Authors: Rebecca Drake
Pressed up close to the kitchen door, hands cupped to his face as he peered through the glass, stood a police officer.
DAY FOURTEEN
Bea quickly stepped out of the basement, closing the door behind her. She marched to the kitchen door, watching the patrolman startle as he saw her. She cracked open the door. “What is it? What do you want?”
He was young and lanky with dark hair cropped too short for his round face. “Police, ma’am. Are you okay?” His words came out as puffs in the frigid air.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“We had a report of screaming coming from this residence, ma’am. Do you live here alone?” She saw his gaze linger for a moment on her lazy eye, but then he looked past her at the kitchen, glancing one way, then the other.
“No, my husband lives here, too.”
“Is he home?”
“My husband?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“No, he isn’t here right now.”
“Is there anyone else in the house with you?”
Bea shook her head. “No. Well, except my dog.” She forced a smile, trying to look friendly. “What is this about, officer?”
“One of your neighbors reported screaming.”
“From this house?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well I don’t know what they thought they heard, but no one’s been screaming here, officer. We’re too old for that much excitement.” She chuckled.
He flushed, a rusty red color flooding his spottily shaved cheeks, and shifted his feet, hitching up his uniform belt. “Why didn’t you answer the front door?”
“I didn’t hear it. I was in the basement doing laundry.”
He peered at her and Bea met his gaze and held it, holding the smile. He broke first, looking to his left before turning back to her. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Positive. I don’t know what the neighbors thought they heard. Maybe they heard me yelling at my dog?”
He hesitated. “You mind if I come in to take a look?”
Her hand tightened on the doorknob. “Of course not,” she said. “Come on in.”
He stepped past her into the kitchen, looking around. She circled her hand around the hypodermic in her pocket. The cop saw the macaroni and cheese and before he could comment on the second bowl she said, “We keep it in stock for our grandchild, but my husband and I have gotten a taste for it.” She saw him glance at the wine bottle, but he didn’t comment.
He stepped into the living room, looking around. “Where is your husband?”
“It’s poker night. He’s out with friends.” Frank had never played poker in his life.
The officer nodded, then walked down the hall, poking his head inside her bedroom door, his face impassive. He turned the knob on the second door and she tensed, hand tightening on the needle. “Which neighbor called the police?” she asked, trying to pull his attention toward her even as he pushed open the door. She realized with relief that the heavy drapes across the room’s rear windows cast the room in shadows, obscuring the furnishings.
“I don’t know,” he said, barely glancing at the room before moving back toward the kitchen. It had to be the old man she’d seen the other day. The cop reached his hand toward the door to the basement and she said, “Careful—my dog’s down there. He’s not friendly.” As if on cue, Cosmo barked from behind the door and the man moved his hands to hitch up the heavy belt again. His radio squawked and he picked it up. “Negative on the domestic. Homeowner’s unaware of any screaming and I don’t see a problem. Heading out.”
She walked him to the front door. “I appreciate the police checking up, but some of the neighbors, well, some of the old ones don’t have enough to do—I wouldn’t trust what they say.”
He smiled a little. “And what do you do, Mrs.—”
“I was a nurse,” she said. “I’m retired.”
She stood at the door and waited, watching him walk down the front steps that wound down the hill to the gravel driveway, where a patrol car sat with the bar of lights on top spinning. She waited until he’d gotten in the car, raising her hand in good-bye, smile fixed on her face. Just like any other neighbor, any solid citizen. Police weren’t viewed with suspicion by the people in this tax bracket. She waited, shivering, until the car disappeared down the wooded driveway, and then the smile dropped and she fled inside the house and bolted the door, sliding the old chain in place for good measure. She walked down the hall to the second bedroom, flicking on the lights. The photos she’d taped to the wall stared back at her, single shots, group shots, and the formal portraits that she’d stolen from the studio. What would the officer have made of those if he’d seen them?
“Busy, busy little Bea,” Frank hissed, hovering in the doorway. “Don’t you need to check on the child?”
“Shut up!” She pushed past him, but he followed her down the hallway.
“What if you’ve killed her this time? What then?”
