Gone Again

by James Grippando

  “Awesome. I made a list of Aquinnah’s favorite places: restaurants, coffee shops, fitness center, stores, hangouts. I’m sending volunteers to check every location and to talk with anyone and everyone who might have seen Aquinnah.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  “Or you can stay and walk the neighborhood. There’s a group going out in about three minutes.”

  Charlene pointed, and Jack spotted a group of about two dozen volunteers standing at the corner under the streetlamp—mostly women in their twenties who had canceled their Friday-night plans to help. It was like Cy’s Place on ladies’ night.

  “I’m going with that group,” said Theo.

  “You go right ahead,” said Andie. “I need a minute with Jack.”

  Theo headed off with Charlene. Andie waited until they were out of earshot, then started. “You can join in the hunt for Aquinnah if you want, Jack. But can you keep a secret?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m not saying it’s a hundred percent, but the inside track says Aquinnah took him.”

  Jack’s mind had already gone there, but it wasn’t necessarily a happy place. “She took Alexander with her? Or took him . . . to hurt him?”

  “That’s the big question, isn’t it?”

  Jack nodded slowly. “I first met her at the motel when Debra created the ‘Find Sashi’ center. She came to court a few times. My impression was that Aquinnah was more ‘over it’ than overwhelmed by all of this. I don’t know of any reason for her to hurt Alexander. But this kind of pressure can do strange things to people.”

  “Especially during such impressionable years. Aquinnah was an only child and had the perfect life till she was thirteen. Sashi moved in and, by all accounts, tormented her and everyone else for the next four years. For the last three years her mother has been all about ‘find Sashi’ and, according to Charlene, ignored Aquinnah since she was seventeen. Her parents ended up divorcing. The one bright spot seems to be Alexander, who by all accounts is a great kid.”

  “He is,” said Jack.

  “He may be the one person Aquinnah wants to hang on to. And now DCFS is threatening to take him away from the family. She could have snapped and done what she saw her sister do countless times. She ran. And she took her little brother with her.”

  “With her,” said Jack. “That’s what we hope.”

  “Yeah,” said Andie. “That’s the best case.”

  “Where do you think she went?”

  “That I can’t tell you, Jack. Not because of any conflict of interest. That part of the investigation is completely confidential at this point.”

  “Right, of course. And how about Debra?”

  “What about her?”

  “Have you told her the Aquinnah theory yet?”

  “I haven’t, personally. MDPD is nudging her in that direction, trying to see if she’ll even consider the possibility that Aquinnah did something like this. The plan is to get her to come up with a list of places where Aquinnah might have taken him.”

  Jack’s gaze drifted toward the police tape at the front door, then back. “I know you asked me to keep ‘the secret,’ but Debra is probably feeling pretty awful right now. Do you mind if I talk to her about it?”

  Andie told him it was okay, smiling with her eyes as she laid her hand on the side of his face. “You’re a pretty good guy, Jack Swyteck.”

  “Thanks.”

  “For a lawyer.”

  She gave him a quick kiss goodbye, and he watched as she walked back toward the FBI van. He texted Theo, telling him to grab a ride back to Coconut Grove with one of the volunteers.

  Then he went to his car, wondering what he was going to say to Debra, hoping that Aquinnah had indeed taken Alexander—and praying that she’d taken him with her.

  CHAPTER 60

  Debra bummed a cigarette from a girlfriend, found a quiet spot in her neighbor’s backyard, and lit up.

  Debra had smoked in college but stopped when she got pregnant. She didn’t pick it up again until Sashi’s disappearance. She’d managed to quit again—it was going on thirteen months—but tonight marked her relapse. Detective “José Viernes” had asked her not to smoke near the crime scene, so she took it next door. Getting away from the commotion was actually doing her good. It was her first moment alone since MDPD’s arrival.

  Perez had been pushing hard for details about Aquinnah and Alexander. The detectives had done the same thing three years earlier, only that time it was about the two sisters. The focus in both cases was slanted toward the last twenty-four hours. Her recount of the day and the previous night with Alexander was so normal—so unlike the twenty-four hours before Sashi had disappeared.

