by N L Hinkens
He blew out a heavy breath and walked over to the closet, yanking out the backpack he’d come across earlier. He rummaged around in the outer pocket again to make sure it contained nothing other than the map, and then dumped the clothes out on the bed. Peering inside the bag, he spotted an inner pocket he’d missed earlier. He unzipped it and slid his fingers inside. Frowning, he pulled something out. Blood drained from his head as he stared, slack-jawed, at the photo of the blonde teenager on the driver’s license.
Katie Lambert.
16
A cold sweat broke out on Ray’s forehead. The driver’s license slipped from his fingers and he shrank back from it, trembling all over. Katie Lambert was the name of the missing girl in the article he’d torn out of the newspaper—the very one Sonia Masterton had asked him about. How was this possible? His throat was suddenly dry as sandpaper. His head felt like it was about to explode. Was this some kind of horrible coincidence? His brain was screaming at him for a logical explanation as to why the missing girl’s license was in a backpack in his closet. Was she a relative of his? Maybe the police had returned it to him. His hand shook as he picked it up off the floor, desperately searching the face for any resemblance to his own.
His eyes traveled to the backpack lying on the bed next to him—the backpack that contained a change of clothes and a map of the Blue Ridge Mountains with a highlighted trail. Slowly, it dawned on him that there could be an entirely different explanation. One that left him reeling, but that had to be considered. What if he was involved in the missing girl’s disappearance?
Bile crept up his throat, his eyes locked on the fresh-faced teenager staring accusingly up at him. This little piece of plastic in his hand was as incriminating as a lock of her hair. A killer’s souvenir. He’d watched enough crime shows to know that murderers often kept something belonging to their victims as a trophy of sorts. He slumped to the ground and dropped his face into his hands, rocking back-and-forth on his knees as he moaned softly. What had he done? Had he abducted Katie Lambert? Buried her and marked a trail to her grave?
A sound behind him startled him. He spun around to see Henry watching him intently. Pulling out his thumb he asked, “Is you sad?”
Sucking in a jagged breath, Ray took a moment to compose himself. He couldn’t remember Henry directing a question at him since he got home from the hospital, or taking any interest in him at all, for that matter. Yet, Henry always seemed to be looking at him as if he knew something Ray didn’t. If he could keep him talking, he might get some much-needed answers. Maybe if Ray displayed some vulnerability, Henry would reciprocate.
”Yes, I am,” he answered. “I’m sad, and frightened, and confused. Sometimes dads get that way, you know.”
Henry blinked solemnly at him. “I’m sad too.”
Ray scooted over the carpet and lifted Henry into his lap. His first inclination was to reassure his son that he would always be there for him, but the words stuck in his throat. If he had something to do with Katie Lambert’s disappearance, then he was a criminal. For all he knew, he could be on the run. Thanks to the concussion, he had no way of knowing what the truth was. He swallowed the barbed knot in his throat. If he was arrested, Henry would face a life without either of his parents. He fought to calm his thumping heartbeat. ”What are you sad about, buddy?”
Henry squirmed in his lap, avoiding looking directly at him.
“It’s okay,” Ray said, softening his tone. “You can tell me anything. You’re not in trouble.”
”Never … tell … them,” Henry whispered into his fist, almost as if he was reminding himself. With a valiant wriggle, he escaped from Ray’s grasp and darted out of the room.
“Wait!” Ray called after him, scrambling to his feet. He caught up with Henry in the hallway and swooped him into his arms in a playful fashion. Whatever was troubling his son, he couldn’t force it out of him. First, he needed to build some trust—beginning with keeping his promise to have some fun together. He would figure out what to do about Katie Lambert’s driver’s license later. ”How about you and I grab some water bottles and head to the park? It’s about time we got out of here.”
After Googling the closest park, Ray reached for Henry’s hand and set off down the road. Henry insisted on bringing his toy truck, and Ray gave up on trying to dissuade him. The last thing he wanted was to instigate another tearful outburst. To his relief, Henry seemed content to hold his hand as they strolled to the park. Several times, Ray tried to engage him in conversation, commenting on the various dogs they passed, talking about the different things they could do at the park, even suggesting they go for ice cream afterward—but Henry trotted along at his side in silence, his little face only lighting up when the playground came into view and he saw the other kids laughing and chasing each other around.
“What do you want to do first, Henry?” Ray asked, surveying the scene as they approached the play equipment for younger children. ”That slide sure looks like fun.”
Henry stood on the sidelines observing the other children for several minutes, then took a tentative step toward them.
“Want me to hold your truck for you?” Ray offered. “That way you have your hands free to climb.”
Henry shook his head, tucking his toy truck protectively under his arm, before trotting over to the play equipment.
Ray folded his arms across his chest and watched him make his way laboriously up the steps to a slatted rope bridge connected to a bright red plastic slide. Henry’s one-handed progress soon began to frustrate the other children, drawing attention to himself. Ray glanced around, catching the curious glances of a couple of the mothers watching from the benches dotted around the park. He smiled uneasily back at them. The last thing Henry needed was an ardent mom brigade descending on him to hurry him up. He watched as Henry crossed the bridge and went down the slide, a smile breaking out on his face. A little girl with pigtails and glasses laughed and grabbed his hand, and the two of them ran back around to the steps to climb up again. Ray blew out a relieved breath. It looked like Henry had made a new friend.
