Cemetery Girl (28 page)

“Does the name mean anything to either of you?” Ryan asked.

Abby shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Tom?”

I scanned through every student name I could remember, every coworker, every maintenance person who ever passed through school or our home. “I don’t think I know him.”

Ryan went on as though I hadn’t spoken. “The preliminary investigation shows that the cause of the fire was arson. A pretty amateur job. Whoever set the fire didn’t make much of an attempt to cover their tracks. They simply poured gasoline over everything, and investigators even found the melted plastic gas cans in the debris. Initially, we thought it looked like insurance fraud of some kind.”

“Jesus,” I said.

“They also found something else in the basement of the home.”

“Do we want to know?” Abby asked, more to herself than to us.

“They found a room. At first, it looked to be a bedroom, something created after the home was built. It didn’t appear to be part of the original structure. The door to this room was heavily fortified. Several different locks as well as some sort of reinforced steel sheeting.”

I stared at the sky. It was perfectly blue like a robin’s egg. I was numb.

“It looked like it was meant to keep someone locked up.”

“You think . . .” Abby left her thought unfinished.

“Like I said, it’s going to take some time before they can complete a more thorough examination of the house, especially the basement. Given the nature of the fire damage, it seems unlikely we’ll be able to find any definitive proof that any individual, Caitlin or otherwise, was ever in that basement room. It seems possible the fire was set for that very reason. To obscure evidence.”

“Maybe he didn’t want the police to know he held Tracy Fairlawn there as well,” I said.

“Excuse me?” Ryan said.

“Tracy.” I looked at Abby. “You know, the girl from the strip club?”

“Why are you bringing her up?” Abby asked.

“Maybe Detective Ryan should tell us,” I said.

“I don’t think this is relevant, Tom,” he said.

I turned back to Abby. “Tracy was held captive by a man for six months about five years ago. He took her off the street and brought her to a house. She didn’t know where. He held here there. He raped her repeatedly. She managed to get away, and then she had a baby.”

Abby looked stricken. “Are you going to tell me there’s a connection?”

“We don’t know—” Ryan said.

“She says it’s the same man.” I kept my eyes on Abby, boring in. “The man she saw in the strip club with Caitlin was the man who took her and held her and raped her. The same man. Detective Ryan here just declined to share that information with us.”

Ryan stiffened. “Where are you hearing these things, Tom?”

“I have my sources, too.”

“Well, I came here because I’d like to talk to Caitlin,” Ryan said. “And I’d like to be able to talk to her alone.”

“Shouldn’t we be there?” Abby asked. “Someone to look out for her.”

“Our attorney?” I said.

“Why would she need an attorney?” Abby asked.

“Caitlin isn’t guaranteed access to a lawyer during questioning,” Ryan said. “We may allow her to have one present, as a courtesy. Some kind of advocate. I can decide on that—”

“She has fewer rights than this guy in the jail?” I asked.

“Hold it, Tom.” Abby held her hands out for silence. “Hold it.”

“Abby, he doesn’t care about Caitlin . . .”

She kept the hand up in the air between us, and I stopped talking. Abby looked calm and determined, so I yielded. “Who is this man?” she asked Ryan. “And are the things Tom is saying true? Did he hold Tracy there?”

Ryan shifted his eyes between the both of us. “Late last night, police in Union County pulled Mr. Colter over for speeding. Do you know where Union County is?”

Abby nodded. “About seventy miles away.”

“When they ran him through the system, the warrant for the arson came up, so they took him in and called us. We collected him in the morning and brought him back here to have a little talk about the house fire. Let’s just say we caught a lucky break. Caitlin’s story has been in the news, so our officers have seen that composite sketch on an almost daily basis. One of our officers raised the question, and we put it together with the house with the room in the basement.”

He held his hands out.
There you go
.

After four years, a speeding ticket wrapped it up.

“What did he say?” Abby asked.

“Nothing yet. When we brought up Caitlin’s name, he said he’d read about her in the paper. But that’s it.”

“And witnesses?” Abby asked. “The girl from the club? Tracy? Is it true he took her too?”

