For a quirky moment I imagined the Face punching in the number for the Redding Sheriff’s Department. “What is wrong with you people? Why is my picture linked to some murder! I’m an upstanding citizen, and you’d better clear this up in a hurry. I’m calling my lawyer right now…”
An innocent man would do that, wouldn’t he? Come forward to clear his name?
Yes, he would. If the Face didn’t call, that had to mean something.
But he wouldn’t call. He was involved, no matter what Edgar Sybee claimed.
All the same, I still couldn’t dismiss the blankness on Sybee’s features when he looked at the composite. He hadn’t recognized it. He hadn’t.
I sighed aloud. This morning was progressing as ambivalently as the previous night. I’d tossed and turned, mentally going over and over every detail of the case. Reliving the moments as I sketched alongside Erin…Remembering Edgar Sybee’s denials—and the expression upon his face.
My only positive thought during the night was a thankfulness that Stephen had called me at dinnertime from Nate’s. The boys had returned as instructed.
By five a.m. I’d known it was no use trying to sleep.
Numbly I folded up my bed, punched down the three couch cushions, and pulled the forensic art book onto my lap. For the next three hours, until I heard Jenna making coffee in the kitchen, I read. In the airplane the previous day, I’d skimmed the beginning chapters. Now I read every word, soaking in the material like a dry sponge. The more I read about past cases, how composites and face sculptures had helped apprehend suspects, the more the information grew and formed within me. I felt like some strange creature taking in sustenance, readying myself to metamorphose. Details I’d blitzed over the first time now stood out to me. The muscles and bones of the face. Different head shapes. Parts of the ear, the nose, the mouth. Dental aspects. The great importance of proportions.
Many of these things I studied years ago in art school. I used my understanding of faces for a decade in the courtroom. Reading this information in the book now, I felt more aligned with forensic art than ever.
Okay. So I’ve had no training in the field. But I do have a lot of pertinent background education and experience.
Then reality hit.
Pressing my knuckles into my chin, I began to reread the chapter on interviews and composite imagery. My confidence, like a fledgling sparrow flying from its nest, tumbled to the ground as I lingered on all the details I had done wrong. Still I pushed on, telling myself I would lift my wings once more.
By the time I heard Jenna, I’d already begun the chapters on age progression, a technique used to update photos of suspects who have been on the lam for years.
Now I sat with Jenna over coffee, telling her about all I’d read. I rehashed with her the events of the interview with Sybee. Went over once again all the possibilities, the problems. The newspaper sat between us, refolded so the Face could not stare in defiance, mocking me. Jenna stuck to her belief in the composite. It was simple, she said—Sybee was lying. Because everything else fit.
But Jenna hadn’t been there. She hadn’t seen Sybee’s face, his eyes, as he denied recognizing the drawing.
The morning paper seemed my last resort. Either it would yield leads…or it wouldn’t.
By nine o’clock I’d waited all I could wait. I wanted to call Chetterling, see if he’d heard from his colleagues in Redding. After all, most newspapers were delivered by six a.m.
People had already had three whole hours. Surely somebody had called.
“Annie…” Jenna gave me one of her looks. “It’s Saturday.
Most people are still in bed.”
How could the world sleep at a time like this?
Somehow ten o’clock rolled around. Just to keep occupied, I sat at the kitchen table and read more of the forensics book. In spite of my nervousness, I found the chapters on skull reconstruction fascinating. Imagine being able to take bones from the grave of an unknown victim and reconstruct the face. I read stories of how forensic artists had accomplished this time and time again, helping to give an identity to an unknown victim. How through this process, grieved families had been given closure on their missing loved ones, and in some cases the murders had been solved.
At ten-thirty my head snapped up to check the time once more. And in that instant the concentration I’d summoned melted away. I stared at the clock, my fingers tightening on the book’s cover, then closing it. Had I lost my mind? Reading about death and skulls and savoring it?
The phone rang. I dashed like a madwoman to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Annie, it’s Helen.”
Nate’s mother did not sound right. At her tightened tone, my emotions shifted into a new tilt, like the world heaving itself on its axis. Worries about the Face dissolved as I steeled myself for some new disaster. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, I don’t want you to get too concerned.” She gave a forced little laugh. “Boys are boys, you know.”
I waited, silent.
“Anyway. I let them go out again with some friends last night after they came back for dinner. You know T. J.? He picked them up in his car.”
Oh yes, I knew T. J. One of Stephen’s druggie friends. My mouth opened and I slowly, purposefully, took a breath.
“I told them to be back at ten, but they didn’t come back until almost three in the morning. I got up when I heard them come in. Of course, I couldn’t sleep. They were high. I could smell the marijuana.”
A dozen accusations bombarded my brain. How could she have let them go with T. J.? How could Stephen have done this, when I’d warned him time and again about the danger of drugs? How was I going to raise this kid? There I was, trying to help search for a murderer who may have killed twice because of drugs. Like an auto careening out of control, my thoughts swerved down the winding mountain highway of my son’s teenage years. I could only imagine the inevitable grind of gears and wreckage at the bottom.