“Leave me alone! I don’t want you here!” She screwed her eyes shut, hands clenched in fists, and when she’d opened them he’d gone.
The child was lying motionless on the floor where Bea had left her, limbs akimbo, face pale and beaded with sweat. “Avery, c’mon, it’s okay now, you can wake up.” Bea knelt beside her, grabbing one tiny wrist to check for a pulse. She couldn’t find it and for a horrible moment she thought Frank was right and she’d killed her. What then? What would she do? Sweat broke out on her own face. Her hands felt slippery on the child’s waxy skin. She circled the wrist again, pressing, uncomfortably aware of her own pulse jumping harder than it should be. Nothing, nothing. She dropped the little hand and moved to the child’s throat and there she caught it, a faint but steady thumping. “C’mon, little girl. Wake up now.” She hauled the child up and over to the bed and then sank down next to her, waiting for her own heart rate to return to normal.
DAY TWENTY-TWO
Humming. Sophia humming a little song. Jill followed the sound through an empty playground, across a dry field. She saw her daughter stepping out of the woods, just like that day in the park, only this time Sophia was barefoot and in her nightgown. As Jill ran to her, Sophia turned and disappeared back into a sea of green. Jill followed, calling her name. And then it was a hallway and she was walking toward a door at the end of it, and she could hear humming coming from behind the door. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest as she turned the knob.
Jill woke before she opened the door, her face wet with tears. She reached a hand toward David, but he wasn’t there. She sat up, still feeling tired, reminded of the utter exhaustion that she’d felt when Sophia was a newborn and Jill’s days had been an endless cycle of feeding and changing diapers and only being able to sleep during those precious few hours that her baby slept.
“David?” It came out as a croak. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and thought of Sophia poking her head around their bedroom door. The need to hold her daughter was so great it made Jill’s bones ache.
She staggered to the door and pushed it open, hearing faint voices coming from downstairs. What was it? Were the police back again?
When she came downstairs, tying her robe around her, she realized it was only the TV. David sat in the family room with his back to her, glued to the set. The local news station was playing clips from their
Today
show appearance again. And Andrew had thought doing a national news show was a good idea.
“You need to get in front of the story,” he’d insisted. “You’ve made the national news anyway—an attractive couple with a missing child? The media laps it up.” Jill hadn’t wanted to do it, but Andrew had agreed to the interview before telling them, and to cancel had seemed worse. Not anymore. Worse was how stiff she looked on camera. She’d been front and center during the interview, flanked by David and Andrew, but something about being better groomed than at the press conference had made it worse; she’d looked even more emotionally detached.
She stared transfixed, hating it but unable to stop watching. “What are they saying?”
David looked up at her. “Nothing important.” He reached for the remote, but she got to it first.
“Don’t, I want to hear.” She turned up the volume. They’d cut from the
Today
show clip to a solemn-faced blonde announcer. “—every parent’s worst nightmare, but the question on everyone’s mind this morning is: Are Jill and David Lassiter telling the truth about their daughter’s disappearance? Our reporter, Sean Dunlop, brings us the story.”
Another cut to a young man with dark eyes and sleek hair who’d adopted the same serious mien. “Folks in Pittsburgh this morning are asking what happened to little Sophia Lassiter, only three years old”—one of the photos of Sophia flashed on the screen—“who vanished from her wealthy suburban home in the early hours of a peaceful November morning. As we enter day twenty-two with no sign of Sophia, attention is increasingly focused on her parents, Jill and David Lassiter, and people are starting to ask if they know more than they’ve been saying.”
They went to a taped clip then, the reporter interviewing a woman who Jill recognized, another preschool parent, someone she’d seen every day, at every drop-off and pick-up, but had never met by name. “You hate to think it, but the parents are usually involved in cases like these,” the woman said. “Her mother is a cold woman—you can tell on the TV, the camera doesn’t lie.”
Jill swore. “I knew it was a bad idea! I’ve seen that woman daily, smiled at her, chatted with her, and now all of a sudden she thinks I’m cold? Just because I can’t cry on command?”
“That’s why I didn’t want you to listen to this.” David reached for the remote, but Jill held it out of range.
