Still Missing (19 page)

Finally the old guy and Pepper--carrying the file--left the office. The old guy leaned down close to me with one hand resting on his knee and the other stuck out. He spoke slowly and enunciated every word carefully.

"Hello, my name is Sergeant Jablonski."

"Annie O'Sullivan." I shook his outstretched hand. It was cool and dry.

"Nice to meet you, Annie. We'd like to talk to you in private--if that's okay?" Why the hell was he dragging his words out?
English isn't my second language, dumbass.

"I guess." I got to my feet.

Grabbing a couple of legal pads and pens off his desk, Pepper said, "We're just going to take you to one of our interview rooms." At least he was talking at a normal speed.

As we walked away from the desk, all the cops in the room stood still. Pepper and Jablonski moved to stand on either side of me, and Pepper tried to hold my arm, but I pulled it back. You'd think I was being escorted to the electric chair--I swear the phones even stopped ringing. Pepper managed to suck in his gut slightly and walked with his shoulders back and chest puffed out like he'd hunted me down all by himself.

It was definitely a small town. So far I'd seen only a few cops, and the cold concrete room they led me into was the size of your average bathroom. Just as we sat down across from each other at a metal table, Pepper got up to answer a knock on the door. The woman from the front desk handed him two coffees and tried to peer around him, but he stepped in front of her and shut the door. The older guy nodded to me.

"You want coffee? A pop?"

"No, thanks."

One of the walls had a large mirror on it. I hated the idea of someone I couldn't see watching my every move.

I pointed at the mirror. "Is anybody there?"

"Not at this time," Jablonski said. Did that mean there might be someone later?

I nodded toward the upper left corner. "What's the camera for?"

"We'll be audio-and videotaping the interview--it's standard procedure."

That was just as bad as the mirror. I shook my head. "You have to shut it off."

"You'll forget it's even there. Are you Annie O'Sullivan from Clayton Falls?"

I stared at the camera. Pepper cleared his throat. Jablonski repeated the question. The silence continued for another minute or so, then Jablonski made a quick slicing motion across his neck. Pepper left the room for a couple of minutes, and by the time he came back the little red light on the camera was off.

Jablonski said, "We have to leave the audio recorder on, we can't conduct an interview without it." I wondered if he was bullshitting--on the TV shows, sometimes they use one, sometimes they don't--but I let it go.

"Let's try this again. Are you Annie O'Sullivan from Clayton Falls?"

"Yes. Am I on Vancouver Island?"

"You don't know?"

"That's why I'm asking."

Jablonski said, "Yes, you're on the island." His slow, precise speech disappeared with the next question. "Why don't you start off by telling us where you've been?"

"I don't know, other than that it was a cabin. I don't know how I got there, because I was doing an open house, and a guy--"

"What guy?" Pepper said.

"Did you know this man?" Jablonski said.

As the two spoke--at the same time--I flashed to The Freak stepping out of the van and turning toward the house.

"He was a stranger. I was almost done with the open house, and I went outside to--"

"What was he driving?"

"A van." I saw The Freak smiling at me. Such a nice smile. My stomach clenched.

"What color was it? Do you remember the make and model? Had you seen this van before?"

"No." I started counting the blocks on the concrete wall behind them.

"You don't remember the make and model, or no you hadn't seen it before?"

"It's a Dodge, Caravan I think, tan and newer--that's all I know. The guy had the real estate paper. He'd been watching me, and he knew stuff--"

"He wasn't a past client, or maybe some guy you turned down in a bar one night or chatted with on the Internet?" Jablonski said.

"No, no, and no."

He raised his eyebrows. "So let me get this straight. You're trying to tell us this guy picked you out of thin air?"

"I'm not
trying
to tell you anything, I don't know why he picked me."

"We want to help you, Annie, but first we need the truth." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

My arm shot across the table and sent their stupid little pad of paper and coffees flying. I stood up, leaned over the table with both of my hands flat on it, and screamed into their shocked faces.

