All the Little Liars (20 page)

“You don't think they've all run away together?” asked a voice from the back of the crowd.

“That theory was considered, but discarded.”

“Why?”

“Because none of these kids were in trouble at home or with the law. They had every reason to look forward to the vacation from school and to Christmas with their families.”

Emily utterly broke down and shook with sobs.

“Did any of them have debit cards? Have they been used?” Another question, this time from a reporter at the Lawrenceton paper.

“No,” Coffey said heavily.

“Did Connie Bell leave a suicide note?” said someone else.

“A very brief one.”

“What did it say?”

“Nothing pertinent to the case,” Coffey said, stone-faced.

The questions rained on, some of them interesting and some of them retreads of information I'd already gotten. I wondered if some of the reporters hoped Coffey would give a different answer, or reveal something new.

Then Chief Paley had his turn at the microphone, and he described the crime scene behind the hair salon, and the injuries suffered by Tammy Ribble, though in no graphic detail. He emphasized that the two departments were working in tandem because their goal was to bring the kids home safely, not to play one-upmanship.

That was a relief. Robin snorted, though.

Scarlet Mabry asked, “Have any of the parents received a ransom demand?”

“We're not commenting on this at this time,” Paley said.

“Does that mean such a demand
has
been received?” Suddenly, she was on point, and the whole crowd of newspeople became more attentive.

“We're not commenting. That's what it means.” Paley was trying to imitate a stone wall. He was doing a pretty good job.

“We didn't get any notice of such a demand,” he added. Nothing short of an unambiguous “No” would have deflected the crowd now, and I wouldn't have expected it could. Waffling is easy to detect. Paley was not subtle.

“If I may finish,” he bellowed, and the questions died down. When he'd glared around to make sure people were listening, Chief Paley continued, “Since we have limited resources and manpower, we have asked the FBI to step in on the case.”

This was a huge piece of news, and temporarily eclipsed the ransom question. I wondered if news conferences were always so adversarial.

There was a barrage of questions that had no answer (as of yet): how many agents were coming, were any technicians coming, how long would it take the FBI agents to get up to speed on the investigation, and so on. By this time, I felt like an icicle, and my eyes were tearing, and all I wanted was for this to be over. It was hard to pay attention when I was huddling close to Robin for warmth, and burying my nose in my scarf.

But it wouldn't be over for a while, yet. The families were scheduled to speak next. We all had messages to deliver, and Paley was anxious to get away from the microphone. But he had a parting shot. “The families will take no questions,” he said in an iron voice. “None.”

That was fine with me.

Aubrey Scott went first, since Emily was completely unable to step up to the microphone. Aubrey said what you would expect any man to say: that his daughter was very young and needed her parents, and that he and his wife were praying that she would be returned to them unharmed.

Dan and Karina had chosen not to speak.

Beth went next, with George standing silent beside her. She was collected and clear, and I admired Beth even more. She said her children were guiltless of any crime except somehow being in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Even if my children have been injured, even if they have been frightened, I will forgive whoever took them if they will just release Josh and Jocelyn so they can come back to us.”

Well said,
I thought.

Paley looked from me to my father, asking silently which one of us would speak. I half-thought my father would take the opportunity to tell the world how much he missed his son, but he made an “it's all yours” sweep of the hand. I had a hard time making my numb legs move, but Robin put his arm around me to get me there. Robin had guessed that morning that I might be making a statement, and before we left the house we'd made some notes, thank God. “My brother Phillip is a newcomer to town,” I said, “so he hasn't been here long enough to make enemies. He did make good friends of Josh and Jocelyn, and they are with him wherever he is. He and Liza go to the same church.” When I could get Phillip up on time. “They are all good kids. I love Phillip and I want him to spend Christmas with us. Please, please let him go.”

