Read A Photographic Death Online
Authors: Judi Culbertson
“W
E CAN’T GO
home yet,” Jane protested when we got back to our room and started gathering our things in little piles. “We don’t know enough!”
We were flying home Sunday so that she could be back at work Monday morning, ready to start the week. I had thought four days would give us plenty of time to look at the newspaper archives, talk to the police, and post Caitlin’s picture. We hadn’t counted on Priscilla Waters and having to go a layer deeper—like archeologists who had discovered that the burial chamber they were excavating was only a sham and that the real tomb was somewhere underneath.
“We can always come back.” But I knew we wouldn’t. We hadn’t exactly wrung Stratford dry, but Caitlin would not be found here. The search had opened up, not narrowed. Even if we could eliminate people not interested in a Caucasian child, that left the rest of the world. Caitlin could have seemed perfect to a German or Swedish couple who had driven across the continent. I had never been to Scandinavia but it felt remote, unforthcoming. A child like Caitlin could be lost among other children just like her and never be seen again.
I pictured Caitlin in Norway or Denmark happily finishing her studies and preparing for a career. How would we ever find her there? We wouldn’t find her there.
“It went too fast,” I said ruefully. We had to leave for Birmingham Airport at seven tomorrow morning to get down to London for our international flight home. The same cabby who brought us to Stratford was taking us down. No doubt he would want to know all about how we enjoyed the Christmas Market.
Lots of fun until Shakespeare attacked me.
“And we found out the most important thing.” Something occurred to me then. “We have to talk to DCI Sampson!”
Jane looked up from the floor where she was trying to fit the gifts she had bought into her carry-on. “He won’t be there now.”
“I know. But someone will be and they can patch me through. Or give me his number.”
“What if he’s gone out somewhere?”
“Jane, he’s the head of everything! He has to be on call.”
“Maybe they do things differently here.”
Why was she giving me such a hard time? “I’m only going to call him, not go over there. It’s not even that late. We have to tell him what Micah said.”
“My phone’s in my bag.”
“Well I don’t have the number.” It seemed insurmountable, a pyramid with no visible entrance. “Never mind, I’ll just go.” I moved toward my jacket on the bed.
“Don’t be so touchy, Mom. Siri will find him for you. What do you need to tell him, anyway?”
“You’ll hear.”
To my relief, Constable Bradford was on duty. I explained to him that I needed to talk to DCI Sampson. “We’re leaving first thing tomorrow morning,” I pleaded.
“How are you feeling? That was some spill you took.”
“Much better, thanks.”
Yesterday’s news.
“So sorry it happened and I hope you’ll come back again anyway! Here’s his number.”
Sampson did not sound as happy to hear from me as his constable had. I imagined he had been listening to music or watching the telly, a glass of whiskey at his elbow. “What is it, Ms. Laine?”
“We talked to Micah Clancy, Nick’s brother? He remembered his mother saying that the kidnappers weren’t English. Which leaves—”
“The rest of the world.”
“Okay. Yes. But I was thinking, if they were from somewhere else, unless they drove all the way from Europe, they must have rented a car. So you could check on cars rented during that time period, especially if they were returned with damage after the hit-and-run.”
“The car could have been leased in London. We’re talking in the thousands.”
“But not all with damage.”
“This was nineteen years ago.”
“Don’t you have a cold case unit? Like
New Tricks
where those retired policemen—”
“I know the program. And no, we have nothing like that here. There’s no backlog of unsolved crime. We’ll be revisiting the hit-and-run now that we have new information, but it was thoroughly examined when everything was fresh.”
I felt deflated. “Can I call you sometimes to see if you’ve found out anything?”
“You may do that. Just not every day.”
I said good-bye and consigned him to his calm and pleasant life in England’s green and pleasant land.
D
ECEMBER RACED ON.
Unlike the years when the children were younger—the years of Christmas concerts, letters to Santa, and gingerbread houses—this holiday was a minimalist’s dream. I was so busy filling book orders and helping out at the shop that I didn’t notice the sparseness until Hannah came home and insisted we have a Christmas tree. It stood alone in the living room like a paid mourner at a funeral. Yet every time I came in the house, its piney scent gave off the promise that next year had to be better.