  Debra glanced across the yard toward her own house. Standing in the darkness, she could see clearly through the rear windows into her brightly lit kitchen. She could almost see herself at the stove, with her seventeen-year-old daughters seated at the kitchen counter. Alexander was asleep in bed. Yet again, Gavin was out of town “on business.” It was a Thursday evening. The night before Sashi went missing.

  A tall pot of homemade minestrone was simmering on the gas burner. Debra was stirring it with a long wooden spoon, standing on the cook’s side of the island. Aquinnah and Sashi were seated on bar stools on the other side of the granite counter.

  Debra filled the first bowl, placed it in front of Sashi, and started to fill a second.

  “Mom, have you called Tom from Fort Lauderdale yet?” asked Sashi.

  Debra dropped her stirring spoon into the soup pot. “Sashi!”

  “I was just asking.”

  Debra fished the spoon out of the pot with a ladle, careful not to burn her fingers. Over the previous week, there had been plenty of arguments about the “real Internet pervs” that Sashi had promised to show her mother, but not a word about Tom the accountant from eSpark.com.

  “Who’s Tom in Fort Lauderdale?” asked Aquinnah.

  Debra filled another bowl and placed it in front of Aquinnah. “No one.”

  “He’s the answer to Mom’s prayers.”

  “Sashi, that’s enough from you,” said Debra. She placed a bowl of grated Parmesan on the counter between the girls. “The soup is better with cheese. Have some.”

  “Answer to what prayers?” asked Aquinnah.

  “Can we drop this, please?” asked Debra.

  “Mom needs a new man,” said Sashi.

  “Sashi, I am warning you,” said Debra, pointing with her ladle for emphasis. “Don’t push me tonight.”

  Aquinnah laid her soup spoon aside. “Dad’s been out of town a lot lately.”

  “He’s very busy with his work, honey.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. His work is good. He’s busy.”

  “I didn’t mean at work,” said Aquinnah. “I was wondering . . . you know: Are things okay between you and Dad?”

  “Yes, of course, sweetheart.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Everything is fine.”

  Sashi coughed. “Fine if you want a husband who cheats on you.”

  “I said that’s enough,” said Debra.

  Aquinnah shot a nasty look at her sister. “Dad doesn’t cheat.”

  Sashi blew on a spoonful of soup. “Wonderful. I live with two refugees from planet head-up-Uranus.”

  “You are so gross,” said Aquinnah.

  “Gross is the way your father looks at me,” said Sashi.

  “Oh, puh-leeze,” Aquinnah said with a roll of the eyes. “Here we go again.”

  “No, here we don’t go,” said Debra. “Stop it right now, girls.”

  “What did I do?” asked Aquinnah.

  “Just stop. Both of you. And, Sashi, stop calling him Aquinnah’s father. He’s your father, too.”

  “Whatever.”

  “And take those gloves off at the table.”

  It was Sashi’s latest fashion statement. Nobody in Miami wore black leather gloves, especially not glo
ves up to the elbow, especially in September. Nobody but Sashi.

  “I can wear gloves if I want to.”

  “I asked you to take them off.”

  “No.”

  “Take them off,” said Aquinnah.

  Debra turned around to shut down the burner. “Aquinnah, stay out of this.”

  “Yeah. Stay out,” said Sashi.

  “Ow!” Aquinnah shouted. “That was sharp!”

  Debra turned. Aquinnah was rubbing her elbow. Sashi was eating her soup, a smug expression on her face.

  “Sashi, what’s in those gloves?” asked Debra.

  “Nothing.”

  “I’m bleeding!” shouted Aquinnah.

  Debra looked more closely at the gloves, but she was still on the other side of the counter. “Sashi, is that a pin in your fingertip?”

  Sashi didn’t answer, but it appeared to Debra that the pointed end of a short pin was protruding from the right index finger of Sashi’s glove.

  “Mom, I’m bleeding!”

  “Give me those gloves,” said Debra.

