He thumbed through the pages. There was nothing new in it, nothing he hadn’t looked at a hundred times before. He saw snippets now, just snippets, all blurry, the words streaming together into nothing.
They had run down every suspect that they had, starting with Jessica and her estranged husband Michael.
Michael was a prick. No doubt about it. He’d had everything given to him on a plate. He was good-looking, smart too. It was like God had said, ‘I’ve made enough average Joes so here comes a special one.’ He came from a loving home and had a good job, a beautiful wife and a really sweet kid for a son. It would have been easier to be nice . . . to try.
A little bit of digging found that he had been cheating on Jess almost from the day they were married.
“Men aren’t built for one woman. Marriage is tough. I mean, it’s suffocating. Jess should have known. I didn’t hide who I was. When I met her I was with someone else, she knew that. And then she expected me to change overnight, to be a person I’m not. Just because you stand up in church, you say a few words . . . it doesn’t mean anything. Not in the real world. Look at the stats.”
His voice was smooth, even on the crackling tape.
He was calm, far too calm for a man that had just been told that his son was missing. Like he knew something. That’s what Jim had thought at the time—this guy knows something we don’t. He’s not worried enough; he’s not surprised, not frantic.
Jim had searched his face for something, anything—fear, panic. He’d found nothing. It was clear that he didn’t give a shit about his son, about his wife. Jess said he did the minimum, played with Harry only to keep him quiet. He didn’t change diapers, didn’t stay home when Harry was sick. He could turn it on though for birthday parties, social occasions; he could be the perfect husband and father in front of their family and friends.
They’d questioned him for near three hours. He’d had that air of confidence that Jim only saw on suspects with watertight alibis. And his was watertight. He had been in the sky at the time, in a 787, 40,000 feet above the earth. He lawyered up too, even though there was no need. Smart.
Jess had been entirely different. She was distraught, beside herself, just as he would have expected. She was like a caged animal in there that first time, desperate to get out and look for her boy. Although among it all, through the tears and the panic, the worry and the pain, he still saw the love she felt for Michael. He still saw the longing there. She still wanted him, despite what he said, despite the things he had done.
It bothered Jim. But he got it. He’d studied enough cases of domestic abuse to get it. You can’t help who you fall for.
If you could, then Jim wouldn’t have fallen for Jess.
Not in a million years.
Jess ran fast, her legs a blur, her body on fire, sweat dripping. She maintained the pace for as long as she could, miles and miles, flat out. She ran to the point of exhaustion, often arriving back at her mother’s house on the verge of collapse. She didn’t run to stay fit or to lose weight. She ran because she couldn’t sit still. She couldn’t relax, not ever. She used to be able to. She used to lie in the tub, or watch a movie, or read a book and be able to block out the outside world . . . the noise. But since that night she hadn’t stopped moving. Even when she was sitting down, she was moving. Her leg would twitch. She’d look down and see that her foot was tapping on the ground, or her that fingers were clawing at the table.
The doctor had said that it was anxiety. A real revelation. He’d refused to medicate her, worried what she might do. It was for the best anyway. She still needed to be at her sharpest. The drink was okay, because it wore off. Jim had said himself that any day she could reveal something crucial, something that might lead them to Harry. He said that sometimes, when people went through the kind of trauma that she had that night, their minds tried to block out the pain, and then slowly, over time, when the threat had died down, they started to piece it back together again. She could remember though: she could remember everything. That was the problem, because she remembered the Clown’s face so vividly.
Sometimes she snatched an hour or two of sleep, before the nightmares dragged her back into the world, but only when she was truly exhausted, which was why she found herself running through the tall oak trees, a long way from her mother’s home. Too far to keep it up.
She stopped by a clearing, lay back on the grass and fought for breath.
She could smell last night’s vodka seeping from her body. She stared up at the sky, watching the light clouds drift above.
The woods reminded her of her father. He’d liked to hunt. He’d drag her along, thinking that they were spending quality time together: his kind of quality time, the kind where he didn’t have to utter a word to her. It had been her job to carry the compass. Her grandfather had taught her how to navigate the land. She’d get a signal from her father, stand perfectly still and watch as he raised his gun and shot deer. He didn’t do it for the meat; he didn’t seem to enjoy the thrill of the chase. She’d asked him why he did it once and he’d ignored her. It could have been for the same reason that he worked himself into an early grave, even though he had millions in the bank. It’s just the way he was.
She’d wanted to be there when they searched for Harry—she could have helped coordinate, but Jim told her to stay home, in case someone called. She’d wanted to follow them up to Aurora Springs too, to see where it had happened.
Jim thought he’d been kidnapped; it fit, with her family being so wealthy. But no call had come.
She reached for her cell phone. She kept it with her, still waiting for a call.
She dialed his number, listened to it ring, heard the click.
“Sometimes I can feel him. Like now. I can feel him. Do you think he’s dead, Michael? That’s what they all think. That he’s dead. They don’t say it, but I can see it in them. And I fucking hate them for it. Because they don’t know, they’re all just guessing. I can’t go on for much longer. It’s too hard, without him, without you. I’m so alone. Will you call me? Just once. Or leave me a message? I need to hear your voice.”
