The Last Time She Saw Him

by Jane Haseldine

  A young officer, obviously Bannaro, snatches my arm in a tight grip and forces me outside to the back of the camp, where I am shielded from the unfolding scene.

  “I need to be in there,” I scream. “Please.”

  “That’s no place for you right now. You just wait here with me,” says Bannaro, who still has a hold of me so I can’t break and return to the cabin.

  A feeling starts to churn in my stomach, one that I have tried so hard to keep at bay. It grows larger and darker until it demands I finally acknowledge it. My son is never coming home. Dread and desperation pulsate through my veins like poison. I am about to surrender completely when Navarro turns the corner.

  “We found something,” Navarro says. “There’s a trunk wedged into a makeshift crawl space under the cabin. There are human remains buried in it, but they don’t belong to Will. The coroner is going to have to confirm, but it looks like the bones are from an adult.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The adult’s remains wedged under the hunting camp were the lone discovery during the search of Parker’s property. Thirty acres of land were thoroughly combed by a seasoned team of FBI agents, police, and members of the sheriff’s department, and they couldn’t find a single trace of Will. The grisly finding felt like both a blessing that my boy may still be alive, and an agonizing disappointment that the investigation was no further ahead. As Cahill said, the clock still ticks on the wall, but nothing has changed.

  Navarro ordered Bannaro to drive me home. Kim left an hour ago when I got back. As late afternoon settles in, I anxiously wait by Logan’s bedside, keeping vigil. Logan is asleep, his body spent after being up all night the previous evening. I pull Logan’s Spider-Man blanket over his shoulders and head to the office to search for a ten-year-old phone number.

  Buried underneath a cardboard box of old hard-copy newspaper clips, I unearth a blue address book. I search under the letter S for Sherman Security. I scroll down the page until I find the name I remember. Tony Gowan. He had been a solid source when I first investigated the Cahill story. Gowan ran the security team that handled Cahill’s standing-room-only crowd during his once-popular weekly services and was then his personal bodyguard after the reverend took a sharp dive into the deep end of crazy.

  Ten years is a long time. I dial the number, fully expecting the receptionist to say Gowan no longer works there. Instead the receptionist tells me to hold as she transfers the call.

  “Gowan here,” a gruff voice answers on the other end of the phone.

  “Tony, it’s Julia Gooden. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m a reporter. You helped me out with information ten years ago on Reverend Casey Cahill.”

  A good thirty-second pause goes by as Gowan weighs whether or not he should talk to me again.

  “I remember you. You cost the company a million-dollar-a-year contract.”

  “You did the right thing though. Cahill was raping little girls. And I was true to my word. I never gave you up, even when I got subpoenaed to testify.”

  “Yeah, I was the unnamed source.”

  “I could have gone to prison for not releasing your name.”

  “But you didn’t,” Gowan answers. “I heard about your kid on the TV news. I’m real sorry to hear about that. I hope you get your boy home soon.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. I think someone you work with may be involved in my son’s kidnapping.”

  “How come you’re looking for the guy then instead of the police?” Gowan asks.

  “They’ve got their eyes locked in on another suspect. The police may be right, but I just need to make sure. I have no room for error on this. So how about the same agreement we had before? You give me information, and I won’t give your name to anyone.”

  This time, Gowan only waits ten seconds to answer.

  “Okay. I’ll help you. I have kids of my own. I can’t imagine what I’d do if something happened to one of my girls. Let me see what I can find out. What’s the guy’s name?”

  “Steven Beckerus.”

  I can hear Gowan exhale loudly. “The guy’s a real hothead. What do you need to know?”

  “If he was working last night, what time he clocked in, and when he got off duty. The window of time I’m really looking for is between nine p.m. and midnight.”

  “Beckerus isn’t on my team, but it shouldn’t be hard to find that out. One thing I can tell you for sure, he’s got a good-looking girlfriend. She’s a hot blonde. He brought her to the company’s Fourth of July party. I see her out in the parking lot sometimes waiting to pick up Beckerus after his shift.”

