She worked slowly, choosing where she put her foot before she took each step, but she got results. On a spot of sand miraculously missed by the trampling feet of searchers, she found a single footprint, child-sized, with a millimeter-deep impression at the heel. McDaniel’s own daughter had worn black patent-leather Mary Janes, so he had smiled when he saw Kali in hers. There were no other little girls Kali’s age at the funeral. He knew deep down that this footprint belonged to the missing child.
The footprint was too close to home for him. It made him imagine his own daughter cowering in the woods or in a very old cemetery or in the trunk of a car. The footprint was dangerous. It threatened to knock him off balance and steal the clear thinking he needed if he hoped to find this child.
Kali had left the print very close to the church building, so it told them little about where she might be. It served no function other than to remind him that the girl was real. Faye didn’t even look at him as she resumed tracking the girl, following the direction of the single footstep and walking steadily away from him. He rose and followed.
He heard voices and looked far ahead, into the trees. Armand was out there again, talking to Jeremiah, but Kali was not with them, so he was not interested. Where was the little girl in the patent-leather shoes?
Faye was moving more swiftly than she had been before she saw the footprint, but her pace was still deliberate. McDaniel’s frustration was a physical thing. His stomach hurt. His head hurt. His heart hurt. He simply followed her and held back the urge to tell her to hurry.
When they reached the creek, she paused at the edge, standing on a patch of grass and examining the sandy clay of the creekbed. He barely heard her murmur, “Yes,” but he knew what the single soft syllable meant, and he leaned over to see what she’d found.
It was only a partial print from Kali’s mid-foot, surrounded by mud tramped by all the people searching for her. Again, he saw the shallow depression made by her low heel. Its sharp edge cut across the footprint, separating the heel from the print of the Mary Jane’s midsole. It wasn’t much, just a few square inches of information, but it gave them a direction.
“She was headed upstream,” Faye said, heading left. He followed her.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Faye, with McDaniel close behind, found Kali in a hollow that the creek had carved into the riverbank, cowering in water up to her waist, surrounded by rushes. Faye was astonished by how well the girl had hidden herself. Any number of people had walked past without seeing this child who didn’t want to be found.
From the reflexive way McDaniel reached out both arms to seize her, Faye knew that he had spent time with children he cherished. She realized that she knew nothing of his off-duty existence, and she supposed that it hadn’t occurred to her that he might have a life outside of his work. This did not make her feel good about herself.
Kali fought him, slapping at the hands reaching out for her until Faye knelt in the cool water and reached out her own arms. She would never forget the steely power of the girl’s hands grasping her. Kali clutched Faye’s neck and wrapped both wet legs around her waist, staying that way for the long walk between her creekside hiding place and her frantic Uncle Laneer.
After that, Faye withdrew to the stone bench behind the church, where McDaniel brought her a blanket, a cup of coffee, and his thanks. He settled beside her, maybe because he felt like taking a break and maybe because watching dripping-wet and overstressed citizens for signs of shock was part of his job description.
From Faye’s perch on the stone bench, she could keep her distance from all the hoopla in the church parking lot, while still having a good vantage point for viewing the goings-on. This gave Laneer and Sylvia plenty of privacy for showering Kali with kisses while delivering the obligatory “What were you thinking?” lecture, but it didn’t keep Faye from seeing their every move.
Cars were rolling out of the parking lot now, moving slowly to miss the remaining searchers, who were still milling around as if they couldn’t believe that the crisis was past. Mayfield, Linton, and Richard waited in a clump, shuffling their feet now and then, but standing still. Their pants’ hems were muddy, their ties were gone or loosely knotted, their white dress shirts were sweat-stained, and they were all holding their suit coats draped over one arm.
Jeremiah was leaning into the passenger door of his car, carefully draping his suit coat over the passenger seat headrest. Nearby, Walt was doing the same thing. The two of them joined Mayfield, Linton, and Richard for a conversation that looked, from Faye’s distance, pretty cordial for one involving a group of men who differed so widely in age and life history. Judging by body language, she thought they all looked happy that Kali had been found.
Faye’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her pocket to take a look. Then she looked again.
Her surprise must have shown, because McDaniel’s faced tensed. “What?”
“I asked Phyllis Windom to run some stats on unsolved murders of black women under thirty within a five-hour drive of