10
Equally Gray
If the first and second glasses of wine did little to settle Elena’s nerves, then the third told her to take a breath and just enjoy herself. To relax and stop worrying about everything, stop worrying about the fact that she was sure that the maître d’ had seated them at the same table where she’d sat with Danny on her birthday three years ago. It also told her to stop over analyzing Jared. To stop looking for reasons why it wouldn’t work out between them.
So far he’d done everything right. The compliments were sincere, he was a gentleman, had pulled out her chair and opened doors for her, though stopped short of standing when she got up to use the ladies room—that would have been too much. His clothes were perfect; he had avoided that just-come-from-the-office look by wearing a polo shirt beneath his sports coat, and smart jeans instead of suit pants. His hair had the smallest touch of product in it, certainly not enough to leave a mark on your pillow, or for fellow diners to lament the fact that they had left their umbrellas at home. He had ordered a beer, which she liked. Wine might have said he was too prissy for her. Spirits said hard drinker, the kind of man that reaches for the Scotch each night, just to take the edge off.
But was it all too perfect, too engineered to get her into bed?
The third glass said that it wasn’t, that she was thinking too much.
“So how come you haven’t settled down?”
She smiled at him and he smiled back. Nice teeth, white but not scary white like the receptionist at her dentist.
“I had a couple of close calls, but if I’m honest I guess I haven’t found the right person yet. I don’t buy into the whole soul-mate thing, but I still think you have to really click with someone to commit long term.”
“I’m not sure I agree with the whole meant-to-be thing either. I used to, but not now.”
He smile
d. “Is this the part where we talk about our ex-partners?”
She laughed. “It’s a faux pas, right? Especially on a first date.”
“I think it’s better to just get everything out there. You have kids so their father must have been a big part of your life.”
“Sometimes I wish he wasn’t. I mean, he left me. There, I said it.”
“Feel better?”
She finished her drink, shook her head and laughed. “Not really.”
She glanced around at the other diners. She wondered who else was on a first date, who else felt the pressure of trying to impress weighing on the desire to just be open and honest.
“I can’t imagine having children, all that responsibility. I mean, I love kids, it just seems too . . . forever.”
The waiter appeared and topped up her drink.
“And then you must worry about being a good parent,” he said.
“Just stick around and you’re halfway there, Jared.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” he said, quietly.
“You don’t have a good relationship with your parents?”
She saw him swallow, and his eyes drift. “It’s hard being a son too. It’s tough, the family dynamic. Was your ex-husband a good father?”
“He was and he wasn’t. He was there for the fun stuff. He preferred Manny when he was a toddler to when he was a baby. Babies are difficult—they scream and cry and need changing, and then get sick on your clothes. Doesn’t matter if you’re wearing your pajamas or a two-thousand-dollar suit, they’ll ruin it regardless.”
“I couldn’t have that,” Jared said, smoothing his jacket. “I’d have to wear an apron.”
Elena laughed.
“I like my sleep too.”
“Oh, that’s the worst part. We’d hear Manny begin to cry and Danny would start cursing, asking me how was he expected to get up for work in the morning. He blamed me. Stupid as it sounds, he blamed me for Manny crying, like I was doing something wrong. It got better as Manny got older, but then I fell pregnant with Thalia and I knew that he wouldn’t be able to go through it all again. It was around this time that Danny realized he was still a young man. Even when he made all the money he still felt that there was more out there, that we were holding him back. He even told me one day that he thought he got married too young and felt trapped. What was I supposed to do with that? What could I say?” She exhaled heavily and rubbed her eyes. “Shit.”
“What’s the matter?” he said.
“Look at me, spilling my guts. You can leave if you want.”
He laughed, reached out and touched her hand. “Elena . . .”
She looked up at him.
“I’m having a nice time.”
“I am too. Thanks, Jared.”
Manny sat down, crossed his legs and rested his hands on his stomach. He wanted to take the hat off, felt that he should, but without his mother to help him, and with the bandage still firmly in place, it wasn’t a viable option.
“You know it’s hard for me to come here. To reach out to you like this,” he said.
Jim sighed, wearily. “How many men has your mother been out with since your father left?”
Manny took a moment, counting in his mind.
“Three.”
“And how many of these men have you reported to me?”
Manny sipped his coffee. “Is this instant? Tastes like shit. You want me to get Skinny to run across the road, bring back some of the good stuff? He’s right outside.”
Jim rubbed his eyes and yawned. “I’d love to humor you, Manny, to take the piss a little, too, but I just don’t have the time.”
Manny leaned forward. “There’s something off about him, Jim. Seriously. He looks at me funny.”
“The hat?”
“Please, Jim. I know all the shit you’re going through with Harry Monroe, but I got a feeling about Jared.”
Jim sighed again and finally nodded.
Manny stood. “If anyone asks why I was here, could you tell them you brought me in for racketeering?”
