The Weight of Night

by Christine Carbo

  “And how exactly are they breathing down your neck?”

  “You know how. Don’t tell me you’re not creeped out when each time you get on your computer and you see some ad telling you where you’ve already been shopping and looking at something. I’ve had enough of Uncle Sam.”

  “That’s businesses, the Internet, Google. That’s not the government,” Herman said. I was surprised he was even bothering to comment.

  “Ha,” Brady said with a wry grin. “All the same.”

  “Maybe you’re right, but with all due respect, Mr. Lewis, there’s a boy missing and I don’t give a rat’s ass what your politics are.” Herman glared at him.

  “I’m sorry about the missing boy, but I’m not giving my fingerprints so I can permanently be on some record of yours.” Brady stiffened, folding his arms tighter and clamping his mouth in a thin, straight line.

  “This isn’t working,” Ali said. “I’m going in. Red flags are going way up if he won’t agree to prints, and Herman’s no longer playing it smooth. As long as he’s going bitchy, we might as well switch to me.”

  I took her point, but still, I was skeptical. She started for the door.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Just leave him. He’ll swing back. He’s fine. Brady’s just going to clam up more if you go in.”

  “But the bastard’s guilty. Look at him.” She threw her hand at the mirror. “Sitting there all smug, refusing to give prints, probably already knowing that he’s wiped the damn truck down and that we won’t find prints anyway.”

  “We don’t know if he’s guilty,” I said. “It’s suspicious that he won’t help, but I thought I got a whiff of pot when his girlfriend opened the door. Probably just wants to be left alone to string a few jobs together to pay bills while he grows a little stinkweed and fishes. He might just be nervous about losing that.”

  “Harris, why the fuck are you defending all these nutjobs?”

  “I’m not defending them, Agent Paige.” I looked coolly into her electric eyes. They brimmed with anger. “I just think it’s wise to stay controlled.”

  “Controlled? We’ve got a boy missing for three days now.”

  “Exactly, and jumping to conclusions and allowing anger to get the best of us isn’t going to help.”

  “I’m sorry I asked you in here.” She paced around the room. “Maybe you should go back to the park where you’re appreciated.”

  A smile crept onto my face at the rudeness of her statement—at the nerve it took to say something like that to someone you worked with. I was intensely aware that she didn’t appreciate me, but I wanted to laugh and nearly did, my mouth twitching slightly at the corners. I could see that irritated her even more, but I held up my hand to smooth the waters. I’m good at that. I’ve got a lifetime’s worth of practice at staying calm amid erratic behavior, especially within my family. My ex-wife was the only one that wasn’t irrational and unpredictable, and eventually even she surprised me and uprooted our relationship by changing her mind midstream. “Here’s what I think,” I said evenly, trying to draw Ali back in, but she didn’t fall for it.

  “I don’t give a shit what you think. You weren’t correct about this one. The guy’s not going to be helpful either way.”

  “Perhaps not, but I think once we have confirmation that the truck is the correct one, we should try to get an order from a judge to force his prints as soon as possible. Even if the truck is wiped clean, we might need them later, and he shouldn’t have the right to withhold them under these circumstances, as a driver of that particular truck without an alibi on the day the boy went missing.”

  She took in what I said, then left.

  I watched her make a dramatic entrance into the room, her hair like Medusa and her face flushed with energy and impatience. She didn’t bother to address Agent Herman and I was surprised. Most partners always did a bit of a hunting dance—a circling of sorts around the suspect, no matter the circumstances. She skipped that, went right to Brady and got in his face. “You’re being an idiot by not giving your prints. Any idea how much our suspicion meter goes up if you won’t help us when a child is missing?”

  Brady looked at her curiously. “As I explained, I’m sorry about that, but I have my limits when it comes to Big Brother.”

  “And if something happened to one of your own children, you’d come begging for our help then, right? Big Brother or not, right?”

  Brady sat stone-still, as if Paige really were Medusa and had used her powers to freeze him. I was right—he had a “naughty little boy” face the minute she got in the mix. He clearly didn’t have children, so I didn’t expect him to identify with what she said, but I thought at least a speck of compassion would flicker across his face. It didn’t.

  “I’d like to speak to an attorney now,” he said.

  “I don’t think you understand the gravity of what is happening. There is a life at stake, and if you are uncooperative, you don’t understand the hot water you’ll be in.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. “You’ve got my Social Security and you’ve got satellites all over the place. Is that not enough?”

  “Look.” Ali sat up on the table and leaned toward him, and I saw him stiffen even more, his face going blank as he looked away from her. “We’re not interested in your damn Mary Jane, got it? We just want to find a missing boy. Are you telling us you wouldn’t help our investigation by giving us some lousy prints?”

  Brady fumed, his leg bouncing up and down in anxiety and his face reddening. He had full-on entered the stubborn mode and refused to talk. He sat silently before her, his arms folded tightly across his chest.

