by Rick Mofina
“Mom, I’m not a baby! Colton and Marshall dared me to go inside. Can we go, please, Mom? Please. I’m begging you, please!”
“Faith, was it your idea to go to the fair?”
“It was Gage’s idea and I suggested to Cal that we go.”
“Please, just yes or no.”
“Sorry.”
“Was it your idea to go to the fair?”
“No.”
“When you arrived at the fair did you have any altercations or disagreements with others?”
“No.”
“Did Cal have any altercations or disagreements with others?”
“No.”
“Did Gage have any altercations or disagreements with others?”
“No.”
“When you arrived at the fair, did you notice anyone acting suspiciously toward Gage?”
“No.”
“Once inside the Chambers of Dread, did you notice anyone acting in a suspicious manner toward your family or Gage?”
“No.”
“Were you concerned for his well-being inside the attraction?”
Faith shut her eyes, remembering how she feared that he’d have nightmares, how Cal had admonished her. “Don’t baby him.” Remembering...reaching for Gage’s hand, Gage shaking it away telling her, “I’m okay, Mom! I’m not a baby!”
“Faith, were you concerned for his well-being?”
“Of course, yes. It was scary. Sorry. Yes.”
“Did you keep within close proximity to him?”
“Yes.”
“Were you present when Gage disappeared?”
“Yes.”
The deafening, menacing music, the flashing lights, the floor spinning; the confusion, chaos and terror; seeing Gage with Cal, or was it someone else? It was Cal, it had to be Cal.
“Were you close to him when he disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see who Gage was with before he disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“Was it a stranger?”
“No.”
“Was it a friend?”
“No.”
“Was it his father, Cal?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think Gage’s disappearance is the result of Cal’s action?”
The readings on Larson’s screen fluctuated as seconds ticked by and tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Faith, do you think Gage’s disappearance is the result of Cal’s action?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes or no, please.”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you suspect Cal of being responsible for Gage’s disappearance?”
“I’m not sure—no.” She shook her head. “No.”
Ward made quick keystrokes, then penned notes and resumed.
“Not counting your mortgage, credit cards, car loans, do you have other debts?”
“No.”
“Do you gamble?”
“No.”
“Have you taken drugs or medication today?”
“No.”
“Do you abuse any prescription drugs?”
“No.”
“Do you consume illegal drugs?”
“No.”
“Do you owe money to any private individual?”
“No.”
“Is your family living beyond its means?”
“No.”
Ward made more notes.
“Have you ever abused Gage?”
“No!”
“Has Cal ever abused Gage?”
“No.”
“Are you aware of Gage being abused by someone outside of your home?”
“No.”
“Has Gage ever indicated to you that someone acted inappropriately toward him?”
“No.”
“When you and Cal stopped at Emerson Plaza a month ago, did you know Cal was going to purchase a lock and steel chain?”
“I—I don’t remember.”
“Just yes or no.”
“No.”
“Did you know why Cal purchased these items?”
“Now I do but at the time, no. So, no.”
“Do you know the location of the chain and lock now?”
“I’m not sure—I think—no. No.”
“Were you crying at the time the chain and lock were purchased?”
“Yes.”
“Were you crying because of something related to Gage?”
“No.”
“Do you know why Gage’s shoe was found in the Dumpster behind Emerson Plaza?”
Faith was crying now. “No.”
“Do you know who Beth Gibson is?”
“No.”
“Do you ever recall meeting Beth Gibson?”
“No.”
“Have you ever spoken to Beth Gibson?”
“No.”
“Did you know Beth Gibson called your husband after Gage’s disappearance?”
“Maybe, no, I don’t remember. No.”
“Would you agree your marriage is strong?”
Faith hesitated. “Yes.”
“Would you agree your marriage is troubled?”
“Uh—no. No.”
“Are you happy in your marriage?”
Faith didn’t answer.
“Are you happy in your marriage, Faith?”
“Yes.”
“Are you being truthful with your answers?”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust Cal?”
Faith took a moment to answer. “Yes.”
“Has Cal ever lied to you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes or no?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you ever caught Cal being knowingly deceptive or lying to you?”
Faith was silent as seconds passed.
“Faith?”
She remained silent.
“Okay, moving on. Faith, have you ever deceived Cal?”
The readings on Ward’s screen lurched wildly.
“Faith, have you ever deceived Cal?”
She stared at the painting, at the beach and palm trees, until they blurred.
“Faith,” Ward said, “please answer: Have you ever deceived Cal?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes.” Then she choked back a sob. “I mean, no. No!”
“Faith, try to relax. Have you ever deceived your husband, Cal?”
