Missing Child (27 page)

She moved as quietly as possible, not wanting Travis to be alerted to her presence. She went around to the back of the store and nearly knocked over an empty garbage can in her haste, but managed to right it before it fell over with a clatter. She took a deep breath to try and calm her pounding heart.

The plywood panel on the back door was awry, but she knew it would be impossible to push it in and get into the building without making any noise. She wanted to take Travis by surprise and, if he had a hostage, to make sure that no harm came to that hostage. A boy who would help to hold his cousin prisoner was capable of anything. She could not think of any way to get that door open without a racket, so she had to rely on the element of surprise. If she pushed through that panel quickly enough, Travis would not have time to react.

Caitlin looked around the alley behind the store for something she could use to bust the panel if it resisted. She had little to choose from. The trash from the deli had long ago been carried away. There were still empty cardboard boxes and plastic milk crates, but they would not be much help. There was an old broom, left outside in the alley, probably since the store had closed. She wondered if she might be able to use the broomstick as a makeshift crowbar to pry off the plywood.

Caitlin examined the door. There was a panel on the upper half of the door, too. Perhaps she could loosen it, reach in and unlock the door. She decided to try it. She pressed against the corner nearest the doorknob, but the panel was tightly nailed into place. She pressed again, harder, but it did not budge. Travis had already loosened the lower panel. She would have to use that.

Crouching down, Caitlin placed her palm against the lower panel and felt it give. Somehow Travis had fit himself through that opening. She doubted that she would be able to enter through that same space, even though he was a stocky child and she was relatively slim. She needed to push the plywood out of the frame. Visualizing her son on the other side of that door, she wedged the broom handle in between the plywood and the doorframe and began to jimmy it. The light, pressed wood splintered but did not break. She kept up the pressure, gently but firmly forcing the plywood free of the frame. She wondered how far she needed to push it before she could ease herself inside. All of a sudden there was a resounding crack and the panel gave way. The plywood broke off in a jagged lengthwise piece and clattered to the floor, leaving a large, dark gap in the door. She crawled through the newly-opened lower panel and into the storeroom of the deli onto a filthy linoleum floor. So much for the element of surprise, she thought. Now she had to move quickly.

She dragged herself all the way inside and scrambled to her feet in the dark room lined with almost empty shelves, and illuminated by gray light through a single dirty window at the far end.

The place was absolutely silent. It was as if the building was empty. She began to cross the room to the door which led to the deli itself. Her arms were extended so that she did not bump into something and knock it on top of herself. She got to the door, reached out and pulled it open.

In front of her was a counter and an empty cold case. She walked around the counter and into the vacant store, blinking as her eyes tried to adjust to the dark. At the front of the store, beneath each boarded up window, was a shelf on which yellowing shopper’s guides and free newspapers were still scattered. Facing the counter were several tables and chairs decorated with plastic flowers in little jelly jars, salt, pepper and napkin holders. She stepped further into the room. ‘Geordie?’ she whispered.

There was no answer but she heard something. She stopped and listened. Labored breathing, and a muffled, high-pitched whine, was coming from one of the tables by the wall. Wishing she had a flashlight, she bent over to look.

Under one of the tables Travis sat huddled, his pudgy face pale with fright. Crushed to his chest was Champ, Travis’s hand muzzling him, his leash attached to his collar and tied, at the other end, to the radiator along the wall.

Caitlin stared. ‘Travis,’ she said. ‘What in the world . . .’

Travis stared back at her, wide-eyed.

‘What are you doing under there? Is Geordie here?’ Caitlin demanded.

Travis looked completely perplexed by her question. ‘Geordie?’ he said. ‘Geordie got kidnapped.’

Caitlin had known, before she had even asked, that her wild conjectures were just that – hope against hope. Geordie was not here. She gazed around the legs of the table. There was a bowl of water on the floor and a bowl of dog food as well. And a little pallet made out of dish towels and newspapers. ‘Is this some kind of secret clubhouse?’ she asked.

‘None of your business,’ said Travis.

‘What is Champ doing here?’ Caitlin demanded. ‘I thought he ran away. Travis, come out from under that table and answer me.’

Travis shook his head and squeezed Champ more tightly.

