Jason placed his hands on her face. “We’ll look.”
She nodded a couple of times.
“Is there anything else?” the officer asked.
“Yeah.” Ford removed a phone from his pocket. “I found Owen’s cell phone in my backpack.”
The police had given her hope that they’d be able to trace a call from his number the moment he used it. Now that hope was gone.
Rachel took it from Ford’s fingertips and started to scan his recent texts. Many were back and forth from his friends, and a few were from Nathan. She scanned through recent calls while the officers questioned Ford.
She opened his pictures to see if maybe he’d taken a selfie at the home he was in. Anything to give her a clue. The first thing she saw was an image of Owen’s bruised face. She pressed the triangle to see the video he’d taken.
Hey, Rachel. Owen’s voice caught her throat with emotion. The room went silent, and everyone turned to her. Jason placed his hand under hers when she started to shake. I know you’re gonna be pissed and worried. I’m sorry for that. But I can’t go back to that place. And I’m not living with the hag and her sidekick. And if my dad is behind all of this, well, fuck him. This wasn’t right. Once all the adults start acting like adults, I’ll be back. And if they can’t . . . well, my mom didn’t raise a fool. I love you.
The screen stilled.
“Was that Owen?” one of the officers asked.
She nodded and turned the phone his way and watched the video again.
“Does any of that mean anything to you?”
“The hag is how he refers to his grandmother, the sidekick is the grandfather.”
Jason glanced at the officer. “Needless to say, he isn’t interested in living with them.”
“And the fat lip, that’s from the kids at the foster home?” the cop asked Ford.
“That’s what he told us,” Ford told them.
“Can’t blame the kid for not wanting to go back,” Ford’s father added. “He could have stayed with us.”
“I told him that,” said Ford. “But he thought the cops would just take him back there.”
The lead officer shook his head. “Not if there is evidence of abuse.”
“There wasn’t any abuse at Rachel’s house,” Ford argued.
“I hear ya, kid. I don’t always like my job.” He turned to Rachel. “Is there anything else in this that offers any clue?”
They watched the video twice more. “No.” She wished there was.
The officers thanked Ford and his family and asked them to call if they heard from Owen, and then the family walked out onto the frozen sidewalk.
“Now what?” Rachel asked the officers.
“We’ll give Owen’s picture to the local police and NYPD and have him taken in if they see him.”
She waited for an and. When her stare was met with silence, she said it herself. “And?”
“He’s a runaway.”
“What does that mean?” Jason asked.
“Teenage runaways aren’t anything new. We put them in the database, pick them up when we find them, and return them home.”
“But you don’t look for them?” Outrage rested behind Rachel’s question.
“Miss Price, have you seen the streets of Manhattan? They are filled with teenage runaways from all over this country. I’m sorry. You seem like a nice lady, you obviously care about this boy.”
“I’m the only family he knows.”
“We understand. But there really isn’t anything we can do at this point. If he contacts you, tell him to come home.”
“He was forced to leave my home.”
“Let him know that if Ford’s parents are okay with him staying there for a while, until your custody matters are resolved, most of the time the social workers will approve. Especially in light of the physical abuse he seems to have suffered from the foster care facility.”
Jason held her close. “And in the meantime?”
“You might try searching his social media or search his Internet history. He might have looked at places to go before giving up his phone. And pray Owen was speaking the truth in his video about his mother not raising a fool.”
The officers gave her their contact information before pulling out of Ford’s driveway.
Rachel shivered, realizing for the first time that it had started to snow.
“Let’s go back to my house,” Jason suggested.
“I’m going into the city to look for him.”
Jason stood in front of her. “Let’s go back to my house and strategize. See if we can pinpoint where Owen might have gone. Officer Bailey was right. Owen might have looked something up on the Internet that can clue us in. We’ll get some help and go search for him together and cover more ground than what the two of us can do alone.”
Her teeth chattered. Much as she wanted to leave right then, what Jason said made sense.
Jason forced her into a hotel after two in the morning.
Nathan stayed behind at the estate and checked Rachel’s house twice just in case Owen went home. Glen and Trent took the uptown and downtown subways, searching the stations. Mary and Monica spent their time on the phone, calling shelters and hospitals, although Jason wasn’t about to tell Rachel about the hospital search. Yet when Mary mentioned doing it, he agreed. The inch of snow they’d gotten overnight wasn’t something anyone should be sleeping in. He liked to think Owen would be more resourceful; Jason reminded himself that the kid was only fifteen. Underestimating the power of a cold New York winter would certainly put just about any of them in a hospital emergency room.
They managed less than five hours of sleep before they were up and at it again. Searching the streets for one child may have been difficult in the dark, but in the sea of people walking around in the morning, it was impossible.
They stopped their search at eight in the morning so they could meet Clive at the courthouse for the emergency hearing he’d managed to have placed on the calendar the day before.
Clive took one look at Rachel’s disheveled state and frowned. “It’s always better to show up in court looking your best,” he told her.