  Fourth of July. Sarah has been in Michigan then for at least two months, but probably longer than that, if she ever left here in the first place. She didn’t just fly into town to see me like she claimed. Two months is plenty of time to plan a kidnapping.

  “Thanks, Tony. I appreciate your help.”

  I hang up the phone and go back to check on Logan and find him still sound asleep. I turn to leave when someone raps hard on the front door. After the search, David went into the city to hand the rest of his caseload off to the partners in the firm, so Logan and I are alone in the house. A strong pang of paranoia hits me. I grab a pair of Logan’s scissors from his easel and then shut his bedroom door behind me. I clutch the scissors tightly in my right hand and watch the shadow of a large man looming on the other side of the front door.

  “Who’s there?” I call out.

  “It’s me, Julia. Chief Linderman.”

  A flush of warm embarrassment reddens my cheeks, and I quickly stash the scissors in a kitchen drawer so Linderman won’t see before I let him inside.

  “Chief, what are you doing here?”

  And then my heart sinks.

  “You came here personally. You have bad news.”

  Linderman removes his hat and reaches for my hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just leaving the scene at Parker’s hunting camp and thought I would stop by and tell you this in person. We found something that may belong to Will.”

  “On Parker’s property? I was told nothing of Will’s was found by the search teams.”

  “No, not at the farmhouse. We got a call from a fisherman about an hour ago. He saw a news report about your son’s abduction. Earlier this morning, he was fly-fishing down at the lake by the Shaw Mill covered bridge. The fisherman said he cast his first fly into the lake when he noticed a pair of toddler’s pajamas on the ground by the water’s edge. We think the pajamas belong to Will. They match the description of the ones you said Will was wearing last night.”

  I know what my next question should be, but I am not sure if I have the courage to ask it. “Was there blood on the pajamas?”

  “No blood,” Linderman answers. “Don’t jump too far ahead. We think whoever took Will to the lake didn’t intend to do him any harm.”

  “Then why did they bring my son there?”

  “To baptize him,” Linderman answers. “It was actually Navarro who put this together. The fisherman also found a wicker basket dumped behind a tree. Inside the basket were items used in a baptism. He found a candle, a child’s white gown, a jar of oil, and a pitcher to pour the water. There was a Bible in there, too, and a worn daily devotional from the ministry of the former Reverend Casey Cahill.”

  “Jesus. When do you think this happened? Parker has been in custody now for over six hours.”

  “We think sometime last night, probably right after Will’s kidnapping. We got a call on the tip line from a man who was out walking his dogs around eleven p.m. last night. He got to the Shaw Mill covered bridge, near where your son’s pajamas were found, when something spooked his animals. The caller said his dogs started barking like crazy and wouldn’t let up.”

  “Did the man see anyone?”

  “Two people in the distance. He said they were running away from the lake, probably trying to leave in a hurry after they heard the dogs. The caller said the two people jumped into a car and sped away.”

 
“What about Will? Did the caller see a little boy?”

  “It was dark. The caller claims it looked like one of the people was carrying something. But he said the person was too far away, and it was too dark to know for sure if it was a child,” Linderman says.

  “What about a make or model of the car or the license plate? Tell me you got something.”

  “The suspects took off in a dark-looking vehicle, maybe black or blue. The plates were Michigan, the classic blue and white version, but the caller couldn’t make out any of the numbers.”

  “If it was Parker, then who was the second person?”

  “We’re looking at Mark Brewster as his accomplice,” Linderman answers.

  “Brewster is surely not a religious man. So his role in the baptism makes no sense unless Parker was going to pay him. Something isn’t right, Chief. We’re missing something. I told Navarro about other suspects you need to bring in—my sister, Sarah Gooden, and her boyfriend, Steven Beckerus. He may be tied to Cahill. He used to do security at his church. And with the Cahill devotional found by the lake, it seems like they are likely tied up with the reverend somehow.”

