“Thank you for talking to the police and working with them on the sketch.”
She didn’t respond. Her hand was raised to her head, and her index finger twirled a strand of brittle-looking hair. Her eyes were focused on the desktop.
“It’s going to help a lot, I think. The sketch.” When she didn’t answer again, I said, “Is there a reason why you’re here? Is something wrong?”
“I guess that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, all that stuff in the papers and on TV about your daughter.”
“It’s there because of you.”
“Yeah . . .” She stopped twirling her hair and looked at me. “I’m sorry about that.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“You believe my story, don’t you?” she asked.
“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?” I asked.
She shook her head slowly, and while she did I remembered Ryan’s comments about Tracy. Well detailed. Convincingly so.
“I saw what I saw,” she said. “I did.”
“Then there shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Have you thought about what you’d do if she came back?” she asked.
“You mean Caitlin, right? Have I thought about her coming back home?” I asked. “Of course. Many times.”
In great detail. Convincingly so. Caitlin running into my arms. Caitlin saying my name. Caitlin happy and smiling, a beautiful young woman ready to resume her life.
“I hope you get to see that come true,” she said.
She smiled a little, but it didn’t possess much warmth.
“Is something wrong, Tracy? Is there something you need to tell me that you’re having a hard time getting out?”
“You’re a religious man, right?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Why would you ask me that?”
“I just thought since you saw that . . . vision in the park yesterday.”
I squirmed a little in my chair. “I wouldn’t call it a vision.”
“But you saw something. Something you believe in. Like me at the club.”
For the moment, I followed the train of her thought. We were alike, she and I. We were both witnesses to things central to Caitlin’s case, and while others may have had their doubts, we were both certain. We believed ourselves and each other at the very least.
She started twirling her hair again. “I haven’t had an easy time of things, you know.”
“Since we met—”
“In life.”
She looked at me again, without smiling. Her eyes were hard, impermeable. Like colored glass.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
I didn’t know where our conversation was going. I thought she was looking for reassurances from me, for an understanding that I felt happy about her coming forward and telling her story to the police. But something hovered beneath the surface of her words, something slippery and elusive I couldn’t get a handle on.
“See, I want to help you,” she said. “That’s why I called Liann, even though I’d been in trouble before and I don’t really like the police.”
“I understand.”
“I’d like to help you more.” She still twirled the hair. And with her other hand, she tapped a fingernail—the polish chipped and dark—against the armrest of the chair.
“Let me show you something.” She bent down out of my sight and rustled around in her bag. She popped back up holding a business card. She brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face, then passed the business card across the desk to me. “Here. I brought this for you.”
I reached out. It was a business card for someone named Susan Goff of “Volunteer Victim Services.” A local phone number was listed under her name.
I knew my face betrayed my skepticism. “What is this?” I asked.
“She’s a lady who helps people.”
“A therapist?”
“She’s not a therapist,” Tracy said. “I don’t even know if she went to school.”
I tried to hand the card back. “I’m not really interested in that.”
“I met her through a friend,” Tracy said. “But she works with the cops too.”
The name sounded familiar to me. Volunteer Victim Services. Ryan had mentioned them to us more than once, but we never called or followed up. “The police are already working on this,” I said.
“She’s not a cop,” Tracy said. “She’s . . . just someone to talk to, someone who’s willing to support you no matter what. She’s not working any angles.”
“Everybody has an angle, don’t they?” I asked.
“Susan’s nice. She’s not a lawyer or anything like that. She understands people and things.” Tracy rolled her eyes a little. “I mean, I know Liann’s trying to help me and everything, but she’s only willing to do so much, you know? She wants to help me, but she wants to help me on her terms. If I ask her for something, something outside her agenda, she shuts me down.”