Cemetery Girl

“When they ran him through the system, the warrant for the arson came up, so they took him in and called us. We collected him in the morning and brought him back here to have a little talk about the house fire. Let’s just say we caught a lucky break. Caitlin’s story has been in the news, so our officers have seen that composite sketch on an almost daily basis. One of our officers raised the question, and we put it together with the house with the room in the basement.”

He held his hands out. There you go.

After four years, a speeding ticket wrapped it up.

“What did he say?” Abby asked.

“Nothing yet. When we brought up Caitlin’s name, he said he’d read about her in the paper. But that’s it.”

“And witnesses?” Abby asked. “The girl from the club? Tracy? Is it true he took her too?”

“She’s gone,” I said.

Abby whipped her head toward me.

“She’s disappeared,” I said. And my voice was quieter, distant even to my own ears. “No one can find her. Not her mother, not Liann. Two weeks and no sign of her.”

“She’ll turn up,” Ryan said. “They usually do. Like I told you, that girl has problems, drug problems. She’s not reliable.”

“Who is this guy?” I asked. “What does he do?”

“He’s on disability. Some kind of knee injury. He used to work at the Hearn plant, but it’s been about ten years since he did that. He hasn’t been in much trouble with us. One assault arrest about fifteen years ago. Otherwise, nothing.”

“How old is he?” I asked.

“Fifty-three.”

The number stabbed me like a knife. Fifty-three. Older than me.

Ryan leaned back and worked his hand into his pants pocket. He brought out a Polaroid photo. “I’d like you to look at this and tell me if you know this man.”

He held it out in the air between us, but neither Abby nor I made a grab for it. Finally, she moved and took it. The corners of her mouth turned down with revulsion.

“I don’t know him,” she said.

She passed the photo to me. My hands shook as I took it.

I looked down at a stunned face, one that didn’t appear prepared to have its picture taken. His surprisingly blue eyes were open wide, his lips slightly parted. He bore a strong resemblance to Tracy’s description and the sketch the police had created. There was the same long, greasy hair, the wide nose. His skin was ruddy and pocked, like twenty miles of bad road, as my stepfather used to say. I didn’t recognize the man from anywhere in my life, but I continued to stare, searching for something. A mark of evil, a sign of malicious intent. But I couldn’t find the marker that would tip me off, the thing that told the world this man aimed to destroy lives. It was an ugly face, not an evil one.

“Do you recognize him?” Ryan asked.

“No,” I said.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I held on to the picture, and Ryan reached out and took it back. He didn’t put it in his pocket, but held it in his hand. He tapped it against his thigh a few times. “I need to talk to your girl,” he said.

“You said you don’t need our permission,” I said. “Are you just going to drag her out of here while we watch?”

“I don’t need your permission, but I’d like it.” He continued to tap the photo against his leg. “I’d also like to talk to her away from here. Since it didn’t go so well the last time, I thought we might try it at the station. She might take it more seriously.”

“Will she have to see him?” Abby asked.

Him. We all knew who she meant. The man. John Colter.

Ryan shook his head. “No way,” he said.

“But she would have to see him at a trial?” I asked.

“That’s why we’d like her to talk now. Maybe this guy agrees to plead to something and save us all a lot of trouble. If we can get to the bottom of this sooner, it might save Caitlin some grief.”

Abby looked at me. “Tom?”

I recognized my cue. “Ryan, I-we-were a little concerned about the way you spoke to Caitlin the last time. It seems as though you were treating her like she had done something wrong. She’s the victim here, remember?”

“Of course, Tom.” Ryan shrugged, and the gesture seemed too large, overexaggerated. “We all have the same goals here, to understand what happened and to get Caitlin the help she needs.”

“She’s only sixteen now,” Abby said. “Sixteen is so young. .”

Her voice trailed off, fading like the wind through the trees.

Ryan stood up. He slipped the photo back into his pocket. “We’re still tying some things up from the morning,” he said. “But if you could bring her to the station in an hour or so, that would be great.”

“Are you going to get this guy, Ryan?” I asked.

“That’s the plan.”

“And will we know what was said, what she tells you?”

Ryan nodded. “I will keep you in the loop.”

“Tom?” Abby asked. “Are you sure you want her to do this alone? I’m really not. Caitlin is so fragile right now. She’s been so hurt by this.”

What happened to me.

“That’s exactly why she needs to do this,” I said. “Don’t you think?”

Abby didn’t respond, so I pressed on.

“Because she’s been hurt, she needs to tell the story,” I said. I felt the need to convince her. “This man has hurt other girls. He needs to be put away. Caitlin can do that.”

“You just want to hand her over to be questioned?” Abby asked.

“A crime’s been committed, Abby,” Ryan said. “I have to find the answers, and Caitlin has them. I’m not trying to harm her, but we need her to try to help us as much as she can. Even if it’s just a little.”

“There are a lot of people involved in this, Abby,” I said. “Not just us.”

“Is that who you’re thinking of, Tom? All the other people?”

“It’s necessary, Abby,” I said.

“Right.” She stood up and folded her arms across her chest. “I guess I better be the one to go tell her she’s being handed over to you men.” She nearly spat the last word at us, like it was a stone she’d found in a loaf of bread. “You two have such a good rapport with her these days.”

She whisked away, leaving the two of us on the porch. We didn’t have anything else to say to each other, so Ryan turned and went, reminding me as he left that we should bring Caitlin to the station in an hour.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Abby stared out the cloudy front window of the police station at the traffic passing on the street. She didn’t appear focused or fixed on anything. I sat down beside her, and she pretended not to notice me. I waited a few moments, not sure if I should even bother to say anything. Finally, I decided to try. “I’m not trying to hurt Caitlin,” I said. “Or you.”

She didn’t say anything, but I saw a muscle in her jaw twitch.

“I think this is our last, best chance, letting her talk to Ryan today.”

Abby turned to me. “You talk about last chances, Tom. Caitlin is the one who matters. Our focus needs to be