“No problem.”
Donna leads Nate to the office. They pass Billy and his parents, who are returning to their car with his belongings, looks of relief on their faces. They got their child back. The Lucas family weren’t so lucky.
Nate considers what Donna said about stories of monsters in the woods, and wonders where those stories originated from. Perhaps there was a sighting of a stranger wandering around and, like Chinese whispers, it’s grown into a campfire ghost story.
When they enter the office, Nate sees four boys being scolded by a young woman.
“If one of you hits this ball into a window again, we’ll have to tell your parents to come and collect you early. Is that clear?”
The boys, who all look around twelve, stare hard at the ground and say in unison, “Yes, Kat.”
“Glad that’s clear. I know you think I’m being a b-i-t-c-h, but this is for your own good. I’m teaching you how to be responsible members of the community. You’ll thank me one day. At least your girlfriends will.”
The boys don’t respond.
“Right, you can go. But remember, next time I’ll be calling your parents and telling them what little shits you’ve been.”
Nate has to hide his smile as he watches the boys file out of the cabin looking shamefaced.
“Kat’s a hard taskmaster,” says Donna, “but the boys seem to love her no matter how much she yells at them.”
Nate wonders if it has anything to do with her large breasts, which are barely contained by a thin, low-cut T-shirt. Then he wonders if the boys are getting into trouble on purpose.
Donna turns to Kat. “This is Nate Monroe.”
Kat gives him a wide smile and looks him up and down. “Hey, Nate. Are you one of the parents?”
“No, he’s not. Don’t you worry yourself about who he is. You just arrange for that glass panel to get fixed.”
Nate flashes Kat an apologetic smile as he follows Donna into the back office.
“She’s like a dog on heat, that one. Wouldn’t surprise me if she’s already been knocked up by one of the other counselors. Would you like a water?”
Nate raises his eyebrows, surprised at Donna’s comment. “Sure.”
It’s hot in here. There’s only one small window, and it’s closed. Probably because of the bugs constantly tapping at it, trying to get in. Donna’s desk is overflowing with paperwork.
As they both sit down, Nate pulls out his legal pad. “Could you tell me in your own words what happened from the minute you were alerted that something was wrong.”
Donna takes a deep breath and rolls her eyes at the same time. “I never knew I’d have to repeat this so many times. I should’ve recorded it onto my cell phone the first time I was asked. It sure would’ve saved me some bother.”
Nate smiles patiently.
“It was Jessica Conway who told me that Jenny wasn’t in her bed when the Bunk 5 girls woke up that morning.”
“What time was that?”
“Seven. We have a trumpeter—just one of the kids—who raises the alarm for everyone to wake up and get ready to start the day. Breakfast is served between seven thirty and eight thirty. I rushed straight over to their bunk and spoke to the rest of the girls.”
“How many kids to a bunk?” asks Nate.
“Eight. Jenny’s bed was messy, so it was hard to tell whether she’d slept in it. The children don’t tend to make their beds, no matter how much we scold them. They rarely wash either, but that’s another story. I asked them when was the last time any of them had seen her. Two of the girls—Jessica and Lizzie—said they’d been with her at the lake after supper, before lights out. They said they’d all swum out to the water slide, had a few goes and then come back in. They wanted to cool off because it had been a particularly sticky day and they’d all participated in a softball game that afternoon.”
“What time was that?”
“Around nine o’clock. Jessica and Lizzie raced each other back to their bunk once they were dressed, and they swear they left Jenny drying herself off. None of her clothes were by the lake, so she must have finished dressing before…”
“What about her towel?”
Donna sighs. “The police asked that too. Her towel was gone too. It wasn’t in her bunk and it wasn’t in the laundry room.”
Nate writes this down. “Do we know what color it was?”
“The girls think it was blue-and-white-striped, but I believe the parents said they hadn’t packed a towel for her that matches that description. We found a pink towel in her belongings, but it was bone dry and folded.”
“And what was she wearing?”
Donna hunts among the pieces of paper on her desk. When she finds what she is looking for, she reads from a list. “Navy shorts, a white polo shirt, a red sweater and Converse sneakers. Her bathing suit was a black one-piece. Her backpack was red.”
Nate takes a drink from his water bottle while he thinks. Now he knows what items to look for while he and Madison are walking around the place. “Have there been any sightings of strangers in the camp? Any of the kids reported concerns?”
Donna shakes her head. “None at all, Mr. Monroe. The monster stories are just that: stories. And we have a strict curfew in place now: everyone has to be in their cabin by ten o’clock, even the staff.”
He’d be surprised if the staff abide by that. “One theory I’m considering is that Jenny might have got lost in the forest. Perhaps she intended to run away but hadn’t meant to stay away long. Do you teach the kids any survival skills?”
“Of course. During their first week we concentrate on swimming lessons first and foremost, because of the lake. But we also have compulsory lessons to teach survival skills. All the children will know to stay in one place if they get lost, and what not to eat in case it’s poisonous. They know that if they get separated from the rest of us, they need to be smart and wait for us to find them.”
Nate makes notes. “And I assume the woods were searched by the police?”