She stepped toward him, her lips in a straight line. “We have been searching for Owen from the minute he went missing. Wearing a skirt and a smile isn’t my priority.”
Clive held up his hands, lowered his head. “I’m sorry. I know. I just want you to win this so there is no reason to return here.”
Jason grasped her hand in his and felt her squeeze. “How is this going to go?” he asked Clive.
“There are eight cases being heard today.”
“What number are we?” Rachel asked.
“Six.”
“When will we be called?”
“I can’t predict that. The cases could go quickly, if in fact the families before us have come to some agreement and the judge signs and pushes papers, or there could be witness calling procedures that push us until the afternoon.”
“So I have to wait here while Owen is out there somewhere?”
Clive looked to both of them. “That’s the way this works.”
Rachel released Jason’s hand and started to walk in circles.
“Hey, hey,” he said, trying to calm her down. “Glen and Trent are still out there. Glen found a private investigator who is an expert on teenage runaways. Ford’s parents are joining the search once school is out.” She looked away, and he ducked to make her meet his eyes. “We’re going to find him.”
She held it together and leaned her head on his shoulder.
Jason folded her into his arms and listened to her strangled breathing. He was grateful that she didn’t start crying again.
Clive sighed. “Okay, I’m going to speak with the Colemans’ attorney. I need you two to stay close.”
The mention of the Colemans’ name had Rachel’s head off Jason’s shoulder and searching the lobby.
Although Jason had never met the Colemans, they were easy to spot when Rachel
’s hatred landed on the couple.
Owen described them perfectly. The hag had pretentiousness written all over her, and the husband looked embarrassed to be there.
Jason had to physically hold Rachel back.
“That is only going to make things worse.”
He turned her in the opposite direction and listened to her mutter under her breath about the couple while he grabbed them both a cup of coffee.
Thirty minutes later Clive joined them again.
“Well?”
Clive shook his head. “They won’t see reason. Mr. Yanez told me they believe you know exactly where Owen is and this is all an orchestrated plot to convince the court to leave him with you.”
“Orchestrated . . .” Rachel pounded her fist on the cafeteria table. “How dare they.”
“That’s outrageous,” Jason said.
“Outrageous or not, we will have to prove they’re wrong.”
“I thought the law was centered around being innocent until proven guilty.”
Jason was pretty sure Clive laughed.
“You said you had a video?”
Rachel produced Owen’s phone. Clive watched the video and wrote a few notes on his legal pad. He asked questions about the night before and the discussions with Lionel and Ford. There was some relief because those stories could be substantiated by a third and fourth party and therefore wouldn’t be thrown out.
Clive left them alone for a few minutes so that he could check the courtroom to see the progression of the other cases. When he returned he announced they were still on the second case.
“Can all of this go away today?” Jason asked him.
“It could.” He didn’t sound hopeful.
“Tell us the possible outcomes.”
Clive made a strange face. “I doubt this will all go away today. If the father was here, and Owen was present to state his desires . . . maybe. But Tereck Junior is out of the country, according to his parents, and unreachable because he’s shooting pictures in the Middle East somewhere.”
“But they can’t testify for him,” Jason said.
“No, but the court will most likely delay any permanent ruling until TJ can be found and come in.”
“So what can we expect today?”
“My ultimate goal is to have Owen placed back in your home.”
That sounded good. “And charges against Rachel for not following a court order she never received?”
Jason’s mention of that information prompted Clive to start digging in his files. He removed a piece of paper and turned it toward Rachel.
“Is that your signature?”
Her face went white. “No.”
Clive pointed to it again. “That isn’t you?”
She shook her head.
“What is it?” Jason asked.
“It’s Owen’s.”
Clive turned the paper around. “You’re sure?”
“Yep.” She turned to Jason. “Why would he not tell me about this?”
“I don’t know, hon. Maybe he was scared.”
Clive put the paper back in his briefcase. “Okay, so when I ask you if the signature is yours in front of the judge, you’re going to say no. You are not going to reveal whose it is.”
Rachel blinked. “You want me to lie?”
“I’m telling you to avoid offering that information.”
“And if Yanez asks?”
“If he asks directly if it is Owen’s . . .” Clive waved a hand in the air as if he were on the fence as to his advice.
Rachel lowered her voice. “You want me to lie.”
“I would never suggest you lie, just hold some truth back without perjuring yourself. If the court thinks Owen received the certified letter, then they will believe you saw it. At that point you defied a court order by taking Owen out of the country, and you’re now at risk of charges for doing so.”
“I never saw a letter.”
“I believe you. But me believing you isn’t going to help in there.” He waved at the bank of windows that led to the courtroom they’d be heard in.
“Wow.”
Clive sat back in his chair, sipped his coffee. “Don’t be so surprised. These walls were built on lies. Only half the people in here are telling the truth, the other half are not.”
“I thought there were laws against that.”
