Idyll Fears

by Stephanie Gayle

  “I’m sorry,” Waters said. “I’m not blaming Cody. I’m trying to understand what happened. Why he might’ve got in the car with her. Was it the Legos, or did she use some other persuasion?”

  “The Legos?” Peter asked.

  “The truck kit,” Wright said. “The one Cody wanted.”

  “Yeah, but we hadn’t given it to him yet. We almost did the day after he was released from the hospital. Then we couldn’t find where we’d hidden it—”

  “Why does it matter?” Jane broke in. “If she gave him toys or threatened him, what’s the difference? We want him back. Now!”

  “When Sharon was at your house, after Cody had been reported missing, did you notice anything odd? Anything off about her demeanor?” Waters asked.

  “She brought us cookies,” Peter said, as if he couldn’t fathom it. “Store-bought. She apologized for not having time to bake any.”

  “How could she come to our house after she’d taken our son, and talk about cookies?” Jane asked. She looked at us as if we’d have answers. We didn’t.

  “What time did she leave your house?” Waters asked.

  “I don’t remember. Sometime before the press conference.”

  According to Klein and Wright’s reports, Sharon Donner came to the house around 4:30 p.m. and left around 7:00 p.m. So Cody had been somewhere, alone, during those two and a half hours. Unless she had help?

  “You never knew of any boyfriends?” Waters asked. “Close girlfriends?”

  “She had her church group, but Sharon didn’t date. She believed men and women should be together for one reason: to be married and have kids. In today’s world, that’s a tough sell for most men,” Jane said. “Plus, she’s mousy as hell. I begged her to let me give her a makeover. She could’ve been much more attractive if she’d let me tweeze her brows.” She put her fist to her brow and started laughing. “Oh, God, the woman I wanted to make pretty took my child! What’s going on?” She crumpled then, like aluminum foil being squeezed.

  Peter wrapped his arms around her. “We’ve got to be brave for Cody, remember? He needs us to be strong, for him.”

  We waited for her to stop crying, or subside to sniffles, before we had another go.

  “Were Cody and Aaron on all the same medications?” Waters asked.

  Jane pulled away from her husband. “Cody doesn’t take medications. Aaron did, for his eyes. Cody didn’t need to.”

  Peter grabbed his wife’s hand. Held it like a life preserver. “What if she hurts him?” he whispered.

  “No.” Jane shook her head. “No, she wouldn’t.”

  He said, “Cody’s not like Aaron. He doesn’t listen as well, and he’s energetic. She used to complain that he couldn’t sit still.”

  “She wouldn’t hurt him.” Was Jane trying to convince her husband or herself?

  “Peter,” Agent Waters said. “Is there a reason you fear Mrs. Donner might hurt Cody?”

  He looked at his hand, joined with his wife’s. “I wondered sometimes about her.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Aaron had bruises, but he mostly played indoors, read books. So why so many bruises?”

  “You think she abused her son?” Waters asked.

  “No,” Jane said. “Aaron wasn’t into sports, but he was still a boy. He still played, and had accidents. Sharon wouldn’t hurt him. She’s too religious.”

  “‘Spare the rod and spoil the child,’” Wright quoted.

  “I wondered, but then people thought the same thing of us,” Peter said. “Maybe Aaron did run into things.”

  Jane bit her lower lip.

  “I think that’s all for now. If you think of anything else about Sharon—a mention of a place she liked to visit especially, or any other close friends . . .”

  “We’ll call,” Peter said.

  “You’ll find him,” Jane said. “You have to find him.”

  We watched them gather their coats and go, back to their house, where they would walk past his empty bunk bed. Where they would wonder why their friend had taken their son. Where they would hope that she wasn’t hurting him. Where they would pray to be reunited with Cody.

  The second their coats cleared the doorway, the questions started.

  “They had the Lego truck kit?” Wright asked. “I don’t recall that.”

  “Me neither,” I said. “Maybe Sharon knew where it was and grabbed it?” And yet, it niggled. Why hadn’t they mentioned that they had the kit? “Did you notice Jane cut him off when he mentioned the kit?”

  “Jane was quite worked up,” Waters said.

