by David Bell
The notion that the two things were related—Celia’s disappearance and Tabitha’s—had never crossed Jared’s mind until Jones brought it up. And once he did, the idea wedged in Jared’s brain like a large splinter.
Could they be? And Holly Crenshaw as well?
“Do you mind if I take him home?” his mom asked, her hands still resting on Jared’s shoulders, even though he was taller than his mom by a few inches. It was one of those protective gestures parents like to make. It said to the world, This one is mine, and you better believe you’re going to have to go through me first. “It’s cold. He doesn’t have a coat, and he’s been through something awful.”
“Mom,” Jared said. She seemed to be laying it on pretty thick, making him sound like a baby. But he did want to go home, to get out of the cold and away from the stench of the dead man inside. If he ever could fully get away from it. His mom ignored him and waited for the cops to say something.
“Are you going right home?” Bradford asked. “Because a detective will want to speak to you. Tonight.”
“Believe me,” his mom said, her voice sounding tired, “they all know where I live.”
Bradford nodded and Jared’s mom didn’t break contact with him until he sat down inside the car.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Early the next morning Detective Poole came by, looking tired and worn. She wore a navy pantsuit, the jacket wrinkled, and her hair seemed frazzled and unkempt, as if she’d ridden to their house with the windows down in her car, despite the cold temperatures. When Jenna offered her coffee, she accepted it as if it were manna from heaven.
The three of them sat at the kitchen table. Detective Poole started with a rundown of everything Jared knew about Tabitha and her dad. But before she started asking questions, Jared said, “Her real name is Natalie, isn’t it?”
Naomi nodded. “It looks that way.”
“Maybe we should call her that. I need to get used to that, I guess, and I think someone would like to be called by their real name.”
“Fair enough,” Naomi said.
Jared told the detective the little he knew about them. Natalie said her parents were separated, her father strict. She said she came from Florida. Jared admitted that he had never really met her dad, never set foot inside the house until he broke in.
“I’m sorry about that,” Jared said to the detective. “But I was scared. I thought Tabitha—Natalie—might be in there. Hurt. Or worse.”
Naomi gave him a reassuring pat on his hand. “I don’t think anyone’s going to be pressing charges over a broken window.”
“It’s not the only window I broke on that house. Did you see the kitchen window was all taped up?”
“We did,” Naomi said. “Did you try to get in that way first?”
Jared looked at Jenna and then over at the detective. He told her he’d broken the window one night when he saw Natalie’s dad kissing her on the lips in the kitchen.
“I lost my shit,” he said. “I got so angry. And jealous. I couldn’t stop myself.”
“Is that why you asked me about fathers kissing daughters?” Jenna asked.
“Sure. It seemed weird, but I didn’t know. You and I never kiss, not that way. But I don’t know about fathers and daughters.”
Jenna pulled her sweater tighter around her body. “Your instincts were probably right. Is it possible this girl was being abused by her father?” Jenna asked Naomi.
Naomi kept her face a blank mask, revealing nothing. “We’re looking into everything.” She turned to Jared again. “Is that all of it? Any other relevant details? Anything at all?”
“That lock on the bedroom door,” Jared said. “Do you think he kept her in there?”
“He let her go to school,” Naomi said. “She wasn’t a prisoner all the time. And she didn’t tell you or anyone else at the school that she was being mistreated or abused. She could have run away, and she didn’t. Right?”
Jared’s shoulders rose and fell, a hopeless shrug. Or an admission of defeat. “I wish to God I knew more. I really do. I’d give anything to be able to see her again and learn more about her. But most of the things she told me were lies.”
Jenna reached over and rubbed his back. She ached for him. It was bad enough to get dumped, to lose his first love, but to lose it all in such a shocking way. She felt powerless to ease the boy’s pain. She might have to get him help. Real help.
“Is that all, Detective?” Jenna asked.
“No,” Naomi said. “I have to keep bugging you two.” She reached into the pocket on the inside of her jacket. Jenna thought only men’s clothes had a pocket there. “We’ve identified the body we found in that house. Or I should say, you found in that house. I need to know if you know him.”
She brought out a photo of a balding, middle-aged man wearing very unstylish glasses. “Recognize him?”
“No,” Jenna said.
But Jared said, “Sure. That’s Mr. Allen. I go to school with his son.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Jared picked up the photo, staring at the awkward, posed portrait. It looked like something taken at work, maybe for a company Web site, and the smile on the man’s face looked as if he’d rather be anywhere than sitting in front of a camera.
“How do you know him?” Detective Poole asked.
“I don’t really know him,” he said. “I know his son, Bobby. Bobby and I were on a soccer team once.” He looked up at his mom. “Remember that year I played soccer for the Optimists’ Club? Bobby was on the team.”
His mom nodded, although he couldn’t tell if she really knew who the kid was or not.
