“See, what happened right here?” Marley asked at the point where Caitlin froze. “Something spooked her, but what?”
“There’s no audio on the camera,” Young added, “so we don’t know if someone shouted something at her, if it was a song on the radio, or what.”
On the computer screen Caitlin ran out the door again, and Marley rewound it to the same point and let it start playing. Lance turned away from the screen.
“Turn it off,” Lance said. The cops both stared at him, but neither one said anything or made any move to stop the video. “I said turn it off!” Lance repeated, and this time he took matters into his own hands and slapped the laptop closed.
“Whoa,” Marley said.
“Right now, my son is missing, and you’re sitting here wasting your time with some stupid video,” Lance said.
21
Caitlin sat in the stiff chair in the police station waiting area. Lance had been in the little meeting room with the police for what felt like forever, but when she pulled out her phone to check it, she saw it hadn’t yet been ten minutes. Time no longer had any meaning.
Caitlin tried to deal with her racing heart and the all-over ache of her body by exhaling loudly through her mouth. She had a memory of watching breathing exercise videos on YouTube when she was pregnant with Adam. Thinking about her pregnancy sent a fresh wave of pain through her. Where was her baby? Where was her baby boy?
She had told the police everything she could remember about her stupid convenience store stop. Well, almost everything. The stuff that was relevant, she reasoned.
What she said was that she had to go out and run some errands, that Adam had fallen asleep in the car, and she had forgotten him when she made a quick stop at the convenience store. When she realized her error, she ran outside, but it was too late. He was already gone.
“I couldn’t have been in the store more than a minute,” she said.
“Two minutes, twenty-five seconds,” that smartass Marley had said. They had security camera footage of her in the store, but how stupid was this? They could see her plain as day shopping, but those cameras hadn’t picked up the sick psycho who had kidnapped Adam from the back of the car.
“What’s the point of the cameras?” Caitlin asked in frustration. “How is that even legal?”
Her question did not get an answer. Instead Officer Young said, “Tell me about the energy drinks, Ms. Walker.”
“What?” She couldn’t believe that was what he was going to focus on. “I have a big project I’m working on,” she said. It wasn’t entirely a lie. “I needed to stay up late to work on it.”
As she sat in the waiting area chair, Caitlin played back over the whole exchange in her head. They suspected her, she was sure of it. Well, that was how it was a lot of times in these cases. She had seen the news stories.
It convinced her that she had done the right thing in not telling them about driving out to Pennsylvania. That would have looked weird and suspicious, and how would she have explained it? She imagined herself saying she drove out there to pick up some discontinued sleeping pills, what were technically illegal drugs. As if that wasn’t bad enough, there was the fact that she had nothing to show for her travels. How suspicious would it have been to tell them she went out there to buy some discontinued medication but had come back empty-handed? Plus, they would have relayed all that to Lance, and he would have lost his shit for sure. As it was, what were they telling Lance in that little meeting room? She pulled out her phone again to check, astounded to see that only two more minutes had elapsed.
She stood up, surprised at how wobbly and unsteady her legs felt. She steadied herself against the wall before walking in the direction of that little meeting room. She wasn’t going in, but maybe if she stood close enough to the door, she would be able to overhear.
“You can’t be back here,” a female employee in plain clothes said as she approached and steered Caitlin back toward the waiting area.
“I need to talk to my husband,” Caitlin said, nodding toward the door. “Can you interrupt them for a moment.”
The secretary or whoever she was glanced toward the closed door.
“I can take a message down.” She grabbed a pad and pen from one of the desks and looked at Caitlin expectantly.
Caitlin didn’t actually have a message planned out, so she said, “Just tell him I went back to the house to wait for any calls.”
It was a lame excuse. They had discontinued their landline two years ago, but it wasn’t as if this secretary was going to know this. If it came to it, Caitlin figured she could always use the excuse that she had left her charger at home, and her phone’s battery was dying. At last check, it had been at about thirty percent, so this wasn’t really a lie.
Caitlin stepped outside into the cool, late afternoon air, and for a moment she remembered how to breathe. She was relieved to be outside that awful building. It was only the second police station she had ever been in. She would be happy if she never visited another one for as long as she lived.
Memories of the interview room at the Culver Creek police station flooded back. How strange that twice in one day that awful place would be so present in her mind. She felt that cursed town looming over her as she walked to her car, and of course, she remembered that night in the motel room.
She had been asleep, but the unfamiliar bed and her mother’s insistence on keeping the television on meant Caitlin didn’t sleep well. That, and a part of her was afraid she would have that dream about little Lily again. That wasn’t usually how it worked, but she had spent the whole day trying to recall the details of the dream, so she feared it would repeat itself in her head that night.
Caitlin had awoken with a start, her heart racing as she tried to figure out where she was, then the slightly musty odor and the sound of the television reminded her that she was still in the Culver Creek motel room. Would they finally go home tomorrow? Her mother hadn’t given her a definitive answer, but they had talked to the police and told them everything, so why would they need to stay here anymore? Maybe it already was tomorrow. Caitlin rolled over to get a look at the room’s window, but she saw only darkness beyond the heavy plaid curtains.
