Time of Death

Two thousand miles away, investigators unearthed the skeletal remains of Louis Parry in a deep grave, fifty miles west of Catskill. Two hours earlier, his mother, Rita Parry had passed away.

Ren lay on her bed that night, imagining what could have happened on June 20th, 1981: Louis Parry walking down the shaded path from his parents’ house and into the bright sunshine. In his pocket was a folded-up flier: The Czech National Orchestra Plays Haydn. Performances 4 p.m., 6 p.m., 8 p.m. Louis had piano practice with Beau at 4 p.m. And he had to be at home for supper at six. And he might have decided that he would risk being late. His mother would think his class had overrun – he had an exam the following week – but that he was safe with the Bryces. He was right – that was exactly what Rita Parry had thought.

Desperate to see the performance, Louis went to the park with no money in his pocket. Instead, he climbed a tree by the tent and was going to settle for listening to it…until Jakub Kral came outside to adjust a tent peg. He looked up and smiled when he saw the little blond boy. He called him down, told him he would get a better view from a small nook at the side of the stage, as long as he didn’t move a muscle. Louis Parry was thrilled. He was even happier when, afterwards, Kral solved another problem – knocking ten minutes off Louis’ journey home. He had pulled his van right up outside the back of the tent to sneak Louis out from under the tarpaulin and give him a ride right back to his front door. Ren imagined Louis, smiling and enthusiastic and grateful, giving precise directions to a man who had no intention of ever doing anything this little boy asked; no intention of stopping the van, of letting him out, of stopping hurting him, of letting him live.

Kral had locked away each detail of the twenty-nine hours he had held on to Louis Parry, while strangely, not recognizing the little boy’s face when he was shown his photograph. What Kral remembered was the evening’s performance.

The world is so fucked-up.

Ren cried.

Stop. Crying. Jesus.

59

Ren walked into Gary’s office before allowing the knock on the door to register with him. He jumped.

‘God…I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I wouldn’t normally just barge in.’

Gary looked up at her. ‘It’s not that.’ There was a struggle behind his eyes.

Ren sat down in front of his desk. ‘Is everything OK?’ she said.

Gary slid open the top drawer and pulled out a pamphlet. He threw it down in front of her. ‘Take a look at this.’

There was a horse on the front, rearing up on its hind legs. And above it was written in curly script: Can You Rise Up To Your True Height?

Bizarre.

Ren opened up the folded card. There were several photos of pretty, smiling teenagers. Across the top of the page was a banner that read Who you are is what is right.

Ren looked up at Gary. ‘It’s the Messiah of the Most Wanted? Jim-Jams?’

‘Jonah Jeremiah Myler,’ said Gary, nodding.

‘Well, he hasn’t lost his creative touch,’ said Ren. ‘He is truly nuts. Why do these kids respond to such insane images and language? Is this what the disenchanted youth is looking for?’

Gary struggled to speak. ‘Do you want to know where I found it?’

‘Yes. Where?’

‘Claire’s book bag…’

Oh my God. ‘Your daughter Claire?’

Gary nodded.

Holy shit. ‘But…people are always handing out fliers,’ said Ren. ‘She probably just —’

‘Let me skip your niceties,’ said Gary. ‘There’s a cell phone number on the bottom of that. Claire has called it. Four times. And texted a boy called Ruben five times.’

Whoa. ‘Did you confront her?’

Gary was staring into space. ‘So,’ he said as if he didn’t hear her, ‘it looks like sometimes the disenchanted youth is sitting across the breakfast table from you.’

‘Did you say anything to her?’ said Ren.

‘I would have had to defuse years of landmines to get close enough.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes,’ said Gary.

‘But…what are you going to do?’ said Ren.

‘Start by bringing down this fucking freak,’ said Gary, taking the flier back. ‘Sick son-of-a-bitch…’

‘Teenage girls can be so innocent,’ said Ren. ‘Even these days. They’re oblivious to danger. She was probably flattered by the attention. Teenage girls—’

‘—should be happy and secure enough not to be sucked into…this,’ said Gary. ‘And it’s my responsibility to take care of that. It is a father’s job to make his daughter feel loved and respected and safe, so she isn’t looking to some dirtbag older man to do it in the wrong kind of way.’

‘It wouldn’t have come to that,’ said Ren. ‘She wouldn’t have got that close to him. Claire’s a smart kid.’

‘She’s a kid, period,’ said Gary. ‘And having this pamphlet in her book bag is already too close.’

‘I know. You’re right,’ said Ren. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Kill him if we find him. Kill him.’

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that…’

‘I would have no problem doing it.’ Gary shook his head. ‘You see me here. I’m not exactly…I’m not an emotional person. I…’

‘But—’

Gary looked up at her. ‘Ren, it’s not like I come home at night and turn into Wonderdad, OK?’

‘Gary, you’re not this horrible father,’ said Ren. ‘You know that. Kids need to accept that parents are people too. They have their own shit going on. It’s just that my parents’ generation or yours gave the impression that everything was OK in the world and that they had no problems.’

‘My father slept with two of my friends’ moms and asked me to cover for him on three separate occasions…’ said Gary.

‘Alrighty, then.’

He smiled. ‘But thanks anyway. So, you knocked on my door. What did you want?’

‘I was just coming in to ask you for some of those giant rubber bands to flick at Robbie.’

‘And the fate of the nation rested with one woman…’

‘Do you have any?’

Gary shook his head slowly. ‘On the filing cabinet.’

‘Thanks,’ said Ren, waving a handful at him.

‘There’s one more thing,’ said Gary. ‘There is one little undercover job I’d like you to take care of.’

‘Uh-oh. What?’

‘I told Claire you might help her with her Spanish…’

‘Ah…’ said Ren.

‘She won’t talk to her mother about boys or anything like that. But she might talk to you. To someone like Claire, you would appear cool.’

‘What do you mean just “to someone like Claire”?’ said Ren. She nodded. ‘Sure, I’ll do that. No problem.’

‘I appreciate it,’ said Gary.

‘But she still knows you’re my boss, she mightn’t say a word.’

‘I don’t know – be conspiratorial. Make up something shitty I did to you.’