Jason had decided not to come home. He begged me to give him the fare money to buy a laptop instead. He reminded me of how isolated he was without a computer.
“But we want you here,” I pleaded. “We’ll work something else out about the computer. Dad—”
“Dad doesn’t want me home. And I don’t want to see him.”
“This is the first Christmas you won’t be with us. What will you
do
?”
“Mom, it’s just another day. I have friends who’ve invited me over.”
“But I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“So come out. You love the Southwest.”
“I will. When things calm down.” Yet who knew when that would be?
“Ma, I’ve gotta run.”
“No,
wait
. I have to tell you something.”
He waited.
“Long ago—before you were born, I mean—Hannah had a twin sister. We were in England and she disappeared. We thought she had drowned, but—”
“I know. About the twin.”
“You . . . know?”
“One time Grandma slipped and said you’d had
four
children. And I was looking at your portfolio of photos a few years ago and I saw Hannah with another little girl just like her. I thought it was trick photography, but I asked Dad.”
“What did he say?”
Denied it, of course.
“He told me about the little girl who had drowned, but said I wasn’t to ask you about it, that it would only make you depressed. So I didn’t.”
I could not have been more surprised if Santa and his reindeer had pushed their way into the barn and started unloading gifts.
“The thing is, she didn’t drown. That’s why Jane and I went to Stratford, to try and find out what really happened. Do you have time to hear this?”
“I do now.”
So I told him everything. I had planned to talk to him at Christmas face-to-face, but I couldn’t put it off if he wasn’t coming home.
“Holy shit.” He sounded awed. “This girl is alive?”
“It seems that way. But Dad and Hannah don’t think we should pursue it.”
“They’re crazy. Always were.”
“I can’t believe you knew about it and never said anything.”
“In this family? Sorry, Mom,” he added.
“You think we’re
that
bad?” I thought with longing of my own family, the perfect home I had grown up in.
“Naw. Artists need to come from crazy homes. Anyway, I’m late.”
“Okay. Bye, sweetheart.”
After he hung up I stood holding the phone for a long moment, thinking about what he’d said. If we ever found Caitlin, would she think we were crazy too?
T
HE GIRLS WANTED
gift cards, but I needed them to have a few presents to open, so I went to Macy’s and spent more than I should have on sweaters, gloves, and Godiva. I always gave them books, of course. It was a family tradition that no doubt made me happier than it did them. Colin was impossible to buy for. Finally I picked out a deep red cashmere scarf and, from my stock, a signed copy of William Carlos Williams, whose poetry Colin admired.
There were friends I could have invited for Christmas, and I even thought about having Bruce Adair. I had kept him updated by e-mail and phone and he knew as much about the search for Caitlin as Colin did. There were Patience and Ben and the girls, of course—though I was still cross with Pat—but cooking a large holiday meal seemed as feasible as swimming Long Island Sound to Connecticut. Even if I could do it, I wouldn’t enjoy myself. Instead I suggested that we celebrate on Christmas Eve with supper, gifts, and a midnight walk on the beach. If Colin wanted to take the girls out for dinner on Christmas Day, he could.
We had a plan.
The thing about starting with few expectations is that you can end up pleasantly surprised. Since Hannah now ate fish, I made oyster stew, a favorite shrimp and pasta recipe, and served a chocolate Yule log (not crafted by me). We sat around the living room fireplace and drank bottles of white wine. I was surprised and pleased by my gifts: a new red Cornell sweatshirt from Hannah, a leather bag with many secret compartments from Jane courtesy of the Christmas Market, and a black cashmere turtleneck sweater from Colin. He also gave me an iPhone.
“You’re on the road so much you need something reliable.”
It meant I could also check book rarity in situations where I was not sure.
“Wow. Thanks!” I went over and kissed him.
“The subscription’s covered under my plan.”
“You’ll have to show me how to use it.”
“Janie can.”
Before we left for our walk, Colin raised his hand for attention. “I have something to say.” He knew how to command an audience. “I know I haven’t been supportive of your plans to find Caitlin. At first it seemed like wishful thinking, with the potential of getting hurt all over again. I still have mixed feelings about what to do if we find her. But we’re a family and we’ll work together. All I’m asking is that if we find her, we don’t spring it on her. That we take it very slowly.”
“Of course,” I told him. No matter how delicately we approached Caitlin, it would be an enormous shock.
