Missing Child

by Patricia MacDonald

  ELEVEN

  Caitlin stopped her car beside the weather-beaten ‘For Sale’ sign, and sat staring at her parents’ modest retirement home. Some houses seemed to be cursed, she thought. Her parents had bought this house full of hope for the future, and instead each had fallen ill and died within two years. James had killed himself in this house. And now, here Caitlin was, back here, exiled by her husband, her child missing. At least here she could call Geordie her child in her own mind. Her heart could not be any more shattered, she thought, if she had given birth to him.

  She did not want to be here in this abandoned house which had seen so much sorrow, but she didn’t know where else to go. Everyone she knew in this area, she either knew through the college or through Noah. She didn’t want anyone at work to know about this fresh disaster, and anyone she knew through Noah would not want anything to do with her when they found out why she and Noah were estranged.

  Caitlin pulled her cell phone from her purse and called the realtor’s number on the sign. She got the voicemail. ‘Stephanie,’ she said. ‘This is Caitlin Eckhart. I’m going to be staying in my parents’ house for . . . a while. So, if you have any prospective . . . lookers, please call my cell and let me know before you show up at the door. Thanks.’ Not that lookers were much of a problem, Caitlin thought, throwing the phone back in her bag. The house had been on the market for two years now, without a nibble. Because of the collapse in the housing market, it was the worst possible time to try to sell a house. Particularly a house as unexceptional as this one.

  She chided herself for that thought. Her parents had been so pleased when they found this house. It was neat and tidy, and had only one story for easy access for the old age they did not live to see. The house was surrounded by trees and had a screen porch in the back with rocking chairs, where they had envisioned sitting during long, twilit summer evenings. Tears came to her eyes as she remembered her mother and father. Their dreams had not been extravagant. Peace. Quiet. A little well-earned leisure. It was not to be.

  At least, Caitlin thought, she still owned this house. Right now, it would serve a valuable purpose. She could turn the key and go inside, and no one could throw her out, accusing her of terrible crimes. For that, she was grateful.

  Caitlin sighed and got out of the car. She pulled out her suitcases and carried them toward the house. She passed the garage, where her father’s damaged truck was rusting away in the darkness. Emily’s blood had probably flaked off the smashed front bumper by now. Caitlin had parked the truck in there and never moved it. It was easier than trying to explain the needed repairs to someone at a body shop. As she passed it, Caitlin did not glance into the garage. Why look? If that truck had somehow vanished, she would be grateful.

  Caitlin inserted the key in the front door and had to struggle to get the key to turn in the lock, which was stiff with disuse. She opened the door and walked into the dark, clammy house. Home, sweet home, she thought, and her heart sank at the thought.

  She wanted to collapse on the sofa, curl up in a fetal position and not move, but she resisted the urge. She had to make sure the place was habitable before night fell. It had been empty for so long, except for the occasional quick visit from a realtor, that she was not sure what she would find. She was up to date on the bills, so at least she knew the gas and electricity were still on. Was the water running? Were there sheets on the bed, or anything to eat?

  Caitlin carried her suitcase past the doorway to her parents’ bedroom. Though it was the largest bedroom, she couldn’t bear to sleep in that room, which had been a sick room almost nonstop for almost two years. Her father’s heart had given out quickly. Her mother had lingered. Each one had been carried to the hospital from that room to spend their final days. She moved down the hall past James’s room, with only the briefest glance inside. More misery, she thought. The tiny guest room would do. She opened the door and placed her bags inside. It was a sweet-looking room, decorated in the country style her mother had favored. The bed was made. Caitlin ran her hand over the sheets. They were as clammy as the air in the house. She opened up the bed to air it. She would turn the heat on. Maybe that would dry it out before she had to lie down in those sheets. She hoped it would dry it out soon. But she was so exhausted that it almost didn’t matter. She would sleep wherever she dropped.