My son was destroying himself and I could not help him.
My son would end up like Edgar Sybee, caught in a world of violence that could not be escaped.
Nausea roiled through me as I bent over the counter.
From a distance came Jenna’s voice, asking what had happened. I shook my head and pressed the phone deeper into my ear, as if pushing calmness into my brain.
Somehow I found my voice. “Where are they now?”
“Still sleeping.”
Bitter words leapt up my throat. I forced them back down. What was the point of blaming her? What was done was done.
“Wake Stephen up. I’m on my way to get him right now.”
“Okay.” She hesitated. “Annie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let them go.”
I flattened my hand against the counter as if to compress the tile, drive it into the cabinet below. Part of me wanted to rail at her. But the other part could not forget that she, like I, was a single mother. I knew what it was to feel overwhelmed.
I knew what it was like to say yes to my son’s wrongheaded demands out of sheer exhaustion. Hadn’t I done the same thing in allowing him to go to Nate’s in the first place?
“I don’t blame you, Helen. It’s just…too much to handle sometimes, you know? Parenting—especially for our sons—we shouldn’t have to do it alone.”
She blew out air, clearly relieved. “I know.”
Five minutes later I pulled out of Jenna’s detached garage to pick up Stephen, my cell phone stuck in the car’s center cup holder in case Detective Chetterling called. My parting words to Helen rang in my head. We shouldn’t have to do it alone. It seemed that my whole life, not just parenting Stephen, was destined to be done alone. Even when I was married to Vic, deep inside I’d sensed a loneliness that not even the best of husbands could fill.
And Vic had been anything but the best of husbands.
Stephen slumped in the seat on the way back to Jenna’s, chin set, eyes narrowed into slits. He no doubt planned to make li
fe as miserable as possible for me. I’d taken him away from his friends, and that was inexcusable.
We talked little. There was nothing to say. He knew what he’d done, and I knew that if I asked him about it, he’d only deny, deny. I gripped the steering wheel, my imaginative brain conjuring up my composite of the Face, the man’s features fading, fading…and Stephen’s replacing them. In rapid succession my personal projector threw more pictures from the past week on the walls of my mind, as if to prove the theory that Stephen’s choices were setting him on the worst of courses.
“I won’t stay here, you know.” He climbed out of the car and slammed the door, his expression twisted with a heightened rebellion I had not seen before. “I can sneak out anytime I want.”
I shouldered my purse, the infuriatingly quiet cell phone clutched in my hand. “What do you want from me, Stephen?
Just to let you go your own way and do whatever you like?
Let you ruin your life?”
“If anyone’s ruining my life, it’s you.” Yanking open the back door of the car, he grabbed his duffel bag of clothes and stalked out of the garage.
His words knifed me in new and cruel ways. For a moment I stood still, my eyes closed, feeling the pain. Then I leaned against the car, a plaintive chant of Why, why, why?
echoing in my head. How was I going to raise my children on my strength alone?
From nowhere Gerri’s words about God’s peace swirled into my mind. Was it only two days ago that her prayers had brought some strange, supernatural calm into my being? I puffed out air. Whatever I felt, it hadn’t been God. Because he sure didn’t seem to be worrying about me now.
Summoning my willpower, I pushed away from the car.
By now Stephen would be in the house, and Jenna didn’t need to deal with him alone. I left the garage, pressing the controller on Jenna’s key ring to close the door, and headed for the town house.
Please let this be over soon.
The prayer raveled through my mind like the strands of a fraying rope. I seethed at the betrayal of my thoughts. I told myself I prayed to no one. But deep inside I could not quite believe my own denials. Something seemed to be shattering within my soul, something hard and brittle and stubbornly chaotic.
Reaching the stairs, I grasped the rail with one hand and pulled myself up them, still holding my cell phone. As each step drew me closer to facing Stephen, my way became clearer. We had to leave the Bay Area as soon as possible. I needed to separate my son from the temptations that surrounded him here. It had been a wretched mistake to come in the first place. I’d known that, even as I made the decision.
Who did I think I was, running around, trying to catch the elusive killer of my neighbor when my own child was falling apart? At least Grove Landing offered a certain respite. There we could lock our doors, turn on the burglar alarm to safeguard us from predatory danger. But here the danger lurked within, clattering about my recusant son’s head, pushing him to make choices that could haunt him for years.
The only other thing to do was send Stephen away, maybe to some camp or wilderness program. But where? I had no idea where they were, which ones were trustworthy and which were not. And the proper research would take time. I needed to guard Stephen against himself now.
Stephen would not make this easy. I felt sapped by exhaustion just imagining his biting arguments.
Sighing, I stepped over the threshold into Jenna’s town house. Before I could close the door, my cell phone rang.
Chapter 40
“Annie, it’s Sid Haynes.”
Sid. Disappointment softened my muscles. Why couldn’t this be Chetterling with good news?
I shut the town house door and sagged against it. The sound of rap music from the living room assaulted my senses.
Stephen was watching videos on TV.
“Hi.”
“Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. Things have just been busy around here, as always.”
My mind scrambled to recall why he would be phoning.
So much had happened since our last conversation. “Uh, no problem.”
“You all right?”
My eyes closed. “Yeah. Fine.”
Gary—Sid’s investigator. The memory popped into place.
“Everything safe at your house?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I don’t know. We left. We’re in the Bay Area right now, staying with my sister.”
He took a breath. “That was probably a good idea. Look, I’m calling to tell you I asked Gary about your man on the street. He says he doesn’t know the guy. He’s never even seen anyone fitting that description.”
No kidding. Gary could get in line with everyone else.
“Yeah, well. I expected as much.”
I wandered into the kitchen. Through the back sliding door I could see Jenna sitting on her deck, an open novel in her hands. But she gazed into the distance. Poor Jenna. My son had driven her to retreat from her own house.
Stephen’s poor excuse for music grated in my ears.
“Excuse me, Sid.” I covered the mouthpiece. “Stephen, turn the television down.”
He ignored me.
“Turn it down!”
A disgusted grunt erupted from my son’s mouth. Grabbing the remote off the couch, he smacked a button. The music lessened one degree. I retreated into the office and closed the door.
“Sounds like you’ve got a lot going on there,” Sid commented.
If he only knew. “Yes. But, Sid, thanks for calling. I appreciate the follow-up. The composite’s in the Mercury News this morning; have you seen it? We’re expecting some leads soon.
We’ll figure this out.”
My voice held not the slightest bit of confidence.
“Look, Annie, it’ll be all right. They’ll catch your man. I know I’m not talking like a defense attorney right now, but…
these guys are all the same. It’s some kind of masquerade with them. They think they’re mighty and cunning and above the law. That they’ll never get caught. But none of them are as smart as they think.”
Masquerade.
“Thanks, Sid. I’m sure you’re right. I’ll let you know what happens.” My gaze fell to my suitcase. The symbol of my family’s having been forced out of our new home. “One thing, though. And you have to promise me. When this guy’s caught? Don’t you dare represent him.”
He emitted a chuckle. “Little chance of that, Annie, under the circumstances.”
I clicked off the phone and placed it on Jenna’s desk, checking the time. It was past noon. Where was Chetterling?
The forensics book sat on the desk, where I’d left it since early that morning. Distractedly I flipped it open, then turned away. I couldn’t stand to look at that stuff for another minute.
I paced the office, mulling. Telling myself I should make Stephen turn off that awful music video station. Telling myself I should plead with Jenna to take us back to Grove Landing for Stephen’s sake. I needed to make arrangements to pick up Kelly at Emily’s house. And when we got back home, Erin and Dave would need my emotional support.
Need, need. I had a dozen obligations and didn’t feel the strength for any of them.
My phone sounded again, the ring creating a vibration that sent it inching across the desk like some live creature. I snatched it up.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Detective Chetterling here. Thought it was about time I checked in with you.”
“Yes. What’s happening?”
Please, please tell me something good!
“Not much of anything. I’ve spent the morning talking to more detectives here, showing them the composite. None of them recognizes it.”
“What about phone calls from people reading the papers?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Not one.”
“Have you had your cell phone on?”
Good grief, Annie, what a stupid question.
Chetterling retained
his patience. “Yes.”
Questions and fears crowded my mind but I could not voice any of them. I didn’t want to ask Chetterling if he’d lost all faith in the composite. Because I couldn’t bear to hear his answer.
“What are you going to do now?”
Air seeped from his throat. “I want to stay here another day in case calls come in. But I’m being summoned back to Redding. One of our detectives had a death in the family this morning, so he’s got to take off immediately, which leaves us shorthanded up there. I can’t justify waiting around if nothing is happening.”
“I see.” My heart sank. Our one big potential break in the case and nothing was going to come of it. True, the composite had only been printed in the Mercury News that morning, but the past few hours were the most critical. The time when people were reading their papers, seeing the Face staring at them from their breakfast tables. Someone should have recognized him by now.
Still…
“But we both know I saw that man here. Even if he doesn’t have anything to do with our case, why wouldn’t someone recognize him?”
“Annie, I just don’t know. If I had time, I’d go back to Sybee again, see if I could get anything more out of him. But it may make no difference anyway. He’s under no obligation to talk to me and probably wouldn’t.”
I had to agree. We would get no more out of Edgar Sybee.
And I still couldn’t help but believe he told us the truth about the composite. “Yeah. Probably not.”
“What about you all? You staying a few more days?”
“No, we have to leave. Stephen’s giving me trouble here.
We’ll be going in the next couple hours.”
“Oh. Sorry to hear that.” He sounded empathetic. “We may reach Grove Landing about the same time then. Let me know when you’ve arrived back home.”
“I will.”
Shoulders sagging, I clicked off the line and placed my cell phone on the open forensics book. We’d tried our best. I wanted to hang on to that but felt no comfort whatsoever.
Who cared how hard we’d tried? We hadn’t succeeded. And we still were not one step closer to the truth.
Brink of Death Page 20