“Yes, they had about twenty volunteers plus a team of police officers looking for her on the day we called them. They were only out there for five hours, which obviously isn’t enough time to search the whole forest, but I guess a child wouldn’t get much further than that on foot. They searched the lake too, that evening.”
“I see. But nothing was found?”
“Not that I’ve been told.”
“Are there locks on the children’s cabins?” he asks.
“Of course not. We can’t lock them in, Mr. Monroe! What if they need the bathroom, or there’s a fire? But we have other security measures in place.”
“Such as?”
“We have a security guard.”
He’s surprised. “I’m glad to hear it. Can I meet him? I’d like to ask him a few questions.”
Donna smiles. “He won’t answer you, but yes, you can meet him. He’s a dog.”
Nate almost laughs. Is that their idea of security? “A dog?”
She nods. “He’s an ex-police dog. His police handler died in the line of duty. The camp director before me rescued him from a kill shelter just before he was due to be euthanized. When she quit to move away, she left Brody behind. He’s part of the camp, not a house pet. He doesn’t have much time for me and you can certainly tell he was a police dog, because he’s always restless and alert.”
Nate feels for him. All dogs mourn the loss of their owners, and he would expect K9s to be no different. The fact that Brody’s story mimics his own—being so close to being killed by the state and then rescued at the last minute—isn’t lost on him. “What breed is he?”
She makes a thinking face. “Now let me get this right. He’s a German shepherd–husky mix. Gorgeous to look at, but he’s got way too much energy for me. I’m more of a cat person. He loves patrolling the camp, but he’s not that keen on the kids.”
“Really? I thought all dogs loved kids.”
“From what I can tell, he finds them too noisy, a
nd he hates being hugged by the younger children. They tend to grab rather than stroke. But he’s good with them and just walks away when he’s finding them too much. No one can ever tell what he’s thinking, but he’s not a happy dog, that much is obvious. In fact, the only time he looks like he’s enjoying himself is when he’s chasing a stranger or patrolling the grounds.”
Police work is obviously in his blood. Nate would bet he was bred from another K9. “How old is he?”
“When I started working here, I was told he was three. So he’d be four now. To be honest, he’s a pain in the ass. He’s very vocal and keeps me awake some nights with his nocturnal howling. He likes to roam the woods like a free spirit. Kat thinks he’s looking for his cop dad, but she’s a little whimsical.”
Nate wonders whether the dog saw anything the night Jenny disappeared. “How come Brody didn’t greet me and my colleague when we arrived?”
“He’s probably watching you from afar. If he ever thinks someone’s in danger, he just appears out of nowhere. Trust me, if he thought you were a threat, you’d be on the ground right now.”
Nate smiles. He likes the sound of Brody.
Twenty
The office of Dr. Pamela Jarvis
Pamela is afraid to read on. Afraid to learn of any other warning signs she might have missed from her client. Walking to her office window instead, she looks out at the parking lot and wishes she could just get in her car and drive away. She checks her watch: it’s still early. She knows she has to read the whole journal, but she’d rather be anywhere else but here. There are voices outside her office, enquiring after her. They’re probably wondering why she hasn’t joined the morning meeting. She told Stephen, her clerical support, to hold all calls and visitors, because she can’t be interrupted until she’s finished.
With a deep breath and a feeling of dread building in her chest, she heads back to her desk and starts reading the next entry.
It’s been nine months since the accident that killed my babies and nothing is better at home. My therapist keeps telling me over and over that things will improve. That I’m expecting too much too soon. That time heals all wounds. She knows all the cheap dime-store platitudes, but they mean nothing in real life. She listens to me with a concerned look on her face, but she doesn’t hear me. She thinks I’m too emotional, still reeling from grief, but that’s because she doesn’t see the side of my abuser that I see. No one does.
Dr. Jarvis just thinks we all need to get used to our new normal since the deaths of Susie and Thomas. But she doesn’t see the violent outbursts I’m being subjected to; the changes in behavior when no one else is around. I can’t help wondering whether it’s my fault. Did I cause this to happen? I’m terrified, but I can’t make anyone see what’s really happening at home, so it’s better to just write it down. But if my abuser finds this, it would end badly for me. The only way out is to beat them to it.
Pamela is stunned. She had no idea this woman was experiencing violence at home. She had never disclosed that in any of their sessions together. She tries to think whether her client ever turned up to appointments with bruises, and is ashamed to admit she can’t remember. Not that they would be visible anyway. If her abuser was cunning, as they so often are, he would have avoided her face as it would have raised too many questions.
With shaking hands, she reaches for her coffee cup, but it’s empty. She looks at her drinks cabinet, and for the first time in her life, she considers pouring a bourbon before lunchtime.
Twenty-One
Madison feels a little conspicuous as she wanders around the summer camp. But interestingly, no one questions her presence—none of the counselors or the children—indicating the security is beyond lax here.
She wipes away the sweat forming at her hairline and wishes she could have a shower and change her clothes, but that will have to wait.
