Cemetery Girl

by David Bell

  Tracy paused, and fished yet another cigarette from her bag. “I left the room first,” she said. “I stepped outside the little closet, and I’m supposed to go right back to the dance floor, you know, and start working all over again. But I didn’t. I stayed right outside the door. I didn’t have a plan or anything. I just felt like doing it. I felt like I needed to be there for some reason. Maybe I was thinking of my own little girl. Cassie. Maybe I was thinking if she were ever in that situation I’d want somebody to try to do something for her.

  “But the two of them didn’t come out right away. I waited a minute, two minutes, and nothing. No sign of them. Like I said, I’d danced for couples before, and I know sometimes it gets them. . excited, you know? Some couples get off on that kind of stuff. But they’re not allowed to do anything about it, not on our property, you know? That would get us in trouble, and we’re supposed to look out for that kind of thing. So I went back in to check.”

  She stopped and looked at Liann. It seemed to be some kind of sore spot between them and Tracy was silently pleading her case one last time in hopes that Liann would let her off the hook.

  Liann shook her head. “We talked about this, Tracy,” she said. “You have to tell the whole story. It’s your story, and you have to own it.”

  After a long pause, Tracy turned back to me. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It’s okay,” I replied, even though I didn’t believe it was okay. In truth, I wanted to run and hide.

  “When I went back in, the girl was on the floor, on her knees, facing away from me. .”

  She didn’t have to complete the picture. I got it. We all did. Even if it hadn’t been Caitlin, if it had been somebody else’s daughter, I’d want that man brought to justice. I’d want him castrated and tortured. No one’s daughter should have to do that. No parent should have to hear about it. The fact that it might be my daughter, that I hoped it was my daughter, made it almost too much to bear.

  “I guess they stopped when they heard me come into the room. Then they came out, and they were walking side by side. He kept his arm around her, like they were a couple, but when I looked close, I saw it was a real tight grip. His arm was around her waist, like he didn’t want to let her go.”

  “Or like he was afraid she would run,” Liann said.

  “Yeah,” Tracy said. “Like that. He held his head real close to hers, real close, like he was whispering something to her. . or kissing her.”

  I swallowed and waited for more.

  “She was on my side, the girl. It was just lucky that way. I put my hand out, real slow and gentle, and I touched her arm. I didn’t think he’d see me, but I wanted her to know I was there if she needed something or wanted to say something. The girl turned to me. She looked right at me. Her face still looked blank and all zom-bielike, but her eyes showed something else. Fear, I guess. Emotion. Like she wanted to say something to me. She really wanted to, I could tell. And the girl actually started to-she opened her mouth and looked right at me, and I thought she was going to ask me for help. And I would have done it, too, right there. I would have.”

  “What did she say?” I asked, my voice getting louder.

  “Nothing,” Tracy said. “Right when her mouth opened, the guy saw me there, and he must have seen my hand on her arm, because he jerked her away, pulled her right back to him the way you pull a dog on a leash, you know? He didn’t say anything to me. He didn’t have to. He just stared at me as they walked away, his eyes telling me to stay back, to butt out, to mind my own business.” Tracy seemed to have forgotten her cigarette. Its ash was growing and tipping toward the floor. “I wish I’d done something or said something. I think about it all the time.”

  Her last words sounded scripted, almost insincere, but Liann reached over and gave Tracy’s hand a squeeze.

  “You’re doing something now,” Liann said. “This is how you can help that girl.”

  Tracy looked at me. “I saw that picture in the paper last night, and I called Liann right away.” She looked over at Liann and smiled. “I do trust her. I got busted once-”

  “That’s not important, Tracy,” Liann said.

  Tracy shrugged. “Whatever, right? It all came together. I want to see this man stopped. I want to see him punished.”

  Her voice took on an edge that wasn’t there before, one that sounded personal. She stabbed the dying cigarette into the ashtray as if to punctuate her point. She looked away from me then, her hand near her mouth.

  The crowd in the Fantasy Club picked up. Businessmen in ties sat at tables side by side with truckers and farmworkers. True democracy. There was a stirring behind the curtain on the stage, and somebody clapped. It looked like the show was about to begin.

  “We need to tell the police,” I said.

  Tracy’s head whipped around toward me.

  “No,” she said, the same edge in her voice. She turned to Liann. “You said I didn’t have to.”

  Liann gave me a quick glance, letting me know I was crossing some boundary. She leaned in toward Tracy and adopted the motherly pose again, speaking to the young woman in a gentle, comforting tone of voice.

  “You said you wanted to help,” Liann said to her. “And this is the way to help. This is the way to make a difference. The only way to find this guy is to call the police. I’ll watch out for you and make sure they don’t bullshit you.”

  But Tracy shook her head. She pushed back from the table and grabbed her gym bag.

  “You didn’t say anything about the police, Liann. You told me no cops. You know that’s how it has to be. You know that. I trusted you.”

