The Escape Artist (9 page)

“Thanks, Ellen. Can I move in right away?”

“Sure.” Ellen looked surprised but not displeased. “The sooner the better. Do you have someone to help you move?”

“No, but I don’t need any help. I just have a few things, really. I want to start fresh.”

“Sounds rough.” Ellen handed her a set of keys. “This one’s for the front door, and this one’s for your apartment,” she said.

Kim stood up, lifting Cody into her arms, and walked with Ellen out to the porch. “Can you suggest where I can go to buy a few things?” she asked. “A crib and linens?”

“Don’t you even have a crib?”

“No. He’s keeping it for when Cody visits.” She was getting in deeper by the minute. “He gave me money to buy a new one, but I’d like to keep the cost low.”

“Your best bet is the mall on Route Fifty.” Ellen gave her directions, and Kim thanked her and walked down the steps to put Cody back in his stroller.

Once she was on the street again, she let it all sink in. She was going to live in Annapolis. Someone else’s life in someone else’s town. She’d made her decision in a split second based on the quaintness of the streets and the smell of the air. She hoped there would be enough word processing work to let her pay the rent when the two months were up.

She looked up at the house again, at the windows of her apartment, then shifted her eyes to the windows on the right side of the second story. She hoped it was a while before Ellen was able to rent out that other apartment. She didn’t want to have to answer another person’s questions, at least not yet. She’d already gotten herself far too tangled up in lies.

She didn’t even need the map to help her find her way back to the dock and her car. She took herself on a cautious shopping spree, buying only what she needed, and buying cheap. She bought a crib and a small, portable playpen, sheets and towels, pots and pans and dishes, and loads of child-proof locks for the cabinets. A couple of books for Cody. He needed some toys, too, but she’d noticed a few garage sales listed in the paper. Most of them were only being held that day—Saturday—but there were two listed for Sunday, and one of them promised toys. She’d wait until then. She had to be careful with her money. She would need to buy a fairly good computer and printer if she wanted to earn a living doing word processing. Her final purchase was a radio, and this she splurged on. When she heard Linc’s voice the following night, she wanted to hear it clearly.

She picked up a few groceries on the way back to her apartment. She would save the big shopping for the following day. There was no sign of Ellen, which was just as well. She didn’t want her landlady to feel as though she had to help her cart things up to her apartment, and she didn’t want to answer any more questions.

She carried the playpen up the stairs first so she had a safe place for Cody while she worked. Then she hauled the rest of her purchases and belongings up the stairs, and by the time she’d gotten everything, including the still-boxed crib, into the apartment, she was exhausted.

She fed Cody, then laid him down on her own freshly made bed while she worked on the crib. She had it up but still unmade when she fell into bed herself, and she didn’t open her eyes again until morning.

Sunday was filled with grocery shopping, as well as a toy, book, and clothes buying spree at one of the garage sales. In the afternoon, she and Cody discovered a nearby park and its colorful plastic playground, and they relaxed there for over an hour. But Kim knew all her activity was a preamble to that evening, when she would be able to hear Linc’s show. She’d had a moments panic when she’d first seen the radio schedule in that morning’s paper. Linc’s show was syndicated, but she knew there were a few parts of the country it didn’t reach. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might have settled in an area where she wouldn’t be able to hear it. But then she found it on the public broadcasting station, playing as it did everywhere else in the country, from eight to ten on Sunday nights. The thought of hearing his voice again after these few lonely days was overwhelming. It pervaded her thinking in the park and at the garage sale, and during every other waking moment of that day. It intruded on her newfound sense of peace as she settled Cody and his monkey into his crib, and later, as she sat on the comfortable old sofa in her new living room, looking out at the river, waiting for eight o’clock to roll around.

