The Drowning Child

by Alex Barclay

  Intense? Yes. His biggest crime? Maybe not …

  Ruddock spoke gently to Teddy. ‘Men are not great with their feelings,’ he said. ‘My late wife had to work on me for a good ten years to get me to talk. Anything emotional and I’d close up like a clam.’ He paused. ‘Is that how John is?’

  Late wife … noo.

  Teddy nodded. ‘That’s exactly how he is.’ There was a look of resignation in her eyes, and for a brief moment, a spark of anger at the realization.

  ‘Did that bother you?’ said Ruddock.

  ‘I’m used to it,’ said Teddy. ‘I didn’t mind. That’s his way.’

  She shrugged, but in a way that indicated she wanted the questions on her marriage to stop. Ren and Ruddock locked eyes.

  Yes … let’s not push it.

  For now.

  ‘Teddy,’ said Ren. ‘Did you ever get the sense that Caleb didn’t like to be left alone with his father?’

  ‘No – never,’ said Teddy. ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Has John ever gotten physical with Caleb?’ said Ren.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you ever felt that he came close to that point?’ said Ren.

  Teddy shrugged. ‘What is “close”? I can say to you that I do not think John would ever lay a finger on Caleb.’

  Why am I unconvinced?

  Possibly because you are.

  ‘Was there any particular behavior in Caleb that angered John?’

  ‘All the standard things that twelve-year-olds get in trouble with their parents for,’ said Teddy. ‘They’re the same things that would have bothered me. Maybe John is more stern about it, but I think fathers of boys need to be.’

  ‘Has there been any change in Caleb’s behavior over the past few months?’ said Ren.

  Teddy gave it careful thought. ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Not really?’

  ‘No,’ said Teddy with more conviction. ‘No.’

  ‘There are scuff marks on the inside of Caleb’s bedroom door,’ said Ren, ‘and the doorjamb looks damaged. Did you ever lock Caleb in?’

  ‘Oh my God – no,’ said Teddy. ‘Absolutely not. I’ve never even seen a key for that door.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ren.

  After a moment, she spoke again. Deep breath. ‘Teddy, how are things in your marriage?’

  She frowned. ‘They’re good – why?’

  ‘These are the questions we need to ask,’ said Ren. ‘I’m sure you understand.’

  She nodded, but it was clear that she didn’t want to sign up for that line of questioning.

  ‘Are you and John happy?’ said Ren.

  Teddy raised her eyebrows.

  Oh, happiness is a tricky one, isn’t it? Are people ever truly happy? That’s depressing.

  Ben. Everett. Robbie.

  My happiness is over; I’ve had my life’s share.

  Is this how I feel now?

  Jesus.

  Christ.

  ‘Yes,’ said Teddy. ‘I mean, life … is life, really, isn’t it? Am I living a wild adventure every day? No.’

  ‘I’m not thinking adventure,’ said Ren. ‘I’m just thinking of your relationship with your husband – are you getting along? Have there been any arguments? Are there any issues?’

  Teddy gave a small shrug. ‘No.’

  ‘Have you noticed any changes in your husband’s behavior or mood recently?’ said Ren.

  ‘No,’ said Teddy.

  Ooh: I don’t believe you.

  13

  Teddy Veir shifted in her seat like a child at the principal’s office.

  ‘Teddy, did you monitor Caleb’s online activity?’ said Ren.

  ‘Yes,’ said Teddy.

  ‘And was he aware of the dangers of being online?’

  ‘We talked about it, yes,’ said Teddy. ‘Any time we brought it up, he made us feel stupid for thinking he would ever fall for any kind of weirdo who would try to meet up with him. Caleb knows that people aren’t necessarily who they say they are online.’

  Oh, how many times I’ve seen that change when the right fake messages or the right fake photographs are sent.

  ‘Did you find something?’ said Teddy.

  ‘There were no interactions with anyone that we feel have a bearing on the case,’ said Ren. ‘So, to go through a few more things … he was also looking at pornography.’

  Teddy’s face fell. ‘Oh, God. He’s only a baby.’

