“Nice place you have here, Mr. Kingsley. Very nice.”
He nodded slowly. Said nothing.
“And I really appreciate you taking the time.”
“I have to tell you,” he said, now sounding more troubled than annoyed, “I haven’t spoken to anyone about my son in years. I’m a little uncomfortable.”
“I understand, sir, and I can appreciate your hesitancy. I’ll try to make this as easy as possible.”
That seemed to disarm him a little. He studied me some, then said, “So what is it you need, Mr. Bannister?”
“I’d like to get some background on your family, if you don’t mind.” I removed the pad and pen from my shirt pocket. Knowing he wasn’t quite feeling me yet, I decided to wait on Nathan, start with Jean. “Mr. Kingsley, I know your wife was very ill, but had there been any indication she was suicidal?”
He sighed long and slow. “There was very little that surprised me at that point. Things had gone from bad to worse in a hurry, and I guess by then I already knew it wasn’t going to end well.”
“Getting worse how?”
“She’d go from one extreme to the other. Hostile and abusive one day, withdrawn and depressed the next. Then it went from hour to hour, and eventually, minute to minute as the symptoms got worse.”
“How so?”
He threw his hands up. “She stopped making sense. Talked about all kinds of crazy stuff. To be honest, it was difficult going to see her. Like visiting a different person each time. I never knew who the hell to expect. It just wasn’t my Jeanie anymore.”
“When you say crazy stuff, what do you mean?”
“I don’t know...pure nonsense—it went in one ear and out the other most of the time.”
I nodded and offered a sympathetic smile. “Mr. Kingsley, would you have a problem with me speaking to the people at Glenview about her? Can I have your permission?”
He looked down at his hands. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
“What about the day your son disappeared? Can you tell me what happened?”
He gazed at me for a long moment, drew a deep breath, let it out quickly. “I came home and found my wife sitting on the living room floor, tears running down her cheeks, a dazed look on her face. And potatoes. Lots of potatoes all over the place.” He looked off into the dining room, and his voice seemed to trail along with it. “For some reason that still sticks in my mind. And her lip was busted.”
“How’d that happen?”
He shook his head. “Said she’d hit it on the kitchen door while she was looking for Nathan.”
I made a note of it, flipped the page. “Then what?”
“I asked her what was going on, but she wouldn’t answer. Wouldn’t even look up at me. So I asked again. Finally, she said, ‘I’ve lost Nathan.’ Just like that: ‘I’ve lost Nathan.’”
“Then what?”
He brought his gaze back to me. “I asked her what she meant.”
“And?”
“She just stared at me—I’ll never forget the empty look in her eyes...and the tears…and the trembling. She was trembling something awful. It scared me. Just kept saying that somebody had taken our son. Over and over…”
I leaned forward. “And what did
“Not sure I really remember. I just...I didn’t understand…I mean, there she was, on the floor, falling apart right in front of me, and telling me she’d lost our son.” He gazed down at the floor. “I kept hoping it was all some misunderstanding, that Nathan was in the other room fast asleep, safe, that he was fine, that…anything other than this.”
“What happened next?”
“I panicked, is what happened. Started running from room to room yelling his name. Even ran down to the cellar but couldn’t find him.” His voice became a whisper. “I suppose that’s when it hit me…that Nathan really was gone.”
He was back in that horrible moment all over again. I could see it on his face, hear it in his voice. Feel it in my bones. The sheer panic of realizing his child had vanished. It was palpable and chilling. Tears began filling his eyes, and all at once, the large man with the rough exterior was transformed into a tightly-wound bundle of raw emotion: sadness with a grip so tight there seemed to be no escape for him. He covered his face with his hands and began to sob, trying to conceal the tears seeping out between his fingers.
I took a deep breath, tried to maintain my reporter’s demeanor, stay impartial, compartmentalize—all that stuff. But the human side of me hurt for him, truly ached. I could never in my life know what he must have gone through, never, because it was unimaginable. I didn’t know what to say, what to do, so instead I began writing
He wiped his face with his sleeve, shook his head, and then, still sobbing said, “I called the sheriff, and within a very short time the neighborhood was flooded with deputies—they were everywhere, all looking for Nathan, but they never found him.” His voice caught. “They never found my son …”
I worked through a lump in my throat, barely managing a whisper when I asked, “Mr. Kingsley, was there any chance you’d made some sort of contact with Ronald Lucas before all this happened? Or maybe your wife might’ve met him?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “We were new in town, had only lived here a few months, barely knew anyone.” He shook his head again. “No, definitely not.”
“Where did you move from?” I asked.
“Georgia.”
I could see my own shock registering on his face. “Whereabouts in Georgia?”
“A place called Black Lake.”
I stared at him, my body motionless, my mind taking off.
“Something wrong?”
“No,” I managed to say and heard weakness in my voice despite my attempt to hide it. I cleared my throat, straightened my posture, did my best to look unaffected, and then, “The necklace your son was wearing the day he went missing. Can you tell me about it?”
“The Saint Christopher medal? That was a gift from his godfather.”
“And his name?”
“Warren Strademeyer.”
My heart gave a single, heavy thud, one that went straight up into my throat.
“Mr. Bannister?” I heard him say.
“Fine,” I replied, but really, I was far from it. I forced myself to say, “So… this Warren Strademeyer. How did you and your wife know him?”
“He and Jean were friends since they were kids. In elementary school. A little town called Rose Park, in Georgia.”
I nodded slowly.
“It was a different world there,” he continued. “Warren was lucky enough to break away from it. He’s a state senator now.”
Boy, did I know that.
I said, “Do you have any contact with him these days?”
He shook his head with regret. “Not in years. Heard less and less from him after Nathan disappeared. Finally lost touch after a while.”
“Why, do you think?”
“Warren was on his way up. Everyone knew it. He changed after he graduated from law school. Wasn’t the same person anymore. He started moving in different circles. We weren’t good enough to fit into them.”
I nodded. “And all this happened right after Nathan disappeared?”
“Well…” He stopped, gave me a wary look. “Why all the interest in Warren?”
I leaned back, crossed my leg, tried to force casual. “The necklace was never found. Just trying to understand