He said to the detective, “His dad used to come to some of the games. Once he got into an argument with a referee over something stupid. He thought Bobby had been fouled, but the ref didn’t make the call. The whole thing was insane. We were losing, like, ten to one. We were kids. But he ended up getting the team a red card. I felt awful for Bobby. He stood there with his head down while his dad made an ass of himself. That’s who it is, isn’t it?”
Detective Poole nodded. “Indeed. Henry Allen is the man you found deceased in that house.”
Jared stared at the picture again. It was hard to imagine that lump in the living room, that still, cold, bloated body, had once been a living man, someone capable of fathering a son and arguing with a referee. He had felt the same way at his grandfather’s funeral years earlier. He couldn’t reconcile the stiff, overly made up body in the casket with the vigorous man who had once lifted him in the air and swung him around. Jared knew everyone ended up that way, dead and cold, empty and lifeless. It didn’t matter if the body was in a funeral home or on the floor of a shitty house. Dead was dead.
Had Tabitha—Natalie—met the same fate?
“He was murdered, right?” Jared asked. “That’s why all the blood was behind his head.”
“We’re treating it as a homicide,” Naomi said. “Did you ever see Mr. Allen in the vicinity of Natalie’s house?”
“Never.”
“And Natalie never mentioned him to you?”
“Never.”
“But you went to school with his son, Bobby?”
“He’s a grade ahead of me.”
“Did Natalie know him?” she asked.
Jared paused to think about it. “She didn’t have many friends. She’d only been in the school a few weeks. I can’t say for sure she didn’t know him, but I never saw them together. She never mentioned him to me. Bobby ran with a different crowd than us.”
“What kind of crowd is that?” Naomi asked.
“The rich kids. In fact, you know who he’s friends with? Bobby? I just saw them together the other night. He hangs out with Ursula Walters. They were in the park a few days ago when I went walking through.”
Something crossed Detective Poole’s face, a look of mi
ld surprise or curiosity. She didn’t have to say anything about it. Everyone in the room saw the strangeness of the circumstances: Bobby Allen, the son of a murder victim, is friends with Ursula Walters, the daughter of a kidnapping victim. And Bobby’s father is found dead at the home of another girl who was apparently kidnapped and in danger.
“And Ursula and Natalie weren’t friends?” Naomi asked.
“No. They were in a couple of classes together, I know that. The other night, when I saw Ursula in the park, she called . . . Natalie weird. You could tell she said it just to be hurtful. She didn’t really know her. Natalie. She just wanted to be nasty in some way. She’s a raving bitch.”
“Jared,” his mom said, “don’t say that. Ursula’s probably just jealous.”
“Jealous of what?” Jared asked. “Of me?”
“Not exactly,” his mom said. “Mean girls don’t like it when anyone makes them look bad. Let’s face it, Natalie is a gorgeous girl. Have you seen a picture, Detective?”
“I have. We got one from the school.”
“Maybe it’s just mean-girl jealousy,” his mom said. “Or maybe she really thinks Tab—Natalie is weird. Who knows?”
“Let me ask you something else, Jared,” Naomi said. “When Natalie broke up with you, did she mention another guy? Do you think she was seeing someone else?”
Her words twisted in Jared’s guts a little. He knew she was just doing her job, and he didn’t want to react like a sniveling little baby. But he didn’t like the question. He didn’t like it at all because he knew so little about Natalie that the answer to the question might just be yes.
“How could she?” he said. “She could barely get out of the house to see me.”
Naomi looked sympathetic, maybe even a little sorry she’d asked the question. “So she didn’t mention anyone?”
“No. She never mentioned any other guys. None.”
A silence settled over the kitchen. He couldn’t hide his real feelings, his fears that Natalie simply didn’t want him anymore because she found someone else.
But he knew the detective had bigger things on her mind. She wasn’t concerned with a silly little high school love triangle. She was hunting bigger game.
Naomi reached out and picked up the photo of Henry Allen, tucking it back into her coat pocket. She checked her watch.
“We’ve sent out an AMBER Alert about Natalie. Her description and her father’s description are going to be all over. They won’t be able to go many places without being recognized.” She stared at both of them, a serious look on her face. The light from above reflected off her oversize glasses. “If you hear anything from Natalie, anything at all. A text. A phone call. An e-mail or a social media message. If you get any of those things, let us know right away. Don’t continue the conversation. Don’t say anything. Just call us. And needless to say, if you see her or her father, call the police immediately. That man is dangerous. Don’t approach him. Don’t play the hero, okay?” She shifted her gaze to Jared when she said the last part.
“I hear you.”
She patted his hand again. “I know you want to rush in and help this girl. It’s noble, it really is. What girl wouldn’t want a boyfriend like you? But let the police handle it, okay? Don’t play Junior James Bond anymore.”
“Can I ask you something, Detective?” Jared said.
Naomi kept her hand resting on his. “I don’t know if she’s alive or not, Jared. But until we know otherwise, we’re going to assume she is.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Jenna walked to the door with Detective Poole while Jared went to his room, and the two women went outside together, stopping on the small front porch to talk some more.