  “You’re an idiot.” Ali shook her head, then looked at Herman. “Come on, he can sit and think about it while we get a judge to order him to give not just prints, but a saliva sample for DNA analysis while we’re at it.”

  “I’d like to speak to an attorney now about my rights,” Brady said as they opened the door.

  Ali turned back and sneered at him, then whispered something to Herman that sounded like Rights, my ass.

  “I have civil liberties,” Brady called out, looking indignantly at Ken and me through the glass even though he couldn’t see us.

  • • •

  Ali didn’t return to the observation room, and I suspected she went straight to the judge. I was surprised she actually took my advice. It was an unusual request, and I wasn’t sure she’d get a warrant, given that the prints wouldn’t necessarily prove anything. I was certain she wouldn’t get an order for a swab, since we had no DNA evidence yet, but I figured she knew that and was simply bluffing. But I did as she said and went back to the park, where I was appreciated.

  It was late in the afternoon, the sky still brewing with anger, the wind whipping branches and swirling leaves. Horses bucked in the fields and thunder had begun to grumble in the distance. I caught a faint smell of rain riding along the bitter smoky air, making it feel sticky and heavy even with the wind.

  I had stopped at two more houses of families with missing kids before heading back to park headquarters. To my relief, the father of the first one had already sent samples to pass on to the center in Texas several years before, and the mother at the other house agreed readily. Then I stopped by to see Molly Sands, Nathan’s sister.

  She lived on the west side of Kalispell, near the railroad. The trail system Rails to Trails, where people walked, biked, and skated, ran directly behind her apartment complex. Molly was surprised to see me at the door, putting her hand up to her mouth when I explained who I was and why I was there. She invited me in. She looked disheveled, her hair messy and holding several toys in her arms—she’d probably been cleaning up when I rang.

  I thought of how she used to look: fresh-faced and ready to tackle the world. She used to talk to Nathan and me about how she couldn’t wait for college and spoke of getting out of Montan
a because she wanted to live in a bunch of cities where she could wear nice clothes and meet interesting people. Now she barely resembled that sexy, sparkly-eyed teenager. She looked haggard and stressed. She wore jean shorts that were too small for her, a T-shirt, and flip-flops. The curvy body that drove all of the guys crazy in high school had given way to rolls across her belly and thighs.

  “Molly,” I said. “I’m so sorry to bother you like this.”

  “It’s okay. I know why you’re here. My mom filled me in.” She led me to a couch and we sat.

  “Then you understand the situation.”

  “Kind of.”

  “We’ve found some bones. They’ll be sent to a center in Texas for identification, but if DNA hasn’t been submitted by a family member, then there’s a possibility that they won’t be able to pull a match. I’d like for one of your parents to submit so that we can rule out Nathan.”

  Molly thought about it, biting a nail. “They don’t want to do that.”

  “I realize that, but what about you? It’s not as good as a parent, but a sibling’s DNA would still help. Would you be willing?”

  I could hear her breathing through her nose while she thought about it. Clearly, I was putting her in an uncomfortable position. “I don’t know, Monty. I just don’t know. My parents are fragile enough. Do you really want me going behind their backs to do something they would prefer we stayed away from?”

  “I understand. I completely understand, but your mom seems to be going along with it only because of your dad.”

  “Possibly, but right now she’s not saying that to me.”

  “Would you at least speak to her? See if she’d be okay with you doing it, or even better, is if you could talk her into doing it?”

  Molly stared at me, her hazel eyes watery. “Sure, I can do that.”

  “I appreciate it. It’s important to get a sample from a parent. A sibling helps, but a parent is more conclusive.”

  She nodded.

  “Like I said, I’m sorry to pop in on you like this.” I wanted to leave. Seeing her was no easier than seeing her parents. I thought it would be, but I was wrong. Still, I sensed from the way she looked at me with wide, curious eyes that she wanted to talk more, so I stayed seated. “Have you been well?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been pretty good. Got out of a bad marriage, and other than the hassles of being a single parent, I’m hanging in there.”

  “That’s good to hear,” I said.

  “And you?” she asked. “You good?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. Went through a divorce myself, so I know how that goes, but all in all, I’m doing well.”

  We looked at each other for a second, deciding if there was any more to say. There was so much that could be discussed—all the years that had passed, old times before Nathan went missing, why she never followed her dreams and moved to a big city (I could guess that she didn’t feel right leaving her parents after they’d already lost one child), the many apologies I could throw out for the part I played in getting Nathan into that situation in the first place. . . . But we both sensed there was no use in going into any of it. Sometimes moving forward is the only chance you have of not drowning in the pain. I slapped my knees, thanked her for her time again, and stood.

  “Monty,” she said, following me to the door. “You remember, the plan was for Nathan to go home with you after school, then walk to my friend Susan’s house to meet me there, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Only once you guys got home, your brother, Perry, and Todd told you and Nathan that they’d give him a ride to Susan’s so he didn’t need to walk.”

  “Correct,” I said.

  “But you all never came to Susan’s.”

