The Disappeared Page 8

  There wasn't going to be a better chance.

  Not today.

  He picked up the stack and studied the first print.

  Walt had taken the non-suspect latents from the back of a shoe. This set was smudged. They probably shouldn't have even bothered with the blowup. He buried it at the bottom of the stack.

  The next photo was also from the shoe. It was a good print, a plain whorl. Probably a thumb print. The big question, though, was did it belong to...

  Aaron flipped to the next latent.

  ... to this Teri Knight or her boy.

  You're gonna owe me for this one, my friend.

  He tossed the stack aside, took a bite out of one of the oatmeal cookies, and wondered if he should call Tina and let her know that he was going to be late getting home tonight. It wouldn't be the first time, of course. At least this time, it was for Walt.

  [20]

  “No, I don't have an appointment,” Teri said. She leaned against the glass wall of the phone booth and closed her eyes. “My name is Teri Knight. My son's name is Gabriel. Dr. Harding is our regular dentist, but he's out of town.”

  “Is this an emergency?” the receptionist asked. “Did your son crack a tooth or something of that nature? Dr. Chittenden is only seeing Dr. Harding's patients in the case of an emergency.”

  “All I need is for the doctor to take a look at Gabe's teeth and compare them to his charts.”

  “I'm sorry. Dr. Chittenden doesn't have access to any patient records. By that, I mean any of Dr. Harding's patient records.”

  “You've got to be kidding.”

  “No. I'm sorry.”

  “What if my son did happen to break a tooth?”

  “Then Dr. Chittenden would be happy to see him.”

  “But he doesn't have Gabe's charts?”

  “I don't believe the doctor would need them in that situation.”

  No, he probably wouldn't now that Terry thought about it. This conversation wasn't going anywhere. There wasn't much sense in stretching it out. She said a polite thanks, hung up, and returned to the car, where the boy was reading a comic book called The Swamp Thing. In the bright sunlight, she could barely see the wisp of gray in his hair.

  “Any luck?” he asked.

  “Nope. Looks like you've got a reprieve,” Teri said. “No dentist today.”

  “Mr. Travis isn't going to like that.”

  “No, I don't suppose he will.”

  She slipped the key into the ignition, and entertained the thought of swinging by the house. If you had asked her why, she wouldn't have been able to provide you with a reason. Maybe it was just curiosity. Maybe it was still a sense of disbelief. Either way, she supposed, it would be one more thing that Mr. Travis wouldn't much care for.

  “What now?”

  “I'm not sure,” Teri said. “You hungry?”

  He shook his head. They had eaten several hours ago at a drive-through called the Pac Out. The boy had ordered a hamburger, fries, and a chocolate shake. He had left a third of his hamburger and most of his fries. They were still in a bag in the back seat.

  She started up the car, grinding the starter a bit, then looked across the seat and wondered what was going on inside him. Though he hadn't used it much, he had kept the walking cane at his side most of the morning. It seemed to her that it was something to fall back on when he felt the need. He looked up from his magazine, his blue-green eyes surprising her as they always did.

  “How about the park?” Teri said. “I'll race you from the pool to the swings.”

  “Mom...”

  “Too fast for you?”

  “Mr. Rogers is too fast for me.”

  “Who is Mr. Rogers?”

  “You know – that guy on television. It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood...”

  She laughed. “You'll get stronger. Don't worry. It'll just take some time, that's all.”

  He nodded, not seeming to mind much. “That's what Miss Churchill always said.”

  Teri pulled out of the lot.

  On the way to the park, she caught herself singing a few lines from McCarther's Park, an early 70's hit with lyrics that didn't seem to make any sense. It was a song she used to sing with Gabe, and just like Gabe, the boy gradually joined in, singing about a cake left out in the rain, and a recipe they'd never have again.

  If Walt could see this, Teri thought. Then he'd know.

  This had to be Gabe.

  It had to be.

  [21]

  “So no luck with the dentist, huh?”

  Teri took a sip of coffee and shook her head. “No. He's out of town on vacation. Won't be back for another week.”

  “That doesn't help much.” Walt cleared the dinner plates from the table, dumped them in the sink and turned on the water.

  On the other side of the wall, coming from the living room, Teri could hear the rise and fall of laughter from a sitcom laugh track. The boy was in there. He had picked at his meal again, a couple of bites from his garlic bread, maybe half of his spaghetti. She recalled a neighbor's mother once lamenting that “You can't make a picky kid eat if he isn't hungry.” The trouble was – Gabe had never been a picky eater.

  “Sorry,” Teri said, back to the subject of the dentist. “There's not much we can do about it now.”

  “I know. But it would have been nice to have put the issue behind us.”

  The issue.

  She had resigned herself to the fact that he wasn't going to give up the issue. At least not until he had some hard evidence. And while that annoyed her a bit, it was also something that she greatly admired about him. Walt was a man who sought the truth. Whatever the consequences, good or bad, painful or joyous, the truth was his footing. When it came to the boy, that footing was still anchored on shaky ground. They both knew that. Teri just wasn't as quick to concede it.