“Daddy, that’s so great!” Jane was beaming at him from where she was snuggled into a corner of the striped sofa. “I
hate
fighting with you.”
“I know.” He was smiling now. “One other thing. We don’t go to the media with the story, either before or after. I don’t want it made public.”
“I understand.” Then I turned to see Hannah’s reaction. Wide-awake now, she was looking at her father in bewilderment, the expression of someone who has just been handed a final exam for a subject she was never enrolled in. “But you said . . .”
“Hani, I’m not making light of your feelings,” Colin soothed. “A lot has to happen before we even get to the point of having to make a decision. If we ever do. And we’ll make sure you’re comfortable with it first.”
“But you
said
.” I suddenly realized that what Jane had said about Hannah’s gaining weight was true. Her pretty face looked pudgy and confused.
“I know what I said before.” He leaned forward earnestly in his wing chair. “But now it looks as if your sister didn’t drown. Your mother won’t be satisfied until she knows what really happened.”
“I
know
what really happened. I won’t be satisfied until we find her.” I appealed to Hannah. “What if Priscilla Waters had taken you instead? You know I wouldn’t rest until I found you. And I would hope that Caitlin would have wanted you found too.”
But Hannah could not stop looking at Colin. “Does this mean you won’t help me get into vet school?”
“Hannah, what are you talking about?” I asked.
My daughter finally looked at me. “Dad told me that if I said I didn’t want to find Caitlin, he would make sure I got accepted into a good vet school. He would talk to some people he knew. But now that he’s changed his mind, I don’t know if he will.”
There went Christmas.
I
T WOULD TAKE
a lot of talking to get
that
cow back in the barn. I didn’t want to attack Colin in front of the girls, but I was furious. How dare he try to bribe Hannah by using something so important as her dream of being a veterinarian. Was that what their private dinner at Thanksgiving had been about?
Colin leaned forward earnestly, his voice gentle. “Hani, you misunderstood me. I was only trying to show my support for you as a person. That no matter how you felt about it I’d still try to help you.”
“That’s not what you said.”
“Well, it’s what I meant. Did I ever once try to change your mind about looking for your sister?”
“No, but—”
He held up one finger. “All I said was that I agreed with how you felt. It makes no difference what I feel about it now. Of course I’ll help you get into graduate school. Okay?”
“Okay.” Her voice was as small as if she were eight years old again, agreeing to wash the dishes when it wasn’t her turn.
I believed Hannah’s version. Colin was a smooth talker, a tour guide who could make you believe that your trip to the guillotine would be an adventure. But I pushed down my anger. It was Christmas. Sitting there, listening to the crackle of wood settling in the fireplace and mellowed by the wine I had been drinking, I made myself look ahead to next year when Jason and Caitlin would be with us. At that moment I was sure it would happen.
T
HE NEXT EVENING
we went downtown to Slices, which had enough varieties of pizza to satisfy everyone. The restaurant was a large plain room with wooden tables and chairs and a bar at one end. If there had been peanut shells or sawdust on the floor, I would not have been surprised. What did surprise me was the number of people here on Christmas night. We had to wait fifteen minutes for a table.
Jane and I split a small Cajun pie, Colin ordered the same for himself, and Hannah selected a four-cheese pizza. Except for Colin, a legendary beer drinker, the rest of us had Diet Coke. It all seemed very familiar: Colin expansive, Hannah sulky, Jane eager to move forward and make plans. And I was feeling, once again, as if I had been hogtied by my husband.
I’d expected to wake up feeling grateful that Colin‘s opposition had melted away. Instead, bracing myself Christmas morning to throw off the covers and go down to the kitchen and make blueberry pancakes, I realized that what he had actually done was put a fence around the investigation. By stipulating no media involvement—and my agreeing—he had cut off a major way of finding Caitlin. The easiest thing would have been to go to a commentator like Nancy Grace who specialized in cold cases and publicize the story nationally. Yes, the press could be obnoxious and going public might send her kidnappers into deeper hiding. But still . . .
That was the point I attacked now in Slices. “I know what you said about not alerting her kidnappers, but she’s not a baby anymore. She might see the story and realize it was about her.”
“And that wouldn’t be a terrible shock?”