  “We’re confident we have the right people in custody,” Linderman answers.

  “You need to be sure. If you’re spinning your wheels right now looking at the wrong suspects, whoever has my son is still out there. And if you’re not going to keep looking, then I will.”

  “Be careful what you do, young lady. You’re going to find yourself in a bad situation you may not be able to get yourself out of,” Linderman answers. “You need to trust us. We have Parker and Brewster in custody already.”

  “If you have Will’s kidnappers locked up, then where is my son?”

  “I know this is hard for you, but you need to let us do our jobs. There is something I need you to do for us though. I need you to come down to the station and ID the pajamas. Can you come with me now?”

  “David had to go to his law firm. I need to find someone to watch Logan. I don’t want him at the police station unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “Just get downtown as soon as you can,” Linderman says. “We need to push Parker hard so he’ll flip and tell us where he has your son.”

  I watch Linderman leave in his Crown Victoria and debate whether I should take Logan with me to the police station. The only person I trust other than David and Navarro is Kim. I hate to keep burdening her, but I have no other choice and dial her number. “Did the police find Will?” she asks without saying hello.

  “No. Chief Linderman just left. A fisherman found a pair of pajamas by the Shaw Mill bridge that could be Will’s. I need to go down to the station to identify the evidence. Can you come back here and watch Logan? I know you just got home a little while ago, but I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need your help.”

  “Absolutely, but I can’t leave for about half an hour. Aunt Alice is coming down with something. Alice told me she spent most of the afternoon in the guesthouse napping. Leslie went down to the store to pick up some soup and cough drops for her. I just need to wait until Leslie gets back before I can leave.”

  “Why don’t I just take Logan to your house? It’s on the way to the station.”

  “That’s perfect. I’ll set up the croquet set on the lawn for Logan. We’d love to have him here. Leslie had fun playing with him earlier.”

  “Thanks, Kim. I really appreciate it. We’ll be there in a little while.”

  I end the call with Kim and head to Logan’s room, fully expecting to see my oldest son still sleeping. But instead he is wide awake and sitting on the side of his bed, kicking his feet against the wooden footboard.

  “What’s up, buddy? I thought you were still sleeping. I’m glad you took a rest,” I say and take a seat next to him on the bed.

  “You’re never going to die, right?” he asks.

  “Why would you ask me something like that?”

  “If anyone ever tries to hurt you, I’ll protect you.”

  “Mom is tough. Don’t worry about me. And it’s my job to protect you, not the other way around. Listen, I have to go down to the police station. I need you to stay with Auntie Kim for a little while until I’m done.”

  “When is she going to get here?” Logan asks.

  “She’s not. We’re going to her house.”

  Logan slams the footboard of his bed with two hard kicks.

  “I don’t want to go there. Everything is so clean, I’m afraid to sit down. Auntie Kim is kind of prissy sometimes. And that Alice lady is kind of weird.”

  “Don’t you say that. Aunt Kim is wonderful to you. And it’s not nice to talk about her aunt. Alice was very nice to us when she was here earlier, so I want you to be polite. We’re going to Kim’s house. End of discussion.”

  * * *

  The drive to Kim’s country estate winds us through miles of rolling hills and Michigan’s finest cherry orchards. It’s normally a beautiful ride, but even some of Michigan’s most picturesque scenery is not enough to make Logan budge out of his dark storm cloud of a mood.

  “If you could get into the Guinness Book of World Records, what record would you want to break?” I ask, pulling into my bag of sometimes-helpful mother tricks to somehow bring Logan out of his sullen state.

  Mission almost accomplished. Logan turns his face toward me and reveals just a tiny glimmer of interest.

  “That’s a good question. If you let me, I would try and break the world record for holding my breath the longest. That guy I told you about from Germany held his breath for more than fifteen minutes. I’ll never beat him unless you let me practice.”

