by Haylen Beck
Audra stumbling on the steps of the guesthouse, Mitchell helping her up.
‘Kinney is being accommodated at a local guesthouse, effectively under house arrest. FBI and state police are concentrating their search for the missing children along the route Kinney took from east to west across Arizona, using her cell phone’s GPS data. They know she crossed into the state from northern New Mexico around twenty-four hours before she was stopped by the Elder County sheriff, and witnesses at a roadside diner said they saw the children the following morning, so the authorities know that whatever happened to Sean and Louise, it happened in Arizona.’
Cut back to the studio, and now the male anchor spoke to a picture-in-picture image of the reporter.
‘Rhonda, we understand that some disturbing new details have emerged about Audra Kinney, the mother of the missing children.’
Back to Silver Water.
‘That’s right, Derek. As has already been reported elsewhere, Audra Kinney separated from her wealthy husband eighteen months ago, taking her two children from their Upper West Side home to a one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. The children’s grandmother spoke to reporters outside her home close to Central Park earlier today. She painted a worrying picture of Audra Kinney, a woman with a history of problems with mental health and addiction.’
Rhonda Carlisle looked off camera, a serious and concerned expression on her face.
‘Oh no,’ Audra said.
There on the screen, Margaret Kinney, her dyed red hair, her pale stony face. She stood on the sidewalk outside her building, a doorman waiting to let her in. Father Malloy by her side, his expression one of warm sympathy.
‘I curse the day my son met that woman,’ Margaret said. ‘She’s given my son hell over these last few years. With the alcohol and the prescription drugs. Wine and vodka, mostly, and whatever anti-depressants or sedatives she could talk a doctor into prescribing for her. She barely knew those children, I did most of the raising of them myself, along with their nanny.’
‘You liar,’ Audra said. ‘You goddamn liar.’
‘Before she and my son split, things had gotten worse and worse, she could barely get out of bed. Then she overdosed and wound up in the hospital. My son, out of love, did his best to get her back on her feet, but then she moved out with the children. He’s been trying for eighteen months to get them back, because they’re just not safe with her. Children’s Services agreed, they were about to get an order to force her to hand them over to their father, then she took off. And now this. Excuse me?’
A knot on her brow as she tilted her head, listening.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I am very worried.’
Her eyes brimmed. Father Malloy put his hand on her shoulder.
‘We’re trying to stay positive, I’ve been praying round the clock, but I do fear the worst for those babies.’
She tilted her head again, wiping a tear away.
‘What would I say to her? Just tell us what you did with them.’
Margaret looked into the camera, her resolve disappearing, Father Malloy seeming to keep her upright in her distress.
‘Audra, whatever you did with my grandchildren, wherever they are, please just tell us. Don’t torture us like this. I can’t stand it. Patrick is in pieces. We’re all barely hanging on. Just do the one decent thing you can do now. Tell the truth.’
She disappeared, Rhonda Carlisle and Silver Water’s main street taking her place.
‘Powerful words there from Margaret Kinney, the grandmother of the missing children. Back to the studio.’
The anchors reappeared, thanked the reporter.
‘What about Whiteside?’ Audra said to the television. ‘What about Collins?’
She slapped the screen with her palm, made the image roll away, then come back.
The female anchor’s expression darkened. ‘Of course we’ll keep you up to date as this case unfolds, but it’s now coming up on forty-eight hours since the children disappeared.’ She turned to her colleague. ‘Derek, surely the authorities must be fearing the worst by this stage.’
Derek nodded gravely. ‘I think all of us are.’
Audra slapped the screen once more. ‘They’re alive, you son of a bitch.’
Derek turned to camera again. ‘Join us in the next hour as we ask: Who is Audra Kinney? From the attractive young woman who married into one of New York’s elite families, to the allegedly drug-addicted mother suspected of committing the worst crime imaginable, find out more, after the break.’
Audra hit the off button with her fist, skinning her knuckles.
‘Goddamn them,’ she said.
