The detectives know more than they’re telling the public. They know Avery was in the house that afternoon, with someone else. They know the father has no alibi, that he has hit his daughter on occasion, that the marriage is strained because of it. They know that Avery wasn’t wearing her jean jacket after all. But for now, they’re not sharing any of that.
Bledsoe steps up to the mic and introduces himself. “Thank you for coming,” he says. “Yesterday afternoon, Avery Wooler, age nine, left Ellesmere Elementary School at approximately three forty-five p.m. and walked home alone. She hasn’t been seen since she left the school. She’s four foot two inches, about sixty pounds, with blond hair and blue eyes. She was last seen wearing dark-blue jeans, a white T-shirt with daisies on the front, pink sneakers, and a dark-blue jean jacket. If you saw Avery or any suspicious person, activity, or vehicle in the vicinity where Avery went missing, or if you have any information that might be relevant, please call the number on your screen. Now, the parents are going to say a few words. Please be respectful. And they will take no questions.”
Bledsoe steps away from the mic and beckons Erin and William forward while Gully watches intently.
Erin speaks first. She has a certain tragic dignity. Her voice is quiet and would be lost without the mic. She stares down at the paper, trembling in her hands. “Our daughter, Avery, is missing. She’s a beautiful, smart little girl with her whole life ahead of her. We love her, and we want her back desperately. Please help us find her.” She lifts her eyes and cameras flash, making her blink.
William takes the mic from her and reads. “Avery, if you can hear us, know that we love you and want you back more than anything.” He seems to falter and then recovers. “If someone out there has our daughter, we beg you, please return her to us. Leave her in a safe place. That’s all we ask. She’s just a little girl. You can let her go. If you let her go, everything can still be all right.”
* * *
? ? ?
Nora, in street clothes, but wearing a lanyard that identifies her as a hospital volunteer, hurries down the corridor toward the lounge, her shoes squeaking on the floor tiles, just before noon. She knows they’re going to be broadcasting a live television appeal about Avery—everyone has been talking about it, and she knows that they’ll have the television on in the lounge. Nora is desperate to see William, even if it’s only through a television screen; she hasn’t seen him since they parted at the motel, and so much has happened since then. She needs to study his face, try to intuit how he’s doing. As she enters the lounge, with the television mounted near the ceiling in the corner, she sees that it’s crowded with staff—everyone who can possibly manage it is here.
They are all worried about Dr. Wooler and his missing daughter. Nora sits down in one of the last remaining seats, beside Marion Cooke, one of the nurses she works with regularly, who also happens to live on Connaught Street. Marion glances at her briefly and turns her attention quickly back to the screen. Dr. Vezna looks particularly upset, Nora notes, as do a couple of the nurses. Nora wonders what her own face looks like. She glances around the room. They are all colleagues of Dr. Wooler’s; they all like and respect him. He’s known to be smart, caring, and hardworking; many of them have been working with him for years. Everyone has been upset at work today.
And then Nora remembers the phone. When that comes out, everyone in this room will know about their affair. She suddenly feels light-headed.
It’s completely silent in the lounge as the appeal begins. After the words from the detective, Avery’s mother speaks. Nora stares at her, hardly recognizing her. She remembers Erin as a very attractive woman—she has seen her at hospital events—but you wouldn’t know it now. And then it’s William’s turn. Nora can’t bear it, seeing the pain and fear on William’s face as he reads into the microphone. And then he’s speaking as if directly to the person who has taken his daughter, begging for her safe return. She can’t believe for a single moment that he isn’t sincere. Nobody could doubt him, she thinks, watching him. She glances at Dr. Vezna, who has a hand pressed against her mouth. Others around her are in various states of stoicism or distress. It’s like being at a funeral, Nora thinks, but pushes the thought away. She can’t bear to think of William’s daughter being missing—or dead. She wills herself not to cry. She feels for the tissue in the pocket of her trousers.
Marion, sitting beside her, is one of the stoic ones. But she is the first to get up and leave when it’s over. Nora knows how Marion feels about William and suspects Marion wants to be alone.
Twelve
The search presses on, but there is no sign of Avery. Gully knows it’s a race against time; with each passing hour, the chance of finding her alive diminishes.
Immediately after the television appeal, however, the tips start to come in. Uniformed officers take the calls and follow up on every one of them, except for the truly outlandish. For a town that prides itself on its sense of community, of looking after one another, there’s a surprising number of people willing to tell the police that someone they know is strange or might be a pervert. Like in small towns everywhere, Gully sighs to herself, the mindset can be narrower than in a large metropolis.
Gully is in the large room they’ve established as the command post when Bledsoe approaches her. She looks up.
Giving her a meaningful glance, Bledsoe says, “You’ll never guess what they just found in William Wooler’s car.”
“Avery’s DNA in the trunk,” Gully says grimly.
He shakes his head. “No, they’re still processing. But they found a pay-as-you-go phone, hidden inside the rear-seat armrest.”
Gully is taking this in when an officer approaches the two of them and says, “Someone here to see you.”
* * *
? ? ?
Erin is sitting, almost catatonic, on the sofa in her living room. She is tortured by thoughts of Avery. Where is she? Is she being held somewhere? Erin can’t breathe for a moment. She must stop imagining it. She must cling to hope, focus on getting Avery back.
The police have stopped treating the house as a crime scene, at least. Maybe now they will put more effort into looking for Avery instead of seeing them as possible suspects. But she thinks uneasily about her husband. Why wasn’t he at work for all that time yesterday afternoon? What the hell was he doing going out for a drive when he was supposed to be at work? Is he hiding something from her?
“You should eat something,” William coaxes her. “You’ve barely eaten since . . .” he falters, “yesterday.”
She doesn’t answer, just regards him silently. Michael, unable to bear any of it anymore, has retreated to his bedroom, probably to lose himself in his computer games. She’s on the verge of asking her husband again what he was doing the afternoon before, but he speaks first.
“I’m going to make you some toast. And some tea. Okay?” William says solicitously.
He retreats to the kitchen. At least they are being left alone now, she thinks, after the miserable morning. Such an ordeal, all of it—the distressing questioning at the station, coming home from the hotel and preparing for the appeal, the appearance on television. She could feel her hands trembling during the entire thing. She can’t bear to watch it. But the TV is on low in the living room, and the appeal plays on the local channel every hour. They are trying. They are all trying.