The Shadows We Hide

by Allen Eskens

  “Toke Talbert was a low-down snake, and the world is better off with him dead. Everyone in the county knows that. Hell, even his own daughter would agree. She hated the man.”

  “Angel hated Toke?”

  “With a passion. Toke was trying to break Angel and Moody up. Your old man told my son that if he didn’t stop seeing Angel, he was going to kill Moody. Does the sheriff know about that?”

  “Toke said that?”

  “As God is my witness. He said that if he ever caught Moody on his property he’d beat him to death. He said that to my boy.”

  “Why did Toke want them broken up?”

  Mr. Lynch’s shoulders eased the way they do when a man forgets that he’s supposed to be angry. Talking about Moody and Angel brought out a softer side of this tough guy, and for the first time since he came out of his house, I had hope that my plan might work. “I don’t know. Your old man was crazy in the head. He lived to piss people off. And when it came to Angel, it wasn’t so much a matter of pissing her off as it was just plain meanness—especially after her mom died. It wasn’t enough just to knock the girl to the ground―he had to grind his foot on her for good measure.”

  “You know that she’s in a coma?”

  Mr. Lynch dropped his eyes. “I heard that, and I’m sorry for it. She did Moody some good; she really did. I ain’t never seen Moody care for someone like he cared for her. I always figured that boy was too much a free spirit. I raised him that way, I guess. But she brought out this whole other side of the boy. I think he brought out a better side of her as well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You ever meet Angel?”

  “I saw her in the hospital.”

  “Well, when you first meet her, she’s like this scared little mouse. I thought she might be a mute or retarded, the way she never talked. But as time went on, and she got comfortable around us, I could see that under all that fear was a lit firecracker.”

  “That’s interesting,” I said. “The way everyone else talks about her—”

  “Everyone else don’t know her the way my Moody does. She’s a lot smarter and tougher than she lets on.”

  “You think she had anything to do with Toke’s death?”

  Mr. Lynch gave me the hard glare of a man who had just realized that he had let his guard down, and that seemed to piss him off again. “Don’t you be getting that idea in your head. That girl had a tough go of it, and she don’t need talk like that floating around.”

  “She swallowed a bunch of pills that night,” I said. “Why would she do that? Moody was supposed to be meeting her out at the farm. Toke ends up dead, and she attempts to commit suicide? You see why the sheriff thinks it’s Moody?”

  “No, I don’t.” He averted his gaze, looking at my shoulder rather than my face. “How does her taking those pills lead to my boy killing Toke?”

  “Moody showed up. Toke saw him. They fought, and Moody killed Toke. It might have been an accident or self-defense, but it adds up. Maybe Angel saw the fight, or maybe she went out to the barn afterward and found Toke dead. She lost it and took the pills.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “Could be bullshit, but it’s a viable theory. If you want the sheriff to believe that Moody’s innocent, they’ll need to hear his story. If they don’t, they’ll keep hunting him, and in the meantime, any evidence that might be out there that can help your boy will be disappearing. I know he’s good at hiding, but one day they’ll find him, and if they don’t find him, he’ll live the rest of his life on the run, a fugitive. Is that what you want for your son? All I’m asking is that you let him know that I want to talk to him—just talk, that’s all. You have my card with my cell number. Tell him to call me.”

  The man looked at the card. I could see he was struggling with my logic. I decided to quit while I was ahead. “I’m staying in Buckley,” I said. “If you know how to reach him, have him call me. It’s the only way.”

  I stepped into my car, took a deep breath to relax, and then I drove away.

  Chapter 25

  I could have sworn that I saw Mr. Lynch lick his lips as he considered my proposition. A good sign, I thought. It was a simple plan, really. First, pique Dad’s interest with the promise that my involvement could help get justice for his son. I may have overstated my clout on that point, but Moody was a fugitive from justice, wanted for murder; his options were somewhat limited. If I could convince Papa Lynch that my offer had value, he would convince Moody.