As I retreated, I noticed Beth was looking at me with a troubled expression. I wondered if she felt I'd try to distinguish Phillip from the other kids, long-time residents. We'd felt obliged to emphasize that if any local situation had caused the abduction, Phillip had had no part in it. I wasn't trying to throw anyone to the wolves, but I had to do the best I could for my brother. I felt I was compromising myself right and left, and I didn't like that. But my moral purity wasn't the issue. Phillip's life was at stake.

Then Chief Paley stepped back to the microphone. “Are there any more questions before we conclude?” he asked.

“Yeah!” Scarlet Mabry called. “What is the connection between the bullying Liza Scott was undergoing at school and her abduction? Is it true that the three girls responsible were going to be expelled?”

“I can't speak to that,” Paley responded. “That's something you'll have to ask the school authorities. All I can say is that at the moment, we have no evidence that the two situations are connected. That concludes our press conference. Please respect the privacy of these families in this stressful and painful time.”

The Harrisons were livid. I could understand why. Their daughter Marlea was one of Liza's tormentors, yet their son had disappeared with Liza. They were damned either way. What a position to be in. Looking at it now, it was hard to believe we'd followed him through the sleeping town, and we'd felt almost lighthearted and triumphant about it.

We all filed back into the station. “Wow, that Scarlet is thorough,” I muttered, impressed.

Emily Scott was dry-eyed and angry. “I'm glad Sienna is sorry,” she was saying to Aubrey. “But Marlea and Kesha shouldn't get away with it! They tore our daughter's life apart.” She shot a glare in the Harrisons' direction. But the Harrisons were clearing out as if the building were on fire.

“Emily,” Aubrey said, sounding both desperate and pleading, “when we get home, we'll talk about it. Again.”

But Emily Scott, that most correct and upright of women, pulled away from her husband and strode out of the back door of the station to their car, her back straight, her eyes burning. Emily's Christian forgiveness had just taken a hike.

As Robin and I drove home, I rummaged in my purse before I remembered the sheriff had confiscated my cell phone. “What if he calls me again?” I said. “What if no one at the sheriff's office answers the phone?” The picture of Phillip, disappointed in me because I didn't answer, because I failed him, was agony. Robin glanced over at me, and I could tell he was scrambling for something consoling to say. “You know they'll sit on that phone like hawks,” he told me, trying to sound sure. For the rest of the day, we just went through the motions of living.

The next morning, after a night of no news, we put up our Christmas tree. We couldn't think of anything else to do. Robin said he simply couldn't focus on work. I didn't even call the library. I thought of calling Amina; I'd had a message from her on our landline's answering machine, telling me she'd seen me on television. But I couldn't summon up the energy. I don't think I've ever felt so helpless. I got up once, I threw up, drank some peppermint tea and ate some toast in bed, then tried again. This time I managed to stay on my feet.

I moved through the routine of getting clean and getting dressed. We got the artificial tree out, because we didn't have the heart to go buy a fresh one—though Phillip had looked forward to a real tree. Selecting one at the tree lot seemed beyond my capability.

My mother had been calling every day, and I'd been giving her the “no new information” bulletin. This was not her crisis; she had another family to think about, too. John's sons and grandchildren had grown very dear to her. They were still going to have a Christmas, and it would be a happy one. I didn't begrudge them their holiday. I only wanted the same for myself and Robin and Phillip.

The doorbell rang about ten that morning, and because any caller could be bringing news, Robin hurried to the front door. I was on a step stool putting ornaments on the higher branches. I didn't recognize the voices I'd heard, and I turned slightly to see who was coming into the family room. A man and a woman I'd never seen before were looking around, and the cold outside air hung around them in a cloud. She was a tall woman whose black hair was streaked with gray; and she was wearing a gray coat, making a very striking impression. She was pulling off black gloves. Her partner was less memorable, a slight brown-haired man with narrow features, doffing a rather nice olive wool coat to reveal an equally nice suit.

“Please have a seat,” Robin told them, and he zoomed over to me to give me a hand down from the stepstool. “FBI,” he said in answer to my inquiring look.