  “She does it, though. Interrupts. Wright, you complained about it when you interviewed Cody. How she kept talking over Cody’s answers,” I said.

  “They all did,” he said. “You don’t think she had a hand in it?”

  “She studied acting,” I said. “She’s already proven to be a good liar. She’s pregnant with a baby that doesn’t belong to her husband.”

  “There is something off about her,” Waters said.

  “Seriously?” Cisco said. “She’s crazy with worry.”

  “That’s what everyone keeps saying,” I said. Wright and Cisco looked at me as though I was crazy myself. Waters didn’t.

  “Cody will end up in a hospital, sooner or later,” Mulberry said. “When he does, the staff will call it in.”

  “Before or after she’s abused him?” Waters asked.

  “We don’t know she abused Aaron. Did the hospital staff say anything about that?” Wright asked.

  I repeated what the nurse had told me, the speculation about Munchausen by proxy. That Sharon Donner enjoyed the attention her son’s illness brought. That she thrived on the sympathy it won her.

  “Is that why she took Cody?” Waters asked. “She missed the attention? That could be lucky. Mulberry’s right. We’ve got a report out to all hospitals. If a child with CIPA shows up, the staff will check the kid against pictures of Cody. She wouldn’t get outside the gift shop before a dozen federal agents were on her.”

  “So we hope she takes him to an ER, looking for tea and sympathy? That’s it?” I asked.

  “No,” Waters said. “We hope that, but we keep searching. She had to take him somewhere, and she doesn’t have her stolen car. We’ve got cops looking for her vehicle.”

  “What if she flew?” I asked.

  “Airports have been alerted. We haven’t found her name on passenger lists out of Logan, Bradley, La Guardia, JFK, or Newark.”

  “What about TF Green?” Wright asked. The small Rhode Island airport.

  “No joy,” Mulberry said.

  “Look, this woman may be smart. She may be crazy. Who knows? She isn’t a career criminal. She’s going to mess up. She’ll use her credit card or try to board a plane or bring Cody to a hospital, and then we’ll nail her,” Waters said.

  Wright eyed Waters like he wanted to believe. It reminded me of that silly TV show about the aliens, The X-Files. One of the agents had a poster with a UFO that said “I Want to Believe.” Come to think of it, those were FBI agents on the show.

  Waters straightened, then winced and held her hand to her lower back. “Let’s catch her,” she said. “And let’s do it before Christmas, huh? I’ve still got a Barbie Dreamhouse that needs assembly.”

  “Aw, did Santa finally answer your letter?” Cisco asked.

  Waters flipped him the bird and told him to check some video they’d been sent recently.

  “What day is it?” Wright asked.

  I checked my watch. “It’s officially Christmas Eve.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Christmas Eve at the Idyll Police Station was more festive than I’d expected. A light snow fell outside, the pretty, postcard kind. Tinsel was strung along poles and desks. Mrs. Dunsmore wore tree earrings and a reindeer headband with fake antlers. At lunchtime, there was a Yankee swap. Even our FBI friends played along. Those with high numbers could choose to steal presents from those wit
h lower numbers. Most gifts were bad. A bag of black-licorice coal. Superhero bandages. An FBI t-shirt that read “Female Body Inspector.” Waters stole it from Finnegan. “You want to inspect female bodies?” Finnegan asked.

  “I want to burn this,” she said.

  Cisco stole it from her and gave it to Finnegan. Waters said she’d have him sacked for it. Cisco toasted her with a dosed mug of “coffee.”

  Some of the gifts were okay. Lottery tickets. Bottles of booze. Movie passes. I stole the passes from the dispatcher, John. He wound up getting a mug that said “Bowlers Do It in Alleys,” so he was happy. Someone “donated” a 1998 calendar of bikini-clad women. Mrs. Dunsmore and I rolled our eyes at it, then caught the other doing it, and stopped.

  While Bing Crosby sang “Jingle Bells,” the phones rang. Men left, yelling at us not to steal their swap gifts while they tended to accidents and calls of stolen Christmas gifts left in unlocked cars. Waters’s cell phone rang. She left the party. When she returned, she said that there’d been a sighting of Cody outside New Haven. Local feds were on it and would call if it had legs. A half hour later, the call came. It wasn’t Cody. Our hopes weren’t dashed. We’d stopped raising them.

