The Last Time She Saw Him (15 page)

“You used to live in Sparrow. Never been there, but I hear it’s nice in the summer. Great place to meet little kids. Have you ever been to Funland? They’ve got games and rides and cotton candy. Kids love that kind of stuff.”

Parker squirms uncomfortably in his chair. “Yeah. I’ve been there once or twice. I used to take my niece Beverly there.”

“Is this her?” Navarro asks and motions to his partner. Russell pushes the picture of the little girl with the red hair in the turquoise and white polka-dot bathing suit in front of Parker.

“Where did you get this? You searched my place?” Parker asks as his voice notches up a good two octaves.

“We had a search warrant, dummy. Is this your niece?”

Parker nods and runs his thick, dirt-stained fingers across the photo.

“Yeah. Beverly’s mom, my sister, got messed up in drugs and stuff, and I’d take Beverly for a few weeks every summer. I was just trying to make her life easier, you know.”

“I’m sure you did. I bet you were a regular prince of an uncle. Did you invite Beverly’s little friends to your house during her summer visits?”

“Yeah. You’ve got to let kids have fun. Parents these days are too worried about structure. Old-fashioned fun is the best thing for kids. They had lots of fun at my house.”

“You know this kid?” Navarro asks and pushes a picture of Ben toward Parker. It’s Ben’s third-grade picture, which the police used as his missing-person photo.

“Nope. Never seen him,” Parker mutters and looks away from the table.

“Okay. Then what are these?” Navarro asks and shoves the Polaroids of Ben and me in front of his face.

Parker gives the Polaroids a quick, passing glance. For a brief instant, a flicker of recognition seems to register in his eyes.

“You know who these kids are, don’t you? It’s Ben Gooden and his little sister, Julia. You saw them at Funland, and you followed them home. You tailed them slowly all the way to their house, and then you broke in that night and took the little boy. You didn’t take the girl though. But now I know why.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re making all this up.”

“The girl got away before you could drag her out, too. She hid in the closet when she heard you coming. But she got a look at your face before you could see her. It’s been eating at you all these years, wondering if that little girl was going to remember you and tell the police. You know how many years you’d get for a first-degree murder sentence? That’s life in prison easy, if the judge doesn’t decide to give you the death penalty first.”

“I’m not going back to prison,” Parker begs in a whiny, thin treble.

“What happened, Parker? What did you do to that boy? Did you accidentally go further than you ever had before? And then you had no choice but to kill him?”

My heart is racing so quickly, I am afraid it is going to burst out of my chest. I place my forehead against the glass that separates me from Parker and try to focus.

“The one thing I can’t figure out is why you would wait this long to come back. Thirty years is a long time, but maybe you’re a patient guy, or you get off slowly by stalking your prey,” Navarro says. “You saw the little girl in the room with Ben that night, didn’t you? You saw her, and you thought she saw you, too. You knew you had to come back to finish her off one of these days. That’s why you kept all those stacks of papers in your filthy house with her byline. You were stalking her, just like you did with her brother.”

“That’s not what happened,” Parker says, his eyes darting back and forth across the room as though he’s searching for an alibi. “I remember now. Yeah, that’s right. Those pictures jogged my memory. I saw those kids at Funland. I like to take pictures, just like an amateur photographer. It was a coincidence is all. I was driving to a friend’s house and saw those kids walking all by themselves along the side of the road. I stopped and asked if they needed a ride home. I was just trying to help them out. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to them, two kids all alone like that. But I didn’t break into their house or take a kid. I left right after they said they didn’t want a ride. Now I get screwed for trying to be nice.”

“A friend of mine remembers you. She said you were a substitute school bus driver. That must have been pretty convenient for a guy like you. They didn’t do background checks in the 1970s for substitute drivers, did they?”

“Yeah, I was a substitute school bus driver, so what? That’s not against the law. People have to work and I like kids. I’d joke around with them and make them laugh. And they loved my music. I played rock ’n’ roll on the bus ride home. All the kids wanted to sit in the front seat so they could hear my tapes. I made homemade tapes up special just for the bus rides. That was probably the best part of the day for those kids. I could tell a lot of them came from bad homes.”

“My friend saw you the day you followed her and her brother home. You knew the girl’s name from your bus route, and you searched for her a few years ago, right? You got nervous, thinking she would finally remember you, so you searched for her on the Internet and found her byline in a Detroit paper. Then you find out where she lives so you can finally fix your little problem. But when you got to her house last night, you saw that boy, and you just couldn’t help yourself. The loss of innocence gets you off more than anything else, doesn’t it?”

