“I’ll call the police. I’ll tell them what you said. You confessed.”
“Hearsay.” He laughed a little. “But I guess I did make a little mistake with Caitlin. She isn’t like the girls I typically date. Look at you—she comes from a good family. Good parents. You care. There are a lot of girls in the world without that. When they go away, no one notices. When they come back and go to the police, they get ignored. Still, this is all dependent on whether Caitlin wants to rat me out or not.”
He was right. There was little I could do unless Caitlin testified. “Why show me mercy then? Why do anything for me?”
Colter looked me up and down. “Because she’d want me to. She loves you, so I’ll do this favor.”
“Did she talk about me? Did she remember me—?”
A sound from the house cut my words off. The back door was pulled inward again, and the light revealed an older woman, close to seventy, wearing a kerchief on her head and a housecoat. Her face was long and thin, unlike her son’s, and the skin around her jawline hung loose.
“What’s going on out here, Johnny? Who is this man?”
“He’s a friend, Mom.”
“Is he a cop?”
“No.”
“I’m not a friend,” I said. “I’m Caitlin Stuart’s father.”
The woman raised her hand to her chest and gathered the loose folds of the housecoat tighter against her body. She looked stricken, almost ill. She’d put her house up to secure his bond, and if he left town before a trial . . .
“What are you doing at our house?” she asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “Johnny isn’t . . . He just can’t be seeing people, any people, right now.”
“Did you know about this, Mrs. Colter? Did you know about Caitlin?”
She moved back into the shadow of the doorframe. “Johnny, you come inside now. It’s late.”
Colter walked toward the house like an obedient child. Before he went inside, he looked back. “Remember what I offered, Mr. Stuart. A chance to say good-bye this time.”
Chapter Forty-six
Buster didn’t say anything until we were buckled in the car and pulling away from the curb. “What was that about? Colter said he offered something?” He kept his eyes on me and the car weaved across the road. That scared me even though it was late and there were no other cars out.
“Watch it.”
“What were you two talking about?”
I watched out the window at the passing houses. They looked dumpy and run-down, but I envied the residents their certainty, their comfort. They were likely sleeping the quiet sleep of the just.
“Tom? Tell me.”
I didn’t turn to face him. “He wants to see Caitlin again.”
“I bet.” He laughed.
“He says he loves her, and he made a mistake when he let her go.”
“Bullshit. Is he crazy? Is the guy fucking crazy?”
I kept my eyes straight ahead, but the side of my face burned. His eyes were on me.
“No, no, no,” he said. “No.”
As we reached the base of the on-ramp to the interstate, Buster jerked the wheel to the right, forcing the car to the side of the road. He hit the brakes hard, skidding a little. My body jerked forward, and I used my hand to brace myself against the dashboard.
“You’re going to do it? You’re going to take your daughter to that man?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said.
“You don’t know? That’s not an answer.” He raised his finger in the air. “There’s only one answer, and the answer is no. That’s it. End of story.”
“Just take me home.”
“She’s your little girl.”
“She’s not so little, is she?” I said. “She’s able to say she loves that guy. She’s capable of feeling that, of thinking that. I know what the shrink says. I know about Stockholm syndrome. But, Jesus, what can I do with all of this? They were fucking, Buster.”
“He fucked her, not the other way around.”
I rested my hands in my lap. I turned them over and over, knotting the fingers together and twisting them until the knuckles hurt. “Did you see him?” I asked. “Did you see his fucking face? He’s a fucking pig. And a loser. Living with his mom. She was with him for four years. We lost four years. That kills me.”
“He took her, Tom. Do you understand that? He took her. He’s a criminal.”
What happened to me. The words cycled through my head, but I could no longer apply those words simply to Caitlin. They applied to me as well.
What happened to me.
I rubbed my eyes. “I want to go home. It’s late, Buster.”
“Not until you drop this,” he said. He turned to face me in the small car. The glow from the display panel lighted his face, turning it a pale and alien green. I could feel his breath. “Tell me right now you won’t do it.”
I watched occasional cars passing on the highway, their headlights creating bright white cones in the darkness. “It’s not your decision, Buster. She’s not your kid.”