What We Saw at Night (24 page)

T
hree days passed in a surreal blur. I spent every night alone in my bedroom, texting with Rob as he watched the same news stories unfold. First, dog handlers brought huge Saint Bernards and bloodhounds, tracking dogs, cadaver dogs. The dogs circled the place where Juliet had landed. So the firefighters and deputy sheriffs began to dig into the sand. They dug down to rock, a depth of more than three feet. They found nothing at all. Not a fiber, not a shoe, not a water bottle … not a trace.

Officially, the search of the river now was a recovery instead of a rescue. I refused to believe it, or acknowledge what that implied. Juliet had vanished for a reason. She hadn’t ended it all.

Then the call came. The police wanted me for questioning.

IT WAS COUCHED as “a chat.” My mother needed to be present, as I was a minor. Naturally, the “chat” would
occur at night, to ensure my comfort and safety. I wouldn’t be talking to Officer Sirocco, either. I’d be talking to another detective, Deputy Sheriff Sonny Larsen. She was built like a linebacker (six feet tall, all muscle, with blazing blond hair), and had the gruff voice to match. From Deputy Chief Larsen, I learned that Garrett Tabor had received an invitation too.

“He’ll be joining us momentarily,” she said as she showed my mom and me into a concrete block waiting room, well-stocked with magazines describing weddings of celebrities who had been divorced for years. From behind the room’s only other door (closed), I heard a voice I recognized too well, but couldn’t make out the words. Garrett Tabor didn’t sound stressed at all, though. He sounded calm.

A few moments later, Deputy Chief Larsen reappeared. “Hello, Miss Kim,” she said. She nodded towards my mother. “Mrs. Kim.”

“What’s Sonny short for?” I asked.

“Sonny,” Deputy Chief Larsen answered, without humor.

“Did your dad want a boy? Or did he think you were very optimistic?”

“I’m sorry?” she asked, turning her beady eyes on me.

My mother swatted my arm. “Alexis, stop.”

“I mean sunny. Like the sun. Optimistic. Did your dad think that?”

“You’d have to ask him,” Officer Larsen replied.

Are you alive?
I wanted to ask.
Or battery-operated?
She asked me for a rundown of the night Juliet disappeared. I told her about Parkour. She asked me to elaborate on our plans (illegal, she pointed out) to jump the bridge to the bank. I gave her a timeline. She asked me about Juliet Sirocco and how I knew her. I described our friendship and its duration. I also added that I had a written statement.

I didn’t add that what I added next I’d learned from John Jay: as soon as the police call came, I detailed every moment of my very unpleasant encounter with Garrett Tabor at the cemetery, including the mysterious texts. Now that my mother knew everything, she was as outraged and terrified as I was.

Deputy Larsen examined my statement for several long minutes. She read it once, twice, three times. Then she glanced up. “Thank you for being so very thorough. Now, I think you and your mother and Mr. Tabor owe each other a conversation.” She stood and knocked softly on the door that adjoined the two offices. “You can come in now, Garrett. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“I’d rather talk to Allie alone,” Garrett replied.

My mother shook her head furiously. But I gripped her arm. “It’s fine, Mom. We’re in a police station. Nothing bad can happen.”

“Alexis Kim—”

“Trust me, okay?” I whispered. “You know how you hate the word ‘conventional’? Well, this is not a conventional situation. You understand?”

She nodded, seeing through my skull. He’d be less guarded if I were alone. He’d try to threaten me if it were just us and the police, somehow in some subtle way, even though he knew he’d be observed the entire time. He might even crack.

“Fine,” Mom said. She shot the cop a cold stare and headed back out to the waiting room. Deputy Larsen closed the door, and the other flew open.

Garrett Tabor looked surprisingly well-rested for someone who had just flown to and then flown back from Bolivia. He was even wearing a suit. Black: for fake mourning. “Hello Allie. I’m sorry you’re going through this,” he said.

