Tall Oaks: A gripping missing child thriller with a devastating twist

by Chris Whitaker

But Jim knew there was someone else Jess could blame.

  She could blame him.

  Because it was his town. He hadn’t kept it safe, and now he couldn’t bring Harry back. He had failed at the one thing he was supposed to do. And it killed him knowing that.

  He looked down at the bottle again, at the drop of beer left in the bottom. And he threw it at the wall and watched it explode into shards and dust.

  12

  The Formative Years

  Jerry stared at the photograph, holding it carefully. He wanted to send it. More than anything he wanted to send it, because he knew it would win. The bird was beautiful—its bill bright red against the night sky. When he looked at it he saw only a shot so rare, so unfeasibly difficult to obtain, that it had to win. His mother saw something else entirely . . . every weekend for seventeen months. That’s how long it had taken him to capture it. An eternity when you’re sitting in the cold, trying to balance, trying to ignore the chill in your fingers and the rumble in your stomach.

  He placed it back into the NAP competition envelope, then the envelope back into the file cabinet.

  Then he turned back to Lisa. Lisa standing in front of the mountain. He studied the photograph carefully. He wondered what it was like to be Max, to get to be with Lisa, to kiss her. Jerry had never dated before, never kissed a girl, never even held hands with one. His mother said he’d meet the right girl soon enough, one that would love him for who he was, not for what he looked like. He’d need someone like him, “a little slow,” she’d said.

  He froze when he heard the knock at the door. Mel, the mailman, had already been. They never got visitors. It must have been the nurse again.

  “Jerry,” Mom whispered, from the kitchen.

  “Mom,” he whispered back.

  “It’s the nurse,” Mom said.

  They didn’t answer the door to the nurse. Mom said that she’d want to take her away, put her in a special home where they’d be cruel to her and not let Jerry see her.

  “Don’t answer,” Mom said.

  Jess could hear the voices inside. She could see the man through the glass in the door. It was Jerry, from the PhotoMax. He was standing perfectly still. Like a statue.

  She knocked again, this time harder.

  She took a step back and looked up at the house. It was old, weathered, might have been nice if they threw some money at it. There were few houses like this left in Tall Oaks, houses that had been allowed to fall into disrepair, to embarrass the neighbors. She liked it.

  In the past month she had covered serious ground, miles around the perimeter of Tall Oaks, and every street within the town too. She had knocked on hundreds of doors, and shown them all the same picture. The picture of Harry. In it he wore a red shirt with a tractor on the pocket, and blue jeans that made him appear both old and young at the same time. She glanced at it quickly, then away. Lingering would see the panic build, the tears fall, the urge to run overwhelm her. She wondered how she and Michael could have created something so completely pure and perfect, something so utterly pristine and delicate.

  She wondered if all parents felt that way about their children, or if it took something so dire to make them realize what they took for granted.

  When she showed the photograph, to the elderly couples or the mothers, or the maids or the strange men, she searched their faces. She didn’t really know what she was looking for. What she found, more often than not, was suspicion. For a few moments they’d wonder what she wanted. Perhaps it was money—it was usually money—or maybe she had found God. Maybe she had she been taken in by a group of determined well-doers who saw an easy scalp to claim, and then been sent back out to spread their prosaic word. But when they realized who she was, they softened. It always took a while: she kept her hair tied back, her face hidden behind large sunglasses. They asked questions, moot questions given the circumstance. They’d invite her in for coffee. On occasion she accepted. And on occasion she answered their questions, she indulged their curiosities. It helped to be doing something productive, something other than just waiting for his return.

  And that’s how it went, the search that consumed her, the merry-go-round she daren’t step off.

  She knocked on the door once more, this time hard enough to rattle the glass.

  “I can see you,” she said.

  He didn’t move.

  She turned and walked away.

  Elena saw Jared before he saw her. She found herself smiling. She’d called him about the dent in the car, and he’d told her to bring it in whenever she had the time. She was surprised to find that she had made the time, as much to see him as to get the car fixed. Though on the first date she had been nervous, and had drunk a little too much, and talked about Danny far too much, she’d enjoyed herself. Jared was different from how she had expected him to be, from how Danny used to be. She found it refreshing.

  And now, when she saw him glance up and smile back at her, she felt something in her stomach, a flutter maybe, not the full blown jump-my-bones that she’d felt when she’d first met Danny, but it was definitely something. And it was a nice feeling, a feeling that she had denied herself for two long years while she made sure that her children were okay, that the separation hadn’t done them too much damage. Thalia seemed okay—she was young—but the jury was still out on Manny. She worried about him. He’d always been a little odd, and was once painfully shy; the kind of boy that stood on the sidelines, watching the others with the kind of detachment more often seen in a teenager. It hadn’t bothered her; he was just quiet, finding his way. But Danny, with his Latino male pride and love of sports and everything else that the young boy inside of him clung on to, found it much harder to take. He spent years taking Manny to games, only to glance down and see his son reading a book instead of watching the action unfold, or to play sports that Manny never really committed to.

