I meet Louis and the other officer at my front door. From my living-room window I had seen them drive down our lane. The man with Louis is compact, dressed nicely but casually. He wears expensive-looking shoes and carries a leather portfolio.
I welcome them into my home and we settle at the kitchen table. Louis looks miserable and the man introduces himself as Kent Fitzgerald, federal agent. I hold back a giggle. He says it as if he were a superhero or something.
“Missing and Exploited Children Division,” he adds and I sober quickly. I must look puzzled because he explains, “We take missing children, any missing children, very seriously.”
“We don’t know that they are
“We know as much as you do, Mrs. Clark,” Agent Fitzgerald says. “I’m here to assist Deputy Sheriff Louis and his team in bringing the girls home. What time did you last see Calli?”
“Last night at about ten,” I begin. “We watched a movie together and had popcorn. Then I helped her get ready for bed.”
“Who else was in the house last night?” he inquires.
“My son, Ben. He’s twelve. He didn’t watch the entire movie, he went up to his room at about nine, I guess. And my husband, Griff, he came home at about midnight or so.”
He nods. “Deputy Louis tells me your husband, Griff…Is that his real name?”
“No, no, it’s a nickname. His real name is Griffith, but everyone just calls him Griff.”
“Griff, Deputy Louis tells me, went on an early-morning fishing trip.”
I bob my head in agreement and wait for his next question, but it doesn’t come, so I continue. “I’m not certain what time he left, but when I talked to Roger’s wife, she said he left to pick Griff up at around three-thirty this morning. And sometime early I heard a truck in the drive. I assumed it was Roger’s.”
“Roger’s last name again?” Agent Fitzgerald asks.
“Hogan. Roger Hogan,” I respond. My hands are beginning to sweat and my head aches.
“Have you been able to contact your husband or Mr. Hogan as of yet?”
“Laura Hogan tried Roger’s cell phone, but the call wouldn’t go through. Griff isn’t answering his phone, it goes right to voice mail. I’m sorry, Mr. Fitzgerald…” I say.
“Agent,” he corrects me.
“I’m sorry, Agent Fitzgerald, but why focus on Griff and Roger? I don’t understand.”
“There is no focus at this point. We’re just getting the logistics.” He smiles briefly. His teeth are small and white, and he has an underbite that thrusts his chin forward. “We asked the Julien police to head over to the cabin where your husband is staying. The officer said that he found the cabin and Roger Hogan’s truck. The cabin’s boat dock was empty. It appears the men are out fishing on the river. The officer is going to wait for them to return.”
I know it, but don’t say so. I know Griff has nothing to do with this.
“What was Calli wearing last night?” Agent Fitzgerald asks me.
“A pink short-sleeve nightgown that went down below her knees.”
“Shoes?”
“No, no shoes.”
Agent Fitzgerald sits quietly for a moment, his small fingers holding a pen, scratching away in his portfolio.
“Did Calli mention that she was planning to go anywhere today?” he asks, not looking up from his notebook.
I look at Louis. “You didn’t tell him?” He shakes his head. He is being very quiet and it irritates me. I look at Agent Fitzgerald again. “Calli doesn’t speak,” I explain. A neutral expression remains on his face. “She hasn’t spoken since she was four.”
“Was she ill?” he asks, looking me in the eye.
“No,” I gaze levelly back at him. “I don’t understand what this has to do with anything,” I say as I fold my arms over my chest and uncross my legs.
“Calli witnessed her mother fall down the stairs and lose her baby. It was very traumatic for her,” Louis says softly.
I glare at Louis.
Agent Fitzgerald sits up, very attentive now. “How do you communicate with each other?”
“She nods and shakes her head, she points and gestures. She knows some sign language,” I say.
“What do her doctors say?”
“That she’ll talk when she’s ready, not to force it.” I stand up and go to the kitchen window.
“Is she seeing anyone?”
“Like a shrink?” I ask, anger in my voice.
“Excuse me, Agent Fitzgerald, may I speak with Mrs. Clark privately for a moment?” Louis speaks up, his voice tight.
“Sure,” Agent Fitzgerald replies. He closes his portfolio, tucks his pen behind his ear and stands. Louis and I both watch as he goes out the front door. Louis regards me carefully.
“What?” I finally ask.
“Toni, this is serious.”
“Dammit, Louis, I know it is! It’s my daughter that is missing!” I shout. “So don’t you dare come into my home and tell me to be serious!” I am crying now, and I hate to cry in front of anyone, especially Louis.
He comes over to me. “Toni, I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…I’m sorry.” He grasps my hands in his. “Look at me, Toni,” he instructs. I do. “We’re going to find Calli, I promise. You need to talk to Agent Fitzgerald. The more thoroughly and quickly you answer his questions, the more quickly we can go out and find her.”
“I’ve made so many mistakes,” I whisper. “I cannot bear to lose another child. I could not bear it.”
“You won’t, I promise,” Louis says firmly. “You go get Ben and I’ll get Fitzgerald. Let’s get this interview over with so we can go out there and find Calli.”
He squeezes my hands one more time before dropping them and I climb the stairs to find Ben.
PETRA
I am lost. One minute they are there, and the next they are gone. I hear sounds and things in the bushes and a snake just wriggled over my shoe. I am lost and I don’t know what to do, so I just sit on an old log to rest.
Calli would know. Everybody thinks I’m the tough, smart one. But I’m not, not really. I didn’t even know Calli when we were in kindergarten. I knew she was my neighbor and everything. But we never played together. I found out from Lena Hill that Calli didn’t talk. Not a word. Ever. I didn’t believe Lena, but she said that they were in the same class in kindergarten and that Calli never, ever said a word, even when the principal asked her a question. I asked Lena if Calli was in a special class for the kids who don’t learn so good. She said no, but that Calli got to go with Mr. Wilson, the new school counselor. I thought that was pretty neat. Mr. Wilson is cool.
At lunch the second week of first grade, I budged Jake Moon so I could sit next to Calli. He didn’t mind so much. I wanted to see if she really didn’t talk. Lots of kids didn’t say much when we were in the classroom, but everyone talked during lunch. But she didn’t. She just sat there, eating her sandwich.
“What kind of sandwich do you got?” I asked. She didn’t say anything but peeled back the top layer of bread on her sandwich to show me that she had peanut butter and something white and creamy.
“I sure hope that’s not mayonnaise. Gross!” I said. Calli wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue to tell me she thought that was gross, too. She handed me half of her sandwich and I took a bite.
“Peanut butter fluff!” I said. “Lucky. I never get good sandwiches like that. My mom puts everything on wheat bread.” Calli shook her head like she understood.
