by David Bell
“We’re skipping it.”
Paige opened her mouth to say more but stopped. Bill felt relief. He didn’t want to argue with his sister. He didn’t have the will to argue with anyone. His stomach roiled with nervous energy and the pain of grief, the feelings intensifying as the day went on. He checked the clock, expecting a call from Hawkins or the funeral home at any moment. It left him unable to think about eating or anything else.
“I’ll go in with you,” Paige said. “To see her. If you want.”
Bill looked up.
“You’re right. It can’t be much worse than seeing . . . Haley in that condition. Can it?”
“No.” Some of the tension eased out of Bill’s gut. He made a small, tentative jab at his food. He lifted a bite and chewed. It felt rubbery and stiff, but he managed to swallow. “This isn’t too bad.”
“No, it isn’t. Your coworkers sent over a twelve-pack of beer and a frozen pizza. They must know you well. It’s nice to have people in your life who want to help when you need it.”
“It is,” Bill said. “Definitely.”
He hadn’t seen or heard from Adam since the night before when he ran into him at the Everetts’ house. He thought about texting him that morning to check whether he’d learned anything. But he knew Adam. He’d want to move at his own pace, and if he learned something, he’d let Bill know in his own time.
Then the phone surprised Bill by ringing.
Bill fumbled putting his fork down and then scrambled to extract the phone from his pocket. “Yeah?” he said.
“Good afternoon, Bill.”
Hawkins’s voice, which sounded overly formal and stiff like a telemarketer reading from a script, set Bill on edge.
“What’s wrong?”
“Are you busy right now?” Hawkins asked, his voice still off somehow.
“I’m home. Waiting for you to call.”
“Say, can you meet me down at the station? I have some things to go over with you before we move forward with anything else.”
“What things? Did something go wrong?”
“Is your sister still there?”
“Yes. Of course. She’s staying for the funeral.”
“Bring her along with you,” Hawkins said. “I’ll see you in about ten minutes. Okay?”
Before Bill answered, the detective hung up.
CHAPTER FORTY
The Jakesville police station had been built just six years earlier. It sat two blocks off the main square, efficient and cold, a modern redbrick and glass building, two stories high and fronted by a row of flagpoles. Bill had spent a lot of time there the day after Summer disappeared, answering questions about every aspect of his life, right down to his blood type and whether there was any history of mental illness in his family.
Inside, the building looked more like an office complex than it did a police station. The desks were neatly arranged, the carpet underfoot neutral and clean. Hawkins met them in the entryway, where the only visible concessions to security were the metal detector every one passed through on the way inside and several gunmetal cameras that kept their smoky eyes trained on everyone’s movements.
Hawkins placed his hand on Bill’s arm, his fingers landing in the same spot Adam’s had at the Everetts’ and reawakening the ache of the bruise there. Hawkins led Bill and Paige past security without stopping and through the door that led back to the officers’ cubicles.
Bill had been there only in the midst of Summer’s disappearance, so he couldn’t say with any certainty whether the scene he and Paige passed through was normal, but to his eyes and ears there seemed to be a lot of men and women, both uniformed and plainclothes, rushing to and fro, phones pressed to their ears, papers and files clutched in their hands. A few glanced at them as they breezed by, their eyes touching Bill’s and then sliding away.
“You caught him, didn’t you?” Bill asked.
Hawkins didn’t stop. And he didn’t answer. He led Bill past the cubicles and ringing phones to a room at the back. He hustled them inside, where they found themselves standing around a conference table, the kind where Bill spent too many hours sitting during work meetings that droned on endlessly. He was struck by how antiseptic and mundane the room looked, and he could hardly imagine he was about to learn something about the investigation into his daughter’s murder in such a bland place.
But he knew he was about to learn something. And while he settled into a chair with Paige sitting next to him, he realized how dry his mouth had become, and he eyed with some lust and envy the giant plastic watercooler near the door, its stack of white cups as inviting as manna.
“You’re scaring me, Detective,” Paige said as Hawkins sat in the chair at the head of the table, appearing patriarchal and firm.
He manipulated his bulky body, looking like a man trying to cram his large frame onto a child’s bike. As he adjusted his coat and tie, Bill noticed for the first time that the detective’s skin was pallid, the flesh around his mouth and jaw loose and saggy. Hawkins rested his hands on the tabletop, the skin around the edges of the nails jagged and scabbed as if the detective spent a fair amount of time picking or chewing at it.
Bill waited. He didn’t know how he’d managed to go so long without saying—demanding—to know more. But a part of him feared every new revelation from the detective, and a part of him lacked the energy to speak up and argue.
Hawkins cleared his throat. “As you know, we went ahead with the disinterment of Summer’s remains this morning.”
For the first time that day, Bill’s placid bewilderment turned to a slow-roiling irritation. He expected the weird euphemisms from the funeral director, but he wasn’t sure he could handle hearing them from the detective. But he kept his mouth shut.
“She was transported back to the morgue before the funeral home.”