  Walt stood at the sink, adding soap to the water, and she thought how lucky she was to know this man. He had been the only person in the world whom she had felt she could lean on during the worst days following Gabe's disappearance. Michael had all but buried himself in his work. And Teri, herself, had become obsessed and distant. Walt, it seemed, had been the only level head around her.

  “How about you?” she asked. “Any luck with the fingerprints?”

  He turned off the water. “It'll probably take a couple of days before we hear anything one way or the other. And like I mentioned last night, I'm not holding out any high hopes.”

  “So what's next?”

  “I've got to go out of town, Teri. I'm sorry.”

  “Now?”

  “I know it's coming at a bad time.”

  “No. No. I'm the one who should be apologizing. You've been great, Walt. Really.”

  “It's another case.”

  “I understand.”

  “I want you two to stay here while I'm gone.” He paused a moment, as if he were searching for something else to add, and when it didn't come easily, he rinsed the next plate and placed it in the rack next to the sink. “You'll be safer here.”

  “Thanks,” she said, knowing he was probably right. Then she wondered how he was going to feel about this next question. “I'd like to take him to see his doctor. You think that would be all right?”

  “Sure. You worried about his strength?”

  “That... and some other things.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don't know if you've noticed or not, but he's got a streak of gray hair coming in.”

  “You're kidding.”

  “No, I just noticed it this morning. I know it sounds silly, but it worries me. Especially with everything else that's going on. I just want to make sure that it's nothing serious, that he's all right.”

  “That shouldn't be a problem. Don't tell anyone where you're staying, though. If the doctor needs to get in touch with you, tell him you'll call him.”

  Teri nodded, surprised at how easily she had come to accept this new secrecy into her life. It was frightening how much thi
ngs had changed in just twenty-four hours. It was also amazing how accepting of the changes she had already become.

  Walt rinsed off the last plate and pulled the stopper out of the sink. The sharp, not entirely unpleasant aroma of Lux had filled the kitchen, reminding Teri of long ago nights when she would finish up the dishes while Michael and Gabe played catch in the backyard. Walt dried his hands off on a towel, hung the towel in the crook of the handle of the refrigerator, and swept up the stack of newspapers he had brought home with him. He sat down across from her.

  “How's he doing?” he asked, in reference to the boy.

  “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

  “Has he asked about Michael?”

  “Not really.”

  “You still have Michael's number?”

  Teri nodded. “In my purse.”

  “When I get back, I'll want to give him a call. See if he has an inkling of what's going on here.”

  “He's not behind this, Walt.”

  “Maybe not. But I wouldn't be doing my best for you if I took that at face value, now would I?”

  She smiled.

  “How about you? How are you holding up?”

  “Okay.”

  “Wish I could tell you what's going on, but I'm as much in the dark as you are.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “It'll all work out eventually.” He thumbed through the stack of newspapers, moved the local paper to the top, and casually glanced at the headlines. Teri watched him, realizing distantly that what she was witnessing was part of this man's nightly routine.

  “You think I should have called the police?” she asked softly.

  He looked up and grinned. “A little hindsight?”

  She laughed to herself.

  “What did I say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on, what's so funny?”

  “It's just something Michael used to say.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It's silly.”

  “I don't care.”

  She shook her head. It was silly, and she preferred not to have to mention it because she knew it was silly. But at the same time, it was still one of those things about Michael that she had always loved, that juvenile sense of humor. “Hiney-sight. Michael used to call it hiney-sight.”

  Walt grinned.

  “I told you it was silly.”

  “That you did,” he said. “And I should have taken the warning.”

  Teri smiled, slightly embarrassed, then slipped awkwardly into a change of subject. “Why so many papers?”

  “Patterns,” he said. “The bigger the canvas, the easier it is to spot them.”

  “What kind of patterns are you looking for?”

  “I don't always know. Sometimes it's a disappearance or a kidnapping that sounds a little like it might be something similar to what I'm working on. And other times it might be a personal ad or a story about someone who doesn't remember who they are. It all depends.”

  She nodded. “Looking for anything in particular right now?”

  “Not really. I've got a case where a father kidnapped his two children. The mother has custody and she hired me to see if I could track him down. That's what's taking me out of town tomorrow.”

  “You think you've found him?”

  “I think I might have a lead on him. How hot it is, I won't know until I've checked it out.” Walt slipped the local paper off the stack, set it aside, and began to rifle through the pages of the San Jose Mercury News. “Like all of us, this guy's a creature of habit. First of all, he's a diabetic, so he needs insulin and he needs a prescription to get it. Second, he makes his living as a mechanic. So he's still maintaining some of his old contacts. That's what makes disappearing so difficult. In order to do it right, you've got to become a completely new person. You can't carry any of the old baggage. You've got to give up everything. Very few of us are prepared to go that far.”

  “How'd you track him to the Bay Area?”