Anger flared in her, hot and bright. They’d all but said she’d killed her children and dumped them in the desert somewhere. No mention of what she’d told Mitchell. No one questioned Whiteside’s story. The anger turned to cold fear as she realized what the whole country must be thinking. That she was a monster. She had never bothered much with social media, Facebook, Twitter, all of that, but she could only imagine what they’d be saying there. They’d be ripping her to pieces.
Audra went to the corner of the room, pressed herself into it, her head in her hands. She wrapped her fingers around her skull, trying to contain it all. The crushing weight of it on her shoulders, snaking around her chest.
‘Keep it together,’ she told herself. ‘They want you to break.’
From here, she could see the yard below the window, the weathered fence beyond that. And on the other side, standing on something to get a better vantage point, a young man with a video camera looking right back at her.
‘Jesus,’ Audra said. She crossed to the window, pulled down the blind.
She flopped onto the bed, pulled her knees up to her chest, folded her arms around them.
Lying in the semidarkness, she remembered a hospital room far from here. A room where she had woken with a grinding behind her eyes. Confusion and fear. A doctor had explained to her that she’d taken an overdose. The nanny had found her on her bedroom floor, he said, half naked, barely conscious. Audra would probably have died otherwise. The paramedics had pumped her stomach and shot her full of adrenalin.
Patrick had visited her later that night, stayed for only a few minutes. ‘How could you be so stupid?’ he asked.
Another visitor came by the following day. She wore a plain gray dress with a crucifix around her neck. Her name was Sister Hannah Cicero, and she asked why Audra had taken so many pills, why she had taken them with neat vodka? Audra told her she couldn’t remember.
‘Did you overdose on purpose?’ Sister Hannah asked. ‘Did you try to kill yourself?’
‘I don’t remember,’ Audra said.
And she wondered: Had she? Had she finally reached the point where dying seemed a better choice than living? She knew that the last months had been dark, that she felt certain the world would be no poorer without her.
‘Would you like to pray?’ the nun asked.
‘I’m not religious,’ Audra said.
‘That’s okay,’ Sister Hannah said. ‘I’m a qualified counsellor as well as a nun. The first part and the second part don’t always overlap.’
‘A counsellor,’ Audra echoed as she remembered the conversation she’d had with Patrick on Sean’s second birthday.
Sean was seven and a half now, Louise not quite four. At Patrick’s insistence, Audra quit drinking as soon as the pregnancy test showed positive and they knew she had another baby inside her. She was allowed to keep taking the drugs, but at a reduced dosage. When Louise was born, Margaret swooped in once more and took over. Audra didn’t even get to try breast-feeding this time. In fact, she couldn’t quite remember feeding Louise at all. Three days after the baby was born, Patrick gave Audra a bottle of wine, and so she descended into the pit once more.
‘Do you feel like talking?’ Sister Hannah asked.
Audra said nothing. She rolled onto her side, faced the other way.
‘Would you rather I left?’
&n
bsp; Audra opened her mouth to say yes, but the word did not come out. A silence hung in the room, and it terrified her so much that she had to say something.
‘I don’t know my children.’
‘Do you know their names?’
‘Sean and Louise.’
‘Well, that’s something. How old are they?’
‘Eight and three. Well, maybe closer to four. I’m not sure.’
‘And that’s something else. Try for a third thing.’
Audra thought for a moment. ‘Louise has a pink bunny. She calls it Gogo.’
‘What do you feel in your heart when you think of your children?’
Audra closed her eyes, concentrated on the ache in her breast. ‘That I miss them. That I let them down. That I don’t deserve them.’
‘No one deserves children,’ Sister Hannah said. ‘They’re not a prize you get for being a good girl. I understand the children’s nanny found you unconscious. Who hired her?’
‘My husband,’ Audra replied. ‘He said I wasn’t fit to care for my son. She’s been in our home ever since. I see my children at the dinner table, and they kiss me goodnight. I see them at breakfast, and they kiss me good morning. They call me Mother. They call Patrick Father. Not Mommy or Daddy. That’s not right, is it? I should be their mommy.’