  “No.” I shook my head sadly. “We didn’t. They took a detour to the cemetery, for that prank.” She knew this. We all did, by heart. It had been gone over and over and over at the time.

  “Did you know they were going to do that?”

  She knew I didn’t, but maybe time had made her forget. “No,” I said, “I did not. I only knew that they wanted to drive you back from Susan’s because Perry liked you and he wanted to spend time with you, and they wanted to use Nathan so they could do that. That’s what Adam had told me, anyway, to get me to go along for the ride with them.”

  “And you weren’t skeptical?”

  I shrugged. “I guess a part of me was because it was my brother and he was always up to something, but it’s hard to say when you’re in the moment. I guess I wanted to believe that the older boys really needed our help for a change.”

  She nodded, as if some of this somehow made a difference. I couldn’t imagine how.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “You know time. It’s weird—plays tricks on your mind. I just wanted to make sure I remembered things correctly. Anyway, I’ll speak to Mom,” she continued. “We’re due a visit. I’ll take the kids over this weekend and talk to her then. If she won’t budge because of Dad, I’ll talk to him as well.”

  I started to walk to the car when I heard her call me again. I turned to see her standing on the front stoop. “I’m just wondering.” She pushed her hair behind her ears. “Did Perry even really have a crush on me, or was that just part of the prank?”

  It seemed to me to be such an odd question. I wondered why it mattered. I honestly couldn’t say, but the look in Molly’s eyes told me it was somehow important to her all these years later. Not because she was interested in Perry back then or now, but because perhaps it was some validation—small consolation in the whole awful ordeal. I tried not to look perplexed, kept a poker face, and said, “I think he did, Molly. I think there were a lot more boys than just him who had a crush on you.”

  She didn’t smile; she just gave me a small wave. She seemed to be weighed down by something, and as I drove off, a poem by Langston Hughes that I’d read in high school popped into my tired mind—the one about having a dream and what happens to it when it's not realized, how it can shrivel up, like a raisin, or fester, or eventually explode. Or, the speaker suggests: “Maybe it just sags / like a heavy load.”

  With Molly, I figured it did just that.

  • • •

  By the time I reached headquarters, it was early evening and my windshield was speckled with black gnats. I went in, feeling numb and robotic, and made sure the search was still proceeding smoothly. I called Herman—happily bypassing Ali—who said that the Tuckman farm had been turned upside down and they’d found nothing of interest. The place was completely kosher at this point, but they were still trawling through the surrounding farmland and woods with dogs trained on Jeremy’s scent. Within fifteen minutes, I hit a wall and felt like I could no longer function, I took Ali’s advice. I would at least get an hour of sleep, wash my face, and brush my teeth.

  When I pulled into my driveway outside my dorm, I saw that several tree branches had been ripped off and blown into the small lawn out front. I’d pick them up later, after the storm passed.

  The front had been forming and threatening the valley since morning. It seemed like it would never end, like a counterpart to the fire that still continued to rage in certain areas. It would continue to taunt, but never leave, gathering above us as the fires consumed acre after acre. It felt as if they were both somehow linked to the abductor—inexplicable forces weaving through the trees, surrounding us and watching us.

  I thought of Jeremy and wondered how afraid he was, if he was still alive. Another day was passing and soon it would be night again. I picked up a pine branch that had blown onto my porch step and tossed it out farther onto the lawn with the others. The aspen trees by the side of the Community Building near my dorm shimmered with quivering silver leaves. The air still felt heavy with smoke and moisture.

  I went inside. It was stuffy and warm, so I cracked a window, then took off my gear
belt. I looked at my kitchen, thought about making something—tea, a bite to eat, or even just a glass of water—but instead slumped onto my couch. My whole body ached. I felt useless, unable to offer much, unable to formulate some sort of plan, and thoughts of Jeremy kept pinging through my mind. “Damn,” I said into the quiet room. I leaned back against the cushion, closed my eyes for a moment, and listened to the building storm until my anger was absorbed into the sounds of the breeze and the distant thunder.

  15

  * * *

  Gretchen

  IT TOOK ALL afternoon to do the initial processing of the van, and there would still be much more to do in the morning. When we finished for the day, I called the station and spoke to Ali, giving her the details. She had thanked me for our work and told me to call if anything else came up. I grabbed the printouts I’d made on some of the old cases I’d been looking at, headed to my car, and drove to Glacier’s headquarters. When I arrived, I found Tara crashed on one of the easy chairs along the side wall in the incident room and Karen Forstenson, one of the rangers, still running the volunteer shifts. She told me Monty had been by and went to his dorm to get a bite to eat and freshen up before returning for some work later in the night.

  I knew exactly where Monty lived because I’d been to his place one time after he’d been beaten up in a bar during an investigation and I’d helped him home, fetched him some ice and Advil, and we’d chatted. It was the only time I’d really gotten to know him personally. It was then that I learned about his brother, his family, and, not long after that, about Nathan Faraway.