At eight o’clock, the strains of Paul Simon’s “Song for the Asking” filled the room. Linc always opened his show with that song, and the pain of hearing the familiar, simple, haunting music was more than she had expected. She lay down on the sofa and stared at the cracked ceiling, not bothering to fight the tears that had been close to the surface all day long. He had undoubtedly taped this show on Wednesday, as he always did. She doubted that anyone had realized she was missing by then. They wouldn’t have figured it out until Jim came to pick up Cody that afternoon. Then would Jim have called Linc? Or would Linc have already tried to call her and become concerned when he couldn’t reach her? What on earth did he think when he realized she was gone?
Don’t be angry with me, Linc
.

She remembered when they were kids, and she’d run away. Linc always knew he could find her in that little room above his garage. He would talk her into going home, even though that was not always wise. Linc finally discovered that after the last time, but he figured it out a little too late.

“Good evening,” Linc said from the radio, once the song had ended. Even though he taped his show in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week, he always sounded as if he were right there with you on Sunday night.

“Tonight we’re going to focus on Joni Mitchell,” he continued, He went on to give a little history about Joni Mitchell, and Kim was completely certain that he had known nothing about her disappearance at the time he taped the show. He was his usual soft-spoken, untroubled self, completely ignorant of what she’d done.

He played music by Joni Mitchell, interspersed with a few other songs, including “Suzanne.” She nearly laughed out loud when she heard the first line: “Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river.” Prophetic, she thought. She’d had no idea when she’d requested the song that she would be living in just such a place by the time she heard it.

The smile faded from her face, though, as Linc’s show continued, and reality sank in.

Forever. You’ve left him forever.

You are completely alone with a baby to raise and not a soul who knows you, and you’ll never meet another person in your entire life with whom you can be completely honest about who you are. You’ve never made it on your own before. What makes you think you can do it now?

Jim had destroyed whatever faith she’d had in herself. She could hear him telling her, in a kind, almost fatherly voice, that going back to school as an art major made no sense. “How do you know you even have any talent?” he asked her.

“I used to,” she’d said, although she had no proof of that. All her artwork had been destroyed.

“I’ve never seen you draw a single thing.”

He was right. After her father died, she seemed to have lost all motivation. But the interest was still there.

“And besides, it makes a hell of a lot more sense financially for me to go to law school before you go back to school yourself,” he said. Jim viewed studying art as a waste of time. “And even if you could get a job as an artist, there’s no money in it.” He told her to stick with banking. She’d have a chance for growth in banking, he said. For promotions.

Linc was talking about Joni Mitchell’s anger toward men in her early work. “She could be kind of cruel with her words,” Linc said, “but you had to listen hard to hear it.” He began to play “I Had a King,” and Kim stood up. There was a half-hour left of his show, but she turned the radio off. She’d thought it would comfort her to be able to hear him. But this had been torture, not comfort.

What have I done?
The tiniest seed of regret edged its way into her mind. But she walked into her bedroom and leaned over Cody’s crib. He was lying on his side, his monkey nestled under his arm. He’d been so good on the long trip across the country, and now she was looking down at the face of an angel. The regret melted instantly away. She had her child with her. He was very young; he would never remember the confusion and heartache of the past few days. He would only remember the life she made for him from this day forward. She would make it a good life.

PEGGY GRABBED JIM’S ARM
as soon as he came in the door Monday evening.

“I’ve been trying to reach you all day,” she said. “I got loads of information this morning.”

“I’m sorry.” He kissed her. “I was in court all morning and in meetings all afternoon. Let me change out of my suit and you can tell me what you found out.”

She watched him climb the stairs to their bedroom, then walked into the kitchen to gather the brochures and booklets and notes from the table. She carried them into the living room and sat down on the sofa to wait for him.

It had been a painful few days. She didn’t dare screen her phone calls in case someone was calling with news about Susanna or Tyler, but that meant she was taking dozens of cheerful calls from well-meaning friends, all of whom wanted to know how she was doing as a new mother. She told each of them what had happened, quickly and without embellishment, and let them know she didn’t have time to talk just then. Trying to find Tyler had become her full-time job, She’d provided identifying information about Susanna and Tyler to the missing children’s hotline and she’d pushed the police to obtain search warrants for Susanna’s bank records. She’d collected photos and made posters. As long as she kept busy, she was okay.