Jerry looked through the perfectly polished window of the PhotoMax and squinted at the sun. The boys were out there again, laughing. He didn’t know why they did it, only that the leader was named Dylan. They might have been easier to ignore if he hadn’t just finished working on the glass. He cleaned the glass weekly. Not because he enjoyed it, but because the boys kept throwing eggs at it. They were meant for him, the eggs. Sometimes the boys followed him home. They walked behind him. Sometimes they made boom noises when he took a step; other times they called him a freak. They didn’t throw eggs when Max was inside, because Max had big muscles. Jerry sometimes wished that he had big muscles too. He’d seen an infomercial once, late at night when he should have been asleep. The men had gotten big muscles just by jumping up and down on a trampoline. Jerry had ordered the trampoline, but he jiggled so much when he tried to bounce on it that his mother had laughed at him. It was in the attic now, gathering dust with his rollerblades.
He had a good system for getting the egg off of the windows, one that didn’t leave streaks and smears. He used paper towels, one square at a time. He could see most of Main Street through the window, from Wells Fargo at one end to the small police station at the other. He found himself watching the station more and more of late.
He felt tired, really tired. The previous night, after he had finished his dinner, and brushed his teeth and washed his face, he had pulled his sheets back, the blue set with the moon and stars, and seen that Mom had emptied the trash can into his bed. It had taken him a long time to pick up all the leftover food and bits of plastic and card, and then he had noticed that Mom must have put some kind of liquid into the trash can, maybe soup, because it had left a big stain on the sheet. So he had changed all of the bedding. He had to put on the set with the birds, because he had only just changed the set with the dolphins and they weren’t even washed yet. He hated the bird set. They weren’t friendly looking birds, like cartoon birds with cute yellow faces and smiles. They were real birds, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
When he finally got into bed, and lay his head down on the sharp beaks and beady eyes, that’s when he’d noticed the smell. His bed smelled like trash.
He looked up when the bell chimed, then quickly back down when he saw Jessica Monroe walk into the store.
Jess walked up to the counter.
Jerry didn’t look up, not until she made a noise with her throat.
She licked her lips and still felt the swelling.
“I need some more posters. Max did them last time.”
Jerry nodded, and then turned to the computer.
Jess watched him work, wondering why he wouldn’t meet her eye, why he never met her eye.
He was big, really big. He had a funny voice. Harry used to like him. He used to say that Jerry was a giant, like the giant in Jack and the Beanstalk.
“How many do you need?” Jerry asked, still not looking up from the screen.
“Fifty.”
She watched him type, watched his hand shake. His shirt gaped at each button, his stomach barely contained. She could see red marks on his skin, angry red marks that were starting to blister.
She didn’t enjoy coming into town, but it couldn’t be avoided. She’d see people, people she knew. They’d be doing something, buying something, going on as normal.
She watched Jerry hit a few more keys, then heard the copier begin to print.
She moved from foot to foot.
“What on earth have you got in your mouth?” Henrietta said.
Roger raised a hand to his mouth, self-consciously. “It’s called Invisalign . . . to straighten my teeth.”
“What’s wrong with your teeth?”
Both were acutely aware of how crooked they were.
He cleared his throat. “Not too much really, but I’ve always suffered with migraines and the new dentist, Doctor Al-Basri, said that it might be because my teeth sit slightly out o
f alignment.”
She frowned, placing a lid on the Styrofoam cup she was holding.
“Where did you get that awful running vest?”
He glanced down, folding an arm across his chest. “I’m headed to the gym.”
“The gym? You hate gyms. And your arms . . . that tan.”
“I just thought I’d get into shape. You know, watch the old waistline.”
“Well, I don’t think you need to worry too much. You’re not overweight and you play tennis, and golf.”
She handed the tea to him.
“I saw Jess just now, heading into the PhotoMax,” she said.
He nodded, glancing out the window.
“And?” he said.
“And nothing. Still nothing.”
She turned, fiddled with the coffee machine and placed the milk back into the small refrigerator.
“So you spoke to her?”
“Who?”
“Jessica,” he said.
“No, just Alison. I wish there was something we could do. Do you think I should go over there and ask how things are?”
“No,” he said, quickly. “Best to leave her be. She might get upset.”
Roger leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
She watched him walk out, and then noticed his shorts. They were silky, cut high at the sides.
She felt the bile rise quickly. She made it into the bathroom just in time to vomit.
“Are you okay?” Jim said, finishing his coffee.
He reached over, pulled out a chair.
Henrietta sat down, heavily. “Just a bug I think.”
He smiled.
“Refill?”
“No, thanks. I drink too much of the stuff.”
“How’s it all going?” she said, though she could read him well enough to see it was a silly question.
“It’s not.”
She saw the file. She reached over to touch his hand.
“He’s such a sweet boy, Jim.”
“But you weren’t that close?”
“We tried. I tried. She can be difficult, Jess. You know that. I’ve said it before. She’s something of a closed book. She had her family, her life. I couldn’t impose . . . it’s hard enough for Alison, and she’s Harry’s grandmother.”
Tall Oaks: A gripping missing child thriller with a devastating twist Page 8