I wished I could get the image out of my head, the picture created by Tracy’s words. But I did want to know him. I wanted to see the face of that man, the one who took Caitlin.
“You can’t waver, Tom. I’ve been telling you that from day one. That’s why you needed to hear that story in there. You can’t forget what this is about.”
“Right,” I said. “It’s about finding Caitlin.”
Liann nodded, but not as vigorously as I would have expected. It seemed like she was holding something back, some other part of the answer that I hadn’t provided. Before I could ask for clarification, my phone rang. I allowed myself to hope, for just a split second, that it was Ryan calling from inside the club, needing me to come in and participate, to hear some key piece of information he’d just uncovered. But the name on the caller ID screen made much more sense.
Abby.
I told Liann.
“Are you going to answer?”
“No.” I silenced the ringing. “She’s going to be mad.” I looked over at Liann. “I skipped out on the service at the cemetery today. I went out for a drink with my brother.”
“Jesus, Tom.”
“It’s worse. I didn’t tell her. I just didn’t show up.”
Liann shook her head. “You have your work cut out for you. Of course, you have this news to tell her. You could call her back and let her know.”
“I’ll tell her when we know more from Ryan,” I said. “Besides, I’m not even sure how much Abby will care about this. She wants to turn the page. It might interrupt her mourning.”
Liann fiddled with the large bracelet on her left wrist. “I’m not a big fan of Abby’s decision to move on, either.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I just think that closure isn’t the best thing in a case like Caitlin’s,” she said. “You don’t want anyone—not the police, not the community—to think you’re ready to move on until you really are. And I don’t think you’re ready to move on, Tom.”
“I guess it was different for you. You knew Elizabeth was really gone.”
“We had a body,” she said. “And a real funeral. Not a memorial or whatever you had today.” She raised her index finger to make the next point. “And we had a conviction. Don’t forget that. We got the guy.”
“Did that really help?” I asked.
Liann kept her finger in the air. “It didn’t hurt,” she said. “It sure as hell didn’t hurt.”
“What about your marriage?” I asked. “I don’t want to be a fucking cliché, you know? The parents of a missing child who can’t keep their marriage alive. How did you two do it?”
She lowered her hand and shook her head. “It’s a long road, Tom,” she said. “A long, long road.”
It took Ryan nearly an hour to come out. An hour, or what felt like twenty twangy thumping songs I didn’t want to hear, and by the time Ryan reemerged I was cursing the first person who’d ever banged on a drum to create music. Liann and I stood up when we saw him.
Ryan’s face was unreadable, obscure. “Tom,” he said, and made a gesture indicating he wanted me to move a little ways off and talk to him alone.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Liann can hear.”
He didn’t look at Liann. “I’d rather talk to you alone.”
“Liann is a friend,” I said. “She knows all about Caitlin’s case. She’s been there from the beginning. I’d like her to hear. I’d like the extra set of ears.”
Ryan’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes shifted so that he considered me with a sideways glance.
“Okay,” he said. “What do you want to know, Tom?”
“I want to know what you thought of her story. Do you think she saw Caitlin?”
“Well, I like to take a long view of these things,” he said. He stood with one hand in his pocket and the other rested on his belt. “I’m skeptical of stories like these—”
“Here we go,” Liann said.
Ryan took a deep breath and went on, ignoring her.
“I’m skeptical of these stories that show up in the wake of an event like Caitlin’s service today. This woman says she saw the story in the paper and remembered, but it’s just as likely the story in the paper suggested something to her that wasn’t already there. It happens all the time in these cases.”
“But she’s not talking about what’s in the paper,” I said. “She’s telling a different story, one that no one else has heard.”
Ryan nodded. “I agree. She does tell an impressive story. It’s well detailed, convincingly so.”
“You’re saying it’s just that, a story?” I asked.
“I’m saying consider the length of time that passed before she came forward. Six months.”
“She didn’t know—”
Ryan raised his hand, cutting Liann off.
“Six months later. And consider her profession. A dancer in a club like this.” He turned to Liann. “No doubt with a record?”
“Criminalization of the victim,” Liann said.
“She’s not the victim,” Ryan said. “She’s a witness.”
“She’s been a victim in the past,” Liann said.
“She has?” I asked.