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6
Ruddock appeared at the top of the conference room and silence fell. He paused to guide John and Teddy Veir ahead of him. John Veir pulled out the chair for his wife as he passed. He was a muscular, hard-looking man with a stern face, thick eyebrows and a solid jaw that he was clenching and unclenching. His wife was a delicate skinny-limbed woman. She had clear skin, huge brown eyes, and wavy light-brown hair. She shifted in her seat, pulling her cardigan closed over a floral blue-and-yellow shirt dress, holding her hand there in a white-knuckle grip.
You fragile thing. This environment is all wrong for you. But is this you as you always are or you as the mother of a missing child?
When the Veirs were settled beside the photo of Caleb and their three faces were lined up in a row, Ren could see that though Caleb had his mother’s eyes, the steel in them came from his father. John Veir’s stare was moving around the room like a drunk looking for a fight.
Ruddock tapped the microphone, once, twice, and started to speak.
‘Thank you all for coming,’ he said. ‘We’re here today to appeal for information on the whereabouts of Caleb Veir, who has been missing from his Burton Street home in Tate since seven forty-five yesterday morning. Caleb is five feet tall, weighs one hundred pounds, and is of medium build. This photo beside me was taken two weeks ago. Yesterday, Caleb was wearing the same gray Puffa jacket, blue denim jeans, a navy-blue long-sleeved sweatshirt with a red-and-gray graphic print, and white-and-red Nike sneakers. You will find photographs of all these items of clothing pinned to the noticeboard at the back of the room.’
Teddy Veir was rigid, her elbows pressed tightly to her body, her ankles crossed underneath the table.
‘To my right here are Caleb’s parents,’ said Ruddock. ‘John and Teddy Veir. Teddy would now like to say a few words.’
Teddy shifted the chair forward. ‘Thank you, Chief Ruddock.’ She looked up, her lost and panicked eyes blinking quickly before she focused on a point on the floor three feet ahead. ‘Our son, Caleb, has been missing since yesterday morning. Caleb is only twelve years old. Caleb, we want you home with us, we want you to come home. To your mom and dad. We miss you, and we love you very much. Please … come home.’
She welled up so quickly, and the pain robbed her of her voice so suddenly, that everyone else on the platform was thrown; they weren’t ready to break in, to rescue her.
Someone help!
John Veir kicked in, putting his arm around his wife, sliding the microphone that was in front of her toward himself, knocking over a glass of water as he did. The piercing sound of feedback erupted in the room.
‘Caleb is a good boy,’ said John. ‘Just a … good kid, who is … good to everybody … and everyone … and helped his mom and me out, and …’
No one prepared you. You weren’t planning on speaking.
‘Please bring him home,’ said John. ‘Whoever has him, if someone has our son, please bring him home. We love him so much.’ His voice started to crack. ‘He’s our son.’ He broke down. He briefly raised his head to say: ‘No matter what. We want him back. We love you, Caleb. I want you to know that. We love you very much.’
No matter what? He’s our son, no matter what? Or no matter what, we want him back?
A sudden smell – powerful, stale and liquor-laced – struck Ren.
What the … whoa …
She turned to see a man take a few steps, then stop abruptly. He was dressed in a faded black sweatshirt with unraveling cuffs and crusted white stains. His pale jeans had two stripes of filth down the center, his sneakers were gray, the laces half undone. His eyes did a full sweep of the room before he walked any further.
Now, who might you be?
He took two steps closer.
And what bar’s supplies have you recently depleted?
He walked past Ren. She put her hand to her mouth and swallowed.
Jesus. Christ. Wow.
I probably smell the exact same …
In a flash, Wiley was striding their way. He struck Ren hard with his shoulder as he passed.
Dickhead.
He grabbed the man by the arm, effortlessly dragging him toward the exit. The man’s face was pinched in anger, his expression childish, petulant. There was tutting, eyerolling and nose-wrinkling from locals who seemed to know him.
The man opened his mouth wide, looked ready to speak, but he took in all the stares and his face fell and he didn’t say a word.
You are a hurting man. You know you’re a sideshow to these people.
Just as he was about to go through the door, a burst of courage delivered his voice:
‘Lake Verny!’ he shouted. ‘You need to look in Lake Verny! Tell Ruddock. Tell Ruddock! You tell him Clyde Brimmer says that lake’s a killer!’
Ren looked around at the crowd, gauging their reactions. There was no sense that the man’s words held any meaning, that they were anything other than a terrible thing to shout in a room where two parents were hoping to reach out for a son they wanted to believe was alive and well – not sucked down into the depths of a lake.