  Sashi narrowed her eyes and turned on her other voice—the defiant one. “No.”

  “Give them to her!” shouted Aquinnah.

  “Go to hell,” said Sashi.

  “You go to hell,” said Aquinnah. “But first go kill yourself—like you told Madame Kirova you would.”

  Debra glared. “Aquinnah, how do you know about that?”

  “Dad. He said you told him.”

  Debra’s mouth fell open. “He wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

  Sashi’s expression changed again, transforming from defiance to contempt. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Aquinnah.”

  “Oh, yes I do. Dad told me.”

  Sashi threw her spoon across the room, and it clanged against the wall. “I didn’t tell Madame Kirova that I was going to kill myself!”

  “OMG,” said Aquinnah. “Do you ever stop lying?”

  Debra crossed the kitchen and picked up the spoon, saying nothing—hoping yet again that this would pass.

  “Maybe I will kill myself,” said Sashi. “Would that make you happy, Aquinnah?”

  “Yes, actually. I’d throw a party.”

  “Stop it!” shouted Debra.

  Sashi jabbed her sister with the pin again—this time in the leg. Aquinnah screamed. Sashi screamed louder—a long, bloodcurdling scream that sounded like a mortally wounded animal. Then, with a quick swing of her arm, the bowl of hot soup went flying across the counter. Aquinnah started to cry. Debra tried not to panic, but she feared that this was “the big one”—the kind of meltdown that her virtual friends on the RAD message boards had warned her about.

  “You are all such liars!” screamed Sashi.

  Debra ran to the cabinet. It was where she kept the scented oils. When the meds didn’t seem to work, the psychiatrist recommended aromatherapy. A quick swipe on the neck or wrist at the outset of a rage could make all the difference. The trick was to get Sashi to breathe in and absorb it before the eruption, or else it was as pointless as trying to coax molten lava back into the volcano.

  Debra approached gently with the vial. “Sashi—here, honey.”

  Sashi swatted it away. The vial flew against the wall. The strong scent of lavender suddenly filled the room. Debra hurried to the cabinet for another vial: essence of jasmine, said to fight stress and reduce anxiety. This time she dabbed the oil onto a dish towel.

  “Mom, I’m bleeding over here!” said Aquinnah.

  Debra’s focus remained on Sashi. She spoke softly, lovingly, trying to calm her. “Sashi, just breathe this, okay?”

  “Fuck you, Mom!”

  “Hel-lo, I’m still bleeding over here!”

  “Aquinnah—shut up!” said Debra.

  “What?”

  “Go to your room! Don’t you see what you caused here?”

  Debra whispered more gentle words of encouragement to Sashi, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aquinnah fuming and watching in disbelief.

  “Are you kidding me, Mother? Really?”

  “Aquinnah, go!” said Debra, and then she continued in her soothing voice with Sashi. “Come on, baby. Breathe.”

  “She’s crazy, Mom! She stabbed me with a pin—twice! And you’re blaming me?”

  “This is not Sashi’s fault.”

  “It’s never her fault. She gets away with everything. It’s always my fault!”

  “You didn’t have to grow up in an orphanage.”

  “You didn’t have to ruin my life!”

  Aquinnah stormed out the room, her angry footfalls pounding the hardwood floor.

  Debra’s cell phone rang. It was Jack Swyteck. “Debra, hey. I’m in your driveway. Can you come out and talk for a minute?”

  She breathed out her last soothing drag. “Any news to report from Aquinnah’s house?”

  “I’m hearing the same thing you are.”

  “Oh.” It was all she could say.

  “I think we should talk about it. Don’t you?”

  She thought for a moment, then crushed out her cigarette. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

  CHAPTER 61

  Aquinnah was seated on the edge of the mattress on a squeaky motel bed, staring in disbelief at the lead story on the ten o’clock news.

  “Lightning has struck twice for this south Florida family, piling tragedy on top of tragedy in a parent’s worst nightmare. Good evening, I’m Craig Roberts . . .”