"I AM telling the truth!"

Pepper held out both of his hands. "Take it easy! You're getting all worked up here--"

I flipped the table over on its side. As they tried to get out of my way and scurry out the door, I yelled at their backs, "I'm not saying another damn word until you get me some
real
cops!"

After they left me alone in the room, I stared at the mess in shock--I'd even broken one of their mugs. I righted the table, picked up the note pad, and tried to wipe up the coffee with some of the paper. After a few minutes Pepper slunk in and grabbed the note pad off the table. One palm held out in front of him and the other clutching the note pad to his chest, he slowly backed out of the room.

"Just relax, we have some people coming in to talk to you."

The front of his pants was wet with coffee from when I'd knocked the table over. I was about to hand him the broken pieces of mug and apologize, but he was through the door in a flash.

I laughed for a couple of seconds, then put my forehead down on the table and cried.

Not sure if you saw the article in the paper this weekend, Doc, but they recovered some stolen goods from a shed on that teenager's property. Well, actually the parents' property. Anyway, I called the cop who handled my break-in, wondering if anything was mine, but he said everything was accounted for. Later I remembered something else the article said, that all the robberies occurred at night.

So why would a burglar, especially a teenage burglar, change his pattern just to break into my house? He had to have timed it perfectly to know exactly when I went for my run, but then he didn't take anything?

I started thinking about how The Freak timed his abduction of me, arriving at the end of the open house on a hot summer day when he knew things would be slow. The Freak, who said the cabin hadn't been easy to set up. The Freak, who might have needed help--

What if he had a partner?

He could have had a friend or, for all I know, a freaky brother who was pissed off that I killed him. I just assumed the person who broke into my house saw me leave. But what if he thought I was
home
? My car was in the driveway and it was pretty early. But why come for me after all this time?

By Monday I was so obsessed by the idea I decided to call Gary and ask him if there was any chance The Freak had some help. This crap is like cancer--if you don't get every last thread and cell of it then it'll grow back into an even bigger tumor. But his phone was off and when I called the station they said he was away until this weekend.

I was surprised he hadn't told me he was going away, since we generally talk a couple of times a week. He's always friendly when I call, never says anything stupid like, "What can I do for you?" Luckily, since I'm not always sure why I phone him. In the beginning it wasn't even a conscious choice. Everything in my world would feel like it was spinning out of control, and then the phone's in my hand. Sometimes I couldn't even speak--good thing there's caller ID. He'd wait a couple of seconds and if I was still quiet he'd start talking about the case until he ran out of new information. Then he'd tell me funny cop stories until I felt better and hung up, sometimes without even saying good-bye. One day he was reduced to describing the proper way to clean a gun before I finally let him go. Can't believe the guy kept answering.

Our conversations have been dialogue instead of mostly monologues for a few months now, but he never reveals anything personal, and something about him stops me from pressing. That's probably why he's away, something to do with his personal life. Guess cops have those too.

The cops I fired left me in that room by myself for a couple of hours, long enough for me to count every concrete block more than a few times, and I wondered whether they'd called my family and who was coming to talk to me. I took the packsack off and held it on my lap, stroking its rough fabric--somehow the motion was comforting. None of those meat-heads bothered to ask if I needed to use the ladies' room, and it's a good thing I was trained to hold it, because it never occurred to me to just get up and leave.

Eventually the door opened and a man and a woman walked in, both wearing serious expressions and dark suits--a very good suit in the man's case. His short hair, more salt than pepper, had me figuring him for early fifties, but his face looked more like he was in his forties. He was over six feet for sure, and the way he held his shoulders squared and his back straight told me he was proud of his height. He looked solid. Calm. If this guy had been on the
Titanic
, he'd have finished his coffee.

He met my gaze and walked toward me with a smooth, unhurried gait and his hand held out.

"Hello, Annie, I'm Staff Sergeant Kincade with the Clayton Falls Serious Crime Unit."