  ‘It certainly wasn’t at worrying levels, and it was nothing extreme,’ said Ren. Like that will reassure you. ‘But I have to ask if he had a girlfriend or if there were girls around at the house or if you got any sense that this was more than just …’ I can’t say the word fantasy about a twelve-year-old boy.

  ‘He didn’t have a girlfriend,’ said Teddy. ‘He was kind of awkward around girls. He just wasn’t advanced in that way. Not at all.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘Have you noticed anything missing of Caleb’s? Any bag or clothing or something he was particularly fond of, something he didn’t usually leave behind?’

  ‘Apart from his phone?’ said Teddy. ‘The only other thing – which I don’t think is very meaningful, especially because I haven’t seen it in a while, anyway – is a suitcase. Well, it’s kind of a tin box – an old military one that John got for him – it’s green and battered, with a brown leather handle. It’s about twice the size of a shoebox. He used to keep it on the floor under the window, but then he moved it into the wardrobe, put it on the shelf at the top. But I can’t really imagine him bringing it anywhere …’

  Unless he was running away.

  ‘Do you know what he kept in it?’ said Ren.

  ‘No,’ said Teddy. ‘His comic books, I figured. I don’t know.’

  ‘Can you remember the last time you looked in the wardrobe?’ said Ren.

  ‘No – Caleb tidied away his own clothes.’

  ‘So that suitcase could have been gone for some time,’ said Ren.

  ‘Yes,’ said Teddy.

  Could he have fought with his father, packed this suitcase and left, unwittingly drawing attention to himself: some creep driving by sees a kid on his own, maybe running away, maybe crying, carrying a suitcase? Vulnerable.

  ‘Does Caleb keep a diary?’ said Ren.

  ‘No,’ said Teddy. ‘He has no interest in anything like that. He’s like his father – might read a sports story or two, but won’t pick up a book, or write a word he isn’t forced to.’

  ‘If Caleb was in trouble,’ said Ren, ‘who do you think he might call?’

  ‘Well – me,’ said Teddy.

  ‘And what about his Aunt Alice?’ said Ren.

  Teddy frowned. ‘You mean, would he call her if he had a problem? Gosh, I wouldn’t think so. I mean, she’s family, and she’s always perfectly lovely to him, remembers his birthday, all those kind of things, but …’ She trailed off. ‘Was he in trouble? Do you know something? Why are you asking about Alice?’

  ‘Caleb called her on Monday morning at seven thirty a.m.,’ said Ren. ‘She was the last call he made on the morning he disappeared.’

  ‘We see Alice two or three times a year,’ said Teddy. ‘Caleb’s maybe been on the phone to say hello to her once or twice, but that’s about it.’

  What? ‘John seemed to think they spoke quite a bit.’

  ‘Really?’ said Teddy. ‘Well, not when I was around. And when I checked Caleb’s call list when I got home from work, I didn’t see her name.’

  ‘It had been deleted,’ said Ren.

  ‘That’s very strange,’ said Teddy.

  ‘If Caleb had an argument with his father, do you think he could have called his aunt for help?’ said Ren.

  ‘Caleb always called me when he had a fight with John.’

  Always. How many were there?

  ‘Did that happen often?’ said Ren.

  ‘That sounded worse than it was,’ said Teddy at the same time.

  Ren and Ruddock talked Gary and Wiley through the discrepa
ncies between Alice, John and Teddy about the phone call.

  ‘Why,’ said Wiley, ‘would there be a difference in how two parents viewed their child’s relationship with his aunt? It makes no sense.’

  ‘Nah,’ said Gary. ‘It makes total sense.’

  Ouch.

  ‘Have you got kids?’ said Gary.

  Wiley shook his head. ‘No.’

  Then, there you go says Gary’s face.

  ‘Alice Veir was very emotional about how much her brother cared for Caleb,’ said Ren. ‘It sounded genuine.’ She paused. ‘But what other reason would there be for Caleb to call her? Or maybe it was John who called her …’

  ‘Looking to know his options because he had killed his son,’ said Gary.

  ‘You’d want a pretty tight relationship with a sibling – or anyone, for that matter – to be able to call them up and say “I killed my child, what do I do next?”’ said Ren.

  Ruddock nodded.

  ‘Especially when she’s a lawyer who’s all about justice,’ said Ren.