Really?
I almost laughed. He’d chosen the lamest possible script. I said nothing. I stared at Deputy Chief Larsen.

“I have nothing to say to this man,” I announced. “You can read my statement. If anything is wrong, I’ll point it out.”

So she did. She read it aloud. “The witness is Alexis Lin Kim, age seventeen, a resident of 1814 Oxford Street in Iron Harbor, Minnesota. The witness swears to a close relationship with the missing woman, Juliet Lee Sirocco, age seventeen, whom she has known since they were four years old. On October 31st, the witness, responding to an unidentified text, arrived at the Torch Mountain Cemetery.…” Deputy Chief Larsen didn’t even look at me. She read on and on, for at least five minutes: about the chase, Gideon and the gun, about Juliet and Rob, and finally about Juliet’s disappearance at Lost Warrior Bridge—all concise, incident-by-incident reportage.

“Are those the observations you want to present here today in this interview?” she concluded.

“More or less,” I said.

“Which is it?” she asked. “More or less?”

I felt like Alice in Wonderland. “It’s accurate!” I said, too loudly.

She glanced at Tabor, who nodded. “I have a statement I’ve prepared too, with my lawyer,” he said, pulling an envelope from his inside jacket pocket. “I’ve detailed the chronology of my relationship with Juliet Sirocco as her athletic coach, and later as a friend and mentor in whom she confided. Juliet was a spirited young woman and the kind of competitor any coach values. But she was also deeply troubled.”

Troubled
. I sneered. The same BS he’d tried on Gideon. “She was deeply troubled because you got your hands on her,” I said.

“Please, Miss Kim,” said the deputy chief. “Would you like your mother?”

I shook my head. “I don’t need her to call him on his lies.”

“I’d be happy to take a lie-detector test,” Garrett Tabor concluded. “I want this all cleared up.”

They made a date.

I ran back out to the waiting room and hugged my mother.

Later I heard he passed with honors. Sociopaths recognize when people like them. They
believe
that people like them. And people really do like them. That sole truth turns every other twisted lie into a truth that sociopaths can live with, and that they believe, too. Everything else is just smoke from a distant fire.

WHEN WE GOT home, at exactly midnight, Rob called and breathlessly told us to turn on the evening news. Mom and I sat in horror with Mrs. Staples, who’d babysat sleeping Angie. The three of us found ourselves watching shaky footage of what at first looked like a snuffed-out campfire. I squinted at burned remnants of some dark clothing and the soles of barefoot track shoes. Then the reporter spoke. “Empty of cash or credit cards was a wallet with a driver’s license issued the previous year to Juliet Lee Sirocco.…”

I tuned out his voice after that, but the information seeped through. There was no trace of her. But everything in the charred pile had belonged to Juliet, including horribly, two of her eight ringlethingles.

“The Tabor family is offering a fifty thousand dollar reward to anyone who finds her,” the reporter concluded.

The pieces of the puzzle slid into place. They did not fit precisely, but just enough. Juliet had known what Tabor could
do, what he
would
do if he didn’t get what he wanted. I knew he’d tried begging. I knew he’d tried bribery. I would bet he’d finally tried threats. That night at the bridge, all those final things she said, they made sense.

Juliet had given Garrett Tabor what he wanted most of all—herself—in exchange for something she loved dearly.

Me.

T
he letter, addressed to Sherriff Thomas Sirocco, arrived four days into the search. He insisted on bringing it to me that night at 1
A.M.
Not too late for a Daytimer, but right on track for the XP community. I knew he wasn’t acting as a cop, but as a father. That’s all he could ever be to Juliet, even now.

At our door, Tommy still looked like the dead version of himself. He hadn’t even bothered to dress in his Sherriff’s uniform. He wore loose-fitting jeans, a hat, and an overcoat. It was only 28 degrees out. He gave my mother and me a quick hug and then sat at our kitchen table. My eyes narrowed as he slipped on plastic gloves to remove the letter from his pocket. The envelope was postmarked Illinois. “O’Hare Airport zip code,” he muttered. “International flight hub.”

