Dusk was falling…and soon after that, night would come. Night, with its darkness. Night, with its lurking shadows and hidden secrets. He had to do something. He couldn’t just sit around any longer.
He left Eric’s room, pulled his coat on and started for the front door, stopping only when Theresa called his name.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I can’t stand around here doing nothing. I’m going to go out and look for him.”
“Wait.” She opened the hall-closet door. “I’ll come with you.”
“No. You have to stay here.” His heart ached as he recognized the tension that made her face pale and drawn.
“But, I need to come…I need to do something,” she protested.
He placed his hands on her shoulders, as always amazed by how tiny she was physically, knowing how strong she was emotionally. “Theresa, you have to stay here, in case we get a phone call. Your place is here.”
“Of course.” She nodded. “You’re right.” She reached into the closet and pulled out a plaid muffler. Reaching up on tiptoe, she wound the cotton material around the collar of his jacket. “Stay warm.”
He nodded, touched by her concern, then stepped outside into the cold night air. Cold. And growing darker. And Eric wasn’t home.
Instead of taking his car, he opted to walk the same route Eric would have taken that morning to go to school. He walked slowly, methodically, his gaze inching intently over not only the sidewalk, but the yards on either side of the road, as well.
When he was a rookie on the police department, he’d worked a missing-kid case. The five-year-old girl had finally been found, unharmed but frightened, her foot helplessly twisted in a tangle of roots in a drainage ditch.
He hoped that was what had happened to Eric. That somehow he’d fallen into a hole, gotten tangled in a vine, slipped into a ditch, and would be found safe. But Sully had a bad feeling in his gut…the instincts of a cop.
It seemed somehow obscene for him to be walking in the cold, his heart aching for his missing son, while on the houses he passed Christmas lights blinked and raced in festive, kaleidoscopic fashion.
An illuminated plastic Santa Claus waved to him from a front porch, and a reindeer danced on top of a roof, a brilliant red nose piercing the falling darkness of night.
Where was Eric? He should be home, getting ready for bed and dreams of Santa Claus and presents.
Sully reached the school building, now dark and empty. He pulled the muffler closer around his neck, the cold seeping inside him, wrapping around his heart. Where was Eric?
He looked at his watch, surprised to find it had taken him an hour to walk the five-minute course from Theresa’s house to the school. He turned to head back, again walking slowly, pausing to check out every ditch, open garage and shed he passed along the way. He was halfway home when he saw Kip Pearson approaching.
“Theresa told me you were out here,” Kip said as he fell into step beside Sully. “I thought I’d come by and see what I could do to help.”
“Thanks, Kip, although I’m not sure at this point what anyone can do.” Still, Sully was touched by Kip’s appearance. He knew Kip had probably just finished a full shift at the station and had his own family waiting for him at home.
“So, there’s been no news?” Kip asked.
Sully shook his head. “Nothing. It’s like Eric walked off the face of the earth.”
“Who caught the case?”
“Donny Holbrook.” Sully replied as he jammed his hands in his pockets.
“He’s a good cop,” Kip replied. He cast a sideways look at Sully. “You can’t blame him for what happened that night”
Sully knew exactly what night Kip referred to…the night his life had shattered. The night he’d stopped being a cop, stopped being a husband, and instead become a self-destructive drunk. “I don’t. Emotionally, I’m still angry about the whole incident, but I don’t know who to blame.”
“I hear you’ve been on the wagon.”
Sully nodded. “Six months clean and sober.”
“Thought about coming back to the department? You know they’d love to get you back on the force. You were a damned good cop, Sully.”
Sully didn’t reply. A day didn’t go by that he didn’t think about going back into the department. But he couldn’t…wouldn’t…go back until somebody on the police force addressed the fact that Sully believed he’d been set up by a fellow cop.
And deep inside, he feared there was another reason he couldn’t go back to the force, a reason he’d never spoken aloud to anyone…a reason that gave him nightmares every night of his life.
He shoved these thoughts aside. He had more important things to worry about at the moment. “Eric never showed up at school this morning,” he said to Kip. “He walked out of the house and just disappeared.”
Theresa’s house came into view, and Sully slowed his footsteps, wishing he had some news to tell his ex-wife, wishing he was holding Eric in his arms.
“Holbrook thinks there’s a possibility Eric’s been kidnapped,” he said.
“I suppose nobody can rule that out, especially with Theresa just coming off such a controversial, high-profile case.”
They both paused as they stepped onto the front porch. “So, what do you think?” Kip asked.
Sully shoved his hands into his coat pocket. Yes, kidnapping was a possibility, one he didn’t want to consider. The thought of somebody intentionally holding his son, away from his home, from the parents who loved him, sent frigid chills racing up his spine. “I think I’ve never been so cold in my life. Come on, let’s go inside and get some hot coffee.”
Chapter Three
Night fell slowly, inch by inch, dark clouds spilling ominously across the sky to steal the last of the day’s light. The appearance of the darkness filled Theresa with a new kind of anguish.
Eric didn’t like the dark. From the time he was a baby, he’d been afraid of the dark. He’d always had a night-light burning in his room. And now he was someplace out there…in the darkness…alone.