“She’s gone,” I said.

Abby whipped her head toward me.

“She’s disappeared,” I said. And my voice was quieter, distant even to my own ears. “No one can find her. Not her mother, not Liann. Two weeks and no sign of her.”

“She’ll turn up,” Ryan said. “They usually do. Like I told you, that girl has problems, drug problems. She’s not reliable.”

“Who is this guy?” I asked. “What does he do?”

“He’s on disability. Some kind of knee injury. He used to work at the Hearn plant, but it’s been about ten years since he did that. He hasn’t been in much trouble with us. One assault arrest about fifteen years ago. Otherwise, nothing.”

“How old is he?” I asked.

“Fifty-three.”

The number stabbed me like a knife. Fifty-three. Older than me.

Ryan leaned back and worked his hand into his pants pocket. He brought out a Polaroid photo. “I’d like you to look at this and tell me if you know this man.”

He held it out in the air between us, but neither Abby nor I made a grab for it. Finally, she moved and took it. The corners of her mouth turned down with revulsion.

“I don’t know him,” she said.

She passed the photo to me. My hands shook as I took it.

I looked down at a stunned face, one that didn’t appear prepared to have its picture taken. His surprisingly blue eyes were open wide, his lips slightly parted. He bore a strong resemblance to Tracy’s description and the sketch the police had created. There was the same long, greasy hair, the wide nose. His skin was ruddy and pocked, like twenty miles of bad road, as my stepfather used to say. I didn’t recognize the man from anywhere in my life, but I continued to stare, searching for something. A mark of evil, a sign of malicious intent. But I couldn’t find the marker that would tip me off, the thing that told the world this man aimed to destroy lives. It was an ugly face, not an evil one.

“Do you recognize him?” Ryan asked.

“No,” I said.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I held on to the picture, and Ryan reached out and took it back. He didn’t put it in his pocket, but held it in his hand. He tapped it against his thigh a few times. “I need to talk to your girl,” he said.

“You said you don’t need our permission,” I said. “Are you just going to drag her out of here while we watch?”

“I don’t need your permission, but I’d like it.” He continued to tap the photo against his leg. “I’d also like to talk to her away from here. Since it didn’t go so well the last time, I thought we might try it at the station. She might take it more seriously.”

“Will she have to see him?” Abby asked.

Him.
We all knew who she meant.
The man
. John Colter.

Ryan shook his head. “No way,” he said.

“But she would have to see him at a trial?” I asked.

“That’s why we’d like her to talk now. Maybe this guy agrees to plead to something and save us all a lot of trouble. If we can get to the bottom of this sooner, it might save Caitlin some grief.”

Abby looked at me. “Tom?”

I recognized my cue. “Ryan, I—we—were a little concerned about the way you spoke to Caitlin the last time. It seems as though you were treating her like she had done something wrong. She’s the victim here, remember?”

“Of course, Tom.” Ryan shrugged, and the gesture seemed too large, overexaggerated. “We all have the same goals here, to understand what happened and to get Caitlin the help she needs.”

“She’s only sixteen now,” Abby said. “Sixteen is so young . . .”

Her voice trailed off, fading like the wind through the trees.

Ryan stood up. He slipped the photo back into his pocket. “We’re still tying some things up from the morning,” he said. “But if you could bring her to the station in an hour or so, that would be great.”

“Are you going to get this guy, Ryan?” I asked.

“That’s the plan.”

“And will we know what was said, what she tells you?”

Ryan nodded. “I will keep you in the loop.”

“Tom?” Abby asked. “Are you sure you want her to do this alone? I’m really not. Caitlin is so fragile right now. She’s been so hurt by this.”

What happened to me.

“That’s exactly why she needs to do this,” I said. “Don’t you think?”

Abby didn’t respond, so I pressed on.

“Because she’s been hurt, she needs to tell the story,” I said. I felt the need to convince her. “This man has hurt other girls. He needs to be put away. Caitlin can do that.”

“You just want to hand her over to be questioned?” Abby asked.

“A crime’s been committed, Abby,” Ryan said. “I have to find the answers, and Caitlin has them. I’m not trying to harm her, but we need her to try to help us as much as she can. Even if it’s just a little.”