  ‘And let’s not forget,’ said Gary, ‘this was only a ten-minute phone call.’

  ‘This is a small thing,’ said Ren, ‘but when I told Alice Veir that Caleb was missing, she didn’t say “But I was just speaking with him yesterday morning”, which is the kind of thing someone would say under the circumstances, isn’t it? Reflexively? Not a big deal, but still.’

  ‘Do you think she might have already known that he was gone?’ said Ruddock.

  ‘I wasn’t getting that sense either …’ said Ren. ‘It was hard to say.’

  Everything’s so fucking hard to say.

  Gary’s phone beeped with a text. He read it. ‘OK – the other two CARD agents have just arrived at the hotel. It’s been a long day. Ren and I will get checked in, have something to eat, get some rest.’

  Eat. Rest. Noooo!

  Gary turned to Ruddock. ‘We can give the others the lowdown over dinner.’

  ‘I appreciate it,’ said Ruddock. ‘Thank you for everything today.’

  14

  Astor’s was a grim and grubby hotel on I-5, a ten-minute drive from Tate PD. Ren and Gary checked in, and were given rooms next door to each other.

  Hmm.

  Sylvie Ross better be miles away.

  ‘Ren,’ said Gary, as she was about to open her door. ‘Keep your phone close by. Dr Lone will be calling you in ten.’

  Ren froze.

  ‘Take his call,’ said Gary. He went into his room and closed the door.

  Nice, Gary. Nice.

  Ren opened her door with a nudge of her shoulder and walked in. Her stomach tensed.

  Indian Burial Ground.

  She put her bag on the floor, undressed, and crawled on to the bed.

  Fuck Gary if he thinks I’m going to take that call. Fuck him. That’s the last time I’ll open up to him if I’m struggling. Asshole.

  Ren’s cell phone rang, Lone’s name flashing on the screen.

  Ugh. She picked up. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi, Ren,’ said Lone. ‘Gary suggested I give you a call. I heard you had a difficult morning.’

  ‘I did not have a difficult – fucking – morning. People were gathering for a search, and it was just … how the crowd was moving … it was closing in on me and I felt a little overwhelmed. Honestly – it lasted for about two minutes. That was it. I appreciate the call, but I’m fine.’

  ‘I haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks,’ said Lone. ‘I’m glad we’re able to speak.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘But I’m in Oregon to concentrate on work right now. It feels selfish to be focusing on me. I have a job to do.’ She sucked in a breath, and it didn’t feel like enough.

  ‘It might help to talk,’ said Lone. ‘It might be a good way to begin this case … to reduce your anxiety.’

  He doesn’t think I should be doing this job.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I’m hundreds of miles away and having this conversation over the phone and …’

  ‘Maybe that’s what it’s going to take,’ said Lone.

  I don’t think so.

  ‘Are you still having intrusive thoughts about …’

  I want to scream.

  ‘… events at Safe Streets?’ said Lone.

  Yeah – thanks for clarifying.

  He waited.

  Please just stop. Stop. Stop.

  ‘And are the thoughts still—’

  Are you kidding me?

  ‘I’m sorry …’ What can I fucking say?

  ‘You need to be able to talk about this,’ said Lone.

  Ren let out a breath. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘let’s talk briefly about this monumental horror that I can do absolutely nothing about, because it is in the past. So I can’t go back, I can’t go forward—’

  ‘All you can ever do is one day at a time.’

  Sweet Jesus, why does that always sound so depressing?

  ‘Small steps are all you can take at a time like this,’ said Lone.

  What is wrong with him? Why is he talking in clichés? Have I become a cliché? Traumatized law enforcement officer …

  ‘I’m just not a small steps kind of girl,’ said Ren. ‘I feel that taking small steps would give me plenty of time to see that dark pit up ahead that is waiting to swallow me. I feel that taking small steps means prolonged dread, and this achingly slow passage of time.’

  I feel. I feel. I feel. FUCK feeling.

  ‘The future is not a dark pit—’

  ‘Well, the present is a pretty dark pit and a year ago – when this would have been considered “the future” …’

  ‘You can’t live your life expecting doom,’ said Lone. ‘We spoke before about catastrophic thinking.’