And it was cold. The forecast was for snow. Was he someplace warm? The thought of her baby out there in the dark, in the cold, had the capacity to drive her mad if she allowed it.
As Theresa stared out the kitchen window, she was vaguely aware of activity behind her. The coffeepot gurgled with a fresh brew, and police officers drifted in and out of the kitchen, getting warm and drinking coffee before returning to the cold, dark night and the seeming futility of their search.
Hours had passed since she called the police, hours of men pounding sidewalks, checking drainage ditches, investigating any place where a little boy might hide or could have fallen. Nothing. It was as if the earth itself had opened up and swallowed Eric without a trace.
Theresa had never been so frightened. She’d been hurt when her marriage died, afraid when Sully finally made the decision to leave her. At that time, a year ago, she’d been deathly scared of facing life alone, starting her life anew. But that fear couldn’t even begin to touch the terror that gripped her now.
A burst of laughter broke through her thoughts. She glanced behind her to the table, where three policemen were teasing a fourth. Their laughter sounded again, melodic and rich.
Although she knew it was irrational, she wanted to scream at them to stop laughing. Laughter didn’t belong here, not when Eric wasn’t home. Instead, she bit the sides of her cheeks, knowing that the last thing she wanted to do was alienate the very men who were trying to help.
“Theresa?”
She turned at the sound of Donny’s deep voice. He held out a cup of coffee. “Here, why don’t you take this? It looks like it’s going to be a long night.” His voice was kind, filled with sympathy.
She forced a grateful smile and took the cup from him. “Thanks.” As the other officers left the kitchen, Theresa sank into one of their vacated seats at the table.
Donny joined her, sitting across from her. “We need to
talk.”
“About Eric?”
Donny shook his head. “About Sully.”
Theresa frowned. “What about him? Surely you don’t believe he had anything to do with Eric’s disappearance?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” Donny got up and poured himself a cup of coffee, then rejoined her at the table. “I know Sullivan Mathews probably just about as well as anyone, and I know he loves his kid. He’d never do anything like this.”
“Then what do you want to know about him?” Theresa asked. She wrapped her fingers around her cup, seeking the warmth to chase away the chill that had invaded her body.
“I’ve heard through the grapevine that he’s working as a bouncer in some dive.”
“He’s a bouncer at Sam’s Pit, over on Proctor Street.”
“Rough area,” Donny observed.
Theresa nodded. “I suppose.” Not only was the neighborhood surrounding Sam’s Pit known to be a rough area, but the bar itself was a known trouble spot, where fights broke out often and police presence was a nightly necessity.
“Does Sully talk about his work to you? Has he mentioned having problems with anyone in particular at the bar?”
Theresa bit back a burst of bitter laughter. “Sullivan hasn’t talked to me in a very long time, Donny. Since the divorce, we rarely talk at all, unless it has something to do with Eric.”
“Yeah.” Donny frowned. “I guess he pretty much stopped talking to everyone after that night”
That night. Theresa knew exactly what night Donny spoke of…the night that had begun the end of her marriage, the night Sully had been shot.
Theresa saw the pain reflected in Donny’s eyes, knew the self-recriminations he must have suffered as Sully’s partner. She touched his hand lightly. “Don’t blame yourself, Donny. I don’t blame you, and I know Sully doesn’t, either. You couldn’t help it that you were sick. It was just one of those crazy quirks of fate.”
“But I should have been there, watching his back.” Donny’s voice filled with pain. “That was my job, and I let him down.”
Theresa sighed tiredly. “Nobody let Sully down except Sully.” She pushed away thoughts of the past, not wanting to expend any energy on what couldn’t be changed. “And if you want to find out about Sully’s work now, you’ll have to ask him.”
Donny nodded and took a sip of his coffee, as if he needed a moment to push the past away. “What about your work?” he said a moment later. “Made anybody really mad at you lately?”
“Donny, I’m a prosecuting attorney—I’m always making people mad at me,” she replied dryly.
“Maybe you should start making a list of names.” He tore a sheet of paper off his note pad and handed it to her, along with a pen.
Theresa stared down at the sheet of paper, then looked back at Donny. “You really think Eric has been kidnapped?”
“I think we need to consider it a definite possibility,” Donny replied.
“But why haven’t we received a call…a note? And why Eric? We aren’t wealthy people,” she protested, trying to make sense of the senseless.
Donny looked around. “You appear to be doing all right. Your picture is sometimes in the paper. To some people, that equates money. Besides, this might not be about money. Maybe it’s about revenge.”
Theresa swallowed hard. The idea of somebody taking Eric, keeping him away from her and Sully for revenge, horrified her. “Oh, Donny, I’ve prosecuted more than a hundred cases over my career. I…I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Concentrate on your cases over the last six months. Try to think of anyone who might want to get back at you, somebody who might have made threats.” Donny drained his coffee, then stood. “I’ve got to get back to my men. I’ll check with you for that list in a little while.”
When he’d left the kitchen, Theresa once again looked down at the paper. It was a daunting task, to remember all the threats she’d received from all the people she was instrumental in putting behind bars.
