by Jan Burke
The girl stiffened at the smell the room got from the experiments, then glanced around until she saw Caleb.
“Yes?” Mrs. Thorndike said testily, drawing the girl’s attention from him — for which he was grateful, because it had been an unsettling look. A look of pity — but why? The girl handed his teacher a slip of paper, glanced at Caleb again, blushed, and hurried out of the room.
Mrs. Thorndike read the note, then walked over to Caleb and quietly told him that he needed to report to the office.
“Don’t stop anywhere along the way,” she said.
He was puzzled but grabbed his backpack even as his friends laughed and hooted and made remarks like “Yes, Fletcher!” as if he had achieved something great.
“Shut up, you idiots!” Mrs. Thorndike told them sharply, which wasn’t like her at all, and everyone fell silent, probably more out of shock than desire to obey.
ALL the time he walked across the campus, he argued with himself. He had done nothing wrong, had nothing to worry about. It was probably just Mom coming by to give him an assignment he’d left at home. Or asking him to stay home this afternoon and watch Jenny, his three-year-old sister. Or, to loan her his car, because hers wouldn’t start.
Then he remembered the way that redheaded girl looked at him.
Just a mistake, he told himself. He didn’t get called to the office. It just never happened.
Don’t stop anywhere along the way.
Why did Mrs. Thorndike say that?
THE moment he stepped through the door, the people in the office were giving him pitying looks. He went cold. Mr. Rogers, the principal — students hummed “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?” behind his back — met him at the front desk and asked him to come back with him to his office, please.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re not in trouble, Caleb.”
Caleb didn’t feel much relieved by that. When he got to the interior office, the principal opened the door but didn’t go into the room with him. Two men waited there. One was a stranger, who stood just inside the door. The other was seated, and Caleb recognized him immediately, although his presence only increased Caleb’s puzzlement.
What was Uncle Nelson doing here?
In the next instant, he saw that Uncle Nelson was crying — sobbing, really. That made Caleb feel kind of dizzy. It was like seeing your house on someone else’s street — familiar, but out of place.
“What is it?” he heard himself ask.
“Are you Caleb Fletcher?” the other man said.
Caleb turned to look at him. He was tall. Taller than Caleb, who was five-eleven and still growing. The man had short brown hair and regarded Caleb steadily from gray-green eyes. He was as calm as Uncle Nelson was upset. Something in his calmness quieted the riot of questions and anxieties in Caleb’s head.
“Yes, I’m Caleb. Who are you?”
“I’m Detective Frank Harriman. I’m with the Las Piernas Police Department. Why don’t you have a seat?”
“No thanks.” His palms were sweating, and he felt an urgent desire to escape the room, because he knew that whatever was coming wasn’t going to be good. He found himself watching this big cop, waiting, somehow knowing the answers would come from him.
Harriman said quietly, “I’m so sorry, Caleb. There’s no easy way to tell you this. Your father died at his studio this morning.”
His voice was calm and sincere, but the words made no sense.
“Died?” Caleb said, thinking back to breakfast early this morning, his dad alive and well. No. He wasn’t dead.
Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.
“Murdered!” Uncle Nelson choked out.
“What?” Caleb felt the room spin. “No — there’s some mistake—”
“Your dad and Jenny, too!” Uncle Nelson said.
“Jenny…?” None of this made sense.
Harriman quickly said, “Your sister is missing, so it is far too early to jump to any conclusions about what has happened to her.”
Caleb’s mind rapidly issued refusals, denying that any of this could be true. He made himself ask, “What happened to my dad?”
“Some sick fuck beat him to death!” Uncle Nelson shouted.
Caleb got that dizzy feeling again. Beat him to death? No… Think of something else! Why was Uncle Nelson here, and not his mom? Oh, she must be telling Mason. Or looking for Jenny…
Detective Harriman said, “Mr. Fletcher, please.”
Uncle Nelson buried his face in his hands.
Harriman put a hand on Caleb’s shoulder, watched him for a moment, and said, “Maybe you should sit down. Why don’t I get you a glass of water?”
“Thank you,” Caleb said, feeling as if he had stumbled into the wrong room after all, that any moment now the red-haired girl would come by to guide him out of this impossible universe.
The chair was close to Uncle Nelson’s, and his uncle pulled him into a rough hug. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say… Oh, Caleb…” But the rest was lost in heaving sobs. As Caleb felt the force of his uncle’s distress, something in his own mind started to accept how possible this universe was after all.
When Detective Harriman came back, Caleb still hadn’t completely found his way out of disbelief.
“Who did it? Who hurt my dad?” Hurt. That sounded better.
“We’re working on the answer to that,” Harriman said.
“You don’t know? You haven’t arrested anyone?”
“It’s very early on in the investigation.”
Caleb took a drink of the water. Somehow he managed to swallow it.
“My dad… no one would want to hurt him. He’s a graphic artist, for God’s sake. He never hurt anyone. He’s good to everyone. He’s always helping people, he’s… he’s… no one would want to hurt him.”
“Do you have any idea where your brother is?” the detective asked.
“Half brother,” Uncle Nelson murmured.
“Pardon?” Harriman asked.
