by David Bell
“Okay.”
Abby put the mug down and started to cry. Her eyes were full of tears, and she brought both her hands up to wipe them away.
“Did something happen to him?” I asked.
“Oh, Tom,” Abby said. “If only it were that easy.”
“Why don’t you sit down, Tom.”
I did, gingerly lowering myself onto the opposite end of the couch from Abby. She looked over at me and shook her head, disbelieving and angry.
“Have you heard from your brother lately?” Ryan asked.
“Will someone just tell me what’s going on?” I asked. I shifted so my side didn’t hurt. “It’s been a long night.”
Ryan took a long moment, still studying my face. Then he relented. “We’ve been continuing our investigation of John Colter and his relationship to Caitlin. We’ve been examining every angle, trying to understand how he ended up with your daughter. Work relationships, church relationships. . these are the things we examine in a case like this-”
“I don’t understand where you’re going with this. And what does it have to do with my brother?”
“We’ve identified some points of commonality between your family and associates of John Colter. There’s a connection there, a link.”
“Our family knew John Colter?” I asked.
“It was Buster, Tom,” Abby said. “Buster. All along. It was Buster who gave Caitlin over to this beast.”
I still didn’t move. While Abby wept, I stayed rooted in my seat, staring at Ryan.
Not Buster. No way.
Finally, Ryan jerked his head a little toward Abby. His motion broke the spell.
I slid down the couch and placed my hand on Abby’s back. She jerked away.
“Don’t touch me.” She looked up, her face tear streaked, her eyes on fire. “Did you know about this? All along, did you suspect this and keep it from me?”
“I don’t even know about it now.”
“Your brother gave our little girl away,” she said. “He’s a druggie and a failure, and he brought his own mess down on our lives.”
I looked to Ryan.
“Our investigation has revealed that John Colter was friends with a man named Loren Brooks. Do you know him?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”
“Are you sure you don’t know him, Tom?” Abby asked.
“I don’t know the name. Should I?”
Ryan continued. “Loren Brooks was a small-time drug dealer around here. Cocaine and marijuana mostly. Also some petty crimes. Burglaries, car thefts. He was an all-around malcontent and noncontributing member of our society.”
“Did you arrest him?”
“Many times, but not for anything relating to this case. He died two years ago. Drug overdose. I can’t say the world is worse off without him. We did manage to locate his former girlfriend, a woman who’d lived with Brooks for several years. We asked her what she knew about John Colter. She told us that everybody knew one thing about John Colter.”
“What’s that?”
“That he liked little girls. And, sometimes, he liked to keep them in his basement.”
I felt the air go out of me, like I’d been hit between the shoulder blades.
Abby spoke up. “You can arrest him now. Rearrest him. You have a witness.”
“Buster. .” I said.
I couldn’t bring myself to say it all.
How does Buster fit into all this? What did Buster do?
“Your brother owed Loren Brooks money, the result of some drug transaction about five years back. This girlfriend of Brooks, she believes that your brother offered Caitlin to Brooks as some form of payment for the debt he owed.”
“But Buster never had Caitlin,” Abby said. “She was never his to give. She was never with him.”
“But he knew where she lived,” Ryan said. “He knew her routines. She trusted him and would have followed him if he asked her to. Right?”
The money Buster had borrowed from me. . his phone call and apology. . his appearance at the cemetery. .
“Are you saying Buster led Caitlin to Colter and this other guy? That he tricked her into going and sold her to them like-” The only word that came to my mind sounded ridiculous, but I said it anyway. “Like a concubine.”
“This girlfriend of Brooks picked Caitlin’s photo out of a group of photos. She says she’ll testify that she saw Caitlin in Colter’s house. She’s actually the kind of witness we’ve been waiting for. She’s going to help the case a great deal.”
“Is she reliable?” Abby asked.
“More reliable than the men she’ll be testifying against, despite whatever problems she’s had,” Ryan said. He turned his attention to me. “Tom,” he said, “I need to ask you something very important. Do you know where your brother is?”
“Did you check his house?” I asked.
Ryan nodded. “Of course. I need you to tell me other places we might find him.”
“I don’t know-”
“And I need to know if you’ve heard from him lately. Anything at all.”
Ryan held his gaze on mine, his eyes boring into me like an X-ray.
“Buster is. .” My voice trailed off. I tried again. “Look. .” I replayed the scene in the car early that morning. His words. He’d been right, I had to admit. He had always stood by me when we were children, and I couldn’t underestimate that. Even if he had been involved-which I doubted, I really doubted-I wanted to find that out for myself. I couldn’t bear the thought of handing him over to the police, to strangers. I drew the line there. “I don’t know where he is. We had a falling out. We often have them. I haven’t spoken to him in a few weeks. In fact, the last time I saw him was right here at this house. And you were here, too. Listen, Ryan, are you really telling me Buster was directly involved? Just because this woman said something about him?”