She got up from the table and left the kitchen, knowing that in order to do a proper job, she needed to be in her office, where she kept files from all her cases.
The tiny third bedroom served as an at-home office. She preferred to spend the evening hours with Eric, and as a result she often burned the midnight oil, working in here, after Eric went to bed.
Grateful for something, anything, constructive to do that might help find Eric, she turned on her computer and pulled up a list of files.
As one of the lead prosecutors in the district attorney’s office, Theresa worked the more heinous crime cases. Daily she faced off against the dregs of society, and the thought that one of those people might have her little boy filled her with cold, gutwrenching terror.
Idle threats, spit out in the heat of conviction, were common in her cases. The bailiffs often joked that their jobs were secure as long as Theresa Mathews continued to work in the prosecutor’s office.
She started searching her files for cases that had occurred six months before, deciding to work forward in time. She checked not only the cases she’d won, but those she’d lost, as well, trying to remember a face, a name, of anyone who’d seemed particularly filled with malevolence toward her.
Her gaze went often to the window, where the night had deepened to a darkness so profound it ached inside her. Each moment that passed, her heart cried out for Eric.
She had sifted through the first three months of cases and had a list of ten names when she stopped and stretched with arms overhead to work a kink out of her neck.
Her eyes felt grainy with suppressed emotion, and she wondered if she’d ever be warm again. The chill inside her seemed to reach clear to her soul.
Scooting some papers aside on the top of her desk, her heart seemed to stop as she uncovered a drawing done in brilliant crayons. The picture depicted a fireplace, with three stockings hung above a cozy fire. On one stocking was carefully written Eric… the others said Mom and Dad A plate of carefully drawn Oreo cookies and a glass of milk sat on the hearth. Across the top of the picture Eric had written a note in his boyish scrawl.
Don’t forget the cookies for Santa. I love you, Mom.
She clutched it to her chest, her hand trembling uncontrollably. He must have drawn it the night before and snuck it in here some time this morning, before leaving for school. He often drew her pictures and left them on her desk to be discovered at some point in the day.
Tears burned, splashing hot on her cheeks. She tried to stop them, knew she had to remain strong, in control.
She couldn’t cry for Eric. To cry for him meant something bad had happened…and she couldn’t allow herself to think that…mustn’t allow it
Carefully she uncrumpled the picture, running her hands over and over it to take out any wrinkles. Then, just as carefully, she folded it in half, then in half again, until it was small enough to fit in her breast pocket…the pocket that covered her heart.
Swiping at her tears, she focused once again on her computer screen, hoping…praying…Eric would be found, safe and well before she finished making her list.
ONCE BACK AT THE HOUSE, Sully and Kip met Donny at the door. Donny shook his head in answer to the unspoken question in Sully’s eyes. “Where’s Theresa?” Sully asked.
“In her office, making me a list of people who might want to harm her,” Donny explained. “You might want to do the same thing.”
Sullivan nodded. He knew Donny was right. Having them make out a list of people who might want to cause them pain was the next logical step in the inquiry into Eric’s disappearance. Eventually, he and Theresa would be asked to submit to a lie-detector test as part of the ongoing investigation.
He was beginning to hope for a ransom demand, to hope that Eric’s disappearance was a real kidnapping and not a stranger abduction. It was rare that stranger abductions were ever solved—and rare that the children of such senseless crimes were returned to their parents alive….
A nauseating churni
ng attacked his stomach as he thought of his son. Despite the divorce, in spite of Sully’s personal demons…demons that had resulted in the breakup of his marriage…he and Eric had maintained a bond of closeness most fathers would envy.
The thought of Eric being afraid…cold… harmed…filled Sully with a grief too deep to maintain, a rage too overwhelming to entertain.
He started down the hallway, wanting to talk to Theresa. He met her as she barreled out of the back bedroom and collided with him.
“Sully.” She gripped his arms, her fingers tight, her eyes burning with fierce determination. “We need to go to county lockup.”
“What?” He looked at her in surprise. He’d once believed she was the most beautiful woman in the Midwest. Even now, with her blue eyes fevered, her face as pale as chalk and her dark hair a tangled mess, she looked beautiful.
Regret surged through him. If he and Theresa had stayed together, would Eric be missing now? If Sully hadn’t fallen apart, started drinking and decided his wife and child were better off without him, would this all be happening?
There was no easy answer, and in any case it didn’t matter. Sully was a failure, a screwup, and this woman had no place in what life he’d made for himself. What mattered now was Eric. “Why the county lockup?” he asked as Theresa attempted to push past him. “Theresa?” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “What’s at the county lockup?”
“Roger Neiman. God, I don’t know why I didn’t think of him before now.”
“Who’s Roger Neiman?”
“A young man who was convicted two days ago for drug trafficking. A man who made all kinds of personal threats toward me when he was being led out of the courtroom.”
“Theresa…” As she struggled to free herself from his grasp, he tightened his grip on her shoulders. She looked frantic, more out of control than he’d ever seen her. She’d always been so in control, the strong one. “Think about it. If this Roger is in jail, then he can’t have Eric.”
Their Only Child Page 3