Missing Child (16 page)

Noah sighed. ‘Apparently the detectives in Chicago are trying to narrow it down. But there are a lot of convenience stores in a city that size.’

‘Still, it’s something,’ she said hopefully.

He studied her face for a moment. Then he said, ‘Do you want to come in?’

‘Just for a minute,’ she said.

He stood aside and she walked into the house. The living room was a mess and the house smelled stale. On the couch was a pillow and a balled-up blanket. There were empty coffee cups and a couple of food containers on the coffee table. He noticed her puzzled gaze. ‘I guess I’ve set up camp in here,’ he said. ‘I don’t sleep much, anyway. Have a seat.’ He pointed to a chair.

Caitlin sat down on the edge of the seat cushion. Noah flopped back down on the couch. He ran a hand through his wavy, unwashed hair. ‘So?’ he asked.

Caitlin took a deep breath. She had not come to make small talk. She knew him well enough to know that he would not tolerate it. ‘I came over to . . . ask if there any news, of course. But also, I need to get Dan’s address from you.’

‘Emily’s brother, Dan?’ he asked.

Caitlin nodded. ‘I’ve already been to the Bergens. By the way, thank you for not telling them about my brother. I wanted to tell them myself.’

‘Sure. I wouldn’t want to spoil your fun,’ he said.

Caitlin’s temper flared and she frowned, but she did not rise to the bait.

‘Sorry,’ he said immediately.

Caitlin nodded.

‘How did they take it?’

‘Not well. As you can imagine,’ she said. ‘Now I need to go and talk to Dan.’

‘They’ve probably already called him,’ said Noah.

‘Nonetheless,’ said Caitlin, ‘I owe him that much.’

Noah rubbed his face with both hands. ‘OK. I’ll get it for you,’ he said.

She waited while he disappeared into the kitchen. While he was gone she looked around the living room. So, this was where he was sleeping. She thought about their bedroom, where she had known the most happiness and comfort of her life wrapped in Noah’s arms, Geordie asleep in the room next door. She couldn’t help feeling a little bit . . . satisfied that he did not want to sleep in there now that she was gone. Instead, he slept here, under the watchful eyes of all his loved ones.

Around the living room there were lots of framed pictures, including one from last summer at the beach. The beach was Geordie’s absolute favorite place in the world. Any beach on any ocean. She would tease him and say that he was part fish. He could spend all day in the sun and the sea. On this particular beach day, they had asked someone from a neighboring blanket to take a picture of the three of them. They were all three tanned and laughing, their wet hair plastered to their heads after a swim. It hurt her heart to look at that picture, but at the same time she felt a little bit grateful that Noah had not removed it, or hidden it away.

She picked up the frame and stared at Geordie’s little face, his skinny torso, his gap-toothed smile. I would give anything to have you back, she thought. She knew it was not an exaggeration. Anything. Anything she had, and gladly.

She heard Noah coming back and set the photo back down on the table. She didn’t want him to see her looking at it. He might think she was being manipulative.

There was no use pretending that she didn’t care what he thought. She did.

Noah came through the living room and held out a piece of paper. ‘Here you go,’ he said.

Caitlin stood up and accepted it from him without touching his fingertips.

Noah cleared his throat.

‘Noah, I wish . . .’ She started to speak and then she thought better of it. ‘I hope you can get some rest.’

‘Yeah, it’s a nice idea,’ he said.

By the time she arrived in Philadelphia, all the schools were out and children were laughing, shrieking, and running down the leafy streets of Society Hill. Many of the tow-headed children were accompanied by casually-dressed young African, Hispanic or Middle European women. As they ambled down the well-appointed blocks of Colonial-era brick homes, they spoke to one another in foreign tongues or heavily accented English while the children gamboled around them in their khaki and plaid school uniforms.

Caitlin drove slowly. She did not really know her way around the neighborhood and she was wary of the exuberant children who were darting out into the streets, chasing one another. Also, she had only visited Dan’s house once, and that was at night. To find the house, she needed to search along Spruce Street by the brass numbers above the doors. She finally located Dan’s house number and idled in front of the building for a moment. It was red brick like its neighbors, with black shutters and window-boxes filled with winter pansies, the epitome of Philadelphia tradition and elegance.