“Maybe at first. But—”
“And once the press learned the whole story, they’d never leave us in peace. To say nothing of the social media backlash. No, Delhi. No publicity.”
“Aren’t there Web sites for missing persons?” Jane asked.
“Yes, but she’s not missing. At least she doesn’t know she is,” Hannah said. With the family lined up against her, she seemed to have stopped objecting out loud. Although I wanted her acquiescence, I didn’t want her bullied.
“But if someone who knows her sees her photo—your photo—they might point it out to her,” argued Jane.
“It’s a long shot but we should at least do that,” I said. “If it’s over the Internet, it won’t cost us anything.”
“You should be checking foreign sites,” Colin said. “I still think England’s our best bet.”
I didn’t agree, but didn’t contradict him. “She’s Hannah’s age, so she’s probably in college. At least I hope she is.”
“Wait.” Jane pulled out her iPhone. “Siri, how many four-year colleges are there in the United States?”
“Checking for you,” said the prim voice.
“Do I have Siri too?” I asked Colin.
“You do.”
“There are approximately 2,774 four-year colleges granting degrees,” Jane’s Siri said.
We thought about that.
“They probably all have school newspapers,” Jane explained. “We could ask them to run a photo and a caption, ‘Have you seen this woman?’ without explaining too much. Just give our e-mail for responses. Daddy, you can’t object to that. There’d be nothing to connect it with you. Or us.”
“Do you know how long it would take to get all those e-mail addresses?” he asked.
“Weeks,” I agreed. “But there has to be some kind of association of college papers that has their addresses in one place. I’ll look for it.”
“We could send blanket e-mails under bcc,” Jane said. “Not too many at once or the computer will think it’s spam. It will take time though. Hannah, when do you go back?”
We looked across the table at my other daughter, who stared back defiantly. She was the only one who had finished her pizza. “What do you plan to do when you find this new, improved version of me?”
It was the kind of comment that could make me crazy. I held up a hand to keep Colin and Jane from rushing in to answer her. “Why do you think we want to replace you?”
She took a sip of Coke. “Jane thinks I’m fat and stupid. Dad loves me, but like a little pet dog. He doesn’t respect me as a person. You . . .”
I held my breath, imagining the things she could accuse me of, going back to when I first pushed her to read the books I’d loved.
“All you can think about is finding this girl. You didn’t even want to bother doing Christmas. It’s like the rest of us don’t really matter. And don’t tell me you’d look for me just as hard. I don’t believe it!”
“Hannah.” Colin was the first to respond, pushing back his wooden chair and standing up. “Come with me.” It was a command she had heard all her life. She pushed back her chair slowly and stood up. Colin put his hand on her shoulder and guided her to the back of the restaurant near the bar and restrooms.
“I never said she was stupid,” Jane protested.
“I know, but—try not to talk about her weight, okay?”
“Mom, it’s only temporary. Dorm food and stress. It’s not like she’s missing a leg or something.”
“Still,
don’t
.”
Yet who was I to correct Jane? I thought I’d simply been too busy with book sales and the shop to put much effort into Christmas this year. But maybe I had been preoccupied with something else. That without Jason and Caitlin there for the holiday, I just hadn’t cared enough.
Jane turned in her chair to look at the back of the restaurant. “I wonder what he’s telling her. Maybe I’ll go to the ladies’ room.”
“Maybe you won’t.” But I was curious about what Colin was saying to Hannah too. Assuring her he had never tried to bribe her? Saying how much he admired her as an adult woman? How proud he was that she was his daughter? I had no doubt that she would feel better when they returned.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” Hannah said when they came back to the table and sat down again.
“Do what?” I asked.
“Anything you want.”
“Look, I’m sorry about Christmas. It won’t happen again.”
“S’okay.”
“And you’re not stupid,” Jane said firmly. “Why would you ever think that? You go to Cornell, for God’s sake.”
Hannah shrugged. She reached for the last of her Diet Coke, and with a quick look at Colin said, “Dad thinks he can get a list of newspaper e-mails from the
Statesman
office, that they have to have them to exchange copies. Maybe they even have a mailing list in one file. He said I could use his computer at school.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’d rather you use mine and keep it all in one place. But that would be a huge help.” Even as I said it, I could feel Jane’s eyes on me.
Do you trust her to do it right?