The late-winter sky was gray and low. The sun seemed to have given up. It was cold, too cold for Kentucky in February, and Jenna again found herself wishing she could live someplace warm. Once the glory of spring came, she’d talk about how there was no place better to live than Kentucky, and she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
“Thank you for being so encouraging with Jared,” Jenna said. “I don’t really know what to say to him about this girl. Here I’ve spent a couple of months complaining about people who don’t know what to say to me, and now I’m in the same boat. I don’t know what sounds right or makes sense.”
“I try to be positive,” Naomi said, “until I can’t be anymore.”
“Do you really think this Natalie might still be alive?” Jenna asked.
“Her dad brought her here for some reason instead of killing her back at home. That means he had something in mind for her. It can’t be easy bringing a teenage girl along with you.”
“No. I guess I’m holding out hope he really cared about her in some way. Like you said, he let her go to school.”
“She didn’t run. If she was scared enough, that might motivate her to stay. He could have threatened her. Intimidated her. We don’t even know if the girl is aware that her father is a suspect in the mother’s death. That might change her tune if she knew that. But it doesn’t look like she has much family. She could be completely dependent on him.”
Jenna thought of the kiss Jared described. If you combined that with her father’s controlling, domineering nature, it seemed hard to come up with a benevolent scenario.
Detective Poole considered Jenna. The wind rose and tossed the detective’s short hair around on top of her head. “So, you don’t know Henry Allen, do you?”
“No. I don’t remember him from the soccer games.”
“Did Celia know him?” Naomi asked.
Jenna knew she should have expected the question, but it still knocked her off balance. “I have no idea, Detective. It’s a small town. Anything’s possible, and Jared said their kids are friends.”
“But you don’t know the parents of all of Jared’s friends.”
“Not his girlfriend’s dad. Thank God.”
The detective didn’t walk off. She seemed to be lingering, to be taking her time as if she were retired without a care or a deadline in the world. “Have you spoken with Ian anymore?” she asked.
“He came over the night the news broke about the affair.”
“He came over?”
“He didn’t have my number. I guess he was worried about the impact the news would have on me. He knew Reena was going to be targeting me and he wanted to offer support.”
“Did you talk about the case?”
“Not really. No.”
“It’s good you two are supporting each other that way.”
“Can I ask you something, Detective?”
“Sure.”
“Ian has a solid alibi for the night Celia disappeared, right?”
Naomi shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She winced a little as if something pained her, and she rubbed her back with her right hand. “Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason. People online have always said things about Ian needing to be investigated more closely. And I know the statistics. Usually it’s someone very close to the victim who commits the crime. Parents kill children. Husbands kill wives. . . .” Her voice trailed off. Just giving voice to the thought felt like a betrayal of Ian, even though she wasn’t sure what loyalty she owed him. Wasn’t her greater loyalty to Celia?
“This has all been made public, you know,” Naomi said. “Two people can place Ian at home at the time Celia disappeared. His mother, to whom he was speaking on the phone, and his daughter. Now, usually we want more than a family member’s account of things, but the phone records back it up. He was thoroughly questioned. More than once. Do you have reason to think he was involved?”
“No, of course not. And you asked me all this when Celia disappeared. I never saw any abuse or violence between them. Celia never mentioned being afraid of him. There was nothing.”
“But you didn’t know about the
affair, so . . .”
“It’s not that. With Ian talking to me again I started thinking about it.”
Naomi studied Jenna for a long time. “The media have been a little rough on you lately,” she said. “A Reena Huffman type doesn’t like it when someone doesn’t keep jumping through her hoop. The media giveth and the media taketh away.”
“What does that mean?” Jenna asked.
“It means they’ll have a field day if you keep getting closer to Ian. They’re distracted by Holly Crenshaw now, but they may get back to you if they get bored.”
Jenna wanted to be offended, to protest her innocence, but she knew the detective had seen through her. It was her job, and Jenna had opened herself up enough to be read like an X-ray.
“Talk soon,” Naomi said as she walked away into the cold morning.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Jared felt like a prisoner in his own house.
News of the discovery of the body broke quickly and spread through town like a rushing tide of water. The phone started ringing off the hook again, and local reporters in their makeup and perfectly tailored clothes showed up at their house. They parked their news vans at the edge of the property and crept up to the door, smiling ever so brightly and trying hard to convince Jenna to let Jared just say a few words on the air.
It was a frenzy like nothing Hawks Mill had ever seen: a missing woman, a dead woman, and a dead man . . . all within the space of a few months.
Jared felt as if he’d been transported to the set of a TV show or movie. So much craziness. So many rumors and ideas and theories.
So much fear.
His mom turned all the reporters away, begging them to give her son his space.
“He’s only fifteen,” she said over and over as he listened from his bedroom.