All right, she thought. This is it. She trolled the block for a parking space. In the middle of the next block she stopped to consider her chances of fitting her car into an economy-sized space. But she was not in the habit of parallel parking, and finally decided that she was unlikely to be able to wedge her car into it. She drove around the block again and then, to her surprise and relief, she found a space near the corner, almost across from his door, which she could easily pull into. Once parked, she sat there for a few minutes, gazing across the street at his elegant house.

No one seeing that house could doubt Dan’s success, and in the arena of sports, which made his career doubly enviable to most men. He had excelled in athletics and in Spanish and, during journalism school, decided to explore the reasons why professional baseball had so many Hispanic superstars for his thesis. This had entailed landing a grant for a summer-long research trip to Puerto Rico, where he stayed with a local family and surfed in his spare time – a coup which Noah never failed to describe with admiration as every guy’s dream. But Dan’s thesis, which focused on one young Sandlot player, ultimately resulted in that young man, Ricardo Ortiz, landing a contract with the Padres, where he had a stellar career. Ortiz was now a batting coach for the Cubs, and Dan was still regarded in sports circles as something of a guru.

She realized that he might not be home. His schedule, between the radio station and his web sports blog, was famously erratic and revolved around the schedules of various Philadelphia teams. But she was willing to wait. She was here now, and it had taken all her will to get here. She intended to get it over with. Perhaps, like his parents, Dan wouldn’t want to discuss it, but at least she would get it said. She needed to admit her guilt for concealing James’s crime, and hope for some eventual understanding.

Caitlin took a deep breath, got out of her car, and started down the block towards Dan’s house. Just as she did so, another car rolled past her, and the driver jockeyed the car into the space in the next block which Caitlin had dismissed as too small. She recognized the car right away. Well, she thought, no more hesitating. Time to face the music. While Dan maneuvered into the tiny space, Caitlin approached his car from behind on the sidewalk.

He turned off the lights, got out of the car and locked the doors.

‘Dan,’ said Caitlin.

Dan jumped and looked up at her. He was a large, handsome man with the frame of a pro-athlete himself. Normally, Dan greeted Caitlin with a twinkle in his eye and the utmost affability. But today, at the sight of her, a thundercloud seemed to roll over his rugged features.

‘What do you want?’ he demanded.

He already knows, she thought. ‘Dan, there’s something I need to talk to you about,’ she said.

Dan slung an expensive-looking backpack over his right shoulder. ‘I don’t think we have anything to say to each other,’ he said.

Caitlin nodded. ‘You’ve talked to your parents.’

‘They called me at work,’ he said.

Caitlin looked down at her feet. ‘I thought they might,’ she said. ‘But I came anyway. Look, I just wanted to tell you in person how sorry I am.’

‘Sorry won’t bring my sister back,’ he said coldly.

‘I understand how you feel,’ she said. ‘I really do. All I can say is that my brother was a kid with . . . a lot of problems.’

Dan jabbed a finger at her. ‘No. Your brother was a criminal. Try and understand the distinction.’

Caitlin gasped, a little taken aback by the ferocity of his reaction. ‘Dan, he took his own life. I think that proves that he suffered from a lot of guilt about what happened to Emily.’

Dan shook his head. ‘You know what, Caitlin? You’re just kidding yourself. Everybody’s got an excuse. I’m tired of excuses.’

‘He was a kid. Sixteen. Yes, he did something terrible but . . .’

‘I don’t want to hear it. I am up to here with all of it,’ Dan cried, slashing his hand across his neck. ‘Boo hoo. He had his reasons. Just . . . beat it. Get away from me. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. Just go.’

Before he had even finished speaking, he stepped out into the street. There was a screech of brakes as an oncoming car tried to avoid hitting him. Dan did not even look up. He strode across the street toward his house.

Caitlin stood beside his car, too stunned to react. She knew Dan as the most friendly, even-tempered of people. She had expected him to be . . . upset. She had not anticipated his rage. For a moment she thought about his marriage to Haley, and wondered if that anger was the reason it had come undone. Well, she reminded herself, he was entitled to his anger. She was the one in the wrong. If he felt that strongly she could not blame him.

