Megan stared at the man. “His clothes?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The MP nodded and shined his flashlight around the rooftop. Nothing came into view. “Can you tell me where the kid—where Gerry is, Mrs. Gander? Things will probably go easier if we can bring him in.”
“We won’t let his father at him,” Dave, the older MP, promised. He obviously mistook Megan’s shocked silence as trepidation. “Private Fletcher is going to be in lockdown tonight. He won’t touch that boy.”
The young MP grimaced and glanced at his partner. “Is there another way down off of this roof?”
Dave shook his head. “This is it.”
“The kid couldn’t have flown down from the roof, Dave. He’s either up here or he’s down there.”
“Pete.” The older MP licked his lips. “Maybe the boy was never up here.”
“I saw him,” Pete said. “I saw him.” He glanced at the roof’s edge, trailing the flashlight beam along it. “And I swear, Dave, I swear I saw that kid fall from the building.”
“If you did, he’d be down there,” Dave said. “All that hit the ground was clothes. You heard Mitchell and Rick the same as I did. You only saw clothes hit the ground. Nothing else.”
“Then we’re looking for a naked kid?”
“Maybe he was never up here. Maybe Mrs. Gander only had his clothes.”
Megan couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Why would anyone think she’d only been up on the building with clothing? Why did they think only clothing had hit the ground?
“That sounds kind of weird, don’t you think?” Pete asked.
Dave shrugged. “You look. I’ll get Mrs. Gander to the ground, then I’ll come back up and help you look some more.”
“You saw the kid, didn’t you, Dave?” Pete looked desperate. “You saw him up on this rooftop, didn’t you?”
Dave let out a long breath and Megan saw the fear in the man’s eyes. “It was dark,” the older MP said. “I don’t know what I saw.”
Dazed, not comprehending what was going on, Megan allowed herself to be led away. She descended the metal stairs mechanically, barely noticing the bright light of the camcorder trained on her from one of the building’s windows.
“Get that camera out of here,” Dave growled.
Reluctantly, the young soldier filling the third-floor window did as he was ordered. He was shirtless, and his dog tags gleamed in the reflected illumination. The camcorder light died. “Did you see that boy disappear, Sarge?” the young soldier asked.
“Be quiet, soldier,” the MP snapped. “You look like you’ve been drinking tonight. You sure don’t want someone prowling around inside your apartment if you’ve got a shift in the morning. You’d get a referral in no time flat.”
The guy stood his ground but didn’t say anything.
As she descended the stairs, Megan kept staring at the pile of clothing that Gerry Fletcher had been wearing only moments ago. She tried to comprehend what she was seeing, trying to make some sense of it. How could there only be a few clothes left from a young boy that had fallen from a four-story rooftop?
But when she reached the ground level, those clothes were all that was left of Gerry Fletcher. The memory of the boy’s screams as he fell haunted Megan.
“What did you do with my son?” Boyd Fletcher yelled. He arched his back and turned to look at the man holding him down. “Make her tell you. Make her tell you what she’s done with my son. That’s your job.”
“I didn’t do anything with him,” Megan said, staring at the clothing. She remembered the garments from when she’d first seen them in the hospital, then again when Gerry had slipped from her grip and twisted through the intervening distance. God help her, she thought that was one memory she’d never forget.
“She’s lying!” Boyd Fletcher screamed. “You all know my son was up there. He’s still up there. Find him!”
In a daze, Megan approached the clothing. She knelt and touched the sweatpants with the tattered knee, the sweatshirt, the smudged socks and sneakers. Silver gleamed in the combined lights of the MPs and the curious onlookers that had gathered from the nearby apartments. She moved the socks and shoes, revealing the silver necklace Gerry’s mother had gotten him last year. Almost hypnotized, she lifted the necklace in her fingers. The small sterling silver cross hanging from the necklace spun and caught the light.
“Get her away from those clothes!” Boyd Fletcher bellowed. “Get her away from them now! They aren’t hers! She has no business with them!”
On her knees, Megan stared at the cross. She remembered how proud Gerry had been of his necklace. He wouldn’t have left it behind. She wrapped her hand around the cross, thinking that she could still feel the warmth of the boy’s body in it even at the same time knowing that had to be impossible.
Gerry wouldn’t have left the necklace. He wouldn’t have left his clothes. He didn’t leave. He fell. The words thundered through Megan’s mind, overriding even Boyd Fletcher’s loud curses and demands that someone find his son.
“Mrs. Gander.”
Megan was suddenly aware of the big MP at her side. His hand was once more on her arm. This time his grip wasn’t just supportive; it constrained her as well, letting her know she wasn’t leaving unless he agreed to it.
“Mrs. Gander,” the MP said, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with me.”
“I can’t.” Megan rose, feeling the MP’s hand tighten around her arm. He’s afraid I’m going to try to run. The realization flooded through her like cold water, triggering an instinctive impulse to do precisely that.
“Ma’am,” the MP said with polite determination. “There are going to be a lot of questions.”
“I can’t,” Megan said. “I promised my son I’d come for him.”
“Where’s your son?”
“At the child-care facility.”
“Then he’ll be fine,” the MP said.
“I told him I’d be there. I told him I’d be there when he woke up.”
Unexpectedly, new tears and a fresh wave of panic ripped through Megan. She felt sick