“Technically, Mason is my half brother,” Caleb said, feeling irritated. “But I call him my brother.”
“So do you know where he is?”
“Isn’t Mom telling Mason? I thought that might be why—” He glanced at Uncle Nelson.
“No,” Harriman said. “No, she doesn’t know where he is, either. She’s working with the detectives who have charge of this case. I’m just helping them out. They’re doing all they can to locate your sister and your brother. We want to make sure everyone else in the family is safe. We’re hoping Jenny is with him.”
“Yes!” Caleb said, latching on to this. “Yes, he might have stopped by the studio and taken her so that Dad could get some work done.”
“That’s what your mom thought, too. So you don’t know where he might have taken her?”
Caleb named some places — the park, an ice-cream place, a beach — and Detective Harriman wrote them down but said, “I think these were on your mom’s list, too. Can you think of any other places? Maybe ones your mom wouldn’t think of?”
Caleb frowned but shook his head.
“Friends that he might be hanging out with?”
Caleb shook his head again. “He never takes Jenny around to his friends’ places. He’d never do that. He’s like — you know, protective of her.”
Detective Harriman wrote that down, which Caleb thought was a strange thing to write. Uncle Nelson reached over and patted Caleb’s hand. Caleb pulled his hand away.
Uncle Nelson wasn’t crying so hard now, he noticed.
Caleb wondered why he wasn’t crying himself. What was wrong with him?
Because this isn’t happening, he told himself. This is not happening.
Detective Harriman asked a few more questions and then asked Caleb if he needed to go to his locker for anything.
He felt an urge to lie and say yes, just to flee the room, to get as far away as possible. But he said, “No, not really.”
Harriman’s pager went off, and the det
ective silenced it and read the display. He excused himself and stepped out into the hall to make a call on his cell phone. To Caleb’s relief, Uncle Nelson didn’t try to converse.
When Harriman came back in, he said, “Your mom’s back home now, so if you’re ready to go, I’ll give you and your uncle a ride there.”
“But my car—”
“Probably best to come back and pick it up later.”
Caleb didn’t argue. His resistance was failing him, leaving him hollow and numb. He didn’t want to try to drive.
Caleb worried about his uncle Nelson as they walked. When they got to Detective Harriman’s sedan, Harriman opened the door on the passenger’s side of the front seat. But Uncle Nelson ignored him and got into the back. Feeling awkward, Caleb sat up front.
“Are you okay back there, Uncle Nelson?” Caleb said, but his uncle didn’t answer him. He seemed lost in thought.
As they drove away from the school, Caleb turned to the detective. “Are you sure…” he started to say, then fell silent.
“That it’s your dad?” Harriman asked. “The coroner’s office will make absolutely certain, but in the meantime, your mom has identified the victim as your father.”
After another silence, Caleb said, “Can I see him?”
“Not just now, but maybe later.”
“I need to see him.”
Harriman hesitated, then said, “Your mom will have to make that decision. She seems like someone who would understand why it’s important to you.”
Why can’t I cry? Caleb wondered, disturbed by the thought and yet half-relieved that he wasn’t losing control in front of this stranger.
Caleb looked back at his uncle, who was still staring out at nothing in particular.
“Why did you bring Uncle Nelson?” he whispered to Harriman.
“You’re a minor. Your mom agreed that I could come by to pick you up and talk to you in your uncle’s presence.”
Something in that confused him, but everything was confusing and out of place. His dad was dead. One moment he felt certain it was true, the next moment that there had been some fuckup on the part of the police. Let it be a mistake. I won’t be mad at anyone. I’ll forgive anyone anything. That’s okay. Just let my dad be alive…
He wanted the car to stop so that he could get out. He didn’t want to go anywhere. Stop right here, he wanted to say.
“You okay?” Harriman asked.
He shook his head.
“Feeling sick? You want me to pull over for a minute?”
Now that it had been offered to him, he suddenly didn’t want it. He needed to know. He shook his head again.
Harriman asked him questions about school, and Caleb answered knowing the detective was just trying to distract him, but appreciating it even so. The man was just… calm. A kind of calm that made Caleb feel a little steadier, too.
“I wish you were in charge of the case,” Caleb said.
Harriman smiled a little. “Thanks. But the detectives who have it are good at what they do, and they’ll have lots of help. You’ll like them.”
“But if I need to talk to you?”
Harriman pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “Any time, day or night.”
They turned down his street and the whole neighborhood looked incredibly normal, which didn’t seem right. Harriman pulled to the curb in front of Caleb’s house. Two sedans that looked a lot like the one Detective Harriman drove were parked in front. Uncle Nelson’s car was in the driveway, next to his mom’s. I have to be strong for Mom, he thought. She’ll need me to take care of her.
“No press yet, so at least you don’t have to cope with that,” Harriman said.
Caleb went into the house. He saw his mom rise to her feet from where she had been sitting with two other detectives, saw her trying so hard to be brave for him, and suddenly, of all the rotten times, he began to weep as if he were two instead of seventeen.
CHAPTER 4
Wednesday, May 10
12:03 A.M.