  FUCK catastrophic thinking and magical thinking and all adjectival thinking.

  ‘Well, if I had spent more time expecting doom,’ said Ren, ‘maybe I could have been prepared. I could have prevented what happened.’

  ‘Ren, you couldn’t have prevented it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but that’s not true.’

  ‘It is,’ said Dr Lone. He waited. ‘Ren, you need to start thinking about facing the reality of what happened.’

  I don’t like you any more. ‘I need to’, ‘I should’. ‘I’m sorry,’ Ren said. ‘I really can’t do this. I can’t. Not today.’ Probably not any day.

  ‘Please,’ said Lone. ‘Try to tell me what you are feeling.’

  Feelings. Jesus. Christ.

  I’m so tired.

  ‘Do you want to know?’ said Ren. ‘Honestly? I believe that everything that happened that day was to punish me.’

  Lone waited.

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Ren, ‘I feel like there’s a darkness inside me – a black part, like a piece of coal. Pitch-black. It’s rough and hard, and … I feel that, because of that, I should be punished.’

  ‘You think you deserved this,’ said Lone.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘No. I … don’t know.’

  ‘Talk to me about this darkness …’ said Lone.

  No! ‘I know I won’t be able to explain it,’ said Ren. ‘It’s … obviously, I don’t want to harm anyone; it’s not the darkness of evil.’ Yes, it is. ‘It’s not like I want to kill people.’ Really?

  ‘And you are taking your meds …’ said Lone.

  ‘I really wish one conversation could go by without you asking me that,’ said Ren. Let me spell it out again: I. Am. Taking. My. Meds. ‘Yes – I am taking them.’

  I am taking them, and I will continue to take them for the rest of my life, because I believe that not taking them killed my friends, and killed my boyfriend. There’s the reality: my friends, my boyfriend, my loved ones, are dead because I didn’t open a packet of pills and swallow them down with a glass of water like a good mental patient. Because I was too busy being mental. And wanting to feel good. I was too busy getting drunk, flirting with strangers, and deliberately ensnaring the man who went on to kill my friends, and my boyfriend, and I feel sic
k.

  She dropped the phone, jumped up, ran for the bathroom, leaned over the toilet and threw up.

  I am going to choke on this reality he wants me to face …

  She walked back into the bedroom. She could hear Dr Lone’s voice through the phone.

  ‘Ren? Ren?’

  She put the phone up to her ear. ‘Sorry. I ate some crappy sandwich earlier. I need to take five minutes before I join the team for dinner. Thanks for the call.’

  ‘Is everything OK?’ said Lone.

  Oh, fuck off. Everyone, just fuck the fuck off.

  15

  Ren showered, dressed, and stood in front of the mirror.

  Ugh.

  She grabbed her bag and did a quick no-makeup makeup job. She blasted her hair with the hairdryer, ran her fingers through it, left it down. It was five inches below her shoulders.

  I have long hair now.

  The last time I got this cut, Ben was alive.

  Stop. It hurts. And it changes nothing.

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  Your mascara. Go.

  Her cell phone rang. Gary.

  ‘Hey,’ said Ren.

  ‘You ready?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Meet you outside. Paul and Sylvie are at the bar.’

  Ren went out into the hallway. Gary appeared from his room, freshly showered.

  Handsome.

  ‘Look, I know how you feel about Sylvie,’ said Gary, as they walked to the elevator.

  Jesus, why are we talking about her again?

  ‘How I feel about her is irrelevant,’ said Ren. How I feel about Karen – your wife of almost twenty years – is ultimately too. ‘I do want you to be happy,’ said Ren. ‘Just … I can’t see how this is doing it for you.’

  ‘I thought I was going to die in that shooting,’ said Gary. ‘When I was laying there and I thought it was all over, I kept thinking about Sylvie. I—’

  ‘In what way?’ said Ren.

  ‘What? What do you mean—’

  ‘I’m serious,’ said Ren. ‘Were you thinking about how much you loved her and didn’t want to die because you’d never see her again? Or were you thinking, If I’m going to die, I want the love of my life by my side, and the face you saw was Sylvie’s? Or were you running through the showreel – thinking of her ass?’