  Now all that I had to do was sit back and wait for the call, and maybe work on my spiel to get Moody to surrender. I’d tell him that an innocent man doesn’t run. If he didn’t kill Toke, he should quit hiding and let the truth set him free. Those words sounded far loftier than what I really wanted to say, which was, “Stop dragging this thing out. Step into the light and let the chips fall where they may.” Because deep down, I think that my crusade had less to do with seeking justice for Moody Lynch and more to do with clearing a path for what I wanted.

  I got back to town, satisfied with how things played out with Moody’s father and still well before Jeremy’s movie should have finished. As I pulled into the motel parking lot, I gave myself an attaboy for my good timing. Then I saw the door to my motel room standing ajar. I parked and ran into the room. The movie was still playing on my computer, but Jeremy wasn’t there. I ran to the bathroom. Empty. The room squeezed in around me. “Jeremy!” I yelled. No answer.

  I raced outside, looking in every direction. Nothing. “Jeremy!” And then to myself, “Oh, fuck!”

  I ran to the motel office. The door was open, but there was no clerk behind the desk. I looked for a bell to ring, and not seeing one, I yelled. “Hey! Hey, is there anyone here?”

  Through a door behind the reception desk I could hear movement.

  “Excuse me! I need help!”

  More movement. Then the woman who had checked me in the first day came sauntering out of the office. “Yes?”

  “Did you see my brother?”

  “Your brother?”

  “Yeah. Tall. Blond hair.”

  “I think I saw him in the parking lot about…oh, maybe an hour ago. He was talking to that guy from room nine.”

  “Charlie Talbert? He was talking to Charlie in the parking lot?”

  “I don’t know the guy’s name, but he drives that red Lexus.”

  I darted out the door, my eyes scanning the landscape; Charlie’s car nowhere in sight. I jumped into my car and fired it up. I should never have left him alone, not with Charlie in the area. I knew that when I did it. What the hell was I thinking?

  I drove to the Sheriff’s Office, my car skidding into a parking space in front. I was about to charge in and report my brother missing or maybe kidnapped when I saw the red Lexus, parked halfway down the block in front of a redbrick building. I ran to that building, the words COUNTY OFFICES painted on the glass doors. Beyond the doors, I saw Charlie standing in the hallway, chatting with the older woman from the bar—the one doing Charlie’s background study.

  “Where is he?” I yelled as I marched down the hallway toward them. “Where’s my brother?”

  Charlie cocked his back, obviously trying to feign surprise. “How would I know where your brother is?”

  “What’d you do with him?” I said, stopping face-to-face with my uncle.

  “You lost your brother?” He said. “Your autistic brother?”

  The woman stepped into the conversation. “Young man, what’s going on? What’s all this yelling about?”

  “Where is he?” I kept my eyes on Charlie, ignoring the woman’s questions.

  Charlie turned to the woman but gestured at me. “Joe here is the guardian of an autistic brother—Jeremy, right?”

  “You know damn well it’s Jeremy.”

  “And you’ve misplaced him? Is that what I’m hearing?”

  “Oh, my,” the woman said, putting a hand to her mouth. “Have you called the sheriff?”

  “The motel
clerk saw you,” I said, pointing my finger at Charlie. “She saw you talking to Jeremy in the parking lot. Where’d he go? What did you tell him?”

  “The clerk is mistaken,” Charlie said calmly. “I haven’t seen your brother since you introduced us this morning.”

  “He’s autistic?” the woman said. “You need to report this right away. You need to tell the sheriff.”

  I hesitated, waiting for Charlie to come clean. He just shrugged. What was this man’s game? Why would he risk harming my brother? As I turned to leave—to run out of the building, I swear I heard Charlie say, “That’s no way for a guardian to treat his ward.”

  I raced into the Sheriff’s Office and up to the receptionist behind the glass. “My brother’s missing,” I said through gasping breaths. “My name is Joe Talbert. I’m staying at the Caspen Inn with my brother, and he left. He’s autistic. I can’t find him.”

