“He’s a stoner, he has family money, and the only reason he deals is because he got kicked out of private school. I don’t like him for this.”
“John McKie,” said Vega, sliding a folder toward Cap.
She held on to the picture.
“Sure, McKie could do it,” said Junior. “Did a little time for assault and possession. And sexual assault, I think.”
“But not of a minor,” Cap said, reading.
“So what? We’re just looking for kidnapping, not abuse, right?”
“Right.”
“Caplan,” said Vega.
They all turned to her. She stared at John McKie’s photo, her eyes covering the page quickly, manically.
“Yeah?” said Cap.
“Look familiar?” she said, flipping the photo around.
He saw and thought, Goddamn yes it did, it really truly did.
—
It made Alyssa Moser smile, the mugshot.
“Yeah, I see it, sure,” she said. “And he’s having a good day, but still, you shouldn’t, you know, get your hopes up.”
“We understand,” said Cap. “We just want to see if this photo sparks anything at all in your uncle’s memory. We’re comfortable with long shots, Miss Moser.”
Alyssa shook out her shoulders and said, “Okay, then, let me go make sure he’s awake.”
She left them, went down a hall, into another hall; then Vega heard her speaking softly. She looked at a glass case full of plates and thin-stemmed glasses.
“You realize—” Cap started.
Vega held up her hand to him, said, “I realize.”
“You’re not even going to let me finish?”
“I’m not,” said Vega. “I realize.”
“Well, okay,” said Cap. “Miss Vega realizes.”
She started to smile, and Alyssa Moser returned.
“You can come in,” she said.
They followed her down the hall, into a room where an old man lay, propped up by pillows, his head thin and spotted.
“Uncle Roy, these are the folks I told you about. They’re trying to find those girls,” said Alyssa, her voice amplified.
Roy Eldridge stretched his neck, his head reaching toward them.
“Hello,” he said with some effort.
“Hi, Mr. Eldridge,” said Cap. “We’d like to show you some pictures, and if anyone looks familiar to you from last Saturday at Ridgewood Mall, or if you remember anything at all from that day, we’re hoping you could let us know. Does that sound all right?”
Eldridge wet his lips with his tongue, and Alyssa held a glass of water underneath him. His mouth found the straw, and he drank.
“Sure,” he said. “Shame…shame about those girls.”
“Yes, sir,” said Cap. “Now first, could you tell me, are these the girls you saw when you were leaving the mall last Saturday?”
Cap brought the school photos of Kylie and Bailey to Eldridge.
“Wait!” said Alyssa. “Wait, wait, wait,” she muttered.
She went to the small table next to the bed, opened a drawer and pulled out a glasses case and a pair of large-rimmed black bifocals.
“Here,” she said, placing them on Eldridge’s head. They made him look like he was wearing a costume—a librarian for Halloween.
“Were those the girls you saw in the car?” said Cap.
Eldridge inspected the picture, like he was looking at a germ under a microscope.
“I’ll tell you, sir, I think so, but you understand my eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
“That’s fine,” said Cap, reassuring. “That’s not a problem. Now I’m going to show you another picture and if you could, please tell us if this person looks familiar to you.”
Cap pulled the mugshot of John McKie from his folder and held it up to Eldridge.
“Yeah,” said Eldridge, happy. “Now, that looks like Harry. Doesn’t it look like Harry?”
“Sure does, Uncle Roy,” said Alyssa.
“Except Harry’s never in a bad mood,” said Eldridge. “He’s a glass half full.”
“Mr. Eldridge,” said Cap, gentle, quiet. “Did you see this man with those girls in the car when you left the mall last Saturday?”
“Well, sure I did,” said Eldridge. “He was driving. I tried a get his attention, but Harry’s a good driver; he’s looking straight ahead.”
Vega glanced at Alyssa, who looked back at her, her face a mixed grill of sad and worried.
Then Eldridge placed a giant hand on the expanse of his forehead, his fingers crooked at the knuckles.
“Aw, hell, Lyssie,” he said. “Harry’s dead, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, Uncle Roy,” said Alyssa, crying a little bit. “Over in Vietnam.”
“This fellow, he only wears his hair the same way,” Eldridge said to Cap.
“I think so, Mr. Eldridge.”
Eldridge’s lips curled in and milky tears rolled down his face.
“?’Cause Harry’s dead. Long dead.”
“Yes, sir,” said Cap, so soft and sweet it made Vega want to lie down and go to sleep. “Do you remember anything else about this man who looked like Harry, or the little girls, or the car?”
Eldridge pinched his nose with his thumbs.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Car was tannish, I think. Had a bumper sticker,” said Eldridge. “Giants, New York Giants.” Eldridge laughed. “Harry never woulda had that, would he, Lyssie? He was a true blue Eagles fan.”
It made Cap smile, the way Eldridge said “Eagles” like “iggles.”
“You bet, Uncle Roy,” Alyssa said, laughing too.
“That’s incredibly helpful, sir,” said Cap. “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it.”
“Thank you,” Vega said, louder than she had planned, so even Cap turned and appeared surprised.
“We’re glad to help,” said Alyssa. “Isn’t it so, Uncle Roy? If we could help find those missing girls?”
Eldridge did not seem glad to help. He lowered his brow, looked wistful, could have been trying to remember what he had for breakfast or how he was a paper boy in the Depression. Could be anything, Vega thought.
“Aw hell, Lyssie, looks like I peed,” he said, shifting around.
“It’s okay, Uncle Roy, I’ll get the stuff,” said Alyssa. She turned to Cap and Vega. “You folks need anything else?”
“No, thank you, this has been very valuable to us. Thank you both,” said Cap.
He continued to talk to her as they left the room. Vega looked back once more at Eldridge, gazing up like he was trying to make out words on the ceiling. For a second Vega looked up there too, just in case.
—
Cap hung up with Traynor, stared at some boys in long T-shirts, hair falling in their eyes. They sat at a table in the food court, drinking juice from giant cups, straws squeaking in the plastic lids.
He saw Vega behind the counter at the Peking Express, showing photos to a large woman wearing a polo shirt, the manager. The woman also had papers for Vega and flapped her hands while she talked like she was swatting flies. Vega stared at the hands, and it made Cap smile because she looked like just another cop, listening to all the details a witness wanted to tell you along with their opinions and psychological diagnoses.
“Mr. Caplan?”
Cap turned around, saw a lovely tired woman with a toddler asleep in a stroller in front of her. The last time he had seen her, a couple of days ago, she had been just as lovely, only angrier.
“Hey. Hi, Mrs. Svetich,” he said. “Who’s this?”