7
Gary, Ren and Ruddock stood in the shelter of the back door of Tate PD after the press conference. Ruddock pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
‘Do you smoke?’ he said, extending the pack toward Gary, then Ren. Gary declined.
‘For one night only,’ said Ren. Filthy habit.
Ruddock lit it for her, lit his own.
‘Sounds like Mom thinks Caleb ran away, and Dad thinks he’s been abducted,’ said Gary.
Ren turned to Ruddock. ‘Could he have run away?’ she said. ‘What do you think?’
‘Honestly, I don’t know,’ said Ruddock. ‘All I know is something is not quite right with the Veirs.’
‘It seems like they’re blaming each other,’ said Ren. ‘They weren’t even touching when they walked in. What vibe did you get from them when you first met?’
‘It was tense,’ said Ruddock, ‘but under the circumstances, that’s to be expected. Even if John Veir thinks his son was abducted, I agree – he sure is acting like he blames his wife for something.’
‘Maybe for not being there yesterday morning,’ said Ren. ‘But, surely, that wouldn’t have made a difference. It wasn’t like we know that Caleb was snatched from their home while she was distracted. And John Veir had his phone on silent. Maybe that’s what’s bothering his wife.’ She paused. ‘What was John Veir’s “no matter what” about?’
Ruddock shrugged. ‘Nerves? I don’t know.’
They could hear footsteps coming their way. They looked around. Wiley was striding toward them from where he had dumped the man who interrupted the press conference. He rolled his eyes at Ruddock. Ruddock didn’t respond.
‘Who was that guy?’ said Ren.
‘Clyde Brimmer,’ said Wiley. ‘A drunk.’
Wow … what drunk fucked you over?
‘Why was he talking about Lake Verny?’ said Ren.
Wiley was shaking his head. ‘His usual bullshit.’
Ruddock intervened. ‘It’s got to be about Aaron Fuller.’
‘The boy who drowned?’ said Ren.
‘Yes,’ said Ruddock. ‘Clyde was fired for drinking on the job. He was an embalmer. The last body he worked on was Aaron’s …’
‘Ah,’ said Ren. ‘It’s haunting him …’
Ruddock nodded.
‘And that was the job he was caught drunk on?’ said Ren.
‘Well, it was the last straw,’ said Ruddock. ‘There were some earlier complaints. He swears he wasn’t drinking when he was working on Aaron—’
‘Clyde doesn’t do himself any favors,’ said Wiley. ‘He showed up for work Monday to Friday in reasonably good shape, didn’t go too wild on weeknights. But he drank heavily on the weekends. Once you’re propping up a bar regularly, slowly drinking your way into oblivion, well, you’re telling people how to remember you. It’s all about perception, really, isn’t it?’
Jesus.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Wiley. He walked back toward the gates.
‘What is Clyde Brimmer’s story?’ said Ren.
‘A sorry one,’ said Ruddock. ‘We were in school together. A group of us hung out, usual stuff: playing football, going swimming, duck-diving in the lake. We were pretty innocent kids. But Clyde went off the rails when he was seventeen, when his little sister died. He started drinking, doing drugs. Got off drugs eventually, but kept on drinking. He’d get sober every now and then, then he’d fall off the wagon again. The longest he was sober was when he did his embalmer training. He was lucky he managed it at all. It would break your heart. Bad things just seem to happen a lot around Clyde. It’s like life is always throwing things at him.’
You are so endearing. And I love pockmarked skin.
‘What happened to his sister?’ said Ren.
‘She fell through one of the decks at Lake Verny. The timber was rotten. Clyde was custodian at the time. It was the spring of ’84. He had already said there was a problem with the deck and the jetty of that cabin, but no one listened to him. He was concerned that sub-standard timber was used, and that it was unstable. He told the owners, but they were from out of town and said they’d get it fixed later: they wanted to enjoy their next break without having any construction work going on. This one day, Lizzie – Clyde’s sister, she was only ten years old – was hanging around with him, because their parents were gone to a wedding and he had to watch her. She brought a couple of her little friends along, they’d been playing around the cabins. Then she disappeared. She was found floating in the water … apparently she stepped right through the deck. It tore up her femoral artery, that was it, she bled out just like that. Clyde took it real bad. He always said if he had just fixed that deck when he wanted to, it never would have happened. He felt he didn’t try hard enough to get people to listen. It’s why he gets so agitated still if he feels something is unsafe, and people aren’t listening. It drives him crazy. And you know something? He didn’t even quit his job. He still stayed looking after the cabins for a long time after the accident, for whoever hung on to them. It was a control thing, I guess. He didn’t want to put anyone else through what his family went through.’