“Like I said, we’re moving forward on the case with the goal of placing Colter in custody again,” Ryan said. “We need to talk to William as well. If he comes in voluntarily, it can be easier on him. If not. .”
“Tom?” Abby asked. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. I said I haven’t seen him.”
Ryan let out a little sigh. He placed his hands on his knees and pushed himself up out of the chair. He straightened his jacket by tugging on the lapels.
“You’ll let us know if anything else happens,” Abby said.
“I will.” Ryan pointed at my face. “And if I were you, I’d put some ice on that eye. Whoever you fell on was probably trying to hurt you.”
Chapter Forty-eight
Abby and I remained on opposite ends of the couch, not saying anything to each other. Not moving. I shifted a little, adjusting my position, trying to get comfortable.
“Aren’t you going to say anything, Tom?”
“What’s there to say?” I looked to the hallway, to the space where Caitlin’s pictures had been removed.
“I should have known it was him,” she said. “I should have known it would be someone in the family, someone close to us. It always is. Statistically, you know, it’s always a family member involved. And considering Buster’s past, his record. And you defended him. You said he wouldn’t hurt Caitlin.”
“Where is she?”
“Upstairs. Asleep. At least she was when Ryan called.”
I brought my hand up and touched my cheek. It felt tender and a little puffy. Ryan was right. It needed ice.
“Where were you?” she asked. “Really. Where were you?”
“I thought I heard someone trying to get into the house. I came downstairs and looked. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I took a walk.”
“Someone tried to get into the house and you left us?”
“I thought someone tried to get into the house.”
“Did you really fall?”
I looked toward the stairs. “It was wet. The dew. I was wearing these shoes.” I pointed at my feet distractedly. “I’m going to talk to her
.”
“About what?”
“I’m going to ask her about Buster.”
“Good. Bring her down here.”
“No. I think it would be better if I went alone. She’ll listen to me.”
Abby made a bitter, dismissive noise. It sounded like Hut. “She hasn’t listened to you for four years, Tom. She never listened to you. You were more like friends. That’s why she liked you. She didn’t have to hear or obey anything you said.”
I stood up. Slowly, gingerly, taking one step at a time, I went up the stairs.
I knocked on the door of the master bedroom and didn’t wait for a response before I pushed the door open. Caitlin was sitting on the floor, her back against the bed frame, the bulk of a sleeping bag spread underneath her. She was wearing long underwear-tops and bottoms-and she looked wide awake, her eyes alert.
I moved over to the bed and eased myself down. A stitch of pain poked me in the side, and I winced. Caitlin showed no concern.
I pointed to my puffy cheek. “Do you know who did this to me? Buster. Your Uncle Buster. We haven’t fought like that since we were kids. It used to be more even then. But last night, he kicked my ass.”
Her eyes widened.
“Was he there, Caitlin? With Colter? Was Buster ever there?”
She looked down at her hands and started picking at the cuticles. Her nails were short, the skin around them red and scabbed, as though she’d picked them over more than once.
“Caitlin? I’m not going to tell Mom.”
I was ready to let it go when she spoke up.
“I thought I heard his voice once,” she said. She continued to stare at her hands. “I thought maybe I imagined it. At first. .” She paused a long time. “I used to hear a lot of voices. I used to think a lot of people were there, looking for me.” She hesitated. “I even used to think I heard you and Mom.”
“No, no,” I said.
“I couldn’t tell if it was imagined or real,” she said. “It seemed very real. It sounded just like both of you. I knew your voices. I could recognize them.”
“We were never there. If we were there, we wouldn’t have left without you.”
Caitlin seemed to consider this for a moment, then went on. “Once I heard someone talking and laughing, and it sounded just like Uncle Buster. I almost called his name, but I didn’t.”
“Did you see him?”
She shook her head.
“Caitlin, this is important. Did you ever see Uncle Buster in Colter’s house?”
“I didn’t,” she said. “Never.”
I put my hand on her shoulder, felt the textured fabric of the long johns. “Were you in the basement?” I asked. “Is that why you didn’t see him?”
She shook her head again, more forcefully.
“You can tell me, you know? If you want to tell me something and not have Mom know, I can do that. It’s okay.”
“I already told you what I want.”
I let my hand go limp and slip off her shoulder. “Really, Caitlin? Still?”
She picked at her fingers and didn’t pay attention. I touched her again.
“Come on, Caitlin. You can’t still want that. Not that. It’s okay to let that go.”
She spun out of my grip and crab-walked away from me.
“You don’t know,” she said. “Don’t say that.”
“Caitlin-”
“No. I already told you.”
I went to the closed door, opened it, and looked into the hallway. No sign of Abby. I closed the door. Caitlin looked surprised when I came back into the room and took my spot on the bed again. “You know how I said I was fighting with your uncle Buster? Do you know what we were fighting about?”
“I don’t care.”
“We were fighting about you. And I’d think you would care, because I was on your side.” I could tell she didn’t follow. “We went to see your friend last night. Mr. Colter.”
“You’re lying.”