  She stood up, a swirl of motion, and not even Liann calling her name slowed her down as she walked away. So I stood up and said her name, louder than I’d intended apparently. Tracy stopped and so did a lot of other people. They were all looking at me, their heads half cocked, their mouths partly open. Some of them smirked, and others nudged their friends as if to say, Here’s the show! Watch this guy get all crazy over a fucking stripper.

  “Tracy, wait. Wait!”

  She stopped in her tracks, her back to me. She didn’t turn around, didn’t encourage me, but she appeared to be waiting. Listening.

  My audience listened as well.

  “This is my daughter,” I said. “Like you said, you’d want someone to help your little girl if she needed it.”

  Someone let out a long, sarcastic “Awwwww,” and someone else shouted, “Show us your tits!”

  Tracy still didn’t move.

  “Please, Tracy. You’re our only lead here.”

  I couldn’t see her face. I couldn’t read what she was thinking or if my words were sinking in at all.

  “I don’t like the police,” she said, her voice small and childlike.

  “Liann’s right,” I said. “They have to be involved. They can help us.”

  Tracy didn’t say anything else, but her head moved ever so slightly. A quick nod with her eyes squeezed shut. It looked like surrender.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Seven

  A dark sedan entered the parking lot of the Fantasy Club and came toward the building. It was Detective Ryan. Liann and I stood next to each other while he parked and exited the car. Ryan was taller than me and thick through the middle, with a bushy mustache that more than compensated for his thinning hair. His belt buckle always hung low, beneath his gut, and Ryan frequently used his large, powerful hands to hitch his pants higher. He had come to us the day Caitlin disappeared and he led the investigation the entire time. Early on, he was a comforting presence in our house, a distant but protective father with the power to restore order.

  We shook hands as he stepped into the glow from the Fantasy Club’s entrance lights. They were orange and yellow and cast Ryan in a surreal wash. I knew Ryan wouldn’t like seeing Liann there. She asked questions and second-guessed the police in a way that must have made Ryan feel like he was getting nibbled to death by ducks. But I always ap
preciated Liann’s efforts. I figured the more questions being asked, the more pressure being exerted, the greater the likelihood something good would result and Caitlin would be found. Ryan nodded at Liann, his lips pursed into a forced smile.

  I gave Ryan a quick rundown of what had happened, with Liann filling in details when needed. He listened, not saying anything or commenting in any way. Ryan wore what I thought of as a cop mask. He kept his face impassive regardless of the circumstance and frequently began his sentences with the phrase “I don’t have a horse in this race. .” But I never failed to notice the way his eyes appraised me while I spoke, absorbing my every gesture or inflection and recording it somewhere.

  When I’d told him all there was to know, he still didn’t say anything, so I pushed.

  “So what do you think?”

  “I think I need to talk to this woman,” he said. “If she seems credible, maybe we can get a sketch of this guy out to the media.”

  At last, something. A step might be taken.

  “She doesn’t want to talk to you, Ryan,” Liann said.

  Ryan looked a little startled, like he’d forgotten Liann was there.

  “Oh?”

  “She doesn’t trust the police. She’s been in some trouble, so getting you to talk to her is going to be a tough sell.”

  “Nobody likes talking to the police, Liann. Tom, do you like talking to the police?” I could tell it was a rhetorical question, and Ryan didn’t allow me to answer. “But sometimes we just don’t have a choice, do we?” he said.

  “I really had to work on her just to get her to tell the story to Tom,” Liann said. “I’d like to be there when you go inside to talk to her.”

  Ryan shook his head. “Negative.”

  “I’m acting as her counsel,” Liann said. “She has that right.”

  Ryan made a snorting noise that might have been a laugh. “Liann, make up your mind. When you want to be a lawyer, you act like a lawyer and work cases. But when you want to be a victims’ rights crusader, you put on that hat and ride herd over the police and the prosecutor’s office and everybody else.” He raised his index finger in the air. “You don’t always play well with others, and you haven’t stored up many favors with the police.” He dropped the finger. “Besides, this girl doesn’t need counsel. Not that I’m aware of anyway.”

  “Let me go back,” I said.

  “No.” Ryan’s voice took on an edge. “In fact, why don’t the two of you clear on out? I’ll call you when I know something.”

  “Forget it,” I said. “I’ll wait here. I want to talk to you as soon as you come out.”

  Ryan studied me again, then nodded. He took a step toward the door, but Liann stopped him.

  “Look, Ryan,” she said. “That’s a scared girl in there. She’s lived a tough life. So none of your storm trooper bullshit, okay? She’s not a criminal; she’s a witness. She has rights.”

  “Are you saying criminals don’t have rights?” the detective asked. Liann started to respond, but he held up his hand and cut her off. “I know how to do my job, Liann. I know how to handle witnesses, and I know how to handle criminals. And I do know the difference between the two, even without you on my back. And I’ll even go a step further-thank you for bringing her to our attention. I do appreciate it.”

  Liann still looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. I didn’t care about their back-and-forth, their little power plays and gamesmanship. I wanted to know something else, something most important to me.

