Suspicion

by Joseph Finder

  He flashed back to an incident he didn’t like to think about, years ago when Abby was three, maybe four. He wondered whether all parents had something similar happen to them. Sarah had some function after work, so he’d taken Abby to the Prudential mall.

  Her favorite store was an overpriced candy shop with a display case of chocolate truffles and chocolate-covered pretzels and white chocolate peppermint bark and dried pineapple crescents enrobed in milk chocolate. A revolving rack of huge multicolored lollipops. But Abby was always drawn to the Plexiglas bins of radioactively hued jelly beans.

  He had said no, no candy today, and they went to the food court to get her a slice or two of pizza. Standing in a long line, he turned, and she was gone.

  He looked around, gripped with panic. She wasn’t there; she was nowhere in sight. Heart racing, he walked through the hordes of tourists, didn’t see her, knew she’d been abducted. I looked away for a second, he’d say later.

  He found her two minutes later at the candy shop, shoveling red jelly beans into a clear plastic bag. The longest two minutes of his life.

  Maybe that was all that had happened. Red jelly beans. Because if what had happened to her was anything like what he feared, he didn’t know what he’d do. He couldn’t go on living.

  Leon Chisholm approached, stiff-legged, and Danny rolled down the window.

  “Abby in trouble?”

  In trouble? he thought. What’s he implying, what does he know? And then, the realization: “Oh, no, she’s not being kept after school, no.”

  “You look shook up.”

  “I’m fine, everything’s . . . I just don’t know where the hell my daughter went.” He tried to sound annoyed, not scared.

  “The junior and senior girls, a lot of them go over to the food court down the block after school. Where the hospital is? They get pizza or ice cream or have a bagel or what have you. I see them heading over there in little gangs.”

  “But you didn’t see Abby, right?”

  He shook his head. “Nor her friend Jenna.”

  “It’s the damnedest thing.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.”

  He texted her: Where R U????? and waited for her reply, but nothing came. He waited for the word delivered to appear in little letters under the text, a reassuring confirmation. But it hung there in a green balloon, a dialogue bubble in a comic strip. And nothing came back. He called her cell again.

  Finally, he realized, stupidly, that he hadn’t called the one, most obvious place: home. She must have gone home on her own, sulking, and turned off her phone. She had a house key, after all.

  No answer.

  In the old days of answering machines, he could have spoken after the beep, and if she was there, she would have heard. And picked up. But that didn’t work in the age of voice mail.

  He pulled out of the circular drive and drove the few short blocks over to the medical area. The traffic was heavy and there were no parking spaces. He double-parked and raced into the food court, moving from the bagel place to the pizza place to the coffee place to the ice cream place, and she wasn’t there. The tables were crowded with people, a few tables of girls just a few years older than Abby, some looking Abby’s age, but none of them Abby.

  He returned to the car with his heart pounding in his ears and found a Day-Glo orange parking ticket tucked under a windshield wiper. He didn’t care. He got into the car and gunned the engine and barreled through a yellow traffic light, and drove to Marlborough Street.

  No parking spaces there, either. He double-parked and ran up the front steps of his building. Keyed himself in and took the stairs to the second floor, and as he put the key in the lock, he rehearsed the angry words he was going to speak.

  But she wasn’t home.

  He collapsed onto the couch, gripping his iPhone, feeling at once hollow and nauseated.

  He was finding it hard to keep the terrifying thoughts from intruding now. The simple logic of the cartel’s enforcers taking his daughter. Of course they would. He cursed himself for ever having let himself get involved in this. He should have taken his chances with the lawyer and the court system, and his daughter would be here with him, instead of . . .

  He called Galvin’s cell again and it went to voice mail, but he didn’t leave a message. He called Galvin’s office and asked for Galvin and got the same unhelpful secretary. “He must have left early for a meeting out of the office, Mr. Goodman. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  Danny found it hard to believe that Galvin’s secretary couldn’t locate him precisely at any moment, but he said, “I’m a friend. As I told you. What’s his home number?”

  “I’m sorry,” she replied quickly. “We don’t give that out.”

  “You see, the problem is that my daughter’s missing, and I need to know whether she might have gone home with Jenna. My daughter is Abby Goodman. Can you at least call Celina and ask if she’s there?”

  A pause. “Certainly, can you hold?”

  In a little over a minute, she returned to the line. “I’m sorry, Celina’s not home. None of the family is there. I wish I could help you. I know how worried you must be.”

  “Thanks for trying,” he said, and hung up.

  He called Abby’s phone and called it again and again. He texted her again. He searched his call log for missed calls.

  You heard things like the first thirty-six hours after a disappearance were the most important. Or was it the first twelve hours? He didn’t remember.

  But he knew he should call the police and report her missing, that was the first thing to do.

  File a missing-persons report with the police and look forward to that moment, maybe an hour from now, when his phone rang and it was Abby, and there’d been some sort of misunderstanding, and he’d have to call the police back sheepishly. He would be delighted to be made a fool of.

  He just wanted her back.