“There are. You spent half a day in New York’s Finest’s locked unit. My guess is you didn’t see anyone in there on a perjury charge.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rachel ran her hand through her hair for the thousandth time. It was past lunch, and the court was just about to be called back in session. There was only one case in front of them. She leaned against Jason on a bench outside the courtroom.
“It just dawned on me that I haven’t called in to work for two days.”
Jason’s shoulders shook with mirth. “I’ve got ya covered.”
“But you’re not my immediate supervisor. I should have spoken with Gerald.”
He kissed the side of her head. “I told him he can expect to see you when he sees me.”
She laced her fingers through his. The thought of going through all of this alone made her physically ill. Did he feel obligated? Every move he’d made felt sincere, but how could she really know? He’d fallen into her drama the moment she was taken away in his office building. She’d leaned on him like a crutch, a life preserver in a tsunami. “I’m keeping you from your life,” she said aloud.
“Whoa . . . hey.” He pulled away far enough to look at her. “You didn’t bring any of this on yourself.”
“I’m invested in Owen. You’re not.”
His smile fell. “I’m going to forget you said that.”
She placed a hand on the side of his face. “I feel guilty for taking you away from your life.”
“Stop.”
She closed her lips and held her breath.
“From the moment we met, I became invested in you. Owen is a part of you. So stop feeling guilty.”
Rachel pushed back the tears in her eyes. “I don’t think I could have done this without you, Jason.”
“You don’t have to.” He kissed her briefly.
She sniffled and pulled back the waterworks.
“Where is he, Jason? Is he hungry? Cold?”
Jason didn’t seem as concerned as she was. “I can’t help but think we’re looking in the wrong place.”
They didn’t get a chance to talk more before Clive walked up.
“We’re on.”
Rachel filled her lungs and let it all out in a rush.
“I won’t let anything happen to him, Em. I promise you.”
The smell of antiseptic and sickness filled each fiber of Rachel’s being. She knew every name of every employee on the oncology floor of the hospital. Unlike the doctors, the nurses had told her that Emily wouldn’t make it through the night.
The light in Em’s eyes had gone out two days before, and Rachel and Owen kept a constant presence in the room. She wouldn’t die alone, it was a vow the two of them had made when they knew there was no saving her. Rachel and Owen had cried every moment they found themselves alone.
But when in Emily’s room, they held it together. When one of them felt the need to break down, they would leave her side.
Rachel had an understanding with the nurses that when Owen needed to step away, one of them was by his side. And if he needed to be alone, they kept their distance, but there was always one eye on him.
But at this moment, the second time Rachel promised Emily she’d take care of Owen as if he were her own, Rachel was alone, and the tears silently fell. “He will be my son from this day forward. I will be there for him when you pass. I will be there for him when he graduates from high school. I will send him to college and welcome his wife into our lives. Your grandchildren will be mine. I will do everything in my power to be there for him. For you.” Rachel held Emily’s frail hand. The difference between the two of them was more than
black and white. It was healthy and deathly thin . . . alive and on one’s last breath of life. “I know you’re in pain. I know you’re holding on. Let go, Em. I’ve got him. I promise you.”
Within the hour Emily was gone.
Rachel swallowed her memory and the pain it punched in her heart. She’d already broken her promise, and it hadn’t yet been a year.
With her chin high, she entered the courtroom and sat on the side opposite the Colemans.
Clive sat beside her and whispered, “Don’t look at them. Don’t show emotion toward them. Don’t say a thing until I have you on that stand.”
She swallowed with a nod.
Looking behind her, she saw Jason on the other side of the wooden rail.
He offered a supportive nod.
The bailiff called the room to order, and the judge walked in. Rachel thought they were going to make everyone stand, but they didn’t. Thrown off, all Rachel saw was the color of the judge’s skin.
She was black. An African American woman who earned her place in a robe, laying judgment on others’ lives. Never before in Rachel’s life had she looked upon the skin of someone else and felt dread.
Rachel couldn’t help it. Would race play a significant role in this? Would the judge’s decision be swayed because Owen was black?
She wanted to cry.
“Oh, God.” The Colemans looked smug.
“Don’t look at them.”
Her eyes found the city crest and focused on it.
Without hearing, Rachel recognized that her counsel and that of the Colemans introduced themselves for the purpose of the court reporter.
Judge Sherman looked at both parties and started by speaking to the Colemans. “I’ve read the argument for custody of Owen Moreau from Mr. and Mrs. Coleman.” She turned her eyes on Rachel. “And that from the counsel of Miss Price. “I have to admit, I have more questions than answers. Have the parties come to any agreement?”
Mr. Yanez spoke first. “No, Your Honor. We have not.”
Judge Sherman looked at Clive.
“We have not, Your Honor.”
“All right, then,” the judge said with a sigh. “Let’s proceed.”
Clive stayed standing while Mr. Yanez and the Colemans sat. “Your Honor, before we move on, you need to know that the child in the case, Owen Moreau, has fled the foster care system and is unaccounted for right now.”
Not Quite Crazy Page 25