“Tripp, wait,” Bridget called to his back, and he stopped, turned his head so she could see his profile. “Do you think we should call Nate?” Where did Tripp’s loyalty lie? Would he risk his job for his friend? Would either of them? It really didn’t seem possible that Nate and Lucia were together.
Tripp didn’t say anything for the longest time and Bridget stared at his back, the broad expanse between his shoulders, the flex of his calf muscles and the whiteness of one heel, then the other, as he shifted his weight, the curve of his ankle.
Finally, he answered her. “No.”
?????
Mt. Oanoke police station sat behind a Texaco on Route 543. A wide, flat building, it reminded Bridget of a strip mall with a trailer hanging off the side like an afterthought. Inside, it smelled like fresh paint and new carpeting. The front desk was encased in a glass window, like a doctor’s office, and the room behind it boasted open cubicles and bright blue paint. It was such a surprisingly cheerful place, maybe the most uplifting place in all of Mt. Oanoke.
Tripp leaned over the desk and called out to someone in the back. “Is Harper around?” Bridget heard the low murmur of another voice and then the sound of a lock being disengaged. Tripp motioned to follow him through the metal door.
They walked to his desk and Bridget hung back, out of place. Tripp’s cube was low and simple, a computer, policy papers thumbtacked to the sides, and a single framed photo of a beautiful Asian woman and a girl about ten years old. Tripp caught her staring.
“That’s my daughter and my ex. They live in Jersey, and I, uh, well, had some alcohol issues back then. I see her sometimes, but not as much as I’d like.” He tapped the frame. “I’m working on it.” As an afterthought, he added. “That’s her mother.” His voice, as well as his expression, remained unreadable.
Bridget was shocked. She’d never known Tripp to be anything other than a bachelor, but then again, she hadn’t known him a decade ago. She didn’t ask if they’d been married, but it pulled at her. She wanted to know.
A tall, thin man in khakis and a dress shirt came out of a conference room in the back and walked purposefully toward them.
“Hey, Tim. This is Bridget Peterson. Bridget, this is Detective Tim Harper.” They shook hands; his grip was firm but quick. Tripp explained to Bridget that Detective Harper was investigating Nate’s case. Harper led them back to the room he’d emerged from and motioned for them to sit around an oval conference table. He turned the blinds closed and the effect was immediate. The room felt like a closet.
“Bridget, what seems to be the issue?”
“I had a concern over the whereabouts of Lucia Hamm.” She pushed at a ridge in the table with her fingernail. “I’m confused about one thing, though. Is Nate being investigated in a criminal case? I was under the impression that Lucia being eighteen would eliminate any criminal wrongdoing.” She treaded carefully, playing dumb.
Detective Harper leaned back, folding his hands over his midsection. “Well, I can’t outright comment on an ongoing investigation, but in Pennsylvania it is a violation of the penal code to abuse authority given to a teacher at a public institution. It’s called institutional sexual assault.”
“So Nate could go to jail?”
“I can’t say that, Mrs. Peterson. I can only say the investigation is ongoing.”
Tripp shifted in his chair. Bridget wondered how everyone had known about this. It hadn’t been in the paper. She thought of Dale, his nose twitching, almost gleeful over the word rape.
Detective Harper opened his laptop and eyed her over his bifocals. “You want to fill out a missing-persons report?”
“Yes. I think so. She has a history of running away, so it might be all for nothing.” Bridget held her purse in her lap and realized she was gripping the strap, white-knuckled.
“It’s okay, just tell me everything you know or think you know and we’ll decide what to do with the information from there.” The detective furrowed his brow, staring at the screen, and pecked a few keys. “We have to do everything electronically now; you can ask Officer Harris here how much that delights me.” He gave a wan little smile and Bridget tried to smile back. He hit a key and then turned to Bridget. “Go on.”
Bridget told him about Lucia, the things she’d heard at school, the love note, her home life. She told him about the fight in the hallway, the burning paper, the coiling smoke, the way no one but Bridget seemed to believe her. Then again, no one but Bridget seemed to believe Nate, either, but Bridget didn’t mention that to the detective. And she definitely did not tell Detective Harper about the kiss; in fact, didn’t bring up Nate at all. She told him of the first time Lucia ran away, her campsite at the paper mill. She was careful only to include things she’d seen firsthand.
He quietly typed while she talked, asking few questions. When she was done, he gave her a look. “Do you think this has anything to do with Nate Winters?”
“No. I don’t know. I don’t think so. I just know that someone should be looking for her. Or at least care that she’s missing.”
“But have you seen Mr. Winters today?”
“No. Why would I?”
“It was just a question, Ms. Peterson.” He smiled, thin without teeth. “Did you report to the school that you believed Ms. Hamm to be missing?”
“I asked the principal. The secretary. The problem is no one knows how to get in touch with her. Her father’s cell phone is the only one on file and Jimmy’s, well, he’s gone.” She pushed her palms down on her knees. “I went to Tripp’s house to see if he thought I should come to you?” It accidentally came out like a question.
“I see. And neither of you has seen Mr. Winters today, despite him staying with you, Officer Harris?”
Tripp shrugged. “I, uh, actually haven’t really talked with him in a few days, but I’ve been taking all Ratzen’s shifts while he’s away, you know that. I see him when I come home in the morning. He’s still asleep on the couch. The past few days, I wake up, I go back to work. By the afternoon, he’s usually gone. Today, Bridget was knocking on the door and he was gone.”
“Where does he go?”
“I don’t know. I guess the gym. We’ve had a few text conversations, there’s leftovers in the fridge, or whatever.” Tripp rubbed his hands together.
Detective Harper gave a hmmmm and typed a few things on the computer. The clock behind Bridget’s head clicked with the seconds and the silence stretched out, long and thin, and Bridget felt her lungs tighten.
“And you last saw Lucia Hamm when, Mrs. Peterson?” Harper had already asked her this, but Bridget answered again.
“Friday. The argument in the hallway when someone set a paper in her hand on fire.”
“You said Riana Yardley, correct?”