  She went back to the living room. There was no cable in the house so the TV didn’t work. She turned up the heat and went into the kitchen. The heat made clanking noises, but it came on. The kitchen was dusty, but not dirty. She had paid a cleaning service to clean the whole place before she put it on the market. She opened the refrigerator door hesitantly. Fortunately, there was no food inside, and it didn’t smell bad. She looked in the cabinets. There were still a few staples. Some cans of soup. Some boxes of stale crackers and pasta. There were cans of vegetables and jars of sauce. The water in the faucets ran. It was enough, she thought.

  A sharp rap on the front door made her jump and clutch her chest. No one knew she was here. She went to the window of the kitchen door, pulled back the ruffled curtain, and peeked out down the driveway. Immediately she recognized the car. She had ridden in it just this morning.

  Caitlin went to the front door and opened it. Sam Mathis stood on the front step. ‘Geordie?’ she asked.

  Sam Mathis shook his head. ‘May I come in?’

  Caitlin’s shoulders slumped. She stepped back so that he could come inside. ‘How did you know I was here?’ she asked.

  ‘Your husband thought you might be here,’ said Sam. ‘He said he’d asked you to leave the house.’

  Caitlin felt as if her face had been slapped. ‘He didn’t waste any time. Did he tell you why?’

  ‘Yes. He said that you know who killed his first wife.’

  Caitlin flinched at the word ‘killed’ but did not protest. She indicated that Sam should sit down. He took a seat in her father’s old easy chair. Caitlin sat on the sofa. She knotted her fingers together and looked down at them. ‘Did he tell you anything else?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll ask the questions,’ said Sam brusquely. ‘What do you know about Emily Eckhart’s death?’

  Caitlin stared at him for a moment. It was difficult to see his eyes in the gloom of the late afternoon. She got up from the sofa and went around the room, turning on the lamps. Then she sat back down. Sam was watching her coldly.

  ‘I don’t know where to begin,’ she said.

  ‘First things first,’ said Sam. ‘Does this have anything to do with Geordie’s disappearance?’

  ‘NO,’ Caitlin exclaimed. ‘No, it has nothing to do with Geordie. If it had, I would have told you right away.’

  Sam looked at her coldly. ‘You better tell me right now.’

  Caitlin took a deep breath. She felt like someone who was about to fall off a cliff. ‘OK. Just to explain . . . A girl named Karla saw our plea on the internet and came to see us today. She’s my late brother’s girlfriend. She was in touch with my brother at the time that he . . . killed himself. Well, it was a drug overdose, but I’ve never thought it was accidental. Anyway, Karla was in touch with my brother when it happened. He told her that he had hit a woman while he was driving my father’s truck. Then he fled the scene. The woman died. James was distraught about it. This event actually precipitated his overdose.

  ‘I wasn’t home when Karla arrived. While she was waiting for me to return home, Karla explained all this to Noah. Noah’s a very smart man. He figured out the rest. The person that my brother hit was Emily Eckhart.’

  Sam grimaced.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Your brother was Emily’s killer?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Caitlin.

  Sam recoiled. ‘And you knew this? You knew it when you married Noah?’

  ‘I knew it,’ she said.

  ‘No wonder he kicked you out,’ said Sam disgustedly.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Caitlin.

  ‘Well, come on, Caitlin.’

  ‘I kn
ow,’ she said. ‘I brought this on myself.’

  ‘Why didn’t you turn your brother in, if you knew he’d done something like that?’

  ‘I threatened to turn him in. That’s when he overdosed.’

  ‘You still could have come forward, so the family would have closure.’

  ‘That’s what I was trying to do when I met Noah. I sought out Emily’s family to tell them the truth and, instead, I fell in love with her husband.’

  Sam shook his head. ‘And you never told him . . .’

  ‘I never told him. I was too ashamed. I never told anyone.’ Caitlin knew there would be consequences to this admission. She didn’t care. ‘I realize that by keeping silent, I may have committed a crime,’ she said.

  Sam frowned at her. ‘What car was your brother driving when he killed Emily Eckhart?’

  ‘He was driving my father’s truck. It’s . . . out there, in the garage, if you want to see it,’ said Caitlin.

