d been standing outside in the dark, it took some time for Griffin’s eyes to adjust. She waited, standing next to Randi just inside the door. She thought she heard the sound of breathing from her right, the direction from which Todd Friedman had disappeared when he opened the door and spoke to them.
She sensed the movement coming before she could react, but Todd appeared out of her peripheral vision and shoved the door. It brushed past Griffin’s body, causing her to jump, and then slammed shut, blocking out the ambient noise of the street and the night.
“Just stand right there,” Todd said, his voice still high but also raspy.
Griffin remained rooted in place. Beneath the cigarettes and the stale beer, she thought she could smell fear and desperation wafting off Todd Friedman. She refused to give him any reason to become more desperate and afraid.
“We just want to talk, Mr. Friedman,” she said.
“Yeah . . . well . . . okay, talk.”
Her eyes adjusted to the dark. Griffin made him out, about ten feet away. His hands hung limply at his sides, and she detected no weapons of any kind. At least none in his hands or clearly in view. She felt marginally better. From somewhere in the house, she heard the sound of a TV playing what sounded like a sitcom. She heard low tinny laughter rising and falling and then a comedic voice groaning, an odd counterpoint to their reason for being there.
“We thought you had something to say to us,” Griffin said. “Or maybe there’s something you wanted to tell Randi. Is there?”
He looked at his ex-wife, his eyes luminous white circles in the darkness. “She knows everything I have to say.”
Randi stood with her arms crossed. “I told them, Todd. I told her. About what Erica said to you. That you could just take Felicity from her.”
His eyes grew even wider. Even in the reduced light, Griffin saw the muscles in his jaw clench. He spoke through gritted teeth. “My God, Randi, why would you tell them that? With my record . . . no wonder they’re here, circling around me like buzzards.”
“Mr. Friedman,” Griffin said, “I can assure you we all only have one concern. We want to find Felicity as soon as possible, and we want her to be found safe and sound. You know Felicity. From everything I’ve heard, she’s a great kid. No one wants to see a child suffer if we can help it. She’s been gone all day and half the night.”
Friedman made a choking sound in his throat. Griffin wasn’t sure whether he was laughing or afraid. But he made no other response.
“Can I turn a light on?” Griffin asked. When he didn’t say anything, she bent down and flipped the switch on a lamp. The yellow glow made them all squint.
Todd took a step back, his body jittery and anxious.
“Do you mind if I take a look around the house, Mr. Friedman?” Griffin asked. “I can just take a quick look in the closets and down in the basement.”
“No, you can’t,” he said. “No.”
“Okay,” she said. “Did you have anything you wanted to say to Randi? Isn’t that why we came in here?”
“I don’t want to say it in front of you,” he said. “I don’t want to say anything in front of you.”
“But Randi wanted me here,” Griffin said.
“I do, Todd. I wasn’t going to come in, except she agreed to come with me. We told you on the phone.”
He didn’t respond, but his eyes shifted from side to side. And his weight rocked from one foot to the other, causing the floorboards to squeak. He looked like a man planning an escape, a man ready to dart away and run.
But he had nowhere to go. He stood in the confined space of his living room with a host of cops outside of his house.
“Todd?” Griffin said. “We can talk about this all you want. We can work through it. If you tell us what you know right now, we can help Felicity and we can help you. But we need to hear all of it.” She cleared her throat and decided to press him a little. “You may not want me to look around now, but I can assure you of something. We are going to look around. Those cops outside—they’re going to look around eventually. And soon. So maybe we can do this the easy way?”
His head jerked up like someone had yanked it with a rope. He stared at Griffin, the fear evident in his eyes.
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay what?” Griffin asked.
“I want to show you something,” he said. “I really want to show Randi, but I guess both of you can come.”
chapter
fifty-six
3:31 A.M.
Angela could tell they were halfway to Trudeau. For a few miles, they appeared to have left most of the cornfields and vast empty spaces behind. Traffic picked up in both directions, and ahead on the horizon, like a humming glow in the dark night, she saw the lights of Simka, the small town between Cottonsville and Trudeau.
“Are we going to see this Tolliver guy?” Angela asked. “Can you tell me anything else about him? Besides the fact he’s a teacher at Felicity’s school.”
Jake stared straight ahead. Angela couldn’t be certain he’d heard her. He looked lost in thought, his mind off in some other place.
“Jake?”
“He’s an odd duck,” he said finally. “Tolliver.” He guided the car with one hand and gestured with the other. When a vehicle went by the other way with particularly bright lights, he squinted, moving his head slightly to the right. “He does have an unusual interest in Felicity. But I don’t think it’s that kind of unusual interest. He seems asexual to me. Like a eunuch. He’s taught her for a while. I went to one of the recitals and met him.”
“But he might know something?” Angela asked, her voice hopeful. “That’s why we’re going there, right? He might be able to tell us . . . something helpful?”
Again, Jake remained silent for an uncomfortable amount of time. Angela opted not to push. She allowed him to gather whatever thoughts he was gathering. But the longer she waited, the greater the sense of unease that had slowly been growing in the pit of her stomach. His silence, his distance, unnerved her and stood in stark contrast to the edgy franticness he displayed at the house. Maybe he remained quiet for that very reason, knowing that it would keep her back on her heels. If he planned it that way, then she silently congratulated him. It worked. She felt off balance and uncertain.
“I don’t think we’re going to go see Tolliver,” he said, his voi
ce as flat as the road.
“Why not?”
“Not worth it.”
“Then where are we going?” she asked. “To Erica’s house? You said you knew where she lived. Obviously you do.”
He scratched his chin, his fingernails scraping against the stubble and making a faint scratching noise in the car. “Not that. I bet she’s not there. And if she is, we can go by later.”
He cut his words off sharply, as though he were finished speaking.
Angela desperately wanted to hear more.
“Then where are we going?” she asked. “Exactly.”
Angela prided herself on having a level head, on not losing her cool or focus no matter what went on around her. But the more mysterious and reticent that Jake became, the more she discovered images of Michael and, yes, even Gail, tripping through her mind. She saw her nice safe house, the orderly yard, the comfortable rooms. And the unease in the pit of her stomach started to spread, moving out along her rib cage and up into her throat, expanding like a balloon. What had she gotten herself into?
“I know someone else who might know what’s been going on with Erica lately,” he said after another long pause. “It’s good you’re with me.”
“Why?”
No hesitation. “They might require a woman’s touch.”
“Who is it?” she asked.
“You know, you ask a lot of questions. I think this whole thing would go better if you didn’t. I’ve got a lot of things on my mind right now. A missing kid. A missing ex. I need to think.”
“I don’t know exactly where my husband is,” Angela said.
Jake made a dismissive noise with his mouth, something that sounded like a fart. To emphasize the point, he waved his hand in the air as well. “Wow. What a bummer for you. Your husband has been gone for . . . what? A few hours? Tough.”
The car fell into silence except for the purr of the engine. Even the radio was off. Angela listened to the hum of the tires against the road, a slight rush of wind from the driver’s-side window that Jake had cracked about an inch.