“Is that normal?” Paige asked.
Bill almost told her to be quiet. He knew something was coming from Hawkins, and he didn’t want it delayed.
“There is no normal here,” Hawkins said, “but since this case has been so unusual, so complicated, we decided to take that step. You see, we thought it would be a good idea—I thought it would be a good idea—to confirm Summer’s identity using the dental records we obtained when she disappeared.”
“Confirm?” Paige asked.
Hawkins moved his hands around, placing first one and then the other on top. “With one mix-up already behind us, well, I wanted to make sure there weren’t any more.”
“A mix-up?” Bill asked, finally speaking. “Like what? Digging up the wrong grave?”
Hawkins ignored him and went on. “We took the body from Haley’s grave back to the morgue at the hospital and checked the dental records against that body, expecting to find a match with Summer. Then we planned to release the body to Winter and Sons.”
Bill’s mouth suddenly felt drier, as if he’d swallowed broken glass.
“Expected?” he said. He found his own hand moving, sliding to the right where it found Paige’s. He took hold of his sister’s hand, which felt clammy and wet. “Expected?”
Bill repeated the word as though it meant something more than it did, as if it were a prayer that would ward off danger.
Hawkins stared directly at Bill. “It wasn’t Summer in that grave, Bill,” Hawkins said, his voice dropping lower. “To be perfectly honest, we don’t know who that girl in there is. And we have no idea what happened to Summer.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
It took a moment for Bill to realize how hard he was squeezing Paige’s hand.
Only when she gasped and tried to pull out of his grip did he understand the pressure he’d slowly been applying. He let go, his own hand slick from the contact with her skin.
“You don’t know where her body is,” Bill said.
“We don’t know where she is,” Hawkins said. “We
can’t assume at this point that she’s alive or dead. This is a missing person case again. I would preach caution at this point. Given the condition of the two girls we found, it seems reasonable to think whoever did this wanted to hurt them. And hurt them badly. We’re going to search the park again. In fact, it’s being searched right now, but I can’t imagine we’ll find anything new.”
Paige stood up. While she moved across the room toward the watercooler, Bill leaned forward and tried to rest his elbows on the tabletop. But he possessed less control of his body as everything started to quake. He felt like he was suspended over a pit, something the size of the Grand Canyon. If he moved, he’d fall inside, his body tumbling through the air like a skydiver with a malfunctioning parachute.
Paige came back with a paper cup of water and held it in front of Bill’s face. He didn’t see it. The object before his eyes meant nothing to him. Nor did the room or the people or the words the detective was saying.
“Drink this, Bill,” Paige said.
His hand shook as he reached out for the cup. But he drank, and the cool water felt good, bringing him back to the room as the pit below him started to recede. He wasn’t sure anything had felt that good in a long time.
“And if you’re going to be sick, I can get the garbage can,” she said, rubbing his back.
“I don’t think I’m going to be sick,” Bill said. “But I’m not sure.”
Paige went and got the garbage can, a black plastic thing with a billowing liner. She set it at his feet and said, “More water?”
“Yes. Please.”
She got it and then returned to her seat.
Bill drank again, and a dribble of water ran down his chin and under his shirt. “You don’t know where she is. . . .”
“We don’t.”
“So Summer . . . She’s alive? Or what?”
“We don’t know.”
Bill looked at his watch, at the date. His fuzzy mind managed to do the math. “Eight days,” he said. “That’s eight days she’s been gone. Wherever she is . . .”
“We’re certainly aware of that,” Hawkins said. “We’re going to do everything we can to find her. Everything. With the greatest urgency.”
Bill concentrated hard and set the cup down on the table. He stared at the wood grain, the fine detail. “And who is this girl in the grave? This girl you exhumed?”
“We’re in the process of trying to find that out,” Hawkins said. “We’ll certainly look into any missing persons cases in the area that might be a match, but none of them are recent. It’s a big country with a lot of missing kids, so we’re going to send out an alert into the national databases and hope someone comes forward. That could take time.”
Paige looked composed, surprisingly so. Her brow was furrowed as she looked at the detective. “So we know that’s Haley in the hospital, right?”
“Eight days,” Bill said.
Hawkins nodded in response to Paige’s question, the regret evident on his face as he was reminded of the initial mix-up. “We used the X-rays they took when she was admitted, and we compared them to her dental records. One hundred percent that’s Haley Rodgers in the hospital.”
“But they weren’t with a third girl, were they?” Paige asked. “Bill, who were they with?”
“The only girls they hang out with are girls from school,” he said, his voice raspy. “Are there any girls missing from school?”
Hawkins shook his head. “I’m not trying to raise any false hope here,” Hawkins said. He stared at Bill and Paige as if they were schoolchildren he needed to keep in line. “Summer is still a missing person, and she is in grave danger. The gravest. And she’s been gone for a week. But the door is cracked open. Just the tiniest bit.”
Bill stared at the tabletop, the cup of water before his eyes. He felt the pit starting to open up again.