  ‘Has it been repaired?’

  Caitlin shook her head. ‘I thought about taking it to a body shop. Telling them I’d hit a deer. I just didn’t have the heart to tell any more lies about it. Would you like to see it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sam. ‘I would.’

  ‘Come with me,’ said Caitlin. Part of her knew that it was foolish to offer this evidence of a crime up to the police. She should call a lawyer and cover her own interests. But she had brought this on herself by staying silent. All she felt now was the need to be shed of it. And, if necessary, to be punished for that silence.

  She turned on the outside lights, slipped her coat back on and led the way out to the garage. She opened the garage door and they went inside. The battered pick-up truck sat where she had left it years ago.

  Sam walked around the truck and looked at it. ‘It’s got a lot of dings,’ he observed.

  ‘This is no ding,’ she said.

  He had to wedge himself between the front of the truck and the wall of the garage to get a look. He frowned as he examined the damage. ‘Was your brother high when this happened?’ he asked.

  ‘Probably,’ said Caitlin. ‘He usually was.’

  Sam was studying the truck, his eyebrows knitted together in a frown. He bent over the front bumper and squinted at the rusted spot where it was bashed in. ‘I’ll need to impound this truck,’ he said, ‘so we can determine for certain if this is the vehicle that killed Emily Eckhart.’

  ‘It is,’ said Caitlin. ‘Go ahead and impound it. I don’t care. Just tell me what’s going to happen to me.’

  Sam shrugged. ‘You withheld evidence in a homicide investigation. First we have to be sure that this is, in fact, evidence of that crime. If there is still blood on this grille, we should know in pretty short order.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘You could be arrested.’

  Caitlin wondered if she could feel any worse than she already did. She doubted it. ‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘I don’t want any more lies.’

  Sam’s icy expression thawed a little bit. ‘You may be treated leniently, now that you’ve voluntarily given up the evidence. It all depends on the judge. In any case, I would suggest you engage an attorney.’

  ‘You’re not arresting me now?’ she said.

  ‘Not right this minute,’ he said.

  ‘Noah will be disappointed,’ Caitlin said.

  ‘Your husband understands legal procedure,’ said Sam.

  ‘Seen enough?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Sam. ‘I’ll leave the closer look to forensics.’

  He led the way out of the garage and Caitlin snapped off the light behind him.

  Out in the driveway, Sam made a phone call while Caitlin shivered in the chilly evening. She felt better somehow, just knowing that this truck would be hauled away from here. That she would not have to constantly be reminded of all that had happened. All the mistakes she had made.

  Sam ended his call and turned back to her. They stood in the silvery circle that the outdoor halogen lights threw on the driveway.

  ‘I heard you had a tough time at the search today,’ he said.

  ‘Once I got there, I understood why you didn’t want me to go. I shouldn’t have insisted.’

  ‘Some things you have to leave to other people,’ he said.

  ‘When those dogs started to bark . . .’ Her eyes filled with tears at the memory of her fear. She shuddered and shook her head.

  ‘You should go inside,’ he said.

  Caitlin nodded. ‘I think I will.’

  ‘They’ll be around for the truck in the morning. I told them there was no need to come get it tonight. I trust that you will not tamper with it.’

  ‘Why would I tamper with it now?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll let you know what we find out.’

  ‘I’d appreciate it.’

  ‘Now that you and Noah are living in separate spaces, I’ve had to arrange for an officer to come by here. A squad car should be arriving shortly.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘For what?’

  Caitlin hesitated. ‘I’m glad to have it off my chest.’

  Sam looked at her with a hint of kindness in his eyes. ‘Try and get some rest.’

  Caitlin raised a hand in farewell and started up the walk to the house.

  She went inside, locked the door behind her, and sank down on the sofa, still wearing her coat. She felt as if she might never be able to move again. She thought about what Sam Mathis had said. An attorney. She and Noah used David Alvarez, a partner in Noah’s office, as their attorney. Obviously, she could not call on him. There was the attorney who had handled her parents’ estate. He was an older guy who probably didn’t handle criminal matters. She could call him. But that implied that she was going to try to evade some responsibility and that was not her aim.

