“She’ll turn up, Mom,” Faith says. “She’s probably doing it on purpose. Everybody knows what she’s like.”
“What do you mean?” Nora asks her daughter. William has never said anything about Avery to her; they speak very little about their families when they’re together.
“She’s always getting in trouble. She does whatever she wants. The teachers always send her to the office because they can’t deal with her.”
Her son, Ryan, announces abruptly, “They want volunteers. I’m going to help look for her.”
“That’s a good idea,” Nora says. She’s glad that her son wants to help, though she’d looked forward to having him around tonight; his evening shift at the plant had been canceled. He’s not usually home for supper. He stands up, a tall, well-built, good-looking boy of eighteen. So much potential, and yet he has caused her so much anxiety this past year.
“I’ll join you,” Al says, surprising her. Maybe he’s not so sanguine about the neighborhood after all.
“Can I come?” Faith asks.
Nora shakes her head. “No. You’re too young. You stay home with me.”
Al and Ryan put on their hiking boots and jackets and rain gear, scramble for flashlights, while Nora and her daughter return to the kitchen and start clearing the dishes. Nora stops to watch them go, and soon dismisses Faith to go do her homework. She wants to be alone with her thoughts. She imagines her husband and her son out there in the deepening dark, in the pouring rain, searching the woods between the town and the river, looking for William’s daughter. She hopes they find her soon, safe and sound. They have to.
* * *
? ? ?
Time ticks by, all too quickly. Detective Gully knows that when a child goes missing, every minute counts. There’s a team now inside the school conducting a thorough search. So far, no results from the door-to-door; it seems no one saw Avery walking home. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t leave the school—she might simply have gone unnoticed. If she isn’t found soon, they will start looking into all the staff and volunteers in the school that day. They’re already going through all the registered sex offenders in the area. They have a large group of volunteer searchers fanning out in the empty, undeveloped fields to the north of the Woolers’ house and the woods behind the Woolers’ street, toward the river. They have flashlights, but it will be completely dark by eight o’clock and visibility will be poor. If the girl isn’t found, they will have to cover the same ground again in the morning. They will look in the river, too, drag it if they have to. They will do a television appeal and set up a tip line. They will leave no stone unturned. It could be Avery hopped on a bus and they’ll find her in Manhattan. Stranger things have happened. But Gully doesn’t like the feel of this one. There’s an uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. She loves her job. What she does is important, necessary. But it takes a toll.
She has worked missing child cases before, in Chicago, before relocating to Stanhope. She doesn’t think Bledsoe has ever run an investigation like this. Not here. He’s a bit defensive, and she’s younger, and a woman. He’ll take her suggestions, at least; he doesn’t shut her down. He’s not that bad. She’s seen worse.
She studies the two parents sitting across from her. They’ve answered all the questions put to them, about Avery, about her routines, who she knows, who the family knows, where they think she might have gone. They know that she likes to play in the woods and that there’s a tree house there that she often goes to. Her brother has already been there to look for her, but even so, they have sent a team to take a closer look.
Avery’s parents have been frank about her behavioral issues, describing a girl who is hard to manage and quite oppositional. For example, Avery is not on any medication for her ADHD because she refuses to take it. They’re on the edge of a precipice, waiting for news. The mother has been distraught but stoic, making an obvious effort to keep it together. The father interests her more. There’s something about him, something off. She doesn’t like to think it, but she does. It’s not her first rodeo. He seems to be hiding something. She senses that his frequent trips to look out the window for Avery are a show put on for their benefit. The mother doesn’t do anything like that. She simply looks terrified.
The uniformed policewoman who’s been in the kitchen with the son pops into the living room to say, “Michael’s just helped me put on a pot of coffee. Anybody want some?”
The two parents shake their heads in unison.
“Yes, please,” Gully says gratefully; it’s going to be a long night.
“Yes, great, thanks,” Bledsoe says.
Bledsoe turns back to the parents and asks, “Do you know of anyone who might have a grudge against you? Is there anyone you can think of who might want to harm Avery?”
Erin and William look at him in surprise. “Of course not,” Erin says.
William answers. “No. We’re just normal people. There’s no reason for anyone to harm our daughter.”
An uncomfortable silence falls because they all know the most likely reason someone might take a little girl.
“You’re a doctor?” Bledsoe says to William.
“Yes. I’m a GP with hospital privileges at Stanhope General. I have a practice downtown.”
“And you, Mrs. Wooler?”
“I’m a legal secretary. With a firm in town—Levitt and Levitt.”
He nods his head slowly. “Anyone angry at you?”
She pauses to think. “No. I’m just a secretary. Our firm doesn’t have any nasty cases. And anyway, it’s the lawyers they’d get mad at, not me.”
“Anyone angry at you, Dr. Wooler?” Bledsoe asks. “Have you lost a patient recently? A child perhaps?”
William shakes his head. “I’d remember that. No. Nothing out of the ordinary. Some sad cases, but natural illnesses. No one is angry at me that I know of.”
“So, no professional complaints against you?” Bledsoe persists.
“None,” William answers crisply.
Gully can smell the coffee coming from the kitchen. She stands up. “I’ll get the coffee.” She steps out of the living room. To her right is the front door and down the hall to her left is the kitchen. In the hall, closer to the front door, is a double line of coat hooks along the wall. The hall isn’t well lit, but she sees various jackets and coats hung up in two rows. The house has been searched already by the first officers on the scene. But Gully notices something that no one has mentioned. She sees a child-size jean jacket hanging on one of the hooks. She peers closer. It’s too small for Michael. This must be the jacket that they think Avery was wearing that day. What’s it doing here?
“Bledsoe?” she calls from the hall. “Can you come here a minute?”
Five
Gully feels her pulse quicken as Bledsoe joins her in the hall. She finds a light switch and flicks it on, filling the hall with light. The officer in the kitchen comes closer to see what they’re doing.
“Look at that,” Gully says, pointing with her chin. “A little girl’s jean jacket.”