“That’s Cammy,” she said. “He’s my youngest. This is when he’s the cutest.”
Cap laughed and started to say the thing about little kids, little problems, but she cut him off.
“I’m glad I ran into you,” she said. She was not shaking, but it looked like she was about to start. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for how I behaved the other day. In your office. I shouldn’t have taken out my anger about my shitty marriage on you.”
She said it quickly, as if she’d said it before. Cap pictured her rehearsing in the mirror. Mr. Caplan, I’m glad I ran into you.
“Please,” said Cap. “You have nothing to apologize about.”
“I do,” she said firmly. “I tell my kids all the time: just because you’re in a bad mood doesn’t give you the right to take it out on the world.”
“What do they say to that?”
“They don’t listen to a thing I say,” she said. “But you know, I figure I keep telling them this shit, and then one day they’ll be twenty-five and they’ll remember it.”
“And where will you be then?” said Cap, not even thinking about what he was asking or why he was asking it, but if he thought about it he would know it was her, Mrs. Svetich, at exactly this point, with no filters, clogs removed from the drains, speaking plainly, and it made him want to do the same.
“When they’re twenty-five?” she said, charmed by the idea. “On a beach somewhere, I don’t know.”
Then she laughed, embarrassed, and Cap laughed and thought how this would be a part of her divorce story years from now, how she ran into the detective a few days after he had caught her ex, and he made her laugh.
“There you go,” said Cap. “I’ll expect a postcard.”
She laughed in a burst, and then tears filled her eyes.
“Mrs. Svetich—” Cap began.
She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek and hugged him then, clung to him, pushed her face into his neck. Cap could feel her breasts against his chest, the moisture from her eyes and nose, her lips. Very slowly he put his arms around her and closed his eyes, did the hair-smelling thing (some kind of berries, but that could have been coming from Jamba Juice). Her arms were thin but strong like belts, stretching around his neck and pulling him close.
So much of it was unfamiliar, he had a hard time parsing it out—the smell, the skin, the closeness, the need. But all of it was good, glorious, exquisite.
Finally she stepped away. Cap let her go instantly, did not want her to think he might have enjoyed what was probably a peak moment of loneliness for her. She patted her damp cheeks and looked at him, not shy in the least.
She said, “Everything happens at the wrong time, doesn’t it?”
Cap felt spun and skinned by that one.
“Yes,” he said. “It does.”
She turned around and looked at her kid. “He’ll be awake any minute. It was nice to see you, Mr. Caplan. I hope I see you again.”
Her eyes were huge and dark, and there was nothing hidden away behind them. Cap was so caught off-guard by her honesty all he could say was “Yes.”
Then she left, wheeled the stroller around, shopping bags dangling from the handles. Cap watched her go, the shape of her moving under a flimsy drape of a dress that looked insubstantial for the beginning of spring. He watched her get smaller and smaller, turn a corner at the Old Navy and then disappear.
He looked at his hands, front and back, could still feel the warmth from Mrs. Svetich’s body, and leaned against the table so he could breathe, stoned from the intimacy.
—
Vega held the mugshot of John McKie in her hands and waited for the manager to come back with his original job application, which was the only information on him that was available. She examined the people standing around, sitting, eating, shopping bags at their feet. She studied their shoes and their earrings and the way they held their spoons. Noticed the irregularities of their faces: unevenly spaced eyes, discolored skin, moles, beards.
She realized Cap had been gone for some time, and turned to find him, and there he was, across the food court, hugging a woman. “Hugging” didn’t seem an accurate word to describe how they were touching each other. The woman was clinging to Cap like she was drowning, and he was the life raft, which made Vega the one on some distant shore with broke-ass binoculars.
The woman left Cap and wandered off, slowly pushing a stroller. Cap watched her and didn’t move. He was a little too far away for Vega to see his face, but she took in his posture—most of it was as she had observed before: minor slump in the shoulders, feet rooted slightly farther apart than the hips, neck curved and head tilted, quizzical. But one difference now: his hands were out in front of him a few inches, like he was waiting for the woman to come right back.
Vega’s phone buzzed with a text from the Bastard.
“Still looking for K. Brandt the person but found someone else looking for him too. Seems like you guys have a lot in common. Email coming with details.”
Vega put the phone in her pocket and looked back at Cap. Still facing the direction of the woman but on his phone, texting the way he did with an index finger tapping out one letter at a time. Then he turned around, eyes scanning the crowd for her. She didn’t wave or come forward, just waited for him to find her, and when he did he waved broadly, relieved or resigned, she couldn’t tell.
12
Cap tapped the number at the top of his recents and set the phone in the cup holder. There was a gulp in the air and then the ring, then a pickup: “Kendrick.”
“Officer Kendrick, this is Max Caplan. Sorry I missed you.”
“That’s fine,” said Kendrick on the phone, his voice wavering loud and quiet. “You want to know about John McKie?”
“Yes. You met with him the last time—” Cap paused.
Vega held up one finger and mouthed, “Year.”
“A year ago, is that correct?” said Cap.
“Yeah, that’s right. He completed his parole.”
“You have any idea where he is now?”
Kendrick laughed.
“We didn’t talk too much, socially. So no, I don’t know where he is. Can I ask why you’re looking?”
“We’d like to question him in an ongoing investigation. The Brandt girls. Can you tell us anything that might be helpful in that regard?”
“In finding him? The guy lived with some friends but not for long. Had a job at the mall, right?”
“Yeah, we just came from there.”
“He had a girlfriend too—she’d been down in Riverside in Philly. Charming girl.”
Cap smiled and looked over at Vega, who did not smile.
“He stayed with her for a long time. Her family was up in Wilkes-Barre. I’d try her. Even if he’s not with her, she might know.”
“Great, can you get us her name?”
“Yeah, give me a few minutes to go through the notes. I’ll send you a text.”
Cap said thanks, and Kendrick said he was happy to help and then hung up. Cap tapped the wheel with his thumbs.