It wasn’t long before the pair abandoned the slide and moved on to the sandbox, digging with what Ray assumed were the little girl’s plastic shovels. Her mother, or nanny, sat off to one side on a bench, rocking a baby in her arms. She was carrying on a conversation with the kids, and Henry appeared to be conversing with her, but Ray couldn’t make out what they were saying. He was deliberately standing close enough to keep an eye on Henry, but far enough away so as not to intimidate him into silence. He didn’t want a stranger at the park picking up on their awkward father-son dynamic.
After a few minutes, the kids grew bored with the sand and ran back over to the slide. Ray waved and smiled encouragingly at Henry, but he merely stared at him in passing. Ray couldn’t help feeling deflated that his son warmed more easily to anyone other than him. He watched as the little girl skipped over to the woman to take a drink from the water bottle she was holding out to her. After taking a quick sip, the girl began talking animatedly, pointing at Henry. The woman pulled out her phone, apparently distracted.
All of a sudden, she peered pointedly around her daughter in Ray’s direction, phone still pressed to her ear. Ray smiled back at her, groaning inwardly. Now he would have to go over there and meet and greet. It would appear rude if he didn’t introduce himself when she’d looked directly at him. He waited until she’d put her phone away, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked over to the bench where she was sitting. “Our kids seem to have hit it off,” he said, slapping on a smile. ”I’m Ray Jenkins, Henry’s dad.”
“Ann Whitmore,” the woman responded. ”That’s my daughter, Ivy, playing with Henry. And this is Jack.” She adjusted the baby in her lap, her eyes shifting uneasily around. ”I haven’t seen you here before.”
“We just moved here a couple of weeks ago,” Ray said, wondering if he should mention that his wife had passed away recently. He quickly nixed the idea, anticipating th
e follow-up questions which would be impossible to answer. ”Henry started at Small Steps preschool.”
“I know,” Ann said abruptly. “Ivy goes there too.”
“Ah, so that explains the instant connection.” Ray shuffled awkwardly from one foot to the other. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was that was off-putting about Ann’s manner—it felt as though she’d assessed him and found him wanting as a father, almost as if she knew the guilty secret he was hiding in his backpack. He shook himself free of the paranoid thought. His head was beginning to throb again. He really should go home after this. He needed to figure out what to do. More to the point, what he’d done.
“Ivy talks about Henry all the time,” Ann went on. “He has … quite the imagination.”
Ray threw her an uncertain look, detecting a hostile undertone to the throwaway comment. “Don’t all four-year-olds?” he said, tagging on a forced laugh. ”He probably gets it from me. I’m a writer. We creatives are known for our propensity to embellish the world around us.”
Ann fidgeted on the bench as though growing increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation. Maybe it was time for her baby’s nap, and she was too polite to tell him.
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Ann,” Ray said. “Henry and I should get going.”
He turned to leave when she blurted out, “Do you write fiction or non-fiction?”
“I’m a freelance journalist, so mainly articles and opinion pieces,” Ray answered, surprised at her sudden interest in reviving their flagging conversation.
Ann gave a tight smile, peering furtively around him.
He glanced over his shoulder in the direction she was looking in time to see a squad car pull into the parking lot. His heart began to beat a little faster. Nothing to be concerned about, he reassured himself. Cops regularly patrolled parks as a matter of course. It wasn’t as if they knew he had Katie Lambert’s license at his house.
He turned back to Ann. “Enjoy the rest of—”
“Wait! What, uh … what magazines are you published in?“ she stammered. “I’d like to read some of your work.”
Ray frowned. Put on the spot, he couldn’t recall the name of a single publication he’d written for. He waved a hand dismissively to cover his embarrassment, “Oh, nothing that would earn a Pulitzer.”
“Are you Ann Whitmore,” a deep voice from behind him asked.
Ray spun around to see two police officers walking toward them.
“Yes,” Ann answered, a strained expression on her face as she jiggled Jack on her lap. She gestured to Ray. “This is the man I called about.”
17
“That’s the kid over there,” Ann said, pointing to Henry who was gawping at the police officers. “He says that man’s not his father.”
Ray’s jaw dropped, shock ricocheting through him. ”What are you talking about? Of course I’m his father!”
“That’s not what he told me,” Ann retorted, staring defiantly back at him. Her faltering tone had been replaced by an air of assertiveness—emboldened, no doubt, by the presence of the police officers.
One of the officers took up a perimeter position, resting a hand casually on her gun. A male officer stepped toward Ray, his aviator shades glinting in the sun. “Do you have any ID on you, sir?”
Ray fired a wounded look at Ann before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. He could scarcely believe how duplicitous she’d been, pretending to connect over their kids’ preschool, even expressing an interest in his work—all the while waiting on law enforcement to show up and interrogate him. “I live a couple of blocks from here,” he said, handing his driver’s license to the officer. “That’s my old address. My son and I moved here a few weeks ago.”