  Those years, the formative years when a kid is still trying to find himself, Danny was all over his son. Not bullying, but not exactly subtle in his desires either. She’d lost count of the number of times she had heard him berate Manny for a dropped catch, or call him a wimp for pulling out of a hospital pass. Manny wanted to please his father; she could see it in him, that need to please Danny. He just didn’t really know how to. Before long Danny simply gave up; gave up on taking his son to games and movies and fishing; gave up on asking him what he wanted to be when he grew up, and getting frustrated by the fact that the answer was never one he wanted to hear. It was never fireman or football player. Never anything that Danny deemed masculine enough. Rather it would range from pianist—something Elena had encouraged ever since Manny started at Tall Oaks High and got involved in the music program—to artist, another hobby the school said he showed real promise in, but that fell by the wayside when Danny walked out.

  “Elena, good to see you,” Jared said.

  “You too, Jared.”

  She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek.

  She noticed his slight flinch as her lips brushed his cheek.

  Jared walked round to the rear of the car and crouched down to look at the damage.

  “It’s not too bad really. It looks worse than it is because of the red paint. I’ll get the boys to hammer it out and respray it.”

  “Manny did it. Said a Ferrari ran into him on Main Street.”

  “Wow. If you’re going to get rear-ended, might as well do it in style.”

  She laughed.

  She noticed how good he looked, how handsome.

  She could see a couple across the lot, taking a look at a black pick-up. They were holding hands. The guy said something, the lady laughed.

  “Are you in a rush to get it back?”

  “No, not really.”

  “I’ll fix you up with a courtesy car in the meantime. Any preference?”

  “No,” she said, and then thought of Manny as Jared led her to a canary-yellow Fiesta.

  “Perfect,” she said, smiling.

  Jared looked down at
the ground, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “I could bring the car back myself. Maybe we could go out for something to eat or catch a movie?”

  “That would be nice, Jared.”

  She kissed his cheek again.

  She climbed into the car and felt his eyes on her legs. She looked up and smiled.

  “Busted,” he said.

  She laughed.

  French John waited for tears that never came. Louise McDermott was a tough one.

  “It’s okay, I guess.”

  He tried not to wince. “Okay” was what you said when you tried on a pair of jeans in Gap and the cute sales guy asked you how they fit. You said okay because you both knew they didn’t fit like a pair of Dolce and Gabbana Sixteens, which were better than okay . . . which were divine. And his cake was pure Dolce and Gabbana Sixteen, not fucking Gap.

  “Why is it just okay, Lou?”

  She circled the cake, scratched her head and pouted.

  “It’s just a bit . . . you know . . .”

  He nodded, though he didn’t know. He also didn’t know how a half-million-dollar education could render her so inarticulate.

  “I mean, it’s exactly what I asked for. I just expected a bit more.”

  “A bit more than you asked for?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Yes, a bit more than I asked for. Exactly right, French John. Could you maybe do something a bit more with it? We’ll pay the extra of course. Daddy said whatever I want.”

  He thought of offering her a lobotomy, before conceding that no one would notice.

  Her phone rang. He watched as she frantically searched through her Birkin.

  She fished out a diamond-studded case and flipped it open, then promptly cut the call off.

  “Shit. Pressed the wrong button.”

  Again, with the education, rubbing it in his face.

  “Leave it with me. I’ll try and add a bit more than you expected,” he said. And a lot more to Daddy’s bill, he thought.

  Jess stuck the poster to the streetlight. Harry stared back at her, his smile wide, his hair messy. The sun was beginning to set; lights were beginning to flicker on. She felt weary. Her hands shook as she reached for another poster. She wore her wedding band. It was plain, platinum but understated. She wasn’t showy.

  The street was wide, flowering trees lined the sidewalk. A town lifted from the pages of a glossy magazine. She’d spent hours walking its streets, knocking on its doors and peering through its windows. She’d seen things she shouldn’t have. Snippets of lives far removed from public projection. Sometimes they saw her and jumped up—caught. She bottled their secrets, far too focused on the task at hand to pay them mind. She wondered if everyone was fucked-up in their own way. Quirks. That’s what Michael liked to call them. People had quirks.

  She stuck another poster to another streetlight. She’d cover the whole town soon enough, then she’d start over again. She could feel them watching, the drapes twitching, the whispers deafening.

  “You need a hand?”

  Jess turned, snapped back into the world.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Manny said.

  Jess stared at him, then shook her head.

  “It’ll be quicker if I help. I’ll do the other side of the street.”

  She looked down at the stack, then up at his hat.

  “Thalia misses him. She talks about him all the time.”

  Jess tried to smile.

  “Will you say hi to her from me?” she said, quietly.

  “Yeah.”

  Jess turned away as the tears fell. She tried to hold them back, to wipe her cheeks clean, but they fell so fast.

  She could hear laughter in the distance, smell barbecue in the air. Life going on.

  He put a hand on her shoulder.

  They stood there for a long time.

  When she calmed, she reached into her bag and passed him a handful of posters.

  He took them from her carefully.

  They worked in silence for two hours, until moonlight colored the streets blue and the sounds of the town died in the humid night.

  They stopped outside an old house and sat on the curb. Both tired.

