Idyll Fears

by Stephanie Gayle

  He led me upstairs, past the den area, to a hallway. “Here,” he said, flipping the light switch. I stepped inside a baby-blue bathroom decorated with a floral-print border. Not that I had any cause for judgment. Not with my starlet bathroom styled in black and pink. I leaned against the sink and breathed in deeply. The smell was undeniable up here. I leaned over the tub and set my hand to the tiled shower wall. Heat radiated through. I flushed the toilet and ran the sink. Waited a few moments and exited the bathroom.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.” He stood in the hallway, blocking my path. “What was your question?” he asked as I turned away, to the den.

  “Did you happen to see another car parked behind the silver Toyota earlier?”

  “No, I told him, I didn’t see the car.” He pointed to Billy.

  “Okay, then. Thanks.” I walked down the steps and outside, Billy behind me. The door slammed shut behind us.

  “Was that—?” he asked.

  “A grow lab in his house? Definitely. The heat? The smell? No wonder he acted so anxious the first time I knocked on his door.”

  “So what should we do?”

  “Do?” I turned to face Billy’s eager face. “Nothing. We don’t have time to bust a small-time pot grower while we try to find Cody Forrand.”

  “But—”

  “Tomorrow, if we’ve found Cody, we’ll get a warrant. Search his place. Assuming he doesn’t trash it all tonight.”

  “You think he knew we knew?” Billy asked.

  “He’d have to be a Grade A idiot not to. C’mon. I see the crime-scene guys.”

  A van was parked ten yards behind the Toyota. The techs had arrived. Suited up and gloved, they looked like men in a space movie. One lifted his gloved hand in greeting. Mike Shannon. Wright watched. Billy hurried to tell him all about the grow lab.

  Mike came over. “Hello,” he said.

  “Hi.”

  We’d had an encounter a few months ago. Mike was fun, casual.

  “This the kidnap vehicle?” he asked.

  “Search dog thinks so.” Were Yankowitz and Skylar still tracking? They’d been gone nearly twenty minutes. Maybe I ought to send someone after them.

  “Can’t believe the kid got taken twice. Is he like the Lindbergh baby?”

  “Hardly,” I said.

  “Shannon!” one of his colleagues yelled.

  “Coming!” He said, “I’ll keep you posted.”

  “You got my number?” I asked.

  “I’m sure I can find it.” He winked and set off for the car.

  Wright spoke from behind me. “You know him?”

  I jumped. God damn it. How long had he been standing so close? “He worked the North case.”

  We watched the techs. Yankowitz came, Skylar at his side. “Looks like Cody was headed toward Gray Street. We walked it half a mile. Then Skylar turned right.”

  “Toward Route 74,” Wright said.

  “The car is right there.” Billy pointed.

  Yankowitz drank from a water bottle. Swallowed and sighed. “I know. What if the kidnapper took him, stashed Cody somewhere, and then dropped the car back here?”

  “Why?” Wright’s question echoed my own thought.

  “So we fixate on the car instead of searching for Cody?” Yankowitz said.

  “We’re doing both,” Wright said.

  “I’ve got to get Skylar back in the K-9 unit for a break. You need me for anything else?” Yankowitz asked.

  “No.” I leaned over and pet Skylar’s rump. “Good dog.”

  “Wright, come with me to the house. Billy, stay by the car. Let us know if the techs give us anything,” I said.

  Wright and I got in his car and drove around the corner. More cars were parked outside the Forrands’ house. Great. More people to get in our way. Inside, I sidestepped people, saying, “Pardon me” and ignoring their questions until I found Klein, seated at the kitchen table, poring over a skinny notebook. I cleared my throat. He didn’t move. “Klein.” That startled him.

  “Oh, Chief. Got your list.” He held up the notebook as if it was a homework assignment. “I asked everyone when they arrived and—”

  “You asked them?”

  His bright eyes dimmed a little. “Yeah. I wasn’t here when half of ’em arrived, so I asked them when they got here.”