“There are a lot of people involved in this, Abby,” I said. “Not just us.”

“Is that who you’re thinking of, Tom? All the other people?”

“It’s necessary, Abby,” I said.

“Right.” She stood up and folded her arms across her chest. “I guess I better be the one to go tell her she’s being handed over to you
men
.” She nearly spat the last word at us, like it was a stone she’d found in a loaf of bread. “You two have such a good rapport with her these days.”

She whisked away, leaving the two of us on the porch. We didn’t have anything else to say to each other, so Ryan turned and went, reminding me as he left that we should bring Caitlin to the station in an hour.

Chapter Thirty-seven

A
bby stared out the cloudy front window of the police station at the traffic passing on the street. She didn’t appear focused or fixed on anything. I sat down beside her, and she pretended not to notice me. I waited a few moments, not sure if I should even bother to say anything. Finally, I decided to try. “I’m not trying to hurt Caitlin,” I said. “Or you.”

She didn’t say anything, but I saw a muscle in her jaw twitch.

“I think this is our last, best chance, letting her talk to Ryan today.”

Abby turned to me. “You talk about last chances, Tom. Caitlin is the one who matters. Our focus needs to be on her. She’s what matters—to both of us.”

I stared at the floor. Then my phone rang. I stood up and took the call.

“Hey,” a voice said through the line. It sounded flat, almost unrecognizable.

“Buster?”

“Where are you?” he asked.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“Where are you? I came by the house.”

“We’re at the police station,” I said. “They made an arrest.”

“Look,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For everything you’ve been through. You and Caitlin.”

There was something about his tone, something off.

“Where are you?” I asked.“What are you doing?”

“We’ll talk soon, I think. Okay?”

“Buster . . .”

But he was gone. I called right back, but it went to voice mail immediately. Three times in a row.

Ryan appeared again and summoned the two of us with a quick wave of his hand. He led us to the conference room. No Caitlin.

“Where is she?” I asked.

Ryan pointed to the chairs. “She’s fine, Tom. I wanted to talk to you alone.”

“Did she have to see him?”

“No,” Ryan said. “Please. Just sit. You can take Caitlin home in a minute.”

Abby nodded at me.
It’s okay.
So we sat.

“We really didn’t make much progress today,” he said. “At least not with Caitlin.”

“Talking to her alone didn’t help?” Abby asked.

“She told us a few things,” he said.

I scooted to the edge of my seat. “Like what?”

“She didn’t so much say anything,” Ryan said. “But she did ask something. Over and over again. She asked to be allowed to see John Colter. She asked to see him multiple times. Repeatedly and passionately. Finally, I told her to stop asking because it wasn’t going to happen.” He sighed, shifted his weight a little. “And then Caitlin said that she’d tell me whatever I wanted to know if I would just let her see Colter again and spend a few minutes with him. I told her that we couldn’t allow that to happen, that the victim of a crime couldn’t speak to the alleged perpetrator.”

“How did she respond?” Abby asked.

“Like a pouty teenager.” Ryan rubbed his hand across his chin. “You asked me to let you know everything that was said in there. If you still want to know all of that, I can share some more details.”

“Yes,” I said.

Abby moved in her seat, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t object.

“Caitlin told me that she’s in love with John Colter. She said he didn’t do anything wrong, that no one did anything wrong, and she wants the police and the two of you to drop all of this and let her life go back to the way it was before.”

“Meaning . . .”

“Meaning she wants to go back to her life with him, not with you.”

He let that settle over the table, a deadweight dropped into our lives.

“We’re going to hold Colter on the suspicion of arson charge. We’re still talking to witnesses and waiting for the arson investigator’s report.”

“So he’ll stay behind bars,” Abby said.

“We need Caitlin’s story,” he said. “She’s the only lead-pipe witness we have. Without that, and without the evidence that went up in the fire . . . Have the two of you thought any more about that picture I showed you of John Colter?” He dug in his pocket and brought the photo out. “Why don’t you look at it again?” He slid it across to us. I didn’t look.