  “Ryan, wait,” I said. “I forgot to ask her something, that woman in there-Tracy.” I searched for the right words. “I wanted to know if she thought. . did she think Caitlin was. . I know she wasn’t okay, of course, but. . was she-is she okay?”

  Ryan came over and placed his big hand on my shoulder. Beyond a handshake, I don’t think he’d ever touched me before. I felt like a little boy being comforted, and it was reassuring.

  “Wait here with Liann,” he said. He gave me a couple of good pats and started back toward the door. “I’ll talk to you when I come out.”

  Chapter Eight

  Liann refused to sit. As soon as Ryan went inside, she started to pace back and forth. It was like some portion of my nervous energy had been transferred to her.

  “I know what he’s doing in there,” she said. “It’s the way the police operate, especially male cops. He’s in there trying to knock all the supports out from under her story. He’s trying to get the whole thing to collapse. That’s his goal, Tom-make no mistake about it. He doesn’t want to believe her. He wants to doubt her.”

  “I don’t think so, Liann. This is it. This is real. Once he talks to her, he’ll see it.”

  She spun toward me and jabbed her finger toward the door of the Fantasy Club. “The cops are the ones pushing the possibility that Caitlin ran away. You know that, don’t you? It’s shown up in the papers, right? ‘Police department sources say. .’ Maybe it’s not Ryan himself. He may not think that. But cops like to push the runaway theory. It makes it easier on them. It gets them off the hook.” She slowed down and turned away. She seemed to be cooling off a little. “It’s what the police always do. They criminalize the victim. They blame her.”

  “But could she have run away? What if what Tracy said in there. .?” I made a futile gesture behind me, toward the club. I couldn’t say it, but Liann knew what I meant.

  Caitlin, on her knees in front of that man. . Doesn’t that mean she wanted to be there?

  “No, Tom.” Liann came back over and sat next to me, her index finger raised like a stern schoolteacher’s. “You can never think that,” she said. “That’s the way the police think. You know your daughter. Do you think she ran away? Really?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  I wished I could get the image out of my head, the picture created by Tracy’s words. But I did want to know him. I wanted to see the face of that man, the one who took Caitlin.

  “You can’t waver, Tom. I’ve been telling you that from day one. That’s why you needed to hear that story in there. You can’t forget what this is about.”

  “Right,” I said. “It’s about finding Caitlin.”

  Liann nodded, but not as vigorously as I would have expected. It seemed like she was holding something back, some other part of the answer that I hadn’t provided. Before I could ask for clarification, my phone rang. I allowed myself to hope, for just a split second, that it was Ryan calling from inside the club, needing me to come in and participate, to hear some key piece of information he’d just uncovered. But the name on the caller ID screen made much more sense.

  Abby.

  I told Liann.

  “Are you going to answer?”

  “No.” I silenced the ringing. “She’s going to be mad.” I looked over at Liann. “I skipped out on the service at the cemetery today. I went out for a drink with my brother.”

  “Jesus, Tom.”

  “It’s worse. I didn’t tell her. I just didn’t show up.”

  Liann shook her head. “You have your work cut out for you. Of course, you have this news to tell her. You could call her back and let her know.”

  “I’ll tell her when we know more from Ryan,” I said. “Besides, I’m not even sure how much Abby will care about this. She wants to turn the page. It might interrupt her mourning.”

  Liann fiddled with the large bracelet on her left wrist. “I’m not a big fan of Abby’s decision to move on, either.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I just think that closure isn’t the best thing in a case like Caitlin’s,” she said. “You don’t want anyone-not the police, not the community-to think you’re ready to move on until you really are. And I don’t think you’re ready to move on, Tom.”

  “I guess it was different for you. You knew Elizabeth was really gone.”

  “We had a body,” she said. “And a real funeral. Not a memorial or whatever you had today.” She raised her index finger to make the
next point. “And we had a conviction. Don’t forget that. We got the guy.”

  “Did that really help?” I asked.

  Liann kept her finger in the air. “It didn’t hurt,” she said. “It sure as hell didn’t hurt.”

  “What about your marriage?” I asked. “I don’t want to be a fucking cliche, you know? The parents of a missing child who can’t keep their marriage alive. How did you two do it?”

  She lowered her hand and shook her head. “It’s a long road, Tom,” she said. “A long, long road.”

  It took Ryan nearly an hour to come out. An hour, or what felt like twenty twangy thumping songs I didn’t want to hear, and by the time Ryan reemerged I was cursing the first person who’d ever banged on a drum to create music. Liann and I stood up when we saw him.

  Ryan’s face was unreadable, obscure. “Tom,” he said, and made a gesture indicating he wanted me to move a little ways off and talk to him alone.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Liann can hear.”

  He didn’t look at Liann. “I’d rather talk to you alone.”

  “Liann is a friend,” I said. “She knows all about Caitlin’s case. She’s been there from the beginning. I’d like her to hear. I’d like the extra set of ears.”

  Ryan’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes shifted so that he considered me with a sideways glance.

  “Okay,” he said. “What do you want to know, Tom?”

  “I want to know what you thought of her story. Do you think she saw Caitlin?”