  “O-kay.” He knew he’d done something wrong. Clearly, he didn’t know what. “Klein, it’s likely someone close to the family took Cody. We can’t take their statements at face value.” He looked at his notebook, as if it had betrayed him. “What about Jessica?” I asked.

  “What about her?”

  “Ask her when the people on your list arrived. If she isn’t sure, check with Finnegan. He was here first. When you finish, you’ll ride with me to the station. Billy will stay here.”

  Mr. Forrand found me. We walked to his bedroom to talk. Mrs. Forrand stayed in the living room, clutching Anna like a life preserver and talking to her Chaplin minister, who’d appeared minutes ago. “What’s happening?” he asked.

  “The techs are examining the car. All area police are on the lookout for Cody.”

  “Are you going to search the neighborhood?” His voice rose.

  “I don’t think he’s in the neighborhood, Mr. Forrand.”

  “What if he is? What if this has nothing to do with the other attempt?” he asked. Did he believe that? Or was it that imagining his son holed up in a tree fort was a whole lot better than contemplating other options?

  “We’ve got to pursue the strongest lead, the Toyota.”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t understand.” His voice broke. “I—” He shook his head. Tears were on his cheeks.

  “We’ll do everything we can. Your friend, Greg Baker. Has he stopped by?”

  “No. He’s probably still at work.” He chewed a thumbnail.

  “Could you call him and check?”

  “Why? You don’t think Greg . . .” His eyes grew wide. “Greg is Cody’s godfather! He’d never hurt him.”

  “We can place the call,” I said.

  “You’re wasting time. Greg is a good guy. He loves Cody.”

  “He spends a lot of time with children for a single guy his age,” I said.

  Mr. Forrand paced away from me. “We’re going to hold a press conference.”

  “When?” I asked. “Where?”

  “Soon. The newscaster, she recommended we do it, and Jane has been saying we should talk to more press. Get his picture out there.”

  “It’s a good idea. We can have it at the station.” I didn’t trust them, not after the last appeal. “We’ll release those details we want made public.”

  He stuffed his hands under his armpits. “Okay. When?”

  “We need to wrap things up here. How about in an hour, at the station?”

  “Okay.” He looked around the room. “God, I wish I had a cigarette. I quit, eight years ago. When Anna was born. I could use one now.”

  In the house, people were moving about, picking up things and setting them down. Too much energy and not enough outlets for it. Klein spoke to Mrs. Forrand. Anna was no longer in her arms. When he’d finished, I jerked my head toward the front door.

  “You get what you need?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s go.” We stepped outside. It was even colder. I breathed onto my hands.

  “You think it’s someone in there?” He jerked his thumb toward the house.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. We need to get the Forrands to come in, make a statement.”

  “You don’t think they had anything to do with this?” Disbelief made his voice climb.

  “Cody’s a thorn in their side. Sick kid. Needs constant watching. They wouldn’t be the first parents to explore an alternative path.”

  Klein’s jaw unhinged. “But, but that’s awful.”

  “It’s life,” I said.

  Klein drove to the station with his hands at ten and
two. He checked his mirrors but kept his foot low on the gas pedal. So I skipped my Yankowitz lecture.

  “Did you like living in New York?” he asked.

  The question brought me out of a thought I’d had about whether there were multiple people involved in Cody’s kidnapping.

  “I grew up there.” It was hard to be objective. All of my firsts were in New York: first day of school, first kiss, first arrest.

  “People there seem more . . . worldly.”

  Oh boy. Was this conversation headed to Gay Town? Population: Klein and me. I’d suspected he was gay; got confirmation from the local nutter, Elmore Fenworth, this summer. Klein was still living where I’d been a few months ago: in the closet.

  “People there definitely see a lot more different types than folks here. That doesn’t necessarily make them more tolerant,” I said.

  “Oh. Must’ve been tough, being a cop there.”

  “It’s not exactly a cake walk here at the moment.”

  “Oh, right. I mean here it’s usually drunks and maybe a drug bust. Not exactly Law & Order stuff.”