She saw her mother’s body squirming around beneath the covers on her bed. Apparently, Caitlin wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. Her mother said something, and Caitlin quickly shut her eyes and rolled over, feigning sleep. The last thing she wanted was for Luanne to start pestering her about her dreams. Caitlin did her best to mimic sleep, breathing as she lay there listening to the voices on the television show her mother wasn’t watching. She heard her mother giggle, and then a man on the TV said, “You’ve been a bad girl. Don’t make me use my handcuffs.”
The voice was louder than the others and vaguely familiar, and Caitlin risked getting caught awake to take a look at the show on the television. She was staring at the screen when she heard the man’s voice again, only this time she realized it hadn’t come from the TV at all. She looked over at her mother’s bed and saw the covers slip off to reveal a man’s broad, bare back. In the dim light she recognized Officer Brighton’s haircut, and before she could look away, she saw her mother pull the police officer’s face toward hers, pressing her lips to his. From what Caitlin could see, her mother didn’t have any clothes on either.
She had seen more than enough. She was old enough to know exactly what was going on between her mother and the policeman, and it disgusted her. She burrowed beneath her covers, even though she was too warm, and tried to shut out the noises coming from the bed beside hers, to no avail.
Caitlin blinked away the awful memory as she sat behind the wheel of her SUV. Out of habit, she glanced at the rearview mirror, and her heart leapt. Adam was here! He had been here all along, it was all some terrible mistake. She spun around, but even before she grabbed hold of the blanket, she realized her mistake. The car seat was empty. Her mind was playing tricks on her.
Still clutching the blanket, she turn
ed back around. She buried her face in the folds of the soft cloth and inhaled deeply. The blanket smelled of juice, Cheerios, slightly sour yogurt and fabric softener. It smelled like Adam. Tears ran down her face, and she mopped at them with the blanket.
She thought of the first time she laid eyes on her infant son. His tiny body looked so fragile. She remembered holding him to her chest, silently promising to take care of him and keep him safe, but now she had broken that promise. How many times had she read of some tragic news story about a young child and wondered how the parents could have ever let such a thing happen? How many times had she faulted her own mother for being horrible and selfish? A vision of her naked mother locking lips with Officer Brighton in a motel bed flashed into her head before she could stop it.
The thing about that night in the motel room that had always bothered Caitlin was not that her mother cared so little for her father that she would break her marriage vows and have sex with some man she barely knew, but that her mother was so self-centered that she didn’t even think of her daughter sleeping in the next bed. Certainly Luanne and Officer Brighton had not worried much about keeping the noise levels of their lovemaking in check. Her mother had forgotten all about her daughter during her night of passion. Had she even spared a passing thought for Caitlin’s safety? What if Brighton had turned out to be some dangerous psycho?
Maybe Caitlin wasn’t shacking up with random men in seedy motel rooms, but she knew she was to blame for her son’s disappearance. It was her self-centered actions that had led to this. She had been so worried about her own nightmares and so desperate to avoid them that she had forgotten entirely about Adam as she ran into the convenience store for her energy drink shopping spree. The truth was, she was no better than Luanne.
Luanne. Shit. She had to call her mother. She set Adam’s blanket on the seat beside her and pulled out her phone. Luanne sounded giddy, though she was hard to hear over the sound of slot machines and music in the background.
“Mom, something’s happened,” Caitlin managed to get out before she broke down sobbing.
Luanne’s voice turned suddenly serious. Through sobs Caitlin told the whole, ugly story. The same one she had told the police, anyway.
“I’m on my way,” Luanne said. “We’ll be on the next flight.”
22
“Did your wife ever hurt Adam?” Officer Young asked Lance.
“Caitlin?” he said, incredulous. “No, of course not.” He was beyond frustrated. They weren’t getting anywhere asking him all these ridiculous questions. Meanwhile his son was out there with god-knew-who, and these two nitwits did not seem to be in any hurry to track him down. It was maddening. And Caitlin. He needed to see Caitlin. She must be going out of her mind with worry.
“Did you hurt your son?” Marley asked.
Lance was trying to keep his cool, but it was getting increasingly difficult.
“No, it’s not like that, you have it all wrong.”
“Do we?” Marley asked. “Because we spoke to your son’s teacher. She confirmed that Adam was not in school today, but she also told us something else. She said last week she noticed some bruises on his neck.”
Lance felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. He tried to remain passive, but he felt Young’s eyes boring into him.
“You know anything about that, Mr. Walker?” Young asked. “The bruises on Adam’s neck?”
“No, nothing,” Lance said, forcing his voice to remain neutral, even as a storm raged in his head. “Maybe his teacher is mistaken.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Young said. He didn’t sound convinced.
Lance couldn’t believe he was such an idiot. He had been raised better than this. You never talked to the cops without a lawyer. That was the rule, but he had been in such a desperate rush to find out what was going on with Adam, he had forgotten all about that rule. He hadn’t stopped to realize that the cops would consider him a suspect, but of course they did. Hell, they might not even be out there looking for Adam or his kidnapper because they thought they already had their man.
