Ryan paused, letting his words sink in. I’m sure he was hoping the fatherly, protective approach might break Caitlin down, but when it didn’t, he pressed ahead.
“You know, people saw you out with this man,” Ryan said. “They saw you in public places, acting as though you were a couple. Let’s see, you were at the Fantasy Club with him, Pat’s Diner over in Leesburg, the Country Inn and Buffet in Russellville. You weren’t in handcuffs when these people saw you. You weren’t tied up or shackled or anything like that. In fact, some people saw you go off and use the restroom, which means you could have run away if you wanted to. Why didn’t you, Caitlin? Were you scared? Did he say he would hurt you if you ran?”
The sick feeling in my gut, the one that had started on the porch, came back even stronger. I bent down into a squatting position, resting my back against the wall. Abby was looking away, off toward the blank TV screen. Her right hand was raised to her chest and clutched a handful of fabric from her shirt.
Ryan sat back a little. He refolded the paper with the sketch on it and placed it back in his pocket. “I think I know what’s going on here,” he said. “I think you were trying to go back to this man last night. That’s why you went out the window and ran away. Do you love him, Caitlin? Is that what you think? Do you think you love him?”
“I do love him,” she said. “And he loves me. He does. Still. He loves me.”
I stood up, my mouth dry. I felt on the edge of panic. “Who does, Caitlin?” I asked. “Who is this man who’s been telling you these things?”
Ryan held up his silencing finger again, and when he did, Caitlin turned away from him and folded her arms across her chest. She looked younger than her years, like a small child throwing a tantrum, and to complete the effect some tears ran down her cheeks. It wasn’t full-fledged sobbing like the night before, but it was enough to signal the end of the conversation.
Ryan pushed himself up from the couch, the springs groaning with relief.
“Okay, Caitlin,” he said. “I’ll leave off there. But I do hope we’ll talk about this again. And I’ll be sure to tell Dr. Rosenbaum about our conversation. Maybe you’d rather talk to him about it at some point. Would you prefer that? Would you prefer to talk to Dr. Rosenbaum?”
Caitlin didn’t answer.
“Okay,” he said. “That’s fine. Well, I’m glad you’re home with your parents and getting settled in.”
Ryan left the room, and as he passed, he placed his hand on my arm and nodded, indicating he wanted us to follow him. We did, but before we left the living room, I looked back at Caitlin. She still sat on the couch in the same position—arms folded, jaw set. She looked stubborn and determined. Not only did I wonder about the secrets she held inside her, but also about the nature of the effort it would take to pry them loose. Before I left the room, Caitlin reached up and took hold of the topaz necklace. She rubbed the stone between her thumb and forefinger as if it were some kind of charm.
The three of us gathered in the kitchen, presumably out of Caitlin’s earshot, although a part of me suspected Ryan wanted her to hear our conversation.
“Continue to keep a close eye on her tonight,” Ryan said. “She may bolt again.”
“Oh, God,” Abby said. “Those things you said to her . . . Why . . . ?”
“I’m sorry if it seemed too harsh. She has a strong wall up, and she’s strong willed. I had to try to get through it. The sooner we answer these questions, the sooner we can catch the person who did this to Caitlin. This guy’s out there, and I think he’s close.”
“Close?” Abby asked.
“In town. Or at least he was. Where did your brother go?”
“The porch, I guess,” I said.
“I’ll catch him on my way out.”
“Why do you want to talk to him?” Abby asked. “Frankly, given some of his past behavior, I thought maybe you should . . . examine him more closely.”
“This is just routine,” Ryan said. “Really, keep a close eye on her tonight. She’s still attached to this guy.” He gave Abby a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Stay strong. We’re getting there.”
Abby and I walked with Ryan to the front of the house, back to the room where Caitlin was sitting. She’d turned the TV back on. Through the large picture window, I saw Buster sitting on the porch, smoking a cigarette. I thought he’d quit, but there he was, the long tendrils of smoke leaving his mouth and nostrils and being carried away on the wind.
“I’ll just have a word with William and be on my way.”
“Tom?”
I followed Abby’s gaze. She stared out the window to the porch, where Ryan stood over Buster. Ryan’s face displayed the same unfriendly grin, and Buster was shaking his head back and forth, back and forth.
She said my name again.
“Tom?”