  “Uh-huh.” I almost told him nothing was like TV made it out to be. That city policing involved as much paperwork and drudgery as a small town. It wasn’t entirely true. There were fewer periods of no activity in cities. You had more big crimes. But, I didn’t think he was interested in the difference in police stats between the two places.

  “You thinking of moving?” I asked.

  His gloved fingers gripped the wheel harder. “Me? No, not really. Just curious.”

  I snuck a look at Klein. He was okay. A little small and shy for me, but he’d do fine in a city where there was something for everyone. He had nice teeth. That was a plus.

  “Let me know if you change your mind.” Now why had I said that? I wasn’t looking to become Klein’s gay mentor. I wasn’t anyone’s mentor.

  “Thanks.” He smiled. His grin belonged in a dentist’s ad.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Finnegan was hard at work on his second or third pack of the day. “Anything?” we asked each other, at the same time. He set his cigarette atop a pyramid stack of stubs and shook his head. “So far no one friendly with the Forrands lives near Barkhamsted. Greg Baker left work early today. Personal time. He’s not answering his phone.”

  “Could we get someone to drive by? Check his place?”

  “I’ll call,” he said. “What’s up with the car you found?”

  “Techs are on it, but you know how long those tests can take. I had a thought on the way over. What if there’s more than one kidnapper?”

  “Risky, but maybe. Cody never said anything about two people, did he?”

  “No. There could’ve been one driver, and then Cody was drugged so if there was someone else, I don’t know, I’m spit-balling. The Forrands want to have a press conference. I’ve urged them to have it here.”

  He looked around the station. “Where you gonna put everyone?” Men hustled, waving papers, shouting. It looked like the floor of the Stock Exchange. There wasn’t room for the Forrands and a bunch of reporters and camera people.

  “Outside,” I said.

  “Outside? It’s fifteen degrees.” He exaggerated, but not by much.

  “People watching at home will see it’s cold. They’ll pay even more attention when they think about a kid out in these conditions. Tell Wright he’s our rep.”

  “Tell him yourself.” He pointed.

  Wright walked our way; a glower set so deep in his face a crowbar couldn’t pull it free. I said, “Hey, we’re having a press conference in,” I checked my watch, “thirty minutes. You’ve been elected Mr. TV.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  Because I didn’t need more press. “You’re most photogenic,” I said.

  “Where will we have it?” He gave the station the same skeptical eye exam Finnegan had.

  “Outside, so hold on to your hat.”

  He clenched his hands. “I was just beginning to feel my fingers.”

  Mrs. Dunsmore appeared, wearing pumps and a nice dress. Church clothes. Interesting. She unwrapped her scarf. “How was your holiday?” she asked me.

  “Interrupted,” I said. “Thank you for the gifts. My parents loved them.”

  She smiled. “Good. I’ve left the receipts on your desk.” She looked at our map. “All the TV networks are covering the abduction. They want to know where to set up.”

  “Chief thinks the good viewers at home will work harder to find Cody if they see his family and Wright freezing their asses off,” Finnegan said. “So it’ll be outside the station.”

  The Forrands arrived four minutes later. Frantic was one word to describe them. Pale, shaken, upset, and on the verge, were others. They’d brought Anna with them.

  Jane Forrand said, “She wanted to be with us.” Maybe Anna didn’t feel safe at home.

  Mrs. Dunsmore went into action. “Hello, there. I’m Mrs. Dunsmore. We’ve met, once before, at the church last Thanksgiving, I think it was.”

  “Oh, yes,” Jane Forrand said, attempting a smile.

  “Why don’t we see if we have some hot cocoa?” Mrs. Dunsmore said to Anna. She looked at Mrs. Forrand. A nod from Jane indicated this would be acceptable. “Come this way, and I’ll tell you what we have planned.” They all walked toward the coffee area.

  Wright said, “What should I omit during our dance with the press?”

  “The Legos,” said Finnegan.

  “And the sheets. I’d mention the mask and the stuffed raccoon. Maybe that will get us something,” I said.

  “Like a lot of whack jobs calling,” Finnegan cautioned.

  “We need to give something more, and that mask stands out. Maybe someone will recall seeing it.”