  Manny heard the voice first. He glanced over his shoulder, up at the open window.

  Jess followed his eye.

  He knew the song well, from church. ‘Ave Maria.’

  It sounded like a recording. So perfect.

  They sat together, listening.

  On such a beautiful night Jess couldn’t help but feel the smallest sliver of hope deep within her, hope that he might come back. It kept her from giving up.

  But as the night grew quiet once again, and as the clouds gently floated in front of stars, she knew it was a hope that rescinded with each passing day.

  13

  Hitting the Hut

  If the duck-egg was bad for business, the canary-yellow Fiesta was a fucking disaster. Had Furat and Abe not been standing either side of him, Manny might well have cried.

  “I like it,” Furat said.

  “You would. It’s a fucking girl’s car.”

  “It’s not too bad,” Abe said, avoiding Manny’s eye and smiling at Elena.

  Manny turned to him and hissed. “Fucking, Judas.” Then he turned to Elena. “Why couldn’t you have got black? Or even dark blue? Are you trying to piss me off? Do you want to see me cry? Is that what you want? To see your only son cry? ’Cause I’ll fucking do it. Except I’ll wait until that squint-eyed fuckface comes to collect you on Friday night, and then I’ll cry and hang onto your leg. Might even shit my pants while I’m at it. Then we’ll see if he wants to stick around, see if he wants to help raise a fucking adult baby. Stop fucking with me, Ma. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

  Elena grabbed Manny tightly and kissed his cheek.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “You look so cute in your suit and hat. How’s your head by the way? Have you changed the bandage lately?”

  Manny glared at her. “We’re going now. I don’t know what you’re so happy about but I don’t like it. You should be in mourning for your son’s lost balls. Fucking canary-yellow Fiesta.”

  “Where are you going? Can you pick up some eggs?” Elena asked.

  “No, I can’t. We’ve got business to attend to. We’re gonna shake down Pizza Hut.”

  Elena turned to Furat. “Try not to let him get arrested.”

  “I’m on it,” Furat said.

  “Where’s your suit, Abe?” Elena asked. “I don’t think Pizza Hut will take you seriously in those cut-offs.”

  Abe frowned, then nodded, his glasses slipping down his nose as he did. He pushed them back up with his index finger.

  Manny shot him a look.

  “My mother said it’s going to be ninety degrees again. My cousin Ebenezer contracted heat stroke a few weeks back, and I’ve got twenty pounds on him.”

  “Ebenezer? What the fuck is wrong with your family?” Manny said.

  “Until the heat dies down a bit she’s taken the suit away from me. I have to wear this cap too, keep the rays off my face. I’m wearing factor fifty, but I might need you to help me reapply later on. I can already feel the backs of my legs burning.”

  Manny stared at him, suitably horrified.

  “Well, okay, you kids have fun. Get in the car now. Manny’s starting to sweat—it’s much too hot for a three-piece.”

  Elena waved them off and headed back inside.

  “It’s not fucking sweat, it’s hair lacquer. I’m trying to get some waves going. Like Pesci in Goodfellas. I can’t believe I have to explain this shit over and over.”

  When Jess saw Jim at the door she started to feel her legs buckle, and the bile rise up in her throat.

  He held his hands up.

  “I haven’t heard anything. I just wanted to check in on you.”

  She exhaled heavily, the relief washing over her like an ice bath. But she still felt the tingle in her
fingers, a reminder of what he might have said . . . that they had found a body. Always a body, never a name, even when they knew who it was. It would be too hard to say they had found Harry. That made it too painful even for the cops to deal with. They needed some kind of separation, otherwise how would they go home, eat with their kids and tuck them in, fuck their wives and fall asleep? How would they do that if they had found Harry and he was dead? “A body” was better. A body reminded them that we’re all just a collection of blood and bones.

  “Come in.”

  The entrance hall was grand. She led him past a sweeping staircase, through the galleried kitchen, and out into the sunshine. The backyard was vast, the terrace raised so they could see for miles. There’d once been a swing hanging from the largest of the Atlas cedars that dotted their land. She wondered what’d happened to it.

  She could see the gardener striping the grass with a ride-on mower, so far away she could barely make out the whine of the engine. She struggled to remember the gardener’s name. He used to let Harry ride with him sometimes.

  She glanced at Jim. He stood awkwardly, staring at the trees, at the flowers and the pool.

  She left him alone as she went back into the kitchen to fetch them some drinks.

  When she returned she found him sitting on a cushioned chair, one of ten, and watching a cat creep across the grass, stalking a bird it had little chance of catching.

  “Hot one today,” he said, taking a beer from her.

  “It always is.”

  “Nice place.”

  She shrugged.

  Jess drained half her beer in one, long sip. Water compared to vodka.

  “You going to see that shrink again?”

  “No.”

  “Your mother wants you to.”

  “Talking to my mother about me?”

  “She’s worried.”

  “She always is. It’s in her nature.”

  He sipped his beer.

  She looked down at her leg, saw it bouncing up and down. She didn’t try and fight the movement anymore, it always won, so she just let it ride over her, shaking her muscles and tightening her neck, exhausting her already weary body.