“A sleepwalker, eh?” he said to me.
“Yes,” I told him firmly, unsure whether he was asking because he doubted the story. Most people, I had learned, were skeptical of sleepwalkers. They couldn’t believe the things a person could do in that state. “My mom walks in her sleep. You can check her medical records. It’s all there.”
He nodded. “I wasn’t doubting. I’m Detective Rikert, ma’am.”
“Ma’am? I’m twenty-one.”
“Would you prefer I called you Lianna?”
“I would,” I said. I wasn’t surprised he knew my name. It was clear I was the missing woman’s older daughter. “And you’re not a reporter? You’re really a detective?”
“Yes. Let’s start again. I’m Detective Rikert. I’m with the Bureau of Criminal Investigation in Waterbury—a part of the state police.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a leather wallet with a badge and ID card. “The G stands for Gavin.”
I waited. When I said nothing, he continued, “You’re the magician. And you’re home from college for the summer.”
“I’m not a magician. I do kids’ birthday parties to make money and clubs sometimes in Massachusetts. Small clubs. It’s not exactly a career path.”
“What is your career path?”
“I’m an English major. I have no idea.”
“Teaching, maybe? Like your father?”
“I doubt it.”
“Writing?”
“Maybe.”
“Can I ask you a few questions about your mother?”
“Why not? Everyone else has been,” I answered, exasperated.
“I’ve looked through a lot of the team’s notes about her and thought about what we know. What I know.” He shook his head. “She wasn’t having an affair. She hasn’t run off with some other man. The fallacy with that theory is you and your sister. My sense is she wouldn’t just up and leave the two of you because there was some man she loved more than your father. And for that same reason—you and your sister—I don’t think she killed herself.”
“I agree. Thank you.”
“Nah, don’t thank me. At least not yet. All that means is…” His voice trailed off.
“Is what?”
“It means nothing,” he said, trying to sound definitive. But it was clear he was backpedaling.
“Tell me.”
He sighed. He looked away. “All that means is that she’s probably had an accident. It means that we need to find her soon or this doesn’t end well.”
I was shocked by his candor. But I also sensed a subterranean ripple of pain as he spoke. Of empathy. And, of course, I knew he was right; I’d known it for hours. He was simply the first person to verbalize the obvious around me. I understood it had taken some courage to speak so frankly, and, in truth, a part of me was grateful. I swallowed hard and asked, “If that’s true, what happens next?”
“Tell me if I’m being too honest—Just stop me, okay, Lianna?—but if we don’t find her in the next day or so, all of this activity will turn from a search-and-rescue mission to one of body retrieval.”
“And then you’ll find her?”
“I expect so. We’ll find her in a ravine somewhere. Some corner of the woods. Maybe even in the water. There’s actually a lot of research into—forgive me—how far a body will drift.”
Once again, I felt a little sick. “So, you think she might already have drowned?”
He took a deep breath. He looked a little forlorn. “It’s my fear, yes. Think of where we found that scrap of nightgown: it was by the river. Think of the time you pulled her down from the side of the bridge. So, yes, we have to consider that possibility.” He motioned ever so slightly with his head in the direction of the village. “So, let’s hope she’s in the woods and the accident is a broken leg. Worst case, a concussion. But let’s pray she’s not in the water.”
“I can’t handle this,” I said slowly, carefully, staring at my legs and trying to lose myself in the blue of my jeans. I was angry with myself for pressing him and wished that I hadn’t goaded him into elaborating. I had to remind myself that he was only saying what I already knew. If my mother were alive and unhurt, she would have woken up by now and come home; if she were alive but injured, someone would have found her and the radios would be crackling with the news. After all, how far could she have walked?
“I said too much,” he said. It felt like an apology.
“No. You were just being straight with me.”
“But I am sorry. Like you, I want to find her.”
“What can I do?”
“I want you to tell me everything you know about her sleepwalking the last few years. Anything that’s happened this summer. Anything she might have said about it.”
“Why?”
“Because it might be useful,” he said, and then he paused. “And because I can probably relate.”
“Your mom was a sleepwalker?”
“No. I was.”