In his head he caught a glimpse of a memory. His mother saying, “The police won’t understand.” He thought of the day they showed up to ask about who might have murdered little Lily. He pictured the four of them in the living room, his mother telling them about the car she had seen as they jotted down notes. Had she said that about the police not understanding before they showed up, or was it after? But no, that was all wrong.
The vague memory resolved itself slightly. He saw his mother saying the words while wearing her terry cloth bathrobe. They were in the bathroom. He saw the hideous baby blue tile that she despised in the sad, outdated room. She was always cutting out pictures of bathrooms that she liked from magazines and taping them to the mirror, dreaming about the remodeling project she could never afford. Well, that was until she married Tucker Rixby and got her whole life remodeled.
Yes, he could see it plain as day. His mother was at the sink washing her hands, washing something, as she told him, “The police won’t understand.”
The memory was so vague and indistinct that it occurred to him it probably didn’t have anything at all to do with Lily. It was likely much earlier than that. Did it have something to do with his father’s heart attack? Yes, this felt right. Lance had only hazy memories of his father, who had suffered a fatal heart attack when Lance was just five years old. Whatever his mother had been talking about that night in the bathroom had something to do with his dad, but what? Lance couldn’t say. He might not even have her words right. He wondered if the police had questioned her after his dad died. Surely they couldn’t have blamed her for his heart attack, but maybe that was how it always was.
They always suspected next of kin—wives, husbands, parents. A child goes missing, and they immediately suspected the parents had something to do with it, and when that same boy showed up at school the previous week with bruises, well, it did kind of make one wonder, didn’t it? Of course, he couldn’t tell them what had really happened, because like his mother said all those years ago, they wouldn’t understand.
“I would never lay a hand on my son,” Lance said, “and I’m offended that you would even suggest such a thing.”
He realized the last bit was too much. It made him sound guilty. He had no business talking to the police on his own. This was why you always had a lawyer with you, but here was the dilemma: If he asked to call his lawyer now, he would succeed in looking even more guilty. The cops would stop any pretense of a search for Adam. So he couldn’t call his lawyer, but he had to get the hell out of there.
“Look, unless you plan on arresting me,” Lance said, “I need to go see my wife.”
“We’re not arresting you,” Marley said. He didn’t actually say the word yet, but Lance heard it in the tone of his voice. “But it will be much easier to find Adam if we know the truth.”
“I’ve told you everything there is to tell,” Lance said, and he stood up. Neither officer made a move to stop him, so he walked out the door, his heart racing.
He scanned the police station, but he didn’t see Caitlin anywhere.
“Mr. Walker!”
Lance looked over at the woman who jumped up from a desk and walked to where he stood.
“Your wife asked me to tell you she went back to the house.”
Still worried that Young and Marley would change their minds and call him back in for more questioning, Lance left the station, got in his car, and drove down the road. He pulled into the parking lot of the dry cleaners, and with the car still running, he pulled out his phone. His first impulse was to call Caitlin and make sure she was all right, but the police interview was still fresh in his mind. He needed to talk to his stepfather.
He didn’t have anything against the local attorney who had represented them when they bought their house and who had prepared their wills, but Lance figured a criminal case was probably above his skillset. This wasn’t the sort of thing where you wanted to mess aroun
d. His stepfather was the kind of man who knew a lot of people. Even if he didn’t personally know a good criminal lawyer in New Jersey, he would know someone who did.
Lance dialed the house number. His mother picked up on the third ring.
“Hi, Mom,” Lance said. “I need to talk to Tucker. Is he around?”
Then he realized he had to tell Raquel what was going on.
“I think he’s in his study. Let me grab him,” Raquel said.
“Wait, Mom, I actually need to talk to both of you,” Lance said.
“Is everything okay?” Raquel asked.
“If you can just get Tucker, I’ll explain everything to both of you,” Lance said.
He was surprised at how steady and calm his voice was as he explained the day’s events to his mother and stepfather. Maybe it was genetics, because after hearing the story, Raquel seemed to remain composed, while Tucker Rixby had a bit of a freak out.
Tucker’s voice cracked as he asked, “Just tell me what I can do.”
“Well,” Lance said, “do you know of any attorneys who have experience with this sort of thing?”
“Of course, there’s—” Tucker began, but Raquel cut him off.
“No, we’re wasting time. We’ll talk about that in person. We’re on our way now.”
“Mom, wait—” Lance said, but he, too, was overruled by his mother’s decree.
“We’ll throw some stuff into a suitcase and head right out,” she said.
Lance hadn’t counted on this, but he didn’t see how he could stop the two of them. He reasoned it might be for the best. They would be able to help, and though Caitlin and Raquel weren’t exactly the best of friends, he thought it would be good for Caitlin to have a sort of mother figure around. Then he remembered he needed to get back home to comfort his distraught wife.
“I’ve got to go,” Lance said.
Up the Creek Page 14