When Liann came home from church, her family in tow, she found me waiting on her front porch. She told the family to go on, and when they were inside, she still didn’t say anything.
So I spoke.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
Her shoulders sagged a little. She knew what I meant.
The phone rang in my pocket. I ignored it. “You knew this about Tracy all along,” I said. “The man, the baby. . you kept it all from me. You told me you were her lawyer for a drug case. You didn’t mention she’d been the victim of a violent crime.”
“Tom, she did come to me needing legal help. That’s where my contact with her started. And in the process of helping her with the drug case, I found out that she had been taken and assaulted. The police turned their backs on her, Tom. They just turned their backs on her. Someone had to help that girl. She trusted me, and I couldn’t-”
“No. I don’t want to hear any bullshit.”
The phone rang again, so I checked it. Abby. I silenced it.
“So you decided not to tell me everything you knew about Tracy?” I asked. “Answer the question.”
“I didn’t think it was relevant.”
“Not relevant?”
“What mattered was catching the guy,” she said. “Tracy was skittish. She was scared of the police. But she did see Caitlin in that club, and it was easier for her to talk about that than about what he did to her. That’s why I brought Tracy to you with her story. I helped you.”
“I trusted you,” I said. “You came to us when Caitlin disappeared. You cut through the bullshit and helped us. I thought you were on our side. But you kept this information from us. From me.”
“What do you want me to do, Tom?” she asked.
“All those things that happened to Tracy. The kidnapping, being held hostage. The rape. That’s what happened to Caitlin, isn’t it?”
“What matters now is that we find that man-”
I was up and past her. “Call me if your agenda changes, Liann.”
Chapter Thirty-five
I sat in my car in front of Liann’s house. I wasn’t ready to drive off. I didn’t know where to go or who to turn to.
I looked down at the phone. Two more calls from Abby. Three messages.
The slap. My confrontation with Caitlin.
There was music to face on all sides. And what did they say about home-when you go there, they have to take you in. .?
So I drove home.
I stepped inside the back door. “Abby?” She didn’t answer my call, but I found her in the living room, sitting on the end of our couch, her elbow on the armrest and her chin cupped in her hand. It looked precarious, as though her head could slip loose at any moment. “Abby?”
She still didn’t look up, but I could tell something more was wrong, something besides the fight and the slap. The room felt devoid of air, like someone had died.
“What’s the matter, Abby?”
She jumped a little. She looked over, moving her head slowly, as though turning took a great deal of effort. “Oh, Tom. It’s you.” She held the phone next to her on the couch.
“What gives?” I asked. “Why did you call me so many times?”
“Ryan called,” she said. “They found that guy, the one from the drawing. They made an arrest.”
Abby told me the little she knew. Ryan had called shortly after I’d left the house and told Abby they had someone in custody, someone who matched the description given by Tracy. Someone they believed to be the man Caitlin was seen around town with. Abby didn’t know how or where they’d found him or what tipped the police off, but Ryan was going to come by the house at any minute to fill us in. And talk to Caitlin.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the morning.
If the man was in custody, where was Tracy? She hadn’t been seen in weeks.
“Caitlin told me about the fight this morning,” Abby said. “Actually, she told Chris about it.”
The fight and the slap seemed so distant somehow, something that had happened in another life.
“I lost my cool. And I’m sorry for it. She must have gotten a thrill out of being able to tell Chris about it and make me look like the bad guy.”
“It’s not like that, Tom.”
“I know. In a strange sort of way, I’m glad he got her to talk to him. About anything. I thought slapping her was going to wake her up.”
Abby didn’t respond. She still wore the slightly stunned, slightly spacey look she had been wearing when I’d first come into the room.
“Abby? Does Caitlin know about this?”
She shook her head. “I’m scared, Tom.”
“Of the man?”
“I thought we’d turned the page,” she said. “I was ready to just go on. When she talked to Chris today, I thought things might really be moving ahead.”
“I’m going to go tell her,” I said.
“I couldn’t do it, Tom. I thought telling her would make it more real. I called you. I was glad when you didn’t answer.” She knotted her hands together, a lump of flesh and fingers. “Chris left, so I was alone.”
I heard something and turned my head. I held a silencing finger up to Abby. A rustling at the top of the stairs. Faint. I listened and heard nothing more.
“I’m going to go tell her,” I said. “She has to be ready to face Ryan.”
“I didn’t like the way he talked to her last time,” she said. “It was too harsh.”
“I know,” I said. “But he was trying to push her a little.”
“It sounded like he was blaming her,” she said. “Do you think they’ll let Chris be there or talk to her? She opened up to him.”
“She wasn’t opening up to Chris,” I said. “She was getting back at me.”
Halfway up the stairs, I stopped. They were holding the man, physically. He was in custody. He could answer for-explain even-everything. For ripping the fabric of our lives to pieces. For Caitlin. For Tracy. For God knew how many others.
My grip tightened on the banister. Something clouded my vision. Red and white splotches. My heart thumped. When the splotches disappeared, I found myself pulling against the banister, trying to rip it out of the wall. It didn’t give and my grip slipped. I fell back against the opposite wall of the staircase, making a loud thump. It hurt my back, and I welcomed the pain. It brought me back to reality. My home. My daughter.
The man in the sketch.
I took several deep, gasping breaths. Abby appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
“Tom?”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I fell.”
She took a step up. “You look sick, Tom.”
“I’m fine.” I held my hand out. “I’m going to talk to Caitlin.”
She was in the master bedroom, the door closed. I knocked, and when I didn’t get any response, I knocked again. “It’s your dad,” I said, trying the knob and feeling it give. Not
Caitlin was lying back on the bed, reading a book. I couldn’t make out the title, but it looked like the kind of thing she used to read before she left, something aimed at preteen girls. She didn’t look over at me when I came in