Nothing about this guy said Clayton Falls, and I had no idea what a staff sergeant was, but it clearly was a step up from Jablonski and his sidekick. His grip was strong, and as his hand slid out of my mine I felt calluses and for some reason was relieved.

The woman waiting just inside the doorway now walked briskly toward me. She was slightly plump with huge boobs, I'd say somewhere in her later fifties, but she carried her curves well in her skirt and blazer. Her hair was cut short and neat, and I was willing to bet she rinses out her pantyhose every night and always wears a full support bra.

She shook my hand, smiled, and with a hint of a Quebec accent said, "I'm Corporal Bouchard. It's really good to finally meet you, Annie."

They sat down across from me. The staff sergeant's eyes turned toward the doorway, where the old guy was trying to wrestle a third chair in.

"We'll take it from here," Kincade said. Jablonski paused in the doorway with the chair. "Some coffee would be great."

Kincade turned back toward me. I swallowed a smile, the closest I'd come to one since my baby died.

They had called me by my first name, like we were buddies, but they hadn't given me theirs.

"Can I have your business cards, please?" I said. The two looked at each other. The guy held eyes with me for a second, then slid his card across the table. She followed suit. His first name was Gary, and hers, Diane. Gary spoke first.

"So, Annie, like I said, we're both members of the Serious Crime Unit in Clayton Falls, and I was the lead investigator in your case." Fat lot of good that did me.

"You don't look like you're from Clayton Falls," I said.

One eyebrow rose. "Don't I?" When I didn't respond, he said, "A physician will be here shortly. He'll want to--"

"I don't need a doctor."

We held eyes for a moment. He launched into general questions like my birth date, address, job, things like that. The tension in my shoulders eased.

He started to lead into the day I was taken, then stopped.

"Do you mind if we turn the video recorder back on, Annie?"

"Yes,
Gary
." The way he kept using my first name reminded me of The Freak. "And I don't want anyone behind that mirror, either."

"I didn't mean to upset you." His chin down and his head tilted to the side, he looked up at me with blue-gray eyes. "But it would make my job a lot easier, Annie."

Nice manipulation. But seeing as how I had just done his job by finding my own way back, I wasn't inclined to help him out any further. They were both silent as they waited for me to agree, but I said nothing.

"Annie, what were you doing on August fourth of last year?" I couldn't remember the date I was taken.

"I don't know,
Gary.
If you're asking about the day I disappeared, I was doing an open house, it was a Sunday, and it was the first weekend of the month. I guess you'll have to figure it out from there yourself."

"Would you prefer I not use your first name?"

Caught off guard by his respectful tone of voice, I searched his face for signs he was messing with me. All I found was sincerity, which left me wondering if it was just a trick to gain my trust or whether he actually gave a shit.

"It's fine," I said.

"What's your mother's middle name, Annie?"

"She doesn't have one." Leaning across the table, I said in an exaggerated whisper, "Did I pass the test yet?"

I understood his need for verification, but shit, they had pictures, and I'm pretty sure I didn't look like a girl who'd just had a great year. I was skin and bones, with ratty hair and wearing a sweat-stained dress.

He finally got around to straight-out asking me what happened. I said The Freak grabbed me at the open house. I used his real name, though, or at least the one he'd given me. I was going to explain more, but Gary jumped back in.

"Where is he now?"

"He's dead." They both stared at me intently, but I wasn't going any further until they answered some of
my
questions.

"Where's my family?"

"We called your mother, she'll be here tomorrow," Gary said.

I started to tear up at the thought of seeing my mom again, so I stared down at the packsack and counted the lines in its fabric. But why wasn't she here now? It had been hours since I walked into the joint. How much of a drive was it? It hadn't taken these guys that long.

"I want to know where I am."

"I'm sorry," Gary said. "I thought you knew you were in Port Northfield."

"Can you show me on a map?"