He flattened the paper on the table. I glanced at my mother.

“Should I touch it?” I said.

“It just means your fingerprints will be on it,” he said.
“You’re no longer a person of interest with Juliet, but we are. The parents always are. You know that.”

I nodded and squinted at the piece of stationery.

Dearest Dad
,

I want you to know that I’m okay. I realize how much this is hurting you. You know that causing you pain isn’t at all what I intend. I’ve told you for years that this was a possibility. Now it is a reality. Don’t bother to look for me. Don’t send police to any of those old hotels. I won’t be there
.

But I am okay
.

I am taking care of myself and I am staying out of dangerous situations. I’m not alone and I’m very happy to see how the other half lives, if you know what I mean
.

I love you and miss you and Mom terribly. I always will. I will stay in touch with you, as long as no one tries to find me. If someone tries to find me, I will disappear
.

It’s important for me that I have this time on my own. It may be the only time in my life I have to really live my life normally. Live once!

So try not to worry. I’m sorry I didn’t get to tell you before I left
.

Please tell Alexis not to worry, either. Tell her I’m thinking about her
.

Love
,
Juliet

I frowned and looked up. “This isn’t real.”

“What makes you say that?” he demanded. I could tell
he wanted it to be real. He wanted it to be an answer. If Juliet was alive somewhere, and if he and his wife had enough patience, they would see her again. Piercing the fragile bubble of hope, the only place he could breathe, was almost more than I could bear. Parenting really is a paper doll chain. And Juliet had set it on fire a long time ago.

“You know, don’t you?” I asked.

“I think some things about it are hinky.”

“Which things?” I pressed. I wanted him to answer, more than I’d even known.

“You tell me, just for argument’s sake,” he said.

I turned back to the paper. The old familiar golf ball appeared in my throat, making it difficult to speak. “The only people who call me ‘Alexis’ are my mother when she’s mad, and people who don’t know me. You know, like school administrators. Everybody in the hospital calls me Allie. I bet even Nicola didn’t know my real first name. My email address is Allie-dot-Kim.”

He nodded. “Go on.”

“But it’s not that. The biggest thing is that she didn’t mention Rob once. Rob is a part of us. If this was a real letter, she’d tell you to tell Rob everything she told me, and to tell you that she was thinking of him, too.”

My mom began to cry. Tommy glanced at her, then at me. He swallowed several times, staring at the ceiling. He was fighting hard not to cry himself.

“Allie, I’ve never said this … but I’m so grateful that she has real friends like you,” he managed, his voice thick. “I mean it. I thank God for you and Rob. You drive me crazy with your stunts. But you love.…” He paused. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

My eyes moistened. “Of course we will.”

“We won’t know anything until the lab looks at it,” Tommy said. His voice hardened. He shoved the letter back into the envelope and stood. “I’ll call you.”

ROB SHOWED UP about ten minutes after Tommy left. My mother had given up any pretext of setting limits on Rob and I being together. She knew I didn’t want to be alone, ever, anymore, and she didn’t want me alone, either. For the first few hours, my mother allowed us some privacy. Not that we were in the mood for anything more than clinging to each other in my bed. Rob rested his head against Penguin, his arm around me. For some reason, that set me off. I cried for a good long time.

“Allie-Stair?” he finally whispered.

“Yeah?”

“I think I get now why you’re going to John Jay.”

I buried my head against his chest. “You do? Good. Please tell me. Because I’m not even sure I want to go anymore.”

“That’s not true. You do want to go. You want to go because you’ve always been trapped in this little room, this prison cell. You’ve been trapped with me, and Juliet, and XP. I mean, sometimes the room is bigger, sometimes it’s the whole night, but it’s still a prison cell with a door that’s gonna open at a set time. And someone will come in and say, ‘Time’s up.’ John Jay is your furlough. And that is awesome.”