  If . . . if the cartel enforcers had done . . . something . . . (he wouldn’t let himself complete that thought. Just . . . something) they would contact him and make a demand.

  And he would instantly comply, whatever they wanted.

  If they wanted blood, he would gladly offer himself up. If they would let her go, he’d submit himself to the same torture they’d inflicted on Esteban. Just as long as they let her go.

  His iPhone rang, and he heaved a big sigh until he looked at it and saw it wasn’t Abby.

  Heart hammering.

  “No,” he said to Lucy. “Nothing. I looked everywhere. You didn’t hear from her?”

  “This is weird, Danny.”

  He just exhaled.

  “It’s not like her.”

  “No.”

  “She wouldn’t have, I don’t know, gone somewhere on her own, right? I mean, a pretty sixteen-year-old girl, she’s not—”

  “Don’t, Lucy. Just . . . don’t go there.”

  “I’m sorry. Danny, you should probably notify the police.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I mean, it’s just a formality, the sort of thing you’re supposed to do, because I’m sure she’s on her way home, and it was a big misunderstanding, that’s all.”

  “Right,” he said dully, and at that moment, he heard a key turning in the lock.

  32

  “Where were you?” he said. Torn between towering relief and towering anger, he tried his best to keep his tone neutral. But there was no disguising the quaver in his voice.

  Abby seemed smaller, as if she had shrunk into herself, the way a pill bug rolls itself up into a tight ball when threatened. Her cheeks, normally brushed with pink, were bright red, but that could have been from being outside in the cool air. Her metallic-glinting scarf was wound around her neck several times. Her fine blond hair flew away in wild hank
s.

  “Shopping with Jenna,” she said. “What’s the big deal?”

  He got up from behind his desk and approached slowly. “What’s . . . the big deal? What’s the big deal? You didn’t get my phone messages or my texts?”

  “I turned off my phone.”

  “You turned off your phone.” Steady, he told himself. Cool it. “When have you ever, I mean ever, turned your phone off? What the hell did you have it off for?”

  She shrugged. “I was trying to save the battery.”

  “That thing has never been turned off since I bought it for you, not once.”

  “That’s not true.” She kept looking to the side, as if avoiding his eyes, as if afraid he’d see through her. She unwound her scarf.

  “Can I see your phone, please?”

  “For what?”

  “I want to see the times of the text messages you sent. I want to see if you were on your phone during the last couple of hours when I was desperately trying to reach you, when I thought something bad might have happened.”

  “Like I’m some kind of criminal, that’s why you want to look at my phone? Like you don’t believe me?”

  “How come you won’t look at me?”

  She pulled off her jacket, head still turned away. She circled around to her right and walked toward the bathroom. “I have to use the bathroom, okay?”

  “Hold on a second.” She kept walking. “Will you stop, please? We’re talking.”

  Without turning to look at him, staring at the bathroom door, she said, “What . . . do you want . . . to know?”

  “You didn’t know I was picking you up at school?”

  “Oh, I see, so you’re pissed I didn’t tell you I was going to walk around Newbury Street with Jenna?”

  “I told you to come home.”

  “I’m home, aren’t I? You didn’t say I had to come home the second school was out.”

  “Any reason you didn’t tell me what your plans were? So I didn’t have to waste my time driving over to Lyman and waiting in line and then spending half an hour asking everyone at school where you’d gone? And thinking something had happened?”

  She stared straight ahead. She still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I screwed up. I should have told you but I forgot, okay? What do you want me to do now? Am I going to get grounded for a year or something?”

  “Look at me.”

  “Can I please just use the bathroom? I’m, like, about to pee my pants.”

  “Look at me.”

  She turned to her left ever so slightly. “Okay? Can I go now?”

  “Turn around all the way. What are you hiding?”

  She compressed her lips, furrowed her brows. Then she turned so she was looking straight at him.

  “What the hell is that on your nose?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Is that . . . ?” He came closer. “Is that a ring in your nose? Did you pierce your nose?”

  Quietly now, she said, “Obviously.”

  A small metal ring ran through her right nostril and through the side of her nose. He stood a few feet away. “You pierced your nose?”

  “So?”

  “Did we ever talk about this? Did you ask my permission?”

  “It’s my body. I have the right to do whatever I want.”

  “No, you don’t, actually. You do not have the right to get piercings or tattoos or anything of the kind, anything permanent, without clearing it first with me. Are you out of your mind?”

  “You would have said no anyway.”

  “You’re damn right I would have said no. What the hell gives you the right to pierce your nose, like a, a . . .”

  “Hey, it’s done, okay? Keep up.”

  “I don’t believe this. I don’t believe you defaced your body, put a ring through that beautiful nose. I mean, for God’s sake, that’s going to leave a permanent scar.”

  “No, it’s not. I asked her, and she said if I ever decide to take it out, it’s going to leave a little freckle, that’s all.”

  “Where did you have this done? Do you realize what kind of infection you might have?”