Gary nodded to Diane, who left the room. When she brought a map back, he pointed out a town northwest of Clayton Falls--about three-quarters of the way up the island and right on the West Coast. The roads to any of the towns off the beaten track were usually pretty rough, and you had to drive slowly. I calculated at least a four-hour drive from Clayton Falls.

"How did you guys get here so fast?"

"Helicopter," Gary said. Seeing that sucker fly in must have got this town all atwitter.

So I was right, I was never that far from home. I stared at Gary's finger resting on the dot for Port Northfield and blinked back my tears.

"How did you get here?" Gary asked.

"I drove."

"Where did you drive from?" His fingers tapped on the table.

"A cabin on a mountain."

"How long were you driving for, Annie?"

"About an hour."

He nodded and showed me a mountain on the map, near the dot for the town.

"Is this it? Green Mountain?" Somebody with no imagination named that one.

"I don't know. I was on it, not looking down on it."

He sent Diane to get a map of just the town. Gary and I sat there looking at each other until she returned, the only sound his foot tapping under the table. When she got back, Gary handed me a pen and asked me to draw the route I'd driven. I tried to rough it out the best I could.

"Can you take us to it?"

"There's no way I'm going back up there." I still had the keys to the van gripped in my hand and now I shoved them across the table to Gary.

"The van's parked across the street."

He sent Diane out with the keys. She must have given them to someone outside, because she was back in about two seconds. Something tickled at the back of my mind. If I was only about four hours away, Mom could have left right away and still been in Port Northfield that night.

"Why is it taking my mom so long to get here?"

"Your stepfather is working tonight and they can't leave until the morning." Gary stated it like a fact, so I took it like a fact, but I wondered why she didn't drive up by herself. Not to mention, since when did Wayne work at night? It was rare enough he even had a job. I figured Gary told them not to come until the next day so he could question me without them there.

Gary excused himself and left me alone in the room with Diane for a few minutes. I stared at the wall above her head.

"Your mother will be here soon. She was so happy to hear you've been found--she's missed you a lot." I hadn't been
found
--I'd found them.

When Gary returned, he said he'd sent some people to look for the cabin--one of the cops used to hunt in that area and thought he might know where it was. I still hadn't told them I killed The Freak or said anything about my baby, and at the thought of all the questions they might ask, my head hurt. I needed to be by myself. I needed to be away from these people.

"I don't want to answer any more questions."

Gary looked like he wanted to press on, but Diane said, "How about everyone gets a good night's sleep and then we can pick up in the morning? That okay with you, Annie?"

"Sure, whatever."

They booked a room in a motel for me and took the rooms on either side. Diane asked if I wanted her to stay with me but I shut that one down fast--there wasn't going to be any late-night girl bonding here. She also asked what I'd like to eat, but my stomach was in knots and I managed to decline politely. I didn't feel like turning the TV on and there wasn't a phone in the room, so I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling until it got dark and I turned off the light. When I was just about asleep, I felt the weight of the darkness pressing down on me, then I heard something--a door creak, a window
opening
? I leapt out of bed, but when I threw the lights on, there was nothing. I grabbed a flat pillow, a blanket, and the packsack and crawled into the closet, where I slept fitfully until I heard the maid roll her cart down the hallway in the morning.

A few minutes later Diane came knocking on my door, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, bearing coffee and a muffin. She sat on the edge of the bed, talking too loud and giving me a headache, while I picked at the muffin. I didn't want to have a shower with her there, so I just splashed some water on my face and ran a brush through my hair for maybe two seconds.

She drove me back to the little concrete room at the cop shop, where Gary was already seated with a tray of coffees in Styrofoam cups. As Diane and I settled in, a young, pretty cop brought in a couple of pads of paper, blushing and sneaking peeks at Gary when she handed them over. He glanced at her as he thanked her, then focused his gaze on me. Disappointment radiated off her as she walked out. He was wearing another nice suit, dark blue with silver pinstripes, and a blue-gray shirt that set off his silver-streaked hair. I wondered if that was why he'd picked it.