“No.” Her face creased with pain; the readings of the polygraph continued swaying as if scratching in desperation.
“I can’t...” Faith said.
“Take a slow breath,” Ward said.
“I’m sorry. I’m guilty.”
“Faith,” Gina Preston-Gold sat upright. “Don’t say anything more.”
“I’m guilty!”
“Faith, what are you guilty of?” Ward asked.
“Don’t answer!” Her lawyer stood. “Let’s stop this now.”
“I’m guilty of being a horrible mother because I didn’t watch my son!”
Faith buried her face in her hands.
Malko, Price and Lang exchanged glances.
29
Still reeling from their polygraph exams, the Hudsons arrived home that afternoon to an unsettling scene.
The evidence team had finished processing their house, but Cal and Faith were jolted by the aftermath.
Blackish, graphite fingerprint powder was smudged and streaked on the walls, the windows, the TV, the counters, the tables, the chairs, the doors, doorframes, doorknobs, light switches and mirrors. Every cupboard, closet, sofa and drawer had been rummaged as if a maniac had rampaged through each room.
&nbs
p; At every turn the intrusion screamed suspicion.
The forensic team had left a list of cleaning companies the Hudsons could hire. Nice touch.
Since investigators had already cloned their phones and processed their residence, Cal and Faith had requested the police presence be removed from their home. They wanted to absorb the latest developments privately. The FBI compromised by putting a marked River Ridge patrol car in front of the house, while another kept vigil in the rear lane. A handful of newspeople were huddled on the street. But thankfully no police officers were inside, giving Cal and Faith a measure of solace in the fact that they were alone.
Cal sat in front of the TV and muted the sound. Then he called Stu Kroll at the Star-News.
“Are you hearing anything?”
“We’d heard you and Faith were being questioned again, this time by the FBI. Do you want to talk to us about that? Go on the record?”
“No, and I don’t want to be quoted. This is just a conversation, okay?”
Kroll considered the request, then said, “All right.”
“Are you hearing anything about the search for Gage, Stu?”
“Not much, but we’re digging hard. How’re you and Faith holding up?”
“I feel useless. I should be out on the street hunting for him, investigating this like a story, but I’m numb. I can barely think straight. It’s a nightmare.”
“You got to hang in there.”
“Stu, I was thinking, could you get an Ultra-Fun employee list and run the names through sex offender registries, and also look at those residing in River Ridge—make calls, do some door-knocking? You never know what you could find.”
“Already got Lori and Jacobs on it.”
“That’s good.”
“As long as we have the bodies in this newsroom we’re doing all we can. You gotta stay strong, Cal. They’re going to find him.”
“Thanks, Stu. I gotta go.”
After hanging up, Cal knew that he should be making more calls for updates on searches, canvasses, police tips, any breaks, anything he and Faith needed to do. But he was depleted from the polygraph, from lack of sleep, from everything.
He stared blankly at commercials on the smudged TV screen.
Faith was in the kitchen making tea. As the kettle boiled, the very air in the house seemed to pulse with questions.
Their home was hollow without Gage, as if its soul had been ripped away. Faith couldn’t hold back her tears as the kettle whistled and they grappled with the evisceration of their lives. Cal’s thoughts shifted to the polygraph and he cast an apprehensive glance at his wife.
“What’d they ask you?” Cal said.
“Horrible questions.”
“Tell me.”
She cupped her face in her hands and took a breath.
“Who is Beth Gibson, Cal?”
“They asked you about her?”
“Yes. Who the hell is she?”
“We don’t even know her. She’s from the neighborhood, one of Jack’s real estate clients who called to wish us well.”
Faith stared at him for a long uncertain moment.
“What else did they ask you?” he said.
“If you or I ever abused Gage. It’s vile that they’d even ask that.”
“They have to ask, you know that.”
“They asked me if I was happy in our marriage.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I said yes.”
“I see.”
A taut moment passed between them.
“Did they ask you that question, too, Cal?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I said yes, I was happy.”
“You did?”
“I did.”
“They also asked me if I thought you’d ever lied to me.”
“What did you say?”
“I told them the truth.”
“Which is?”
Cal stared hard at her and repeated himself. “Which is?”
“I said that I didn’t know if you’ve ever lied to me.”
Slightly wounded, he nodded.
“Didn’t they ask you the same thing about me?”
“Yes,” he said. “I told them you’d never lied or deceived me.”
Faith blinked several times, thinking. “They asked me if I thought you were involved in Gage’s disappearance.”
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
“They asked me the same question and I gave them the same answer.”