‘You should. Then I guess the question is, why aren’t you?’
‘Like I told you, I don’t deserve them.’
‘Bullshit,’ Sister Hannah said. ‘You tell me that again, I’m going to kick your ass. Does Patrick drink?’
‘No,’ Audra said. ‘Not like I do.’
‘What about the drugs, the antidepressants, all that? Does he take them too?’
‘No. Never.’
‘What does he say about your drinking?’
Audra’s mouth dried. She imagined the cold sweetness of wine on her tongue. The feel of it in her throat.
‘He stays out of my way when I’m drunk,’ she said. ‘He tells me I’m shit when I’m hungover in the morning. Then when he comes home from work, he brings me more. Wine, usually, sometimes vodka.’
Sister Hannah was quiet for a moment, then she asked, ‘Does he get you the pills too?’
‘Yes,’ Audra said. ‘What I don’t understand is: Why? Why does he keep me around? What good am I to him? If I’m not a mother or a wife, what am I for?’
Another silence. Audra could feel Sister Hannah’s gaze on her back.
‘Tell me, do you have any friends?’
‘No,’ Audra said. ‘Not anymore.’
‘But you used to.’
‘Before we were married. But Patrick didn’t like them.’
‘So you and your friends drifted apart,’ Sister Hannah said.
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you ever go out without Patrick? To the store, for a walk, anywhere?’
‘No,’ Audra said.
‘Has he ever hit you?’
Audra felt herself shrink down into the pillow, withering under the sheets. ‘Sometimes. Not often.’
She felt Sister Hannah’s hand on her shoulder. ‘Audra, listen to me very carefully. You are not the first woman to go through this. God knows, you won’t be the last. I’ve seen all kinds of abuse. Believe me, beatings aren’t the only kind. Your husband is an enabler. He’s keeping you drunk and drugged, so you’ll be quiet and easier to manage. He doesn’t love you, but for whatever reason, he can’t let you leave. You have to understand, he’s holding you prisoner. The alcohol and the medication are what keep you tied down.’
‘What can I do?’ Audra asked. ‘How do I get out?’
‘Leave. Just go. When you’re discharged from this hospital, don’t go home. I can get you a place in a refuge where you’ll be safe. Patrick won’t be able to touch you there.’
‘But my children …’
‘You can’t help them until you help yourself. You need to get well, then you can worry about them.’
‘I want to sleep now,’ Audra said, and she burrowed down into the bed. She was gone before the nun left the room.
23
DANNY TOOK A bite of the club sandwich. Wasn’t bad. Pretty good bacon, turkey wasn’t too dry. He’d slipped the sliced tomatoes out from between the toasted bread and left them on the plate. Danny didn’t like tomatoes.
The waitress stopped at his booth by the window to freshen his coffee. Tasted pretty good too. But the service was slow. He guessed this place hadn’t seen so much business in years.
‘Thank you,’ he said. He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. ‘Say, what’s going on around here?’
The waitress – her nametag said SHELLEY – laughed, then the smile dropped from her face. ‘You don’t know?’
Danny looked back out to the street, at the reporters wandering around like zombies looking for a scent of flesh. ‘Know what?’
‘Sorry, I just assumed …’ She waved a hand in front of his face. ‘I mean, you’re not from around here, so I assumed you were a reporter. Like them.’
Danny smiled and said, ‘No, I’m just passing through. Lady in a store out the road said you had good coffee. She was right. So what’s happening here?’
‘Oh my God,’ Shelley said, sliding into the seat opposite him, coffee pot in hand. ‘It’s terrible. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. I mean, this little town, what’s left of it, biggest news is if someone farts in public.’
Danny snorted.
Shelley lowered her voice, hooked a thumb toward the counter. ‘Couple days ago, Sheriff Whiteside pulls this woman over.’