The officer glanced at his driver’s license and then walked over and knelt next to Henry. “Hey buddy! Is this your dad?”
For a long moment, Henry stared back at the officer, his bottom lip protruding. Then, he darted over to Ray and ducked behind his legs.
Ray put an arm around him, resting his hand protectively on his shoulder. ”He lost his mother recently—my wife. And as if that wasn’t enough, I was just released from hospital yesterday. I wrecked my truck and sustained a head injury. As you can imagine, my son’s somewhat traumatized. Whatever he said, I can assure you it was only to get attention.” Ray tilted his head toward Ann, still seated on the bench. “He saw his friend’s mother interacting with her daughter and he wanted her to notice him too. He misses his mom dreadfully.”
The officer handed him back his license. ”I’m sorry for your loss, sir. I’m sure you can appreciate that we’re obligated to look into any calls about suspicious child-adult relationships. Can you verify any of what you’ve told me?”
Ray wet his lips, immediately regretting bringing up the subject of his dead wife. ”I can show you the police report of the accident. It’s at the house. My neighbor will be able to verify everything. She looked after Henry while I was in the hospital.”
The officer jotted down a few notes and then turned to Ann. ”Thank you for your vigilance, ma’am. It would appear that everything’s in order.”
Far from appeased, Ann narrowed her eyes. ”Henry’s been saying strange things to my daughter, Ivy, at preschool too.”
“What kinds of things?” the officer asked.
“He told her he was locked in his house without any food.”
Ray flattened his lips, barely able to curb his frustration as he glared at Ann. “Like I told you, he has an overly vivid imagination, and he’s been through a lot lately. I guess I was hoping for some sympathy when I shared that with you, not a criminal investigation.”
“All right, sir,” the officer cut in. “Let’s take a quick drive to your place of residence and talk to your neighbor just to put Mrs. Whitmore’s mind at ease.”
Ann held a defiant gaze as Ray ushered Henry toward the squad car. There was nothing else to do but to go along with the officer’s request. Anything else would look suspicious. And the last thing he needed right now was for the officer to obtain a warrant to search his house and discover Katie Lambert’s driver’s license.
When they pulled up outside Sonia’s house, Ray took a quick calming breath. He’d been trying to rehearse what to say during the short trip, but the minute Sonia opened the front door, the officer took charge. ”Sorry to bother you, ma’am. We wanted to verify that this gentleman here is your neighbor. His son told a woman at the park that he wasn’t his dad, and we got a call to follow up. Can you confirm his identity?”
A look of alarm flashed across Sonia’s face. She glanced at Ray, before turning her attention back to the officer. “Yes, his name’s Ray Jenkins. He moved here with his son, Henry, a couple of weeks ago. His mother lived in the house before him. We were neighbors for close to ten years.”
The officer jotted something down in his notebook before continuing. “I understand Mr. Jenkins was involved in an accident recently?”
“That’s right,” Sonia confirmed. “I looked after Henry for a couple of days while he was in the hospital.”
The officer slipped his notebook back into his shirt pocket and tipped his hat to her. ”Thank you for clearing that up, ma’am.” He turned to Ray. ”Sorry for the inconvenience, sir. We appreciate your cooperation. I’m sure you can understand that we’re obligated to follow up on these types of calls from concerned citizens.”
Ray gave a distracted nod, his heart clattering in his chest like a rollercoaster. “If that’s all, I’d like to get back to spending the rest of the day with my son. This is the first chance we’ve had to be together since my accident.”
“Absolutely. You have a good day,” the officer said, before turning on his heel and retreating to the curb where the female officer was waiting in the squad car.
“Do you want to come in?” Sonia asked, one hand on the door as if to indicate she’d rather he didn’t.
Before Ray could respond, Henry shot past him and darted down the
hall in search of Jessica.
Ray gave a resigned shrug. ”I guess I’m coming in now, if only to retrieve my son.”
“So, what exactly happened at the park?” Sonia asked, leading the way to the kitchen. She sat down at the table and pushed aside a pile of carpet samples.
Ray pulled out the chair opposite her. ”Thanks for smoothing things over out there.” He let out a dejected sigh. “This woman at the park, Ann Whitmore, called the cops on me because Henry told her I wasn’t his father.”
Sonia forwarded him a sympathetic look. “Actually, he told Jessica the same thing.” She hesitated, lowering her voice, “Ray, is it possible Henry’s adopted?”
He frowned, then shook his head slowly. “I don’t … think so. Not that I can remember. Apparently, Ann’s daughter is in Henry’s preschool class, and he’s been saying unsettling things there too—that he was deprived of food and locked in his room.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “It sounds bad, I know, but it’s not uncommon for a young child who’s lost a parent to make stuff up for attention.”
“Or embellish something that happened. Kids often do that,” Sonia said, picking at a strand of wool on one of the carpet samples. ”Did you or your wife ever discipline Henry by sending him to his room without dinner?”