  She heard the crunch of Sam’s tires on the gravel driveway and then the sound of his car’s engine faded away. She was all alone in the silence. Caitlin closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the sofa, her hands still in the pockets of her coat. She heard her cell phone ringing in her bag which she had left on the coffee table. Her first thought was reporters. Could they know already? No, it was too soon. Sam wouldn’t say anything to the press until the truck was known to be the vehicle which killed Emily. She had not given any thought to the publicity that would ensue when the truth came out. That would be another nightmare. She would probably lose her job at the college.

  The phone kept ringing. She hoped for a moment that it might be Noah, but she knew better. Still, it could be news of Geordie. For that alone, she had to answer it. She rummaged for her phone and looked at the caller ID. Unknown name. She didn’t recognize the number or the area code. A bad sign, she thought.

  ‘Hello?’ she said.

  She heard a tiny, distant voice speaking hesitantly into the phone. ‘Mom?’ he said.

  TWELVE

  If she had been zapped with a taser, she could not have been more shocked. ‘Geordie,’ she whispered. ‘Oh my God. Is that you?’

  ‘Hi, Mom.’

  Caitlin clutched phone, as if she could reach through it and seize him. ‘Geordie,’ she cried. ‘Sweetheart, where are you? Are you all right?’

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s . . . not here. Honey, talk to me. Where are you? Are you OK? Has . . . anyone hurt you?’

  ‘I’m OK. But I can’t tell where I am,’ he said plaintively.

  Before she could answer, or ask why, the call was ended. ‘Geordie!’ she cried into the dead line. ‘Geordie.’ She stared at the phone as if she could see his face in it. She pushed the caller ID number again. It was nothing she recognized. Her heart was thundering. Instantly, she pressed the button to return the call. The phone rang and rang. Nothing.

  Despair rose in her like a tidal wave. He was gone. He had slipped away, and was once again out of reach. And she still knew nothing. Not where he was, or how he was. Nothing. But then she corrected herself. You know the most
important thing. He’s alive. He is alive!

  A blast of the doorbell made her jump. She rushed to the door and jerked it open.

  ‘Mrs Eckhart?’ said the uniformed officer on the front step. ‘I’m Officer Wheatley. Detective Mathis sent me.’ He suddenly seemed to notice the agitated expression on her face. The visible whites of her eyes ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes,’ she cried. ‘Yes. Call him. Detective Mathis. Call him right now. Tell him my son just called me. Geordie called me!’ She brandished the cell phone in her hand, as if the device itself were somehow proof.

  ‘The missing boy?’ the officer asked.

  Caitlin nodded.

  ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘Yes. Well, I don’t know. He wasn’t allowed to talk. Look, I need your help. Please. I can’t drive. My hands are shaking too hard. I need to tell my husband. Can we go to the house?’

  ‘You want to go to your husband’s house now?’

  ‘I have to tell him. Please?’ Caitlin begged him.

  The young officer considered this request, which required a deviation from his orders. ‘Let me call Detective Mathis.’ The officer made a hurried call and spoke in a low, urgent voice. Then he turned to Caitlin. ‘All right, come along,’ he said. ‘Detective Mathis and your husband are going to meet us at the station.’

  ‘The police station?’ said Caitlin, dismayed. ‘Why there?’

  ‘That’s what I was told. To bring you down to the station.’

  Caitlin hesitated in the doorway.

  ‘We should hurry,’ said Officer Wheatley.

  Caitlin stepped out of the house and pulled the door shut behind her.

  ‘I’ll need to confiscate that phone,’ the officer said.

  Caitlin clutched the cell phone to her heart, as if it were Geordie himself. ‘No. I need to keep it.’

  ‘Detective Mathis was very clear about this. That phone may contain information which is key to your son’s whereabouts. You need to hand it over,’ said Officer Wheatley.