‘She made us promise not to.’
‘She shouldn’t have,’ said Grandpa Owen. ‘It wasn’t fair.’
‘But look what she gave us in return.’
A chair being pulled up, a creaking as weight came to rest upon it. His mother, Daniel thought, because Grandpa Owen always groaned when he stood up or sat down.
‘What we did was wrong, but not very wrong,’ said Grandpa Owen. ‘They’ll see that he’s better off with us. The state doesn’t want to put kids in foster homes, not if they can avoid it. It costs too damn much.’
The sound of his mother crying. Daniel wanted to go to her, but that would have been to reveal his snooping. All he could do was sit and listen. He didn’t want anyone to take him from his mom and Grandpa Owen. He’d run away if they tried. If he couldn’t run, he’d fight.
‘I told you,’ said Grandpa Owen. ‘I’ll make the call from a public phone. I’ll be careful not to stay on the line for too long. I’ll test the waters, see what Castin says, and you and I can discuss it before we go any further.’
‘And if we don’t like what he has to say?’
Daniel waited for the answer.
‘We could leave, I guess. Go someplace far from here.’
Grandpa Owen sounded like a man being asked to jump over a stream that looked too wide for him.
‘But?’
‘If we were to strike camp,’ said Grandpa Owen, ‘we might just be giving ourselves away.’
‘And then they’d find us, wouldn’t they? They’d send the detective – Parker. He’d hunt us down. I don’t want him coming after us. He scares me.’
‘So do I make the call?’
This time the silence went on for so long that Daniel was convinced he’d somehow missed his mother’s reply, until her voice came, very softly: ‘Yes. But not yet.’
‘Jesus …’
Daniel heard a chair being pushed back, and he was back between the sheets by the time his mother appeared at the bedroom door. He pretended to be asleep as she came to sit on the edge of his bed. She didn’t touch him, didn’t try to wake him, but he could hear her breathing, and smell her perfume, and feel the fierce heat of her love for him. At last she left, and he turned over on his bed as though twisting in his sleep, so he could watch her as the door closed, before she was lost to him.
62
Parker was sitting in his home office, updating Moxie Castin on what amounted to very little progress at all, when the alarm on his phone was activated, and seconds later an unmarked car, its dashboard flasher illuminated to identify the driver as a police officer, pulled up outside his door. Parker had already spoken with Molly Bow, alerting her to the possibility that Maela Lombardi might be missing and asking her permission to refer the police to her should they come calling. That permission had not been forthcoming as yet.
‘I shouldn’t have told you about Maela to begin with,’ Molly said. ‘If the police get involved, I’ll be forced to give them even more names.’
‘You can’t be forced to give them anything at all. And let me remind you that you told me you didn’t have “that information.”’
‘Then why sic them on me to begin with?’
Parker had to admit there was a kind of logic to the argument, but it was canceled by an equal amount of illogicality. If Lombardi was missing, then Bow had at least helped to set in motion some kind of investigation into her whereabouts, and thus had done the right thing by revealing Lombardi’s name to Parker, whatever her concerns about betraying confidences.
But he also had to recognize that a) Lombardi might not be missing at all; and b) if she were missing, her disappearance might not necessarily be linked to the Piscataquis remains. Lombardi’s work with imperiled women could easily have left her exposed to acts of vengeance from a host of aggrieved partners, as Bow herself could attest from personal experience. Bow might be sitting on information that could assist the police in finding Lombardi, but she was also putting the squeeze on Parker in an effort to keep her name out of the investigation.
Sometimes, Parker’s vocation made his head hurt.
If he retained any doubts about the reason for this police presence, they were dispelled as soon as the car door opened and the plainclothes officer stepped out. Her name was Kes Carroll – Kes being short for Kestrel, which meant she was officially the most exotically named person known to Parker, as well as the tallest woman, topping out at six-two in her stocking feet – and she was the Cape Elizabeth PD’s sole detective. Parker had enjoyed occasional professional dealings with her, and always found her to be a straight arrow. Carroll was in her late fifties, and could easily have retired years before, but she appeared to find fulfillment in her work, and who was Parker to question that?
He opened the front door before Carroll had a chance to ring the bell, and invited her inside for coffee. She took a seat at the kitchen table while he found some cups. A pot was already brewing.
‘Sorry for the late visit,’ said Carroll.
‘I wasn’t doing a whole lot anyway. I take it this is about Maela Lombardi?’
‘Her niece called, said she’d spoken with you.’
‘Did she sound worried?’
‘More apologetic.’
‘She and her aunt aren’t particularly close.’
‘So she told us. Looks like you might have lit a small fire under her, though.’
‘It could be nothing.’
‘With you involved? Give me a break.’
Parker poured coffee for both of them, and put milk and sugar on the table.
‘So?’ asked Carroll as she added milk. ‘What’s the deal?’
‘The deal is the Jane Doe from Piscataquis. Moxie Castin hired me to find out what I can about her and the missing child. I can’t reveal how I know this, but it’s possible – just possible – that Lombardi might have had some contact with Jane Doe.’
‘Go on.’
‘I’ve been trying to figure out why a pregnant woman would head to Maine to begin with, never mind end up buried in a shallow grave with the afterbirth. If she had relatives here, they’d have shown themselves by now.’
‘Unless they were the ones who put her in the ground – they, or the child’s father.’
‘But why hide a death in childbirth? It’s not a crime, unless someone can prove willful neglect.’
‘You know this state. Once you head out to the willywacks, there’s no telling why some folks do the things they do. So what brought you to Lombardi?’
‘I’ve been told she operated an unofficial safe house for women fleeing abusive relationships. What if our Jane Doe was running from the father of her child? What if she was desperate? If she didn’t want to turn to state services, or Planned Parenthood, or whatever other organizations might be in a position to offer help, where would she go? Even if Lombardi hadn’t met her, she might know of someone else who did.’
‘But wouldn’t Lombardi have come forward if she had some knowledge of Jane Doe?’
‘I’d hoped to ask Lombardi that myself. She might have felt under pressure to protect this network of safe houses, because my understanding is that Lombardi is just one link in the chain.’
‘Or?’
‘Or Jane Doe made her promise not to tell.’
‘Why?’
‘Because whoever she was running from was so bad that not only was Jane Doe’s life at risk, but so was the life of her child, and perhaps the life of anyone who helped her.’
‘That’s a hell of a leap to take.’
‘I’ve taken bigger.’
Carroll tried her coffee, and gagged.
‘This is horrible,’ she said.
‘Organic decaf.’
‘What’s the point of that?’
‘Makes me feel virtuous.’
‘Well, whatever helps.’ Carroll didn’t push the mug away, instead electing to keep it clasped in her hands, welcoming the warmth, if not the taste. Spring might have arrived, but the nights continued to bear winter’s mark. ‘As for Lombardi, I’m reluctant to issue a Silver Alert until more time has gone by.’