  Mrs. Dunsmore returned to park Anna in her office. She put Wright in charge of the Forrands, so he could tell them what we were willing to reveal and what they should keep their mouths closed about. She left to coordinate the press, who were less than enthusiastic they’d be working out of doors.

  Everyone was busy, except me. I visited Mrs. Dunsmore’s office. On Anna’s lap was a giant book of fairy tales. “Yours?” I asked, pointing to the book.

  She squirmed and said, “Yes.”

  “Big book.” I picked it up. Size of a cereal box. Weighed six pounds. “You read this?” I made it sound like I couldn’t believe it.

  “Some of it’s too young for me.” Too young for an eight-year-old? “I read it to Cody, sometimes.”

  “Does he have a favorite story?”

  “He likes the story about the boy who left home to learn about fear.”

  “I don’t think I know that one,” I said. “What’s your favorite?”

  “‘Hansel and Gretel.’”

  “I know that one. Kids get lost in the forest and end up at a house made of candy. Then a witch kidnaps them.” Ouch. Not the plot point to emphasize.

  “Gretel saves the day.” She pointed to the book. “Hansel helps, in the beginning, with the crumbs and stones, but it’s Gretel who saves them from the witch.”

  “So she does.” As I recalled, Gretel pushed the witch into a hot oven and locked the witch inside. A gruesome rescue.

  “What’s your favorite story?” Anna asked.

  “Mine?” I should say something. Anything. I’d liked stories when I was young, hadn’t I? “I used to like ‘The Three Little Pigs.’”

  “Why?” Her question came hard on the heels of my answer.

  Why? “Because the good pig is rewarded.”

  “But his brothers die.” She was fixated on brothers, those saved and those lost.

  “I’m not sure he could’ve saved them.”

  “He didn’t try!” Her face puckered.

  “How’s the cocoa?” I asked.

  She sipped from the mug. “Good.” Her face told another story. So she was capable of lying.

  “Did Cody ever tell you about any special friend he had?” I asked.

  “A friend lik
e from school?”

  “No. An older friend, maybe.”

  “A big kid?”

  “Older, an adult, like me or your parents.”

  “No. Why would he be friends with someone like that? We know about bad adults. We’re not stupid.” Okay. Scratch that.

  “Did he mention being scared recently?” I asked.

  “Cody doesn’t get scared, or hardly ever. We watched Jurassic Park, and he didn’t hide his face once behind his hands. I did, five times.”

  “Do you have any idea where he is?”

  “No, and it’s not good for him to be gone. He needs me. He gets hurt and he doesn’t know it, and I have to tell him and make him show Mom. He tries to take his goggles off when he plays with the boys, and he could lose an eye, you know. Like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  “You take good care of him,” I said.

  “I have to.” She pushed her hair back, another gesture of her mother’s. “It’s like he’s made of glass, but he thinks he’s made of—”

  “Steel?” I suggested.

  “Titanium.”

  “What happens when you grow up and go to college?” No way a kid this bright wasn’t headed for college.

  She frowned. “Maybe he’ll be better then. Know to not rough-house. Dad says all boys are like Cody at his age. I don’t think that’s true, though. Jimmy Saunders isn’t like that. He likes art and animals, and he always washes his hands before lunch.”

  When I was young, boys like Jimmy were considered “light in the loafers.” We alienated those boys, put them in their place.

  “Do you think they’ll find Cody at the grocery again?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “That stuffed animal Cody loves. Sammy. Uncle Greg gave it to him?”

  “Cody got Sammy when he was four. Uncle Greg told Cody raccoons are nature’s fiercest creatures and that Cody was like one.” Fiercest creature? Sounded like someone couldn’t find a tiger in the gift shop.

  “Did he give him any Lego kits or toys?”

  “For his birthday, Uncle Greg got him a remote-control helicopter.”

  “What did he get you for your birthday?” I asked.

  “A doll,” she said. “I would’ve preferred books.”

  Maybe Uncle Greg preferred boys?

  “Anna, do you have any idea who took Cody?”