Everyone Here Is Lying(35)

Fuller merely nodded. “Just keep your nose clean. With any luck, the witness won’t come forward.”

He looked up then, frightened. “What do you mean?” He didn’t understand. “I thought there was no witness?”

“There’s obviously an anonymous witness, one they can’t produce. But if they come forward and go on the record—”

“But I didn’t see her! She didn’t get into my car, I swear,” Ryan said, panicked. “They’re lying!”

Fuller had said, “Let’s go see your mother.”

And then when they got home there’d been the inquisition with his father, and Faith coming down the stairs. They’d had to tell her what was going on; she’s not stupid. He’d seen the fear in his parents’ eyes—he recognized it. It was the same look they’d had when they’d been blindsided by his arrest for possession of Oxy. They simply couldn’t believe it. Their boy, with drugs.

Only this time their fear and revulsion were amplified because it’s a child missing, possibly dead. The look in their eyes was almost feral. He knows they no longer trust him. He shocked them with the Oxy. They thought it was so out of character. But they don’t know him, and they don’t know everything. They don’t know how it is, how many of his friends do Oxy, and other shit too. They don’t know how it feels, all the pressure building in your head, how good it feels to let go of it. But his other friends didn’t get caught. He can think of at least two people who should be here with him, cleaning up piss and vomit in the homeless shelter. But he kept his mouth shut.

He relives it all as he mops floors, washes dishes, changes bedding. How did he get here? He doesn’t know who he is anymore. His life is so different than it was a few months ago that it makes no sense to him at all. Fuller had managed to keep him out of jail. His parents had paid a fine, and he’d gotten probation and community service—and a criminal record. It could have been worse; he could have gone to jail for up to a year, for a first offense.

It hasn’t been easy; it feels like each day is a struggle against temptation. Sometimes the pressure, the tension, is too much.

Is he going to end up like the people in here? It’s all he can do not to panic and run out the door, desperate for freedom and fresh air.



* * *



? ? ?

Gully observes the scowl on Bledsoe’s weary face. They’ve just learned that William Wooler had had his car completely cleaned and detailed at Euro Autobody the previous Sunday, only two days before Avery went missing. That would explain why his car was so pristine.

“Fuck,” Bledsoe mutters. “So if he took her anywhere, he must have wrapped her in plastic or something.”

Gully chews her lip thoughtfully. They’d found a roll of plastic sheeting—vapor barrier—in the Woolers’ garage in the initial search. No way to tell if William had used some of it to wrap the body in before he placed it in the trunk. But he could have. That might be why they found no trace of Avery there. Or maybe he didn’t do it.

Gully feels her spirits flagging. She’s had very little sleep. “The boyfriend angle,” she begins. “I might have a lead.” She tells him what Michael told her about Jenna’s brother, Derek. “We know that Avery liked to go to the tree house. They’ve already searched it, but there was no obvious sign of Avery coming to any harm there.” She pauses and adds, “They found some discarded condoms beneath the tree house. Apparently it’s a place kids go.”

Bledsoe nods tiredly. “You’d better talk to this kid Derek.”

“I’d like to take a closer look at the tree house first,” Gully suggests.



* * *



? ? ?

Erin stands at the living-room window, staring out from between a crack in the curtains. It’s midday, broad daylight. There are still some reporters out there, although fewer than before. Let them take her picture, a terrified mother—the ghouls. She doesn’t care anymore. She knows that some of them have left and are staking out the hotel where William is staying. She’d seen them on the news.

Her phone rings, but she doesn’t recognize the number. She answers.

It’s William. He speaks quickly. “Someone is claiming they saw Avery getting into Ryan Blanchard’s car on Tuesday afternoon,” he says. His voice is stressed, almost unrecognizable.

“What?”

“There’s an anonymous witness. I don’t know if it’s true or not.”

“How do you know?”

He doesn’t answer her question. “I got a new phone this morning. You’ve got the number now, if you need me. I have to go,” he says then, and quickly disconnects.

She sits down, stunned by this new information. Would Avery get into Ryan’s car? Why would she? She doesn’t really know him. Unless . . . unless she does know him. Maybe he’s the older boyfriend that Gully is looking for. It’s too much. Erin runs to the kitchen and retches into the sink. She stands over the stainless steel, heaving, but there’s nothing in her stomach.

She wants her daughter back, that’s all. Even if William’s innocent, she’s done with him. She just wants Avery back, safe and sound.

She drifts back to the front window and stares at the Setons’ house across the street. Her stomach curdles. What if it’s true? What if someone was molesting Avery, abusing her, and she didn’t have a clue? It sickens her. What kind of mother is she, not to know? Not to be able to see that something was wrong? She knows Avery doesn’t tell her everything; they aren’t close that way. Avery has always had a core of resistance in her. She’s hard to connect with on an intimate level, except on the very rare occasions when she lets her guard down. Erin remembers Avery sobbing to her some months ago, telling her that she was lonely and had no friends. It had broken her heart. Her immediate response was to try to fix it somehow. Arrange playdates? Try getting Avery to join a sport, a club? But all those things had already been tried repeatedly, and had failed repeatedly. In the end she did nothing—just offered support and gentle suggestions on how to make and keep friends. It was the last time Avery had confided in her. She’d let her down. And maybe because she was lonely and vulnerable, someone was able to take advantage of her.