  Side-by-side photographs of Aquinnah and Alexander flashed on the screen as the anchorman continued:

  “A massive search is under way tonight as law enforcement faces the daunting task of finding not one but two children from the same family. Alexander Burgette, age nine, was apparently snatched from his Coral Gables home this afternoon while his mother, Debra Burgette, was exercising on the treadmill.”

  They’d gotten that part right. Aquinnah knew that her mother would be on the treadmill from four to five on Friday. That had been her routine as long as she could remember. Aquinnah knew she wouldn’t hear the car pull up or the front door open and close.

  “And Alexander’s twenty-year-old sister, Aquinnah, has also been reported missing. Earlier this evening, Action News reporter Susan Brown was at Alexander’s home in the upscale Cocoplum community, where his father, Gavin Burgette, had this to say . . .”

  The bathroom door opened, and Alexander stepped out wearing his pajamas. “Is that Dad on TV?”

  Aquinnah grabbed the remote and switched it off. “Never mind about that,” she said.

  He sat on the edge of the mattress beside her. “I don’t like this.”

  “I told you: it’s only for a little while. And it’s only for our own safety.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  She’d told him very little, but she stuck to the story. It was based on what Debra had told her about that night outside the Russian deli. “The man who Mom spotted outside the Matryoshka Deli is very dangerous, Alexander. If we don’t hide, he’ll get us both. We only have to hide until the police catch him.”

  “I hope they catch him soon. Do you think we’re safe here?”

  Her story was bogus, but his question was valid. The size of the manhunt had her concerned, and she was nervous about the way the motel manager had looked at her. Perhaps he’d seen something on the news and recognized them. Paying in cash so that police couldn’t monitor her credit card activity would only add to his suspicions.

  “I really want to go home,” said Alexander.

  “We can’t. Not tonight.”

  “Mom is going to be worried. Can’t we call her?”

  “No. We can’t call anybody until I figure this out.”

  “Figure what out?”

  She couldn’t tell him. He was just nine. He couldn’t hear the truth. She held him close. “I love you, okay? This isn’t something you can possibly understand. But I promise: if you do what I say, this will all work out fine. Okay?”

  He di
dn’t seem totally sold. “I’m scared.”

  “Don’t be scared. I’ve got this under control. But I’m not sure we can stay here tonight.”

  “Why not?”

  “We need a better place to hide.”

  “From what?”

  “From everybody. Only for a little while. You have to trust me, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “So if you just lie down for a little while and be quiet, I’ll think of a place.”

  She pulled back the covers for him. He climbed into bed and settled his head onto the pillow. “Can I play on your phone for a few minutes?”

  She’d left it at home so that police couldn’t track her by GPS. “Go to sleep, Alexander.”

  He lay quiet for a minute. Then his eyes popped open, and his face lit up. “I know where we can hide,” he said.

  “Please. Try to rest.”

  “No, I’m serious. It’s the perfect place. No one ever goes there,” he said with a clever grin.

  “No one?”

  “Nope. Nobody will ever find us.”

  She felt chills for a second, thinking about Sashi. “Okay. Tell me.”

  CHAPTER 62

  It was almost midnight when Jack reached the Freedom Institute.

  Hannah and the rest of the team had gone home around ten. The emergency motion for stay of execution was in good shape. Hannah had been e-mailing drafts to him throughout the night, but Jack was old school, and he liked to read a printed copy before filing—especially when it was going to the U.S. Supreme Court, and positively when it was a death-row client’s last shot at life.

  Jack opened the front door and switched on the light. It was quiet as a tomb. He’d insisted that the team not wait for him, but he’d half expected Hannah to hang around until he’d given the official and final blessing on their work. Over the past twelve days, however, they’d put in more than their share of all-nighters, and Jack was on his own.

  I know Dylan Reeves is not asleep.

  Jack flipped on more lights and went to the kitchen. The inkjet printer was on the counter next to the coffeemaker. It made more noise than a percolating Mr. Coffee as it powered up from sleep mode. Jack sent the draft motion from his laptop to the print queue and crossed his fingers. The old machine inhaled a blank sheet and spit out a crisp page one.