Caitlin crouched down and looked closer and, to her surprise, saw tears rolling down Travis’s face. Instantly, she felt guilty for having alarmed him. For having discovered his hiding place. ‘Travis, what’s the matter?’

Travis wiped his face with his hand, leaving filthy streaks on his cheeks. ‘Now where will I hide him?’ he wailed.

Caitlin hesitated for a moment, and then she got all the way down on the filthy floor on her hands and knees. Slowly, she crawled under the table, joining Travis and his dog. Travis gripped Champ and pulled away from her when she tried to touch his shoulder. Caitlin watched him closely. Finally, she said, ‘Why do you need to hide him?’

Travis shook his head angrily.

‘Travis? Did your Mom say you couldn’t keep him?’

‘NO, stupidhead,’ Travis shouted.

Caitlin was a little more familiar with this Travis, the defiant one. But as soon as he had yelled at her he seemed to deflate like a punctured balloon. Caitlin chose her next question carefully.

‘Who are you hiding him from?’ Caitlin asked, as gently as possible.

Travis shook his head.

‘Did someone say they’d steal him from you?’

‘Not steal him,’ said Travis.

‘Did someone say they were going to hurt Champ?’ Caitlin asked.

Travis was silent, sniffling.

‘Was it a kid? Was it another kid who threatened to hurt him?’

Travis shook his head.

‘Was it a grown-up?’ Caitlin asked.

‘Now that you know where he is, you’ll tell everyone,’ Travis said angrily.

‘I’m not going to tell anyone,’ said Caitlin.

‘Yes, you will. And then . . .’

‘Then what?’ Caitlin asked.

‘You know what,’ Travis cried. ‘They’ll kill him.’

Caitlin drew in a sharp breath, shocked in spite of herself. ‘Kill Champ? Who said that?’ she cried indignantly.

Travis did not reply.

Caitlin slowly reached out her hand past Travis and patted the fur on Champ’s head. ‘You listen to me, Travis,’ Caitlin said. ‘And listen good. Nobody is going to hurt this dog. Do you hear me? Nobody. I promise you. No matter what.’

Travis looked up at Caitlin with wary eyes. He wiped away tears with the back of his hand. Caitlin felt ashamed for how she had misjudged his motives. She gazed back at him somberly. ‘No matter what. Do you understand me? Do you believe me?’

Travis shrugged.

‘No person who had any decency would say a thing like that,’ said Caitlin. ‘Anyone who would say that is a very, very bad person. Do you understand?’

This time Travis’s response was unequivocal. ‘I know,’ he said.

Caitlin continued to pet the dog with gentle, smooth strokes. ‘Why did this very bad person threaten to kill Champ?’ she asked carefully.

‘For telling the secret!’ Travis cried. ‘It’s your fault. I never told anybody. But then you said that I had to tell every secret so we could find Geordie. And I knew if I told the secret . . .’

Caitlin’s pulse began to race but she kept her voice calm. ‘I understand,’ said Caitlin. ‘You were afraid of what would happen to Champ.’

Travis nodded. ‘That’s why I hid him in here. I thought if he was hidden somewhere then I could tell the secret and still keep Champ safe.’

Caitlin’s heart was pounding. She tried to keep her voice calm. ‘Travis, is your secret about Geordie?’ she asked quietly. ‘Do you know where he is?’

Travis looked perplexed and shook his head. ‘No. No. I don’t know nothing about Geordie.’

Caitlin could feel her own disappointment filling the room. Her boy was not here. Travis’s secret wasn’t about Geordie. She was no closer than she had been before to having him back in her arms. She wanted to cry out in frustration.

‘It’s about me,’ Travis said. ‘And the bad stuff . . . that happened. You said I had to tell it. And about Aunt Emily. All of it.’

Caitlin stared at him. ‘Aunt Emily? What are you talking about, Travis?’

‘You won’t get mad at me?’

‘No,’ she said.

Travis looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘You promise nothing will happen to Champ.’

‘Promise,’ said Caitlin, trying to keep her voice from shaking. ‘Now, tell me.’

TWENTY-NINE

C
aitlin drove over the low rise and looked down at the peaceful surface of the lake. There were a couple of boats near the far shore, manned by fishermen patiently trying to catch dinner. Up the slope she could see Paula and Westy’s house, the afternoon sun glinting off the windows, flowers still blooming among the autumn leaves like a photo from a calendar, captioned, Can this really be in New Jersey?