“Find her,” he said. “Jesus. Find her. Why are you sitting in here talking to me?”
“We will,” Hawkins said. “You saw the activity out there. It’s a full-on search. We’re bringing in resources from outside the jurisdiction.” Hawkins stood up and came over to Bill, placing his hand on Bill’s back. “We’re on this.”
“You should have been on it sooner,” Bill said.
“What can we do, Detective?” Paige asked.
“I’m not sure there’s anything you can do right now,” he said. “I have to get ready to brief the media, and then this thing’s really going to take off. Of course, if there’s anything I can do for you, just reach out. I’ll be in touch when I can.”
His hand slid off Bill’s back as he started to go.
Bill said, “There is something I’d like you to do for me.”
“What’s that?”
Bill took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “That girl, the one you just dug up. She’s at the morgue?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to see her,” Bill said.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
A security guard, a young guy with broad shoulders and a protruding gut, met Bill and Paige at the back of the hospital. Bill was surprised to learn that Jakesville didn’t really have its own morgue and that autopsies weren’t performed in the town. Hawkins explained all this as he—reluctantly—made a phone call on Bill’s behalf, arranging for him to see the body of the unidentified girl from Haley’s grave.
“You can look at her through the window,” Hawkins said when he hung up. “You can’t go in there and touch anything. The guard won’t let you.”
“Okay,” Bill said. “That’s fine. Okay.”
When someone died in Jakesville under suspicious circumstances, the body would be temporarily stored in the hospital mortuary until the investigation was completed. If an autopsy was required, the body was shipped to Louisville. The unidentified girl, the Jane Doe as Hawkins called her on the phone, would remain at the hospital until she could be identified. Hawkins pointed out that some places had bodies that had remained unidentified for years.
“What happens then?” Paige asked.
“They get buried in potter’s field. Not much else we can do.”
The security guard didn’t speak as he led them down a twisting warren of hallways. Bill tried to keep his bearings but lost them almost right away as they moved past walls all painted the same industrial yellow, the lights above dropping a harsh, fluorescent glare on all three of them.
Paige reached out and placed her hand on Bill’s arm. She spoke in a low whisper. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“No.”
“Do you want to stop and talk?”
“I want to find Summer.”
“She’s not here,” Paige said.
“Just—” Bill pulled loose and kept walking.
The security guard gave them a suspicious sidelong glance.
They finally reached a room with a large KEEP OUT sign, and underneath that a red warning about hazardous materials in use. The man used a key from his belt to open the door, leading them inside. They passed a couple of empty desks, then went down another hallway until they stood before a large window facing the interior of the building. The guard slipped through a door to the right, and a moment later the blinds twisted open, offering Bill and Paige a clear view of the body of a young girl.
She lay on her back, a sheet covering the middle of her nude body. They’d removed the clothes that belonged to Haley—discarded them, Bill assumed. The very top of her head was bandaged, the face below bruised and battered beyond recognition like Haley’s, and Bill understood why Candy Rodgers had never seen the face of the girl they thought was her daughter.
Bill also knew that the sight of the girl and the injuries to her body would have angered Summer. She declared herself a feminist when she was nine—thanks to the influence of her mother—and repeatedly spoke to him about the inequities that women faced
in the world. Just a year earlier, when Summer was fourteen, she went with some of her friends—including Haley—to the campus of the local college in order to participate in a march protesting violence against women. Bill found the irony of her disappearance too bitter to comprehend.
The guard stood next to the window on the inside, his hands resting on his belt, his face turned away to give Bill and Paige privacy. But his posture spoke of boredom, of the dullness of standing around in a morgue surrounded by the dead. He’d likely seen other murder victims, as well as the aftereffects of car accidents and other sudden deaths.
Like Julia’s.
Bill knew there’d been no autopsy on Julia. There was no need to cut her open and slice her up, given the fall she’d taken and the open bottle of wine on the kitchen counter.
“Bill?” Paige said.
Her voice brought him back to the present. He’d leaned in closer to the glass, studying the exposed portions of the girl’s body. Feet and calves, arms, shoulders, and neck. He’d moved in so close, his breath fogged the glass.
“Are you seeing what you wanted to see?” Paige asked. “Did you just need to prove to yourself that isn’t Summer?”
“She’s so young, isn’t she?”
“Yes. It’s sad to think she’s somebody’s daughter. Bill, do you even know what you’re doing here?”
“No, I don’t.” Bill suddenly felt like an intruder, a man who had stumbled into a place he had no business being. “I guess it goes back to what you just said.”
“What did I just say?”
“She’s somebody’s daughter. Or sister or whatever. And she’s here alone without a name. We know some of what she went through right before she died. The same thing as Haley, apparently. But who was she before that?”
Paige reached out and touched Bill on the arm. “They’re going to find that out. I’m sure.” She leaned in closer. “And they’re going to find Summer.”
Bill pointed to the glass. “What if Summer’s somewhere like this? Alone? Unknown?”