Knowing that Nate could be a while with the director, she approaches one of the wooden cabins and looks through the window. It’s empty, so she sticks her head in the door. She immediately flinches as the smell of young boys hits her nose. She used to coach her son’s baseball team for a year or so and she remembers that odor of sweaty socks and damp towels well. She looks around the cabin without going in. It’s so messy it looks like a Tasmanian devil has swept through; with sports equipment all over the place, unmade beds, and clothes bundled up on the floor. She’s surprised the staff don’t insist on the kids keeping the cabins tidy. Then again, with it smelling so ripe, maybe they never venture inside.
Memories of Owen and his friends threaten to flood back, so she leaves and walks around the rear of the cabin. It’s close to the woods. She looks over her shoulder. All the cabins are close to the woods except for the two that serve as an office and a cafeteria.
She walks into the dense forest, where it immediately feels cooler. The thick canopy is keeping the sun out. It smells of damp soil and wet grass in here, almost like it’s got its own microclimate. The deeper she goes, the more she realizes a child couldn’t survive in here for long. There’s no way Jennifer Lucas is hiding. Even if that was her original intent, she would have come back by now, hungry and desperate for sunshine and fresh air. She wonders if the rest of the forest is like this. Perhaps Jennifer walked far enough to come across a clearing or a walking trail.
A huge black beetle the size of a cockroach scurries across her shoe. Creeped out, she kicks it off with her other foot. No. If the girl voluntarily ran off, the bugs alone would have brought her back to civilization.
Voices behind her make her turn and walk back to the camp. She follows the sound of the children’s delighted screams and comes across a game of soccer. It looks like it’s boys against girls; they’re wearing either red or blue jerseys.
She approaches a bench and sits next to a young boy. She doesn’t know if it’s watching the kids play soccer, or being outdoors on a sunny day with the smell of freshly cut grass, but she feels like she could be at one of Owen’s games, waiting to cheer him on as he waves to her from his position. Her heart aches with a mixture of regret and anger.
“Hi. Are you a new counselor?” says the boy. With red hair, freckles and a bright red nose, he’s going to burn in today’s sunshine. She instinctively picks up one of the baseball caps discarded on the ground near the spare sports equipment and places it on his head.
“No, I’m just visiting. I’m Madison.”
“I’m Scotty. I’m injured so I have to sit this one out.”
He pulls his sock down and she can see a bandage around his ankle. The swelling and purple bruising spreads further than the bandage.
“Ouch. I bet that hurt.”
“Nah. Well, a little. I didn’t cry, though. My friend did it by accident. Do you want some lemonade? I made it myself.”
She smiles at him. He’s probably a year younger than Owen was when she was arrested. “Sure.”
He limps over to the cooler box and pulls out a jug and plastic cup. When he hands her the cup, she can see three tiny flies floating on top of the lemonade, but he watches for her reaction so she drinks it down regardless.
It actually tastes good: sweet and cool. “That was amazing. Well done! I think you could bottle that and sell it in Walmart.”
“Thanks!” He grins at her and goes back to watching the game.
Madison tries hard not to think about Owen.
Twenty-Two
Nate leaves Donna’s oppressive office with her permission to look around camp and get a feel for the place, under the strict proviso that he doesn’t hassle any staff or children. He can question them but not “interrogate” them, as Donna doesn’t want more angry parents to deal with. He gets the impression she won’t be returning to manage this place for a second year and he can understand that. Losing a kid on her watch isn’t going to help her career and has probably dented her confidence.
He steps out into a cool breeze. Most of the cabins are shaded by a canopy of large trees, so it’s not unbearable under here. The
smell of freshly cut grass has him wondering whose job it is to mow all this, then a swarm of bloodthirsty mosquitoes attack him, making him slap his neck and arms. He wipes away the dead insects and wonders where Madison has got to. Something tells him to walk over to the lake before he looks for her, to check out the area where Jenny was last spotted. He notices the jetty is protected by a barrier and a warning sign to avoid the area when alone.
Stepping up to the edge, he can see the grass is worn away here, no doubt from the happy feet of many kids launching themselves into the cool, glistening water. It’s something that appeals to him right now. Without the shade to protect him, the intense sunshine burns his neck. A swarm of flies buzz around his ears and he curses himself for not buying some bug repellent. Something green—a tennis ball—is bobbing in the water, so he leans in to retrieve it. A dog barks behind him. He spins around.
A handsome wolf-like creature is looking at him with his huge ears pointing forwards. He’s big. His coloring is an interesting mix of creams and browns, and he has intense brown eyes. Nate can definitely see characteristics from both breeds in him.
“Hey, boy. You must be Brody.”
The animal barks again. If Nate were afraid of dogs, he’d probably walk away right now, trying his best not to run. Instead, he kneels down and holds out his hand. The dog doesn’t move, but his tail starts thudding the ground, and Nate thinks his expression softens slightly.
“Come on, Brody. I’d like to meet you.”
Brody gives him one more look before launching at him. Nate knows he needs to hold his ground, and not just because he’s close to the edge of the lake. The dog runs up to him and sniffs his face, with his front paws digging into his thighs. He’s so heavy he knocks Nate over, so he sits on the ground and lets Brody sniff his hands. Brody surprises him by resting across his legs, pinning him down.
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