Caitlin collapsed against Dan’s car, resting for a moment against the shiny hood. She glanced through the windshield and smiled at the pair of miniature boxing gloves which dangled from the rear-view mirror. She thought about Geordie, and how much he liked those gloves. Whenever Uncle Dan came to visit, Geordie loved to climb into the front seat of Dan’s car. The gloves were just the right size for Bandit’s paws. Using Bandit as his surrogate, Geordie would ping the gloves so that they twirled, feinting against the air.

Dan had not even asked about Geordie, Caitlin thought. He had not even mentioned Geordie to her. Maybe, like everyone else, he thought her status as a stepmother disqualified her from feeling love and fear. Let him think what he wants, she thought. Geordie knew. Geordie could have called anyone, and he called her. She looked in again at those miniature boxing gloves, wishing she could see him, eyes alight behind his glasses, using Bandit to set those gloves in motion.

Suddenly, she frowned. Past the gloves and the dashboard, past the steering wheel and the gear shift between the seats, she saw something that did not belong in Dan’s car. She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again. No, she thought. You are thinking so hard about Geordie that you are imagining things. The interior of the car was dark. It had to be a trick of the light. She looked again. Harder. Wedged between the passenger seat and the console, she saw a black button nose. A furry, masked face. One ear hanging down that needed sewing. Bandit.

SIXTEEN

H
er heart hammering, Caitlin flattened her face and hands against the windshield. The inside of the car was dark and she could not be sure. She banged the palms of her hands against the glass as if she was trying to rouse the little dog from his inanimate status to that of an actual barking pup. She was no Gepetto, she thought. The button eyes did not register her alarm.

Caitlin covered her face with her hands and tried to think. How could it be Bandit? How could Bandit be in Dan Bergen’s car? She tried to think back. Had Geordie taken Bandit to school in his backpack the day he disappeared? He wasn’t supposed to take him to school, but he could have hidden the toy in his pack. He had been known to do it. The last time she could remember seeing Bandit was . . . the day of the party. She had asked Geordie to put Bandit in her room, so she could sew that dangling ear back on. He had run off to do that, and . . . that was all she could remember. She didn’t remember seeing, or not seeing, the toy on her bureau after that. In all the hubbub she had forgotten all about it. She knew that she had not sewn the ear back on. And then, Geordie had disappeared. Any thought of Bandit had been obliterated by Geordie’s absence.

Stop, she thought. It might not even be Bandit. You can’t really see what’s in there. For a moment she was tempted to march over to Dan’s house, bang on the door, and demand to know why he had Geordie’s toy dog in his car. And then she remembered why she had come here. She had come to confess her own guilty secret. Dan would not react kindly to any demand from her. He would probably call the police to come and arrest her.

And even if it was Bandit, what did she think it meant? That Dan had taken Geordie? Dan was a fond uncle who could see Geordie any time he wanted. Why would Dan ever put them through this kind of suffering? To what end? Besides, Dan had just come home from being at work all day. He had come home alone. Even a bachelor would know better than to leave a six-year-old alone. And if Geordie was alone, wouldn’t he find the phone and call them? He had called once. What would stop him? No, she thought. No. She told herself that she was just getting crazy from all the anxiety and the waiting and the fear. But then Caitlin turned back to the windshield, flattened herself against it, and stared into the car again. She had to know. That was all there was to it. She had to find out. She tried the door handles on the car, but without much hope. It was the city. People didn’t leave their cars unlocked.

She stepped away from the car, leaned against the front steps of the nearest house, and tried to think. In the old days you heard of people using coat hangers to unlock a car door, but this was a late model Lexus. It was not going to open with the help of a bent hanger. Plus, if a cop saw her trying to do that, he would probably arrest her first and ask questions later.

Cops, she thought. She could ask a cop to help her. Claim that it was her car and she had locked her purse inside. Somehow, she couldn’t picture it. A Philly cop agreeably popping the lock on a late model car, just on her say so. No. It would never work.

She pushed away from the steps and returned to the parked car, rattling the handle in frustration. Behind her, she heard a door open. A young man in a spandex running shorts and top came down the steps and began to stretch his legs, using the railing of the stairs to pull against his weight. He glanced over at Caitlin.