“We went to his house. Actually, we went to his mother’s house, since that’s where he’s living these days. Do you know her? Did you know he burned his own house down? The one you lived in with him? He completely torched it.”
“He did?”
“He did. Why?”
“He said he would do that. I didn’t believe him.”
“He’s a man of his word, isn’t he? He destroyed any trace of you, any evidence that you were ever there. He covered his tracks. Except he couldn’t destroy that room in the basement, the one you must have lived in. The one you heard Buster’s voice from, right? Remnants of it survived the fire, enough so the police could see what it was for.”
The sun came through the window, creating a rectangle of light that covered half of Caitlin’s body.
“Why are you telling me all of this?” she asked.
“Because I talked to Mr. Colter. About you.”
“What did he say?”
I took my time now. I leaned back a little and folded my arms across my chest.
“What did he say?” she asked again.
“You want to see him again, right?”
She stomped her foot against the floor. “Goddamn it! What did he say?”
“We’re going to make a deal,” I said, leaning forward again. “Are you interested in that? If you want to know what he said, you have to agree to the terms of the deal.”
“How can I agree to this if I don’t know what you’re offering?”
It wasn’t easy, but I pushed myself off the mattress, acting as though I intended to walk out of the room.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay, I agree. Jesus. Just tell me what’s going on.”
I backtracked and sat down on the mattress again. Caitlin watched me eagerly, expectantly. I almost couldn’t bring myself to say it. I almost walked away for real. But I couldn’t. I needed to finish.
“He wants to see you again,” I said.
It took me a moment to read and understand her reaction. She blinked her eyes a few times, and at first it looked to me like she was crying. Then the corners of her mouth turned up, the emotion spreading across her face-and no doubt through her body.
Joy.
Joy at the prospect of reuniting with the man she claimed to love. It was the most emotion, the most happiness she’d displayed since her return.
Caitlin raised her hand to her chest and fingered the topaz necklace just below her throat. She looked like Abby-her narrow hand, her long fingers, the way only her left cheek dimpled as her smile grew. “Will you take me there, Dad?” she asked.
Dad.
I didn’t know when she’d last called me that.
“I might take you there,” I said.
“Okay,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.
“One condition,” I said. “First you have to tell me everything that happened during those four years you were gone. You have to tell me how he took you and where you went. You have to tell me what he did to you there. And you have to tell me why you stayed and why you want to go back so much. If you tell me all of that, I’ll think about taking you there.”
“Think about?”
“Think about,” I said.
“Does Mom agree with this?” she asked.
“No way. And if you tell her or mention it to her, the whole deal’s off. Not only will the deal be off, but you’ll be locked up like this place is Alcatraz.”
She thought this over for a long moment. “But if I tell her what you’re offering, she’ll be mad at you, right? I mean, she’ll throw you out.”
“Certainly. And then you’ll never get to see your boyfriend.”
“When do we go?” Caitlin asked.
“As soon as you spill it.”
She shook her head. “I don’t trust you. I know you don’t want me to be with him. If I tell you, you’ll never take me there.”
“You don’t have a choice. Give it up.” When she didn’t say anything, I opted for putting more heat on her. “The longer we wait, the les
s chance you’ll see him. You heard what Detective Ryan said, didn’t you?”
“Some.”
“They found a witness, some mouth-breather from a trailer park who says she saw you in Colter’s house. Did you ever make the acquaintance of some guy named Loren Brooks? You know him?”
She nodded. “He came by sometimes.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“What is that bitch in the trailer saying about me?” Her face was blank, but her voice sounded capable of cutting glass.
“Enough to put Colter back in jail. They’re drawing up the papers today. He’s going back to jail-and soon. And given your reaction to this news, I suspect they have enough to keep him there.”
“Then what does it matter?” she asked. “There’s no deal you can make. They’re going to take him away.”
With great effort, I choked out the last words I needed to say. “He’s leaving town. And he wants you to go with him.”
Chapter Forty-nine
Caitlin continued to stare at me, her lips parted. The room, the house was silent. Outside a diesel engine rumbled. A school bus moved up the street, stopping and starting, collecting neighborhood kids for school. The simple routines of everyday life. Caitlin would have been driving herself to school that year. We would have bought her a cheap car, added her to the insurance.
Instead. .
“Are you saying. .?”
“You want to go with him, right?” I asked.
She nodded slowly. She brought her hands together again and started picking at them.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yes. I didn’t think you’d let me go.”
“You want to go. And a father is supposed to make his daughter happy, right?”
She kept picking at her fingers.
I started to get up, but Caitlin spoke.
“Parents aren’t supposed to let their children go, are they?” she asked. “Not ever?”
I settled back down on the mattress. She wasn’t looking at me but continued to study her hands. Still, I could tell she was listening. “I’ve known since the day you were born I’d have to let you go someday. You were going to grow up and have a life. Get married maybe. Move away. Any parent who isn’t aware of that is setting themselves up for emotional hardship.”
