The Piper

FORTY-SEVEN




Olivia was not sure of the time, for some reason she thought maybe three a.m., and her endurance was crumbling fast. She kept waiting for it to stop, the repetitive questioning. The interview room was metal tables and worn linoleum, rank with old sweat and fear.

She was distracted, having trouble concentrating on what Detective Withers said. Her body ached for sleep, but when she closed her eyes, she saw Hugh, swinging from that red leather belt. She was very aware of Hugh’s Blackberry, still tucked into the pocket of her jeans. Detective Donnie would go ballistic over the Blackberry. He would confiscate it and Olivia might never know what Hugh had taped if she handed it over to the police. From moment to moment she expected Detective Withers to insist she turn her pockets out.

Instead, he questioned her and watched her. She’d stood up at one point when she thought she’d heard McTavish in the hall outside the small, airless room with the door shut so tight.

Olivia listened to the voices in the corridor, an angry man, then a woman laughing in a mean sort of way. Not McTavish. It was the middle of the night, McTavish would be home asleep. Or maybe Detective Withers would keep him away. She wanted to ask for him, but knew it would complicate matters beyond belief. But she was alone and hungry for even a glimpse of a familiar and sympathetic face.

‘I want to go back to my hotel,’ Olivia said.

‘We’re almost done here, Mrs James. Please sit back down.’

Olivia sat. Clasping and unclasping her hands. Withers had said he was almost done. She just needed to hang on a little bit longer.

‘It’s the dog, that’s what’s got me bothered,’ Detective Donnie said.

Something about the offhand way Withers asked the question made Olivia wary, brought a cold edge of anxiety to the back of her neck. She told herself not to worry. That her state of mind was working for as well as against her – she might have trouble thinking straight, but she was also shielded from this man’s perceptive smarts by his expectations – her twitchy distractedness would be put down to shock, grief, and extreme anxiety for her child.

Olivia clenched her jaw. How much longer would this go on? How long before she could go back to her room? What if she just got up and left?

‘What about the dog, Detective? I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t get what you mean.’

Detective Donnie smiled as if that were exactly what he’d been waiting to hear her say. He opened a file and put two police reports on the table, lining them up side by side with care so that she could read them both.

‘The description of the mysterious dog you saw the night Teddy disappeared. It’s an exact match for the description of the dog that disappeared along with your sister, Emily, all those years ago.’ He picked up a swatch of paper. ‘German shepherd, tan and gray, black face, brindle markings. Unusual description for a shepherd, and it strikes me, you know? That this dog you saw looks exactly like your family dog, Hunter.’

Olivia gave herself a moment to think. ‘Except for the limp. The one I saw had a crippled back leg.’

‘True. Except for the limp. It’s my experience, Mrs James, that a good liar sticks close to the truth when they start to spin a tale.’

Olivia felt the heat rise in her face. Her cheeks going red. ‘You’re saying I made up this dog? For what possible reason?’

‘I’m saying it’s time you told me what really happened the night Teddy disappeared. Come on, Olivia, for God’s sake, this is your little girl, and we have two people dead at your house. Tell me what’s going on.’

‘I’m not the only one who saw the dog,’ Olivia said. ‘One of your own officers found a neighbor who saw him.’

‘You mean that Ackerman woman?’ Withers curled his lip and gave her a mean little smile.

And Olivia thought, yes, that Ackerman woman, who had somehow become her last hope. That Ackerman woman was going to have to help her somehow, because there wasn’t anybody else. Withers was useless, useless, all his efforts spent questioning her, instead of finding her little girl.

‘I want to go back to my hotel,’ Olivia said.

‘Call me,’ Withers said, pressing one of his cards into her sticky palm. ‘When you can’t stand it anymore, when you’re ready to tell me what happened to Teddy, when you want some peace in your heart.’

Olivia knew, then, that Detective Withers had given Teddy up for dead. It took all her strength just to get to her feet.

‘I want to go back to my hotel.’

When the uniformed officer dropped Olivia off outside the lobby, she went to Hugh’s room instead of her own. The police had been there, ransacking the room, while she and Detective Withers had talked. Hugh’s briefcase was in the center of the bed, canted to one side, flap open.

Hugh loved that briefcase, a vintage reproduction mailbag he’d bought through the J. Peterman catalog. It had cost him the earth. Olivia noticed the jumbled look of the papers inside. The police had gone through it thoroughly, leaving the contents askew – Hugh was habitual and organized, he would have been so pissed. His phone charger was in the briefcase, in a zipped compartment, so the police would be on the hunt for the Blackberry. Olivia plugged the charger into the phone and an outlet by the side of the bed, her hands shaking hard.

She went into the bathroom, splashing water on her face. Avoided looking in the mirror. She touched the handle of Hugh’s toothbrush, the razor he would no longer need. She knew she was preparing herself, gearing up for whatever Hugh had recorded. She left the clean white shirts hanging in the closet, and put on the soiled one Hugh had worn on the plane because it smelled of the shaving soap Hugh always used. She was ready now.

Olivia sat on the edge of the bed, working the Blackberry, bringing up that final video. She took a deep breath and pressed play.

The screen filled with Hugh’s face.

His mouth was open. Olivia could see the back row of his teeth. His scream mingled with the grind of an engine. He was in the upstairs hallway of the house, right under the attic fan.

Hugh’s head jerked back. As if he were being dragged.

‘No. God damn you.’ He flopped sideways, like a fish on a hook. ‘Love you. Olivia. Love you, love you Teddy, love you love you.’

The angle of the camera showed the right section of hallway at the top of the stairs, and the outside of Olivia’s bedroom. Olivia could see, right at the edge on the left, when Hugh suddenly swung up in the air. She trembled hard, the tears rolling down her cheeks. Hugh, she tried to whisper, but she could not talk. Her chest was hurting, her throat tight and dry.

Hugh laughed abruptly, and dropped to the floor. ‘You’re not going to win, you son of a bitch.’

The red leather belt swung into view, dropping in front of the camera from the ceiling fan.

‘Son of a bitch,’ Hugh said. ‘You son of a bitch.’

The last was a sob.

Olivia jammed her fist into her mouth.

The lights in the hallway began flashing on and off. Olivia could hear a dog in the background, barking hysterically. Hugh was up in the air again, as if lifted by a giant, invisible hand. He made a noise in the back of his throat, a harsh gurgling moan, suddenly cut off. Hugh’s feet cycled frantically, then stilled, dangling heavily, loose. The loafer on one foot was half off, and it fell from his foot, rolling sideways.

The dog stopped barking. The lights in the hallway switched off one more time, then back on. Olivia held the screams in her chest and watched another six minutes of the shoe in the hall before turning the video off.