  The woman behind the glass picked up her phone and punched some buttons. She said some words that I couldn’t hear. Then she looked at me and said, “I have dispatch on the line. What does your brother look like?”

  “He’s six feet tall, twenty-five years old, and he has blond hair. His name is Jeremy.”

  “What’s he wearing?”

  “He should be wearing blue jeans and a shirt…green, I think. Yeah, a green T-shirt. Wait, I have a picture.” I pulled my phone out and started scrolling through my photos.

  “When did you last see your brother?” the receptionist asked.

  “This morning, around eleven. He was in room eight. I left for a little while, and when I came back he was gone.”

  I found a good picture, a close-up of Jeremy’s face holding a present from last Christmas. Right then, Nathan Calder walked into the reception area, and the look of concern on his face almost made him look like another man altogether. Gone were the sharp eyes and ready scowl that had greeted me before. “Your brother’s missing?”

  “Yeah, this is him.” I showed Calder the picture. “He’s autistic.”

  He took my phone. “I’m going to get this into our computer system. We can send the picture out to the squads that way.”

  It occurred to me that Calder didn’t ask me how to operate my phone or how best to send the picture out to his computer. I felt embarrassed that I automatically assumed that because of his large size, he might not be smart enough to handle modern technology. He disappeared through the door to the offices, and I paced, waiting for him to come back.

  Three minutes later—minutes that filled my head with a thousand terrible outcomes—Calder reappeared, handed me my phone, and guided me to the chairs in the reception area. When we sat down, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, leaning my way slightly, the way a friend might do when times turn hard. “I emailed the picture out to all of our squads,” he said. “Is there anything else you can tell me about your brother?”

  “If you find him, he’s not going to react like most people do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He won’t look at you. He’ll look at the ground or turn away.”

  “Will he obey a command to stop?”

  “I…I think so. He’s never dealt with police before. He doesn’t like to be around people in general, so he won’t be in any store or restaurant. He’ll be outside, most likely.”

  “We have everyone looking for him,” Calder said. “Don’t worry, we’ll find him.” The confidence in Calder’s eyes made me want to believe him, and I remembered Jeb saying that there was no one better to have on your side when things got hairy than Nathan Calder. I liked this version of the deputy. “The best thing you can do is go back to the motel and wait there and let us know if he shows up. We’ll handle the search.”

  Calder left, and with him gone, I suddenly felt helpless again. I got in my car, drove back to the motel, checked the empty room, and returned to my car. I couldn’t just sit in the room and wait. I had to look for my brother.

  I began my search by circling the block around the motel, moving at parade speed, peering into shadows and corners for any sign of Jeremy. When I’d finished the block, I expanded my search to the eight blocks that surrounded the motel. Still nothing. I was about to expand my search once more when I saw a small bridge crossing a good-sized creek, and beside the bridge, a gravel access sloped down to the water.

  The scene made me think about how Jeremy loves creeks. Any time we took Jeremy to a park with a creek, he would make his way to the water’s edge, drawn there as though the ripples whispered to him. He never got so close that he might fall in, but he loved to sit in the grass and watch the water trickle by.

  I pulled to the side of the road, stopping at the top of the access. “Jeremy!” I yelled as I ran down the slope. “Jeremy? Are you here?”

  I could see no one, and the only sound I heard was the rush of the water, water deep enough to pull someone in and drown them if they were careless. I looked under the bridge. He wasn’t there. I was about to head back up to my car when I saw shoe prints in the dirt, the tracks of a grown man heading down to the water’s edge. I followed the trail to the edge of the creek, hoping to see the shoe prints turn around. They didn’t.

  “No, no, no,” I muttered. The pattern in the dirt looked like tennis-shoe tread, and that’s what he was wearing. Beyond that, I couldn’t tell if it was him or not. “Jeremy!” I yelled again. “Jeremy!”