Danny glanced across the room, saw the sheriff. A big man, wide at the shoulders and waist. Sat on that stool like it was a throne, and he the king of the land.
‘He found drugs in the car,’ Shelley continued in a loud whisper. ‘News said it was pot, enough for a dealer, but I heard there was more. Like cocaine and crystal meth, and whatnot. So he takes her in. Turns out she left New York three or four days before with her two children, but they weren’t in the car when Ronnie, the sheriff, when he pulled her over. She has a history, mental problems and like that, and they reckon she did something to the kids, maybe out in the desert somewhere.’
‘Jesus,’ Danny said. ‘What do they think happened?’
‘Lord knows,’ Shelley said, shaking her head. ‘But they got the state police and the FBI here investigating. I hate to think what she did to those poor children. I pray they’re alive somewhere, but I don’t believe it in my heart. Not really.’
‘You think she hurt them?’
‘Oh, she killed them,’ Shelley said. ‘Sure as you and me are sitting here, she took the lives of those little ones. If only she’d tell what she did with the bodies, then we’d all know. How’s that sandwich?’
‘Good,’ Danny said.
‘You’re lucky you got anything. Harvey, my boss, he had to drive all the way to Phoenix last night to pick up supplies. We ain’t seen this kind of business since before the copper mine closed. Got to the point last night that I couldn’t even pour a cup of coffee.’
She reached over and patted Danny’s hand.
‘Well, you enjoy your meal. Nice talking with you.’
‘You too, Shelley,’ he said, giving her his brightest smile.
She returned it, with interest, and slipped out of the booth.
Before Danny could chew another mouthful of sandwich, a shadow fell over the table. He looked up. Sheriff Whiteside looked down.
‘How you doing today?’ Whiteside asked.
‘Pretty good,’ Danny said. ‘You?’
‘Oh, fair, all things considered. I couldn’t help overhearing your talk with Shelley, there.’
‘She’s a nice lady,’ Danny said.
‘She is, and she’s been rushed off her feet since yesterday. You be sure and leave a decent tip, won’t you?’
‘I will,’ Danny said.
‘Anyway, like I was saying, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. So you’re not with these press folk
s, then?’
‘No, sir,’ Danny said.
‘See, now, that strikes me as strange.’
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ Whiteside said. ‘Mind if I sit down?’
Danny indicated the seat opposite and said, ‘Please.’
Whiteside slid in next to him, his shoulder against Danny’s. ‘Like I said, it strikes me as strange. I mean, you don’t mind my saying, you clearly aren’t from around here.’
Danny kept his voice low and even. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘Well, I’ll come right out and say it, because I don’t hold with this political correctness nonsense. See, Silver Water is about as lily-white as a town can be. Since the mine closed, there’s not even a single Hispanic within the town boundary. There’s a couple of Mormon families, but that’s about as diverse as it gets around here.’
‘I see,’ Danny said.
‘Do you? Do you see what I’m getting at? So, if you’re not with the press, what are you doing here?’
‘Just passing through,’ Danny said. ‘I heard the coffee was good.’
‘Yeah, the coffee’s good, but that doesn’t really address my concerns. See, Silver Water is kind of an isolated little town. We’re not really on the way to anywhere. Unless you got business here, people don’t tend to pass through. Especially not a gentleman like yourself.’
Danny smiled. ‘Like myself?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘No, I don’t.’
Whiteside scratched his chin. ‘Asian-American. Is that the preferred nomenclature these days?’
‘Chinese is fine,’ Danny said.
‘Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Outer Mongolian, I don’t much give a shit.’ Whiteside leaned in close. ‘My point is, you just happen to be passing through a town that no one ever passes through, and you’re doing it today of all days, with all this going on. You gonna tell me that’s a coincidence?’
Danny held Whiteside’s gaze. ‘I don’t know what else to call it.’
‘Okay, so it’s a coincidence. That’s fine. But if you stick around here much longer than it takes to finish that sandwich, then I’ll be less inclined to see it that way. Do we understand each other?’