  “Aren’t there any records you can break where you don’t risk your life?”

  Logan taps his index finger against the side of his cheek, as if deep in thought.

  “Nah, I can’t come up with any. But it wouldn’t be half as fun if it wasn’t risky.”

  Logan reaches into his backpack and pulls out his Looney Tunes DVD, a set of marbles, and what he was searching for, the prized compass necklace I bought him for his eighth birthday. Logan points it toward the furthermost part of the windshield as if searching for a direction on an invisible map and then carefully fastens the necklace around his neck.

  “This will help us find Will,” Logan says.

  “I like the way you think,” I answer and put my free hand on top of his.

  “Is Daddy going to move back in with us?”

  “We’re working on it.”

  Logan turns his head toward the window, but I can detect the makings of the first smile I’ve seen on his face since yesterday.

  We finally arrive at the private road that winds two miles up into the deep country to Kim’s expansive estate. I drive halfway around the circular driveway and stop the car by the front door of the main house, where Kim is kneeling on her perfectly manicured lawn, setting up a game of croquet.

  “Mom, please. I don’t want to go in there,” Logan begs. “Can’t I just come with you? I don’t want to play croquet.”

  “I don’t have a choice. You love Aunt Kim.”

  “I know, but her house is boring. I promise I won’t bother you at the police station. I brought my backpack, and I have my marbles and books. I won’t cause any trouble, I swear.”

  My cell phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Navarro. I go to answer the call, but it has already gone to voice mail.

  “Damn it. Logan, I’m sorry. You need to stay with Aunt Kim. No more questions.”

  “You don’t care how I feel,” Logan says.

  “Can we talk about this later? I’ll be back before you know it.”

  Kim unknowingly breaks the tension and walks toward the car with a big smile for Logan. “I’m just setting up a game of croquet for us to play, and Leslie is making us a wonderful early evening picnic dinner. Do me a favor, Logan. Can you please go into the house and get us two sugar cookies?”

  Logan looks back at me and concedes with a small smile. He gets out of the car, pauses on the t
op of Kim’s front step, and gives me a wave as if all is forgiven and heads inside the house.

  “Thanks for watching Logan again on such short notice,” I say.

  Kim leans in close and rests her elbows on the open driver-side window.

  “Your sister, Sarah, was just here.”

  “Sarah?” I ask, as my mind goes into emergency alert. “How did she find you?”

  “Please don’t be mad at me. When she called your house and you wouldn’t talk to her, I just felt terrible. We talked for a minute on the phone, and Sarah told me she just got into town and didn’t know anybody here. I gave her my address and phone number and told her to let me know if she needed anything. It seemed like the right thing to do.”

  Kim’s Emily Post crap went way too far this time.

  “You don’t know what you’re doing. Sarah’s a con artist. She’s working you. Stay away from her and don’t let her anywhere near Logan. I’m not positive, but I’m looking into whether she was involved in Will’s kidnapping.”

  The blood drains from Kim’s already pale face.

  “Holy mother of God.”

  “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. I’m just going to take Logan down to the station with me.”

  “No, Julia . . .” Kim begins to protest.

  I look down at my cell phone as it begins to ring again. I need to make a split decision. “Okay. Logan will stay here. But don’t answer Sarah’s calls. Don’t open the door if she rings the bell. And if she tries to contact you again, let me know right away and I’ll have the police come by.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  “You don’t know my sister. She tried to hurt me a long time ago. Sarah and her boyfriend threatened to hurt Logan if I went to the police,” I say.

  “Your sister did that to you?”

  “Not all family is nice.”

  Kim’s thick oak front door swings open, and Logan emerges on the front step with Leslie. He holds two cookies in his hands, including one that is already halfway devoured.

  “Hello, Julia,” Leslie calls out. “Thanks for bringing Logan over.”

  “Hello, Leslie,” I answer and then look back at Kim.