Friday morning passed into afternoon. They learned that the special diver had given up, unable to traverse the underground tunnel. It was too small. The rescue workers packed up and went home. Trucks pulled out. Neighbors went inside their houses. Reporters disappeared. After the weekend, the hole would be filled.
No body recovered.
The Wildes waited for police to arrive. An arrest, or another inquiry. Someone at the police station had to be making a decision right now. Choosing whether to proceed with the case against Arlo Wilde.
But hours passed into late afternoon and nothing happened. No police came. Due to the excavation, the hole and surrounding broken ground had grown to an improbable sixty square feet, the entire park and streets and pavement slick with tar. It looked like a terrible massacre had happened, and the Wildes began to wonder if Maple Street’s madness, having gone too far and frightened even itself, had died down.
It was disappointing, then, when a new set of authority figures arrived at their front door. These introduced themselves as representatives of Child Protective Services. They’d been alerted by the police of potential child endangerment. Could they talk to Arlo alone, at their office?
“I thought this got settled already,” Arlo said as he stood at the front door. “Call the Garden City Station and check for yourselves. Detective Bianchi.”
“This is a separate investigation. The Garden City Police are obliged to forward all child endangerment reports. They only alerted us this morning.”
“They didn’t tell us they’d do that!” Arlo said. His voice, like sometimes happened, got louder than he’d intended. They authority figures cringed, then came back more ferocious.
“They’re not obligated to tell you. We’ll need to clear this up. Today. Now.”
Arlo looked behind the door, back at Gert in the den, who was listening. At least the kids were still upstairs. “I’m tired of this. It’s not right. I need to take care of my family.”
The man in front put his hand on Arlo’s shoulder, and normally, he’d have acted cool. He’d have suffered through. He shoved the guy hard enough to knock out his breath.
“Sir, we have the power to remove your children from your home!” the other guy shouted.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry,” Arlo said, hands lifted in the air. “I didn’t mean it. I take it back.”
“He didn’t mean it. He’s so sorry!” Gertie said in her fake light voice that was too close to baby talk. “Better go with them, hon. Sooner you get it done, sooner it’s over and we can have dinner.”
Arlo walked back to Gertie. The investigators from CPS followed though they had not been invited inside.
“Sir? Do we need to call the police?” one of them asked.
Arlo fake smiled. The rage underneath was palpable. “You take care of yourself,” he said to Gert.
She held his eyes. “Stay calm.”
* * *
It hurt the middle of Gertie’s back to get up but she did it anyway. She went to the stoop and watched the car take Arlo away. It was late afternoon now. The sun had crested and was now dropping back down behind the tree line but the damage was done. The whole block was hot enough to melt. You could see tar sand all over. Since she’d been gone, it had risen. The park, the lawns, the street, all oil smeared and leading, like a spider’s web, to that enormous hole.
The cop car stationed for the day was parked in front of the Atlas house. Gennet was inside. Most people were at work or picking their kids up from camp or summer tutors. But Rhea was out there. She waved to Gertie like everything was great. Smiled wide and happy. Maybe the happiest Gertie had ever seen her.
An hour later, Detective Bianchi stopped by. He said he wanted to see how she was feeling, and also to relay a message from Arlo, given she probably didn’t have reception. CPS had taken him into custody. He’d be staying overnight.
“Four more families stepped forward. They’re saying Arlo may have interfered with their children, too. We’re keeping it out of the papers as best we can.”
Gertie winced, bit her lip to stay the tears. “Arlo’s not a hunter. He’s not that guy. You met him. You must know that.”
“Time will tell.”
“Fuck you. Why didn’t you search Rhea’s house? Why didn’t you look for that evidence? That’s the real crime here, that Rhea got away with hurting her own child. And now she’s getting away with framing my husband for it, just in case a body turns up and they find it scarred or God knows what, they’ll blame him and not her. Why are you helping her do this? What’s wrong with you? Is it that you can’t stand the scandal she’s making? Everybody’s rooting for poor victim Rhea, and you’re afraid to stand up? It’ll get in the news that you’re defending a pedophile?”