“I didn’t take any kids. I told you. I’ve never done anything bad to a kid. I’m not a monster.”

“Not according to your record,” Navarro answers.

A heavy bead of perspiration begins to slide down Parker’s temple.

“I was on drugs back then. Drugs made me act crazy. Bad things happened to me as a kid, and the drugs made it all come back. But I never took a kid. I’ve been clean and sober now for twelve years. You go call my sponsor. He’ll tell you.”

“So if you’re the upstanding citizen you now claim to be, then I guess you’re just holding on to these little photos as keepsakes from the past for your memory book?” Navarro asks and then he goes in hard for the upper cut. “Where’s the boy you took last night?”

“Why do you keep asking the same stupid question? I didn’t take no boy.”

Navarro lunges toward Parker and stops just an inch away from the suspect’s face.

“What did you do with him? Where’s the boy? You think prison was bad before, you haven’t seen anything. The hardcores in maximum security don’t take too kindly to pedophiles, kidnappers, and baby killers.”

“You’re full of shit. I didn’t do anything. You’re just looking for a guy to pin this on because you’ve got nothing. I know how you cops operate. You guys are all lazy, so you try and find an ex-con in the system so you don’t have to do any work. But guess what? You’ve got no evidence and those pictures don’t prove nothin’.”

Navarro pulls out a piece of paper from under his arm.

“I have a court order mandating you give me a DNA sample. You’re screwed, so you might as well save me the trouble and tell me where you put the boy you took last night. If you don’t get the death penalty, you’ll get killed in prison. Help yourself and tell me now. Otherwise, there’s no deal and you’re a dead man.”

“Screw you, asshole. I keep telling you, I didn’t take no kid last night. You’re not going to make me break and cop to something I didn’t do.”

“Your choice. If you change your mind, let me know. We’re going to be keeping you here for a while.”

Navarro and Russell get up and leave Parker in the interview room. Now thinking he is alone and no one can see him, he slumps over the table and buries his head in his hands.

The door to my room swings open, and Navarro gives me a wide grin. “We got our guy. It’s just a matter of time before he gives it up and we find your boy.”

CHAPTER 9

S
till without a confession and no further leads on Will, I glance nervously at my watch. It is just after 1 p.m. My mind flicks back to what Cahill said in jail about time being my prison. The clock still ticks on the wall, but nothing has changed. I grab my phone, which I put on mute after I went into Pamela’s office, and see that I have ten missed calls from David, who I realize I left outside on the police station stairs more than an hour ago, promising I’d be right back.

I search for David in the parking lot to apologize and spot him leaning against his car with his blue suit coat draped over one shoulder. He notices my approach, shakes his head back and forth slowly, and lets out a low whistle.

“You’re over an hour late. That’s got to be some kind of record, even for you,” David says.

“I’m so sorry, everything happened really fast. They brought a suspect in for questioning. His name is A.J. Parker, and the police think he took Will and my brother. I had to ID some old photos Parker took, and a few were of Ben and me. Some of the children were being abused in the pictures, and it really jarred me. I should’ve called. I blew it, okay?”

David nods toward the passenger side door and gestures for me to get in. On the seat is a box half-filled with Will’s missing-person flyers.

I try and play it cool, but David slams the driver-side door shut and I know all is not yet forgiven.

“I know. I went into the station to try and find you and ran into Linderman. He was still hot over the press conference, but he told me what was going on. Do you think you can do me the courtesy of calling me next time, so I get the news from you instead of someone else? I spent the last hour going door to door, handing out Will’s missing persons flyer to anyone who would take it, so at least the last hour I spent waiting around for you wasn’t a complete waste of time.”

“I’m sorry. I made a mistake. I can only say it so many times.”

“Sometimes I think you’d prefer to spend time with Navarro. I see the way he looks at you. He’s still in love with you. I’m no fool.”

“No, he’s not. But even if he was, I can’t control what other people do or how they feel. He’s been a friend of mine for a long time.”

“You’re turning to him instead of me right now. Why does he have to work Will’s case? I’m not comfortable with him always around. I’m sure he’s pretty happy he gets to spend all this extra time with you.”

“Do you hear what you’re saying? That’s ridiculous. Navarro is a pro. He’s the best detective on the force. I wouldn’t want anyone else looking for our son. You have no reason to feel insecure.”

“I’m not insecure. I just don’t like him. Navarro’s a cocky son of a bitch, and I don’t want him in our lives or especially in charge of my son’s missing persons case.”

“We don’t have any choice here. If Navarro was a hack, that would be different. But he’s not, and if anyone is going to find Will, it’s him.”