  “His social security number. I had a female friend call the IRS and talk to one of their female employees. My friend went into this long story about how she and this guy were in love once and how they'd lost contact with each other, and how she was trying to track him down to see if they could maybe start things up again.”

  “Isn't that illegal? Giving out that kind of information?”

  “You bet. The woman could lose her job if anyone found out.”

  Teri grinned appreciatively. “Clever.”

  “Whatever works, as they say.”

  They fell silent a moment, Walt lost in thoughts of his own, Teri thinking briefly about how difficult it must be to track someone down once they've made the decision to disappear.

  “Did you quit because of me?” she finally asked.

  “What?”

  “The department. Did you quit the department because of me?”

  “No. I quit because I needed a change, Teri. That's all, just a change.”

  “Burn out?”

  “More like frustration.” He collapsed the newspaper and sat back in his chair. The expression on his face was almost identical to the one he had worn the first time she had met him. Not impatience, but a sense of wanting to get on with it. “Actually, you were an inspiration.”

  She smiled self-consciously, a bit taken aback.

  “You were my ghost of Christmas past, you might say.”

  “I don't think I understand.”

  “You remember when you called that press conference and made a big stink about how the department wasn't doing anything?”

  She remembered. She remembered all too well. That was before she'd really had a chance to know Detective Walter Travis. She couldn't have called that same press conference today. In fact, there had been a number of times when she had worried that it might have cost him his career.

  “Well, you were right,” Walt said.

  “What?”

  “You were right. The department was in the middle of a budget crunch and after a couple of weeks, with no evidence that Gabe had been kidnapped, we were told to write it off as a runaway and get on with our other cases. You were right. And that's why I quit. Because I was always under pressure to get on to something else.”

  “I always thought...”

  “It was your fault?”

  She nodded.

  “It was,” he said brightly. “And I thank you.”

  Teri took that as the compliment it was meant to be, then absently pulled the local paper across the table and glanced at the headlines. There was something about unrest in South Africa, long after the elections, and that seemed to take up the majority of the banner. She flipped the front page and came surprisingly face-to-face with a photograph of Miss Churchill. The slug underneath read: Nursing Student Found Dead. A shudder rose up from somewhere deep inside of her.

  “Walt...”

  “What?”

  “This is her,” Teri said. She spread the front page out across the table and flattened the crease. “See this picture?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That's the woman from last night, the one with the boy.”

  Walt began to read from the article. “Amanda Tarkett, age 26, was found dead this morning near the underpass at Blackmore and Vine after a mugging that apparently went awry. The police have not identified any suspects at this time, though they are following up on several leads, including a possible eye-witness. Miss Tarkett was out walking her mother's dog when the incident occurred.”

  “They killed her,” Teri said, her hands suddenly trembling.

  “We don't know that.”

  “They killed her.”

  [22]

  The voices from the next room drifted lazily through the wall, muffled and barely distinguishable. The boy pulled the sleeping bag up around his neck, watching the shadows dance madly across the wall as a car passed by outside. He had always found it difficult sleeping in a strange place, and tonight was turning out to be no exception. He close
d his eyes, surprised by the fact that every square inch of his surroundings, even the carpet fibers, smelled of Mr. Travis.

  He listened to the voices wander toward the back of his thoughts, gradually falling into a deadening monotone.

  Another car went by outside.

  He shifted, and felt himself drawn into the warmth of his own little Never-Never Land, swimming peacefully at first, deeper and deeper, drifting into the dark, and then somehow finding his way out the other side, where the dream took him by hand and led him into the nightmare. In the nightmare, he was in a Hall of Mirrors. They were everywhere and nowhere, in front of him and beside him. There was a mirror with a huge spider-webbed crack that turned his face into a collage of noses and ears and eyes, all misshapen and overlapping. Another mirror that twisted and pulled at him until his reflection was a hideous Elephant Man with no mouth and eyes as large as his head.

  Somewhere in the beyond, candles burned, the light dim and flickering. He turned, and over his shoulder, a thick black shadow swept through the maze like a thunderstorm through a mountain passage, dark and dangerous, coming after him. A pair of bright, fiery eyes stared malevolently out of the nothingness.

  He turned and slammed into the cold, smooth surface of a mirror, turned again, slammed into another, and realized he was caught on all sides, face to face with his own reflections. To his left, a boy: thin and growing, maybe five or six years old, with hair more blond than brown. To his right, another boy: eyes dull, face drawn and weathered, flesh loose, somehow old and young at the same time. And behind him that dark, foggy wave slithering across the floor in his direction, a clock stealing time, the gap closing, no way out, everything closing in, the walls getting larger and thicker, his fists against the glass, his mouth wide, lungs burning, nothing coming out, until

  ... until

  ... until he finally woke up screaming.

  [23]

  Teri heard the scream and went running, her mind filled with horrible thoughts of what might have happened. She found the boy pressed into the corner, his sleeping bag pulled up around his waist, his forehead damp with sweat, his breathing shallow.