Jim finally came downstairs and sat next to her on the sofa.

“First of all,” Peggy said, “I spoke with Bill Anderson—you know, the private investigator Detective Rausch suggested?”

Jim frowned. “I thought we were going to let the police see what they could come up with first.”

“I know, but I just wanted to talk with this guy. See what he had to say about the situation in case we need him later. I wanted to lay the groundwork.” What she really wanted was to hire him right that minute, but she knew Jim didn’t think it would be necessary.

“So what did he say?”

“He says we should have a press conference immediately. Get the word out about the kidnapping.”

Jim nodded. “I agree.”

“We should try to get as much media attention as we possibly can. And we should offer a cash reward to anyone with information leading to Tyler’s safe recovery.”

“Hmm.” Jim looked up at the ceiling. “Did he suggest an amount?”

“Not really, except that it should be substantial. I was thinking twenty thousand.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “I was thinking more like ten.”

She’d guessed as much. She and Jim rarely saw eye to eye on money. “Someone might be more willing to take a risk for twenty than they would for ten,” she said.

“Well, we can decide on an amount later,” Jim said. “What else did you find out?”

She pulled a thick booklet from the pile in her lap. “The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children sent this to me. It describes what we need to do, step by step.”

Jim smiled at her and took her hand. “I think we’re already doing everything we possibly can, hon.”

“There’s a lot more we can do,” she said. “To begin with, we need to badger people. The police, this national center.” She held up the booklet. “I spoke with a case manager there. He’s ours. He’ll stick with us until Tyler’s found. He said that they send out these little postcards with the pictures of children and their abductors on them to thousands of households. They get a really good response from them.”

“And can they do that for Tyler?”

“In the future, maybe,” she said. “They have a big back-up, and of course the kids who have been taken by nonfamily members get priority. But we can be a little pushier than we have been. I’m going to call this guy every day until we get Tyler back.”

“Don’t become a thorn in his side, though.”

“I won’t.” She set the booklet aside and looked at the notes she’d taken while talking on the phone that morning. They covered two sheets of legal paper. “I spoke with Detective Rausch,” she said. “Susanna is now classified as a felon. They have a warrant for her arrest.”

Jim let go of her hand to comb his fingers through his hair. “This is getting ugly,” he said.

“Yes, it’s ugly. But what she did is serious. The police aren’t going to bother with her if we act as though it’s no big deal.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Bill—the PI—suggested we alert doctors and hospitals, since Tyler is very recognizable by his surgical scar and the fact that he has a medical problem. But it’s expensive to send out those sorts of announcements.”

“Well, do they work?”

“I talked to Ron. He said it will work if it hits the right doctor at the right moment.” Actually, her brother had said that most doctors would end up filing the flyer away or throwing it in the trash. But she didn’t want to paint such a negative picture for Jim. They needed to do all they could to maximize their chances of having Tyler found.

“I called that TV show, Missing Persons.”

Jim laughed.

“Don’t laugh. This is the sort of thing they handle. It’s just that you have to call them when they’re planning a show about parental kidnappings, which won’t be for a while. But I left them my name and number.” Although she prayed they would never need it. Surely this would all be resolved soon.

“I really like Detective Rausch,” she continued. “He understands that a custody violation is every bit as serious as a kidnapping.”

“Is the FBI going to get involved?”

“Not unless there’s evidence that Susanna crossed state lines. And even then, Detective Rausch said they’re not thrilled with the prospect of putting time into a parental kidnapping case. But now that Susanna’s a felon, if they do figure out that she crossed state lines, the FBI will go after her for unlawful flight to avoid prosecution.” Peggy had become an instant expert in parental kidnapping.