Chapter Twenty-six
I fell asleep in a living room chair. Someone knocked on the front door and it took a moment for the cobwebs to clear, for the events of the day to reappear in my mind. Caitlin at the police station, the hospital, back home. Then Caitlin out the window, into the night, the cemetery, the note . . .
They knocked again.
“Tom?”
Abby’s voice reached me from upstairs.
“Tom, it’s the police. I’m getting dressed.”
I went to the door and opened it. Ryan stood there in the porch light. He looked haggard, unshaven. I feared the worst. They found her, but she was dead, and Ryan was here to bring me the bad news.
“Is she . . . ?”
“She’s in the car,” he said. “We got her.”
Abby appeared beside me, and then we both moved out of the way, letting Ryan in. I gestured toward a chair, but he shook his head.
“I have to get home,” he said. “This won’t take long.”
“Is she in trouble?” Abby asked. “Did she do something?”
“No, we found her north of downtown, not far from the police station actually. She was walking, but we’re not sure where. There isn’t much out there really.”
“Thank you for bringing her back,” Abby said.
“Is there something we need to sign?” I asked. “A report or something?”
Ryan shook his head. “No need.” He didn’t make a move to leave or sit down. “I know how difficult this is, and that the two of you have been kind of thrown into the deep end here,” he finally said. “This is a huge adjustment for both of you. I’ll help in any way I can, but . . .”
“What are you saying?” Abby asked.
“It can start to get dicey when man power is being diverted in this way. If the media finds out, it becomes a spectacle. And you and Caitlin don’t need that right now. Let’s just utilize the resources we have at our disposal. We’re in a critical stage with Caitlin, and we all have to be on alert. Especially the two of you. You’re on the front line here.”
“Of course,” Abby said.
“Who was she with?” I asked.
“No one,” Ryan said. “She was alone.” He looked me in the eye. “We never got ahold of your brother.”
Someone knocked lightly on the screen door, so we turned. In the faint porch light, Caitlin looked calm, unaffected. Two uniformed cops walked behind her, but they didn’t appear to be forcing her to move along or into the house. She came in on her own, as though it were perfectly natural to be brought to our door by the police at sunrise.
I took a quick look up and down the street. The neighbors had received quite a show. News vans and cops and now this.
Neither one of us touched Caitlin when she came in. She stopped in the living room and stood with her hands jammed into the pockets of her hooded sweatshirt. She looked like any slightly grubby teenager waiting for a bus.
Ryan nodded at us. “I’d like to see you keep that appointment in the morning” he said.
Rosenbaum. I understood what he was saying.
“We’ll be there,” I said.
“You could even call him now,” Ryan said. “He might have some ideas—”
“We’re okay,” I said. “We’ve got it.”
When Ryan was gone, Abby broke the silence.
“Do you want something to eat, honey?”
Before Caitlin could form a response, I cut her off.
“No,” I said. “She needs to sit down. We have some things to talk about.”
“Tom—”
“Sit down,” I said. “All of us.”
Caitlin didn’t move. She stayed rooted in place, her eyes a little vacant, her mouth a narrow line.
“Caitlin?” I said.
“I don’t want to sit,” she said.
My voice rose and I pointed at a chair. “I’m telling you to.” “I want to go to bed.”
“And run off again?” I said.
She didn’t say anything else. She stared past me toward a point somewhere in the air.
“Where were you going tonight?” I asked.
When she didn’t move or respond or even change the expression on her face, I felt anger welling up within me. I wanted to reach out and take her by the shoulders and shake.
“Tom, why don’t we just get her something to eat?” Abby said.
I stormed off toward the kitchen. I wasn’t going to eat. I took a piece of paper from the counter and returned to the living room. Caitlin and Abby started to follow me, but when they saw me coming back, they stopped in the dining room. My dirty dish was still there, the tomato sauce hardening like dried blood.
I held up the sketch.
“Who is this man?” I asked Caitlin. “Is this the man you were going to see tonight? Is it?”
She blinked a few times and leaned closer. She studied the sketch like it was a rare bird that fascinated her.
“Is this the man who took you?” I asked.
“Tom.”
I moved the paper closer. “Is this the man who took you to strip clubs and made you watch him?”
She blinked again, surprise showing on her face.