“Yeah, he’s a big, tough guy. A regular John Wayne to the rescue.”

“David . . .”

“I’m pissed off. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

I reach for David’s hand, but he pulls it away. I contemplate trying to re-engage David and make him understand he has no reason to be jealous. Navarro and I had always remained on the best of terms after our breakup more than a decade ago. I needed him for information on my beat, but more so, Navarro was my friend, and I knew that stuck in David’s craw. But the thought of cheating on David or even opening the door for the possibility of hooking up with Navarro or anyone else even in the most difficult patches of our marriage never occurred to me. Not even once.

David studies the road ahead with a moody scowl, and I suddenly feel like the one who should be pissed off over his skewed priorities. I refuse to cradle what I think is nothing more than a bruised ego.

“You need to get over it, David. We’ve got much bigger things to worry about than this petty stuff that deep down, you know isn’t true. We just need to work together and stop picking at each other. Okay?”

David’s scowl stays intact, and I finally give up. We drive the rest of the ride home in stone-cold silence as I watch Detroit’s infestation of abandoned buildings slip by. I study their crumbling debris and begin to accept that my marriage is in ill repair, unfixable just like the ruins of the now uninhabitable structures that pass outside my window.

The ride that seems like an eternity finally ends as David pulls into the driveway. We stay put for a moment, just sitting in the car, our seat belts still strapped across our chests, neither one of us making a move. David stares at some invisible spot on the horizon and finally breaks.

“I realize this isn’t a good time, but I need to tell you something. I started seeing someone. It’s casual. I was going to tell you last night when I came over to see the kids, but then the timing didn’t seem to work out right.”

“Jesus. You’re telling me this now?”

“I felt like if I didn’t, something bad would happen.”

“Something bad did happen. Christ, David.”

“Hold on. I’m going to break it off with her. She’s another lawyer. I’m sorry. Like I said, it was nothing serious.”

“I went to see that psychiatrist against my better judgment because you asked me to as part of our reconciliation agreement. Was that some kind of power play? You manipulate me and act like everything wrong in our marriage is my fault, but then you go behind my back and start seeing someone else.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Are you sleeping with this woman? That’s why you were acting jealous about Navarro, because you had something to hide.”

“I shouldn’t have brought it up. I told you already. I’m going to end it. It was a mistake. I was wrong and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Your timing is ridiculous.”

I slide out of the car and shove the door closed as hard as I can, feeling outside of my body as another piece of my life gives way.

“Julia, wait,” David calls from behind. He grabs my arms and forces me to turn around and face him. “I didn’t do anything wrong. We’re separated.”

“Separation isn’t a ‘get out of jail for free’ card, friend.”

I stare back at David and my mind flashes back to a happier time between us, and our first unofficial date at Riverside Park. We leaned against David’s convertible and ate coneys and watched the cars snake along the Ambassador Bridge, which connects the Motor City to Canada. David invited me to meet him there, supposedly to talk about a case I was covering, but after only a few minutes, I realized it was a front. David was charismatic and confident, and I was instantly smitten. Six months later, I moved into David’s apartment in a high-rise downtown. Two months after that, I was late. I took a pregnancy test and got the surprise of my life. I have to give David credit. I don’t know if he planned on asking me to marry him so quickly, but he acted like it was all part of some wonderful plan, the happy news for him about the unexpected baby and his proposal one week after my big reveal.

I had never thought about having kids. It wasn’t that I didn’t like them. I was terrified by the idea of having a baby, someone tiny and vulnerable that I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to protect. But David protected both of us, even before Logan was born. We got married when I was six months pregnant. David’s father, Bruce, didn’t come. We weren’t surprised.

When David’s stepmom and I went into the kitchen, I could hear Bruce lecturing David and accusing me of trapping David into a marriage by purposely getting pregnant. David was furious and we left immediately. Bruce came around after Logan was born and David eventually forgave his father. Not that I cared. A jerk is a jerk, and I needed to concentrate on my new baby.

When I first saw Logan after he was born, I felt an immediate love and an immediate worry that never went away. David was the fun parent who bounced Logan high up on his shoulders in the deepest part of the lake while I looked on at them in the distance and held my breath. When David wasn’t around, I wouldn’t let Logan take off his shoes so he could put his toes in the sand when we went to the shore, in fear Logan might cut himself on a shell or piece of stray glass. David thought my overprotective idiosyncrasies were funny then. And we were turning into a happy family.