“No, I want to hear it.” The camera cut to another person, a man this time.
“You can’t help but be suspicious of them,” the guy said with a knowing smirk. “I mean, c’mon? What is the likelihood of someone breaking into your house and taking your child? Especially in that neighborhood.”
They went back to the reporter and as the camera panned wide, Jill realized with a start that they’d taped the segment right in front of the house. The reporter said, “Police have yet to name Jill and David Lassiter as suspects in the disappearance of their daughter, Sophia, but say that everyone is a person of interest.”
“God, turn it off.” David stood to wrest the remote from her hand and this time Jill didn’t fight him. He sighed as she blinked back tears. “C’mon, you can’t listen to that crap.”
“But it’s true. I do look cold.
I
think I look guilty. Why can’t I cry when it would actually do some good?”
“It doesn’t matter, none of it matters.” David pulled her into an embrace and she clung to him for a minute, gulping. She could feel the tension in his arms, see the same tension in his eyes. He said it didn’t matter, but he didn’t mean it. He knew better.
The phone rang, startlingly loud. Jill pulled away to answer it, swiping at her eyes and clearing her throat. “Hello?”
“What the hell were you thinking?” Tania said. For a second, her mind still on the news, Jill thought she was talking about the
Today
show, but without waiting for an answer Tania bulleted on, “I’ve just spent three fucking hours at a police station and Leo is still there.”
“It’s routine—they have to talk to people we know.” Jill felt as if she were channeling Detective Ottilo.
“They said you gave them my name. My name and Leo’s. That you said we had something to do with Sophia’s disappearance.”
“I didn’t say that, I swear.” Jill saw David looking at her, eyebrows raised.
“Then what did you say?” Tania demanded. “My landlady saw me leaving in the back of a police car, Jill. Do you really think I did something to your kid?”
“No.” And as soon as she said it the dark kernel of suspicion Jill had felt evaporated, like a shallow pool of murky water exposed to the sun. Of course it wasn’t her friend and business partner, of course not. “I don’t think you did anything.”
Tania wasn’t appeased. “But you think Leo did?
She hesitated and the other woman leapt on it. “You
do
think he did, don’t you? Why? Because he isn’t some button-downed nine-to-five conformist he must be a kidnapper? A pedophile?”
“What do you really know about him?” Jill countered. “Other than that he’s like every other one of your boyfriends—all of them rebels without a cause, either current or former addicts, with shady pasts and a penchant for sex. I don’t know what he’s done, Tania, but then neither do you because knowing him would mean you’d have to let go of the romance and face the very real possibility that underneath the cool sunglasses and tattoos the guy you’re sleeping with might not just play the bad boy, he might really be one.”
Silence when she’d finished. She’d stunned Tania; she’d stunned herself. It was the most honest she’d ever been with her, and after a long minute, Tania returned the favor. “It’s been so easy for you, hasn’t it?” Her voice was cold, harsh. “So easy to judge when you’re married to a perfect man and living the perfect little life in your perfect rich world. Only it’s not so perfect now, is it?”
“Tania, please—”
“I told the police what you said, about wishing you could just take a break from parenting? I told them about that conversation and about the time you said you wished kids came with a volume knob, so you could just turn it off when she had a tantrum.”
Jill felt hot, then cold. “That was just talk. I love Sophia, you know I love her.”
“The police asked me and I answered—”
“They already suspect us, Tania!”
“It’s just routine. Isn’t that what you said, Jill?”
Before Jill could reply, she heard a dial tone. The phone rang again almost immediately and she answered, “Tania—”
“Nope, sorry, it’s Andrew. I’ve been trying to reach David, but I keep getting voice mail. They want you both back down at police headquarters.”
DAY TWENTY-TWO
Cameras clicked and flashed, blinding Jill as she ran with David and Andrew past the gauntlet of reporters gathered along North Lexington Street outside county police headquarters. She struggled not to duck her head because Andrew said that made them look like suspects. Act like you normally would, he said. But there was nothing normal about having dozens of people in your face shouting, “Mrs. Lassiter, where’s Sophia?” “Did you kill Sophia?” “Do you have any idea who took your daughter?”