  “Oh, come on, is that what you’re worried about? She was almost like a doctor. I mean everything was sterile and she uses a disposable needle and changes it every time, and she was, like, totally anal about, oh, you have to clean it with salt water and you have to put in the right kind of earring, not sterling silver, only fourteen-karat gold or surgical steel or titanium. I mean, she was totally totally crazy sterile about everything.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” he said, and he thought, She’s right here, she’s alive, nothing happened, no one took her. Tears came to his eyes. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  She noticed his tears and looked at him with alarm.

  “This isn’t just about piercing. Don’t you ever ignore my phone calls and text messages. Ever. Do you hear me?”

  “What is the big deal? What are you afraid of?”

  “Two pretty sixteen-year-old girls going around the city by themselves, going into body piercing places or whatever, you’re a target.”

  “Oh, please. That’s ridiculous. It was daylight and we were on a busy street with a lot of people around me. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “Jesus, Boogie.” He came close and put his arms around her, flooded with relief. She kept her arms stiff at her side, didn’t hug back, her mouth downturned in anger. “I was scared out of my mind, sweetie. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

  Finally, she put her arms around him, her face pressed against his chest. “I’m sorry,” she said, her words muffled.

  “It’s okay.”

  She sniffed. “Actually, I really do need to use the bathroom.”

  He released her.

  When she came out, he was sitting on the couch, waiting for her. “Boogie, come over here for a minute.”

  “I have homework.”

  “It can wait. Come over here and sit down.” He patted the sofa next to him. She sat down in a chair on the side of the sofa.

  “What?”

  “Listen. We need to talk about the Galvins.”

  “What about them? You didn’t say I couldn’t hang out with Jenna. You just said I couldn’t go over to their house tonight.”

  “I don’t want you going over there anymore. I don’t want you getting a ride in Mr. Galvin’s limousine.”

  He’d made a decision, finally. Earlier it might have raised eyebrows, his keeping her away from the Galvin family. But Danny could handle it, let Galvin know the loan had nothing to do with it. He’d just say it was about strengthening the father-daughter relationship.

  “What is this? All of a sudden you don’t like them? I thought you liked Jenna.”

  “I do, absolutely. She’s a great friend. I don’t mind if she comes over here, or—”

  “I am not inviting her over here to see this place. You saw what their house is like.”

  “If she’s really a friend, she’s not going to judge you based on the fact that your daddy isn’t rich, all right?”

  “What’s the difference if I go to her house or she comes here?”

  “You’ve been going over there way too much, and you know it.”

  She paused, frowned. “So I won’t go over so much, okay? Is there, like, something you don’t like about them? Like they’re a bad influence?”

  “I’d like to spend a little time with you once in a while, you know?”

  She shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like we have a lot to talk about.”

  “Ouch,” he said. “I don’t agree, but if you feel that way, let’s work on it.”

  “It’s too intense. It’s like being under interrogation every time we have dinner, like you want to know every last thing about what I’m doing and
how I’m feeling. . . .”

  “So I won’t interrogate you so much. We’ll just keep it lighter.”

  “Is this because you think Jenna made me get my nose pierced? Because that totally wasn’t what happened at all. We both did it. She didn’t make me do anything.”

  “That’s not it. I just don’t want you going over to their house anymore or riding in their limousine. Okay? Are we clear?”

  “I know what this is about. I know about the loan.”

  “Loan?”

  “He lent you, like, a hundred thousand dollars or something, right? Because you’re going broke.” She turned to face him, accusingly. “You’re just embarrassed about it. You don’t like me seeing how they live, and we live like this. Isn’t that what it’s really about?”

  He felt a flush of shame and a quick pulse of anger. He hadn’t told her anything about the money Galvin had lent him. What if Galvin had told Jenna he’d taken care of the Goodmans’ money problem, don’t worry about it . . . ? If he had . . . well, he just shouldn’t have. That really wasn’t her business.

  “Abby, that’s not it at all. I just don’t want you going over there anymore.”

  She stood up, staring at him furiously, smacked her hands against her thighs. “Why don’t you just admit it’s punishment? You’re pissed off I didn’t ask your permission to get my nose pierced and now you’re punishing me by trying to keep . . .” Her words came all in a rush now, high and run together and indecipherable. Her face was red, and tears glinted in her eyes.

  “Boogie. This is not punishment.”

  “—the one thing that makes me happy, my best friend, and you want to take her away from me!”

  “Abby!”

  She turned and ran to her bedroom. He sat back in the couch and folded his arms and stared into space.

  He almost wished he could tell her what was really going on.

  Almost.

  PART

  THREE

  33

  Danny tried to read in bed but couldn’t make any headway. Maybe he was too much of a wimp to be a dad, but he couldn’t stand watching Abby cry. He hated the fights and the struggle that came with having a kid. Generally, he tried not to give in to emotional blackmail, or to be a pushover—kids needed to be given boundaries and limits. Maybe not as much as his own parents had done. But you couldn’t go too far in the other direction, either. Kids, he decided, were like iPhones: They didn’t come with an owner’s manual.