  After the swap, I went to my office and reviewed paperwork, looking outside every now and again to see how much snow fell. Hours passed. Only two inches of fresh powder on the ground. Bing stopped singing. The laughter got quieter, the buzzes and rings louder. Mrs. Dunsmore stepped into my office, her tree earrings hidden by her hat-squashed hair. “I’m off for the holidays. I’ll be back on the thirtieth.”

  “Merry Christmas,” I said.

  “You too.” She turned on her sensible heels to leave.

  “Wait!” It came out louder than I’d intended. My stupid drawer was stuck. I had to tug three times before it opened. “I got you something.” I’d spoken on the phone to Marie. She wanted to know if I’d found the missing boy. Only Marie and the boys ever seemed interested in my work. After I’d told her we knew who took him, but not where, she interrogated me on my parents’ gifts. She should’ve worn a badge. The woman was relentless. I finally confessed all, and she asked me, “What are you getting her?” I told Marie I had no idea what to get Mrs. Dunsmore. She asked me what she was like, and I said, “Terrifying.” After more prying questions, I admitted Mrs. Dunsmore had a parrot pin she liked and that she wore lavender perfume and had a sick niece.

  “You notice things, Tommy,” Marie said. “Your brother didn’t notice his admin was pregnant until she was in her fifth month.” She sighed, and suggested I buy Mrs. Dunsmore a necklace like the pin. “She may not want another pin,” she said.

  “Who says she’ll want a necklace?” I asked.

  “No one, you potato head, but in this case the thought does count. And don’t cheap out. Go to the jewelry counter and talk to someone.”

  “Here.” I withdrew the box. Its silver ribbon got caught and mangled in my ham-fisted extraction. It was shredded at the ends. “Sorry.”

  She took it from me and stared. “Thank you,” she said.

  Oh, God, would she open it now? She didn’t need to. I hoped she didn’t. We didn’t need to draw this out. Make it a thing. It wasn’t a thing.

  “Chief?” Billy stood in my doorway. “Waters wants you.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Mrs. Dunsmore tucked the flat box into her large purse and said good-bye.

  Waters stood outside the interview room, peering at her phone. “You wanted me?” I asked.

  She looked up. Her hair was down today, and it made her look younger. She was thirty-five, tops. Must’ve worked her ass off to get where she was. “I need to visit the Forrands. Update them. Will you come?”

  We had no news to report. Nothing but negatives. We knew Sharon Donner wasn’t hiding out at her sister’s home in Vermont. We knew she hadn’t left the country. We didn’t know where she’d taken Cody.

  “Sure,” I said. It was a crap job, but it would look best if we gave the update. Sending junior agents or patrolmen was cowardly.

  The Forrands’ house was lit up. We left boot prints in the fresh snow on our way to the door. On it was a large hand-painted sign that said, “We Miss You, Cody.” Dozens of signatures, many children’s, adorned the sign, along with one green handprint. We knocked and waited. Peter Forrand opened the door. A blast of warm air and the sounds of A Charlie Brown Christmas came at us.

  “Did you find him?” Peter asked.

  Waters said no, quickly, forestalling any false hope. “May we come in?”

  He held the door, and we filed past. I noticed that the jumble of winter gear had winnowed down to carefully hung coats and scarves. The boots were filed by size. Three pairs: Dad, Mom, and Anna. Cody’s were missing. Inside, the Christmas tree was lit with colored lights. Anna stood near it, a candy-cane ornament in hand.

  “We were waiting for Cody to decorate the tree, but Jane said we should let Anna start,” he said.

  “Hi, Anna,” I said.

  She carefully hung the beaded candy cane on a branch near her shoulder. “Hi.” She didn’t ask if we’d found her brother. Of all the disappointments, false tips, and dead ends, the fact that Anna didn’t ask if we’d found Cody made me saddest.

  Wrapped presents were gathered under the tree. Jane came from the hallway, carrying a cardboard box. “I found them!” She stopped when she saw us. “What is it?”