She nodded and slowly lowered her head to gaze into her tea.
“What else did they ask you, Faith?”
She didn’t respond.
“Did they ask you about the plaza and the lock and chain?”
She looked at him without speaking.
“What else did you tell them?”
She raked her fingers through her hair, while shaking her head.
“I’m tired, Cal. No more questions. I’m going to our room.”
* * *
Alone in the living room Cal wrestled with whether he could trust Faith’s answers while at the same time he struggled to understand the FBI’s fixation on the chain and lock, racking his brains, sifting through his memory of that day.
He was not clear on all the events, only that now—oh God, now—they’d found Gage’s shoe.
And the FBI thinks there’s a connection to me, the lock, the chain and Gage’s shoe in the Dumpster. That’s just not right. So where’s that lock and chain?
Cal reached for his phone and called Jack’s number. He didn’t care if police were listening.
“Hey, Cal, how’re you doing?” Jack said. “Faith texted Michelle, said you were polygraphed. How’d it go?”
“It was rough but we survived it.”
“That’s good. Cal, I’m glad you called—things have been happening. More people are helping with searches, going door-to-door with flyers and blasting things out online. Everybody’s working to get Gage home.”
“I’ve got to ask you something.”
“Sure, anything.”
Cal explained what he remembered from a month earlier concerning Gage’s ball game and the request to get a lock and chain.
“I remember that someone busted into the team’s equipment locker,” Jack said, “and Dean was real pissed about it, but I never called you.”
“I thought it was you.”
“No. Maybe it was Dean.”
“Okay, I’ll call him.”
“Cal, wait—”
But Cal had already hung up and was punching in the number for Dean Huppkey, relieved to reach him. After giving Dean a summary, Cal asked him about the lock and chain.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Dean said. “Some idiot busted into the equipment locker by the bleachers at the ballpark. We knew you were on your way, so I asked you to bring a lock and length of chain.”
“So what happened to it?”
“We didn’t need it. Remember? We found the groundskeeper and he took care of securing the locker. I told you to keep the stuff you bought, or take it back. Why’re you asking me this now?”
“It’s just—I got it at the plaza where they found...” Cal could barely get the words out. “Where they found Gage’s shoe.”
“You’re right, Cal, that is a strange coincidence. Is there some sort of connection, maybe to someone at the plaza?”
“I don’t know. Nothing’s making sense.” A tone sounded in his ear. “I gotta go, Dean, I’m getting another call.”
Cal answered his incoming call.
“Hey, it’s Jack again.”
“What’s up?”
“I needed to tell you, that woman Beth Gibson called me again, looking for you.�
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Cal froze with disbelief.
“Cal? You there?”
He adjusted his grip on the phone and lowered his voice. “When did she call, Jack?”
“This morning. Asked if you were with me so she could speak to you.”
“What’d she want?”
“Wanted to know how you and Faith were doing. She said she was concerned, especially after I told her that the FBI came to the house to speak with you and Faith privately. What’s with this Gibson woman with her calls and questions? You sure there’s nothing going on with her? Maybe the FBI should be looking at her?”
Cal didn’t answer. He couldn’t understand why she was taking such a huge risk. She had to stop calling. It was too dangerous.
“Cal? I said, should the FBI look into her?”
He tried to sound casual. “Nah, I don’t think so. In my line of work you meet a lot of eccentrics—she seemed harmless.”
* * *
After the call, Cal hurried to the garage, grateful they’d parked their cars there, out of sight of the press. The forensic teams had been through their vehicles. The interiors were laced with fingerprint powder. Cal knew they would’ve inventoried the chain and lock if they’d found them.
It didn’t matter. He had to find them.
He searched their Ford Escape, under the seats, in the storage areas. Then he searched Faith’s car—the front, the back, the trunk. He even lifted the trunk carpet to search the reservoir for the spare and the jack.
It was futile—no trace of the lock and chain.
He searched the garage but it was in vain, as well.
What did he do with them?
He searched the plastic recycle tub holding discarded newspapers that sat next to the workbench. Leafing through the old papers he discovered something that stopped him cold.
A small ad in an old community flyer had been circled in pen.
What was this? He hadn’t circled it—it had to have been Faith. How did the forensic people miss this?
Cal dragged his hands over his face. His mind was swirling.
He tore the page from the flyer and returned into the house.
30
Faith stood at the door to Gage’s bedroom drowning in guilt.
Guilt for all the sins she’d committed in her life that had brought her to this nightmare. She opened the door, stepped in and was staggered by the violation. Fingerprint powder smeared the walls, windows, doors, everything.
Gage’s things were practically ransacked.