After Logan’s first birthday, I was torn by my conflicting desires to return to the paper and take care of my baby. My editor let me start off slowly, two days a week, and I’d spend my lunch hour at Logan’s daycare, which was across the street from my office and had top-notch security. Gradually, when I realized Logan was safe and seemed to enjoy interacting with the other children, two days became five at work. I had struck a guilty balance. But as Logan got older and more independent, my protective fears heightened. And when Will came along after David’s urging for a second baby so Logan would have a companion and not be an only child like David was, an internal panic alarm seemed to go off inside me. With two children now to protect and Logan about to turn the age my brother was when he disappeared, my worries for my children’s safety intensified.

I look back at the lake house that had once been a place of beautiful family memories and wonder how things could have unraveled so horribly and how David could have deceived me.

“Please, Julia. Just hear me out,” David says.

“I don’t have time to deal with this conversation right now,” I answer. My voice sounds brittle in my ears, like my words could get caught up in the wind and snap into a million inconsequential pieces and fly away.

The sound of an approaching car engine temporarily dismisses the contentious moment between David and me, and I squint against the sun to see an older-model navy-blue sedan pull into the driveway. Its single occupant, an attractive young girl with waist-length strawberry-blond hair, gets out of the car. As she approaches, I put her at about sixteen years of age. She wears a pair of white shorts that skim halfway down her thigh and a bright orange tank top that curves along the swell of her breasts, which bounce as she walks toward us.

“Hello. Are you Julia?” the girl asks. As she comes closer, I notice a smattering of almost pink, translucent freckles across her pert nose and cheekbones. Although puberty obviously already struck, her voice and mannerisms are more like a young girl than a teenager.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m Leslie, Kim’s cousin. We’re visiting her from California. I, um, I’m sorry to bother you,” she continues as she seems to grow increasingly uncomfortable with each word that comes out of her mouth. “Geez, I heard about your kid. I’m real sorry. Is my mom here?”

David, who is sitting on the top step of the front porch, stands up and extends his hand to Leslie. Unable to help himself, David flicks his eyes down to Leslie’s gravity-defying cleavage and then back up to her face.

“Hi, I’m David. I’m not sure if your mom is here, but feel free to go on inside and see.” David then reaches his hand into his shirt pocket for his buzzing cell phone. “Sorry, that’s my law office. I’ve got to take this. Nice to meet you, Leslie.”

David moves into the house, and I try and shelve his unexpected announcement—something that would have taken center stage just a day before—until it rises onto my priority list. I notice a curious Logan standing on the other side of the kitchen window, staring at the pretty young stranger on the porch.

Logan moves away from the window and bursts through the screen door with the wild energy of an eight-year-old. He foregoes the steps and leaps directly from the front porch to the yard. He then grabs a fallen branch from a weeping willow tree and begins to swat it back and forth like a makeshift whip. Logan’s easy, playful reaction provides me some relief since I know a heavy weight still rests on his fragile shoulders.

Leslie watches Logan dash across the yard and giggles. She picks up another stick lying on the ground, and the two start to have a mock sword fight with the fallen branches.

“Buddy, cut it,” I tell Logan. “Someone could get hurt. This is Kim’s cousin, Leslie. She and her mother Alice are visiting from California.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. We were just having a little fun,” Leslie says. “I don’t think he’d hurt me.”

“Not on purpose. Little boys just like to play. That’s an amazing thing with kids. No matter what situation they’re facing, kids generally can take a break from reality and play like everything is normal, even when nothing is.”

“Do you like TV?” Logan asks Leslie.

“Sure,” she answers.

“Your mom is inside, so come on in,” I say.

The smell of something wonderful hits as I walk inside my house and notice Alice and Kim are busy in the kitchen making what looks like a giant pot of homemade potato and leek soup on the stove. Leslie follows the aroma and makes her way over to inspect the dish. Alice begins to ladle a spoonful of the soup for her daughter to taste when her eyes drift down to Leslie’s formfitting shirt. The spoon falls back into the pot, and Alice grabs the front of the tank top with both hands and tries to yank it up to cover her daughter’s exposed cleavage.

“Too low cut and too tight,” Alice reprimands. “I know the other girls at school wear shirts like this, but you keep it up and Father will be chasing a line of boys down the street with a shotgun.”

Leslie’s porcelain face reddens, and she crosses her arms across her chest like she is trying to cover up the perpetrators.

“She got my figure, but now if I can just convince her to wear a bra and some loose-fitting blouses,” Alice says.

Now completely humiliated, Leslie moves her hands from her chest and covers her face.

Kim sidles over to her flustered cousin and puts a comforting arm around Leslie’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’re such a pretty girl and your mother just wants to keep the wrong types of people away from you. Why don’t you leave us boring adults and go watch some television with Logan in the living room?”