LAS PIERNAS
THE call came later than expected. The interior of the car parked on the hill and the silhouette of its lone occupant were dimly illuminated as the cell phone rang.
Dexter Fletcher let the disposable cell phone ring three times.
It never did any good to rush these things. He thought of the three brothers he was closest to in the Fletcher family, pictured them in this same situation. Giles would have waited, perhaps even forced a second call. Nelson would have answered in the middle of the first ring — although he doubted she had ever called Nelson. Roy? One never knew what Roy would do.
“Yes?” Dexter answered. “Remember—”
“The line is not secure. I know.” Cleo was always so sure of herself.
“The situation?”
“Just as you wished.”
He sighed. “Not exactly… wished.”
“No, of course not. But… taken care of.”
“Thank you. Any trouble?”
“I could hardly describe it on a cell phone, now, could I?”
He waited.
“Sorry. Long day,” she said.
“Yes, it has been. For all of us. Someday I’ll have to tell you where—”
“No names or places,” she said sharply.
“Yes. Thanks. Anyway, after I was sure you were on your way, I made my call, and you’ll never believe where he was. Apparently, he was summoned this morning. Rather unnerving.”
She laughed. He had known it would amuse her.
“So,” he said, “your report is all we lack.”
“In my opinion, as you know, we took an unnecessary risk here, and I object to not… completely settling the issue. But I followed your instructions. It’s damned cold, though, so I may get my own way after all. It would be easier on everyone.”
“You may be right. But thank you for indulging us.”
“No problem. Where would I be without you?”
“Likewise. See you soon.”
Dexter sat staring out at the city lights for a good ten minutes after the call ended. He felt a mixture of weariness and exhilaration.
Cleo was so good at her work. Really, he had nothing to worry about.
He started the car and drove home carefully. He couldn’t afford an accident. There was much yet to be done.
CHAPTER 5
Wednesday, May 10
1:10 A.M.
SAN BERNARDINO MOUNTAINS
THREE months and seventeen days.
San Bernardino County Deputy Sheriff Tadeo Garcia had been saying this to himself throughout his shift. Three months and seventeen days from now, no more putting up with the bullshit. He’d retire and get out of this cruiser. Out of these mountains. He could feel the cold and damp in his bones. At home, down in Redlands, his wife was probably running the A/C. She would have the windows open, at the very least. Up here, it was damp and foggy and he was freezing his huevos off.
At this stage of his career, Tadeo had hoped to be sitting behind a desk and not a steering wheel. Which only went to show that you could piss off a supervisor at any point in time. The union rep said they were working on it.
Right. What the hell. If he was careful, he should be okay. And for the most part, his assignment, cruising around these roads in this mountain resort area, wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.
He tried to think of warm places he would be spending his time in after he retired. He smiled. Probably at home, fixing up the place — his wife already had a list. Hell, she always had a list. That was okay. She’d put up with a lot over the years.
A strange light in the trees caught his attention. Headlamps, at the wrong angle.
If its headlights hadn’t been left on, he might not have noticed the car, down in a ditch just off a private road. At first Tadeo figured this was just another moron who had partied a little too much and gotten himself lost up here. Happened all the time. People came to these mountain resorts, thought they were out on the frontier
or something, went crazy. Idiot was lucky his wrong turn had just taken him into a ditch off a private road and not over a cliff. Foggy night like this — had to be nuts. Now, to see if the fool had injured or killed himself.
He lit up the patrol car’s spotlight and got a better look. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. He checked the plate number — sure enough, it was the one. He called in to let everybody know that he had just found the car that had been searched for in seven counties. The one that might reveal what had happened to the missing family members. He manipulated the spotlight so that its bright beam shone into the interior of the car. He was disheartened to notice that the driver was slumped over the wheel and not responding to the sudden light. Tadeo quickly became more concerned — Jesus, on a damp night when it was barely forty degrees out and the temperature was dropping, was the kid naked? Tadeo, still in radio contact, let them know there might be need of medical assistance; the dispatcher verified that paramedics were on the way. He hoped the kid wasn’t hurt badly — they’d never be able to send a chopper with this fog.
Cautiously but quickly, he approached the vehicle, coming at it from behind the passenger side. It was a little difficult getting to it, since it was resting at an angle in the ditch.
The kid was wearing nothing but white boxers and socks. He didn’t move. Tadeo let his flashlight play over the interior of the car. No one else in it. A bottle of expensive scotch lay on the floor on the passenger’s side, open and mostly empty.
The doors were unlocked; he moved around to the driver’s-side door and opened it. He was immediately struck by the smell of alcohol. The kid reeked of it. Tadeo remembered the names from the bulletin — Mason and Jenny. He called “Mason?” several times, but the young man was unresponsive. Tadeo touched a bare shoulder. Mason’s skin was ice cold. Dead? No — he touched the boy’s neck and found a pulse, and could see now that he was breathing, but neither sign of life seemed likely to last. Tadeo sent in a second call, confirming the need for an ambulance. The dispatcher connected him with the desk sergeant, who quickly passed him along to a captain, for God’s sake, who asked him a few quick questions about where he was and what he was seeing, then told him to get a blanket for the kid and then start looking for the little girl.