  “Not much,” Waters said. “Can we talk?”

  Mrs. Forrand said, “Okay. Anna, honey, wait until we’re done, okay? The glass balls are really fragile. We’ll put them on together.” She set the box atop a coffee table. “I found some of my family’s old decorations. We thought we’d lost them in the move, but they were in the cellar.” She wiped a cobweb from her hair.

  The four of us gathered around the kitchen table. Again, there was less chaos and more order. Neatly stacked containers of food were arranged near holiday cards. Agent Waters sat, and the rest of us followed.

  “We’re devoting considerable resources to finding your son,” she said, “but thus far we have no new leads. There’s been no activity on Sharon Donner’s bank card or credit cards. We checked out her sister’s home, but she hasn’t been there.”

  “Could she have left the country?” Peter asked.

  “It’s doubtful. We’re watching the airports. No one with her papers has passed through, and no woman with a child matching Cody’s description has left the US.”

  “What about boats?” Jane asked. “Or trains?”

  “We’ve got eyes on those too.”

  “Where do you think she is?” Jane’s clenched hands were white at the knuckles.

  A cobweb clung to the hairs by her temple.

  “I don’t know,” Agent Water said. “Was there any place Cody wanted to visit? Disney World or the Grand Canyon? Any place she might have taken him?”

  Peter said, “He loves big trucks. Not exactly a landmark is it?” He leaned back in his chair. “Do you think he’s still alive?” His voice low, barely audible.

  “Peter!” Jane said.

  “Mommy?” Anna called.

  “It’s fine, honey. You start on the tinsel, okay?” Jane yelled, her voice high and tight. She turned to her husband and hissed, “Why would you say that?”

  Her husband set his hand atop hers. “Honey, all the stuff we’ve read, it says that the longer the child is missing, the slimmer the chances the kid will be found alive.”

  “You know Sharon! She wouldn’t . . . do that,” Jane said.

  Waters watched the exchange like an umpire. Only she wasn’t making any calls.

  “Do you think he’s alive?” Peter asked me.

  “I hope so. I don’t know. You’re right about the odds. However, he was taken by someone who lost her son, and she knows what a child with CIPA requires,” I said.

  “Yes, see,” Jane said. “She knows to watch him. She knows.”

  Peter didn’t seem convinced. He stroked Jane’s fingers a
nd asked us, “You’ll be working during the holidays?”

  “Of course,” Waters said. “If you need to reach me, you have my number.”

  “And mine,” I added.

  “Mommy, I can’t reach the top!” Anna called.

  Jane said, “She’s been so good. She didn’t want to do anything without him. I insisted. I don’t want her to suffer more than she has. I thought, maybe, decorating the tree, wrapping presents, it would help.” She wiped under her eyes. “As if anything could help.” She squeezed her husband’s hand.

  In the living room, Anna stood, tinsel in hand. The low branches were covered with the silvery threads. The top half was bare, too high for her to reach. “Help?” she asked. Her father took the remaining tinsel from her. “You point, and I’ll toss,” he said.

  She pointed to the top, and he tossed a bunch of the tinsel at the tree. Most of the tinsel fell to the floor, only a few strands gripping the green needles.

  “Dad!” Anna laughed. She had a belly laugh, and I realized I hadn’t heard it. I’d never heard her laugh until now.

  “Good night,” Agent Waters said.

  When we were in her car, she turned on the heat and lights. She stared out the windshield. “Do you think he’s alive?” she asked.

  “Do you?”

  “No,” she said. “I’ve been looking at Aaron Donner’s medical files. I’m not sure he died like everyone thinks he did. The power outage that affected only the upstairs A/C unit? Never properly investigated. He was wearing long sleeves and pants. Why?”

  “You think his mother was responsible?” If so, Cody’s chances had just dropped.

  “I think it wouldn’t be hard to kill a boy like Aaron and make it look like it was his disease at fault.”

  “So that’s why you think Cody’s dead.”

  “It’s one reason,” she said. “One of many.”

  “You know, that’s the happiest I’ve seen them,” I said. “Their place was downright tidy.”

  “You think they’re involved?” she asked.