Oh yeah, Caitlin thought. She drove down toward Westy’s workshop and parked her car in a cul-de-sac so it would be out of sight. Then she got out and walked up to the tidy, free-standing building. The telescopes on the porch were pointing out over the water at crazy angles. Caitlin let herself inside.

The interior was nothing fancy but it was neat and organized. The square building had a woodstove for heat. The woodstove was not fired up today, so the gloomy interior was chilly. The rows of windows were built high up under the eaves. There were two worktables, and an old cupboard filled with jars of hardware – nails, screws and washers – and rows of tools. Two birdhouses, in the process of being completed, sat on a wide table. Along one wall was a Danish-style sofa from the fifties and a couple of plastic chairs. There were charts on the walls with pictures of birds and their identifying characteristics. There was a birding map of the region, its endless marshes and waterways notable for which birds were likely to be seen there.

Caitlin looked around the tidy workshop with a feeling a revulsion. She almost wished she had a can of spray paint so she could deface these walls. So that the defiled appearance of the place would match its history.

The door of the workshop opened and Caitlin turned around. Westy Bergen walked in and stared at her.

‘Surprised?’ she asked.

Westy pulled himself up in a dignified manner. ‘Well, yes. I don’t usually find people in my workshop unless I invite them,’ he said.

‘I did the inviting today,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry?’ he said, looking puzzled.

‘Don’t bother,’ she said. ‘Just . . . don’t bother. We both know why you’re here.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Caitlin,’ he said. ‘I came down here to get my slicker. I left it in the closet over there and those storm clouds look like . . .’

Caitlin shook her head. ‘I knew you’d come when I left you that message. You had to find out how much I knew about what really happened to Emily.’

Westy looked indignant. ‘As I recall,’ he said frostily, ‘my daughter was killed. By your brother. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .’

‘Travis told me everything,’ she said.

Westy’s face paled and he seemed to sag for a moment. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said, but his tone was uncertain.

‘I have to admit, you did a bang-up job of scaring him into silence – threatening to kill his dog – but he finally broke down and told me everything.’

Westy pretended to ignore her. He walked over to a narrow closet and opened it, rummaging around intently. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Westy.

Caitlin watched him, consumed with disgust and hatred. ‘Yes, you do. Travis told me what really happened on the day that Emily died. Surely you haven’t forgotten that day?’

Westy turned to her with all the dignity he could muster. ‘Frankly,’ said Westy calmly, ‘it’s amazing to me that you would breathe a word about Emily’s death. It was your brother who killed her.’

‘It was my brother who hit her,’ said Caitlin. ‘That’s true. And he paid the ultimate price for it. But you were the one to blame.’

Westy’s eyes flashed. ‘I was to blame. That’s amusing. If it wasn’t so sick.’

Caitlin shook her head. ‘I know what happened now. I know how it happened. Emily brought her baby over here, probably to surprise her parents. No one was at the house. Of course not. You made sure Paula would be at work. But Emily came looking for you in the workshop. She walked in on you and Travis. She saw her father molesting a six-year-old child,’ Caitlin said, her voice filled with loathing.

Westy’s gaze was steady. ‘You’re out of your mind. That’s disgusting.’

‘Travis remembers Emily screaming at him to pull up his pants and rushing him out of here. She was crying hysterically when she put him in the car. Travis felt guilty. He thought it was his fault.’

Westy raised his chin defiantly. ‘Quite an imagination on that child.’

‘Travis didn’t make this up,’ said Caitlin. ‘He wouldn’t know how.’

‘The only thing more preposterous than this story is that you would repeat it,’ said Westy. ‘Get out of here. Get off my property.’

Caitlin shook her head. ‘No. I knew the truth the minute I heard it. This was your doing. You followed them back to Emily’s house. You and Emily were arguing in the driveway. Travis saw it all. He saw her running down the driveway, probably trying to escape from you and your pitiful excuses. He heard the crash.

‘You know, my brother said that she tried to commit suicide in front of his truck. He probably wasn’t too far wrong. She must have felt like dying, finding that out about her father.’