  I pulled my phone out and dialed 911.

  “Dispatch,” a woman’s voice said.

  “This is Joe Talbert. I’m the one with the missing brother. Have you heard anything?”

  “Mr. Talbert,” she snapped. “I know you’re worried, but this line is for emergencies only.”

  “Isn’t this an emergency?” I said “Do you have more pressing tasks going on right now? I just want to know—”

  “Hold on a second, Mr. Talbert.”

  The line went silent as though she might have hung up on me. I was about to end the call and call her back—on an emergency line—when she came back on.

  “Mr. Talbert, I just got a call from one of our deputies. They found your brother. Deputy Lewis is requesting that you go to his location. He’s on Highway Five, just east of town.”

  “Is Jeremy okay?”

  “One second.” The phone went silent again, then, “Yes, your brother is okay.”

  The relief hit me so hard it put tears in my eyes. “Just keep him calm,” I said. “Tell Jeb I’ll be right there.”

  I jumped in my car and flew to a spot just east of town where I found Jeb sitting on the hood of his squad car talking to Jeremy, who stood on the shoulder of the road looking down.

  “Jeremy,” I said as I climbed out of my car. “You had me worried sick.” Jeremy looked up, and then back at the ground like he was a dog about to be scolded. I did my best to keep my emotions in check. “You can’t just walk off like that. What if you got hit by a car?”

  “I’m sorry, Joe,” Jeremy said without looking up.

  “Thanks for finding him, Jeb.”

  “Just doing my job. Besides, Jeremy and I were having a nice chat, weren’t we?”

  “I think we were,” Jeremy said.

  “I don’t normally leave him alone,” I said. “I was only gone for a little bit.”

  “Had an errand to run?” Jeb asked, using the same tone that Lila uses when she already knows the answer to her question.

  “I should probably take him back to the motel.” I led Jeremy to my car, and Jeb followed, leaning his hand against my open window after I got in.

  “I hear that you made a trip out to see Homer Lynch today.”

  “Is that Moody’s dad?”

  “His wife called me; wanted to know if you were really a reporter for the Associated Press. I told them that you were.”

  I started the car, hoping that Jeb might step back. He didn’t.

  “Can I ask why you went out there?”

  “I told you, I’m trying to make contact with Moody.”

  “That
’s really not a good idea, Joe.”

  “Did you know that Angel hated Toke?”

  “Well, there’s always been tension there.”

  “Homer Lynch told me that Angel hated Toke with a passion because Toke wanted to break Moody and Angel apart. Homer said Toke even threatened to kill Moody.”

  “I guess that doesn’t surprise me,” Jeb said.

  “You never talked to Homer Lynch about that?”

  “I get along with the missus, but Homer’s not much of a fan of badges.”

  “That’s my point,” I said. “People sometimes say things to reporters that they wouldn’t say to law enforcement.”

  “We just need you to get Moody to come in. That’s all. I don’t want you involving yourself beyond that. If he makes contact with you—call me. Okay?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Jeb nodded and gave me a small pat on the shoulder as if to seal our agreement. “Nice to meet you, Jeremy,” he said, giving a wave to Jeremy in the passenger seat.

  After Jeb left, I turned to Jeremy, who was sitting with his hands on his lap and his eyes cast down. “Jeremy, you really scared me. I couldn’t find you.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Where did you think you were going, anyway?”

  The corners of his lips tugged downward as though he might cry, but Jeremy never cried. And then he said, “Maybe I was going home.”

  “That’s a long way away, Jeremy. You can’t walk to the apartment.”

  “Maybe I was going to Mom’s house.”

  Chapter 26

  I shouldn’t have been hurt by Jeremy thinking that our mother’s apartment was somehow still his home—but I was. He had merely responded honestly. He carried no allegiance to one side over the other, and maybe that’s what bothered me. I wanted him to understand what I had done for him, what I had given up for him. But he still saw Austin as a place he could call home—and he was willing to walk there.