“Do you want some coffee or some water or Coca-Cola?” I asked, feeling a little more energized. “Or maybe we have juice?” I'd lost track of what was in my refrigerator.

“I'd love a cup of coffee,” the woman said. “I'm Bernadette Crowley, by the way, and this is Les Van Winkle.”

No problem remembering those names,
I thought. “I'll just be a minute,” I said, and went into the kitchen to put the coffee on. I hadn't been drinking any because of my morning sickness, and I hoped I could get a cup down now. It might pull me out of this malaise.

“It's perking,” I said blankly. I found I was back in the living room. “Be ready in a minute.”

“Great,” said Bernadette Crowley. She tucked her chin-length hair behind her ears and took out a small notebook. “Ms. Teagarden, Mr. Crusoe, Les and I are from the FBI, and we've come to help the local law enforcement with this case.”

“Good,” Robin said, and I nodded.

“How so, Mr. Crusoe?” Van Winkle's voice was quiet and neutral, an inviting kind of voice.

“Anything that might show us some progress is welcome,” Robin said, surprised. “But I don't think we're dissatisfied with what they've done, right, Roe?”

“No,” I said, and realized that was open to interpretation. “I think the local guys have been doing everything they can,” I explained. “But if there is something you can do to turn over a few more rocks, and give any new leads, of course…” and my voice trailed off.

“An investigation like this, we turn over a lot of rocks,” Crowley said, with a wry smile. “For example, the gambling debts your father has incurred.”

“That was bad news,” I agreed. “And we didn't have any idea until just—two days ago? I don't talk to my father very often. And even less now.”

“Why is that?” Van Winkle said, only polite curiosity on his face.

“He's a disappointing father,” I said. “He behaved badly enough to run Phillip out of the house, and he made Betty Jo's life so unhappy that she ran away, too. Now we know about the gambling.” I shook my head. “I've reached the end of my rope with him.”

“Please tell us about this,” Crowley said. “Because this is the first time we're hearing this story from you. We want to know how your half brother happened to be in that alley with the Finstermeyer twins and the Scotts' little girl, and Tammy Ribble.”

“And Clayton,” I said. “And Connie. And maybe Marlea, Clayton's sister.”

“You think they were there, too?”

“Sure. Clayton's missing, too, right? Connie must have witnessed what happened. And she must have kept what she saw secret. Because otherwise, why would she kill herself? And Clayton had just been seen at the soccer field. Maybe he'd come to pick up Marlea. She was there with her two friends.”

“Sienna Andrews and Kesha Windham?”

I nodded.

“Sarah Washington told us about that,” Crowley said.

“We're coming back to Phillip,” Van Winkle said, “but I'm interested to know why you think Connie was in the alley. And why she wouldn't talk about what she saw?”

That was a good question, and it pulled me up short as though I'd walked into a wall. My brain cleared a little.

“The kids tell me Connie went everywhere with Clayton. I assumed that Connie kept what she saw secret because she feared for Clayton's safety,” I said, figuring it out as I spoke. “Or maybe she had been threatened by the kidnapper that something would happen to Clayton if she talked.”

Robin murmured that he'd get the coffee and came back in minutes with everything we needed on a tray except spoons. And I retrieved those.

“Or maybe,” Robin said after he put the tray on the coffee table, “Connie knew the kidnapper and couldn't bear having that knowledge.”

I looked at my husband in some astonishment. I'd never thought of that. I should have, though. The FBI agents certainly weren't surprised. I felt like I was shaking off cobwebs from my brain. I hadn't been thinking. I'd only been sinking deeper into a quicksand of misery.

“Let's hear about Phillip, if you don't mind,” Crowley said. “Tell me how well you know your half brother.”

“I used to babysit him,” I said, and explained that my father and Betty Jo had lived nearby until Phillip had had a scary thing happen to him. While he'd been staying with me. So my father and Betty Jo had decided that he needed to deal with it by moving to California.