‘That is so sad,’ said Ren.
Gary turned to Ruddock. ‘Mind if Ren and I take a look at last night’s interviews with the Veirs?’
‘Sure,’ said Ruddock. ‘Follow me.’
Ruddock found Gary and Ren an empty room and left them to watch the videos of first John Veir, then Teddy, both carried out by Ruddock and Wiley together.
Ruddock was an impressive interviewer, thoughtful, measured, bright and sharp, with the perfect demeanor to make two traumatized parents as comfortable as they could be with a series of uncomfortable questions while their only child was still missing.
Wiley didn’t ask any questions, even though, at times, it looked like he was struggling to stay quiet.
I wonder were you under strict instructions from Ruddock. Or do you just not give a fuck?
There was a knock on the door and Ruddock walked in. ‘Sign-in for the search is kicking off, if you’d like to come out.’
‘OK,’ said Gary.
‘So,’ said Ruddock, nodding toward the screen. ‘What do you think?’
‘They’re both lying,’ said Gary and Ren at exactly the same time.
8
Jimmy Lyle was driving, happily, freely, down the west coast. Home, in whatever altered state he had left it, was far enough behind him to bring comfort. He was taking quiet roads, darker ones, roads less traveled. He didn’t want to be pulled over, he didn’t want the trunk of his car to be searched.
The day he had the shit beaten out of him by the pond was coming up on Valentine’s Day: after the operations, as he looked around the hospital with his unbandaged eye, he caught sight of heart-shaped balloons, bunches of flowers, cards, an air of buoyancy. Jimmy hadn’t a face for Valentine’s Day, hadn’t a heart for love. He had seen it go wrong too soon. His wild and beautiful mother married his sensible teacher father. She walked out on them when Jimmy was eight years old, his father’s heart spiked on her stiletto as she made her glamorous exit. She had loved Jimmy deeply, and suddenly she was gone, and his father looked at him across the table of their first dinner alone like he was a dog who he now needed to find a home for. He kept him, though. Jimmy made sure to be indispensable. He cooked his father breakfast the very next morning and Outside Jimmy and Inside Jimmy were born; one the white, tranquil, opaque shell, the other the dark, crimson, screaming, angry, bleeding, weeping soul it covered.
The day Jimmy had left the hospital, he went via the cancer ward. He stole some things, some ‘personal effects’. He found an empty room and changed. He could barely look at himself in the mirror.
Afterward, as Jimmy stood, eyes on the floor, waiting for the elevator, he had heard a gasp beside him. It was to his right – it was always to his right. He turned to see a little girl standing there, wide-eyed.
She cried out. ‘Mommy, Mommy!’
Jimmy froze. The little girl’s mother scooped her up in her arms.
‘What happened to that lady’s face?’ said the little girl, pointing to Jimmy.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said the woman. ‘I don’t know what to say. I’m trying to teach her … she’s only three years old. She …’
Jimmy smiled. ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘She’s just a little kid. They say what they think, don’t they? We could all learn from that.’
The mother’s shoulders relaxed. The little girl slowly turned to Jimmy, her head bowed. She looked up at him through teary eyes.
‘I had an accident when I was a little girl,’ he said.
The mother looked at him nervously, not sure what he was going to say next, not knowing whether or not he would say something that would scar her child.
‘So,’ said Jimmy, ‘you need to listen to your mama when she tells you to stay away from boiling water.’
The little girl was transfixed, horrified. The mother nodded, took a few steps backward. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You have a good day.’
‘You too,’ said Jimmy.
Jimmy walked through those hospital doors, holding a bunch of red roses close to his face on one side, holding a still-buoyant balloon on the other.
I HEART YOU, it said.
I FUCK YOU UP, thought Jimmy. I ABANDON YOU.
He remembered picking flowers from the back garden for a woman once, and, even while he was handing them to her, thinking exactly those words. And later, doing exactly those things.
There were good people who had scars, people who had to fight every day to bring others past the outside to the beauty underneath. Jimmy Lyle’s face and body, with their layer upon layer of damage, were the perfect complement to his soul.
9
Ren and Gary stood in the parking lot of Tate PD, watching the volunteers arrive. A table had been set up to sign them in, manned by two members of Team Adam. Ren watched as they went through a process they’d gone through countless times before – Team Adam was a program run by the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. It was made up of retired law enforcement officers, who, like CARD, had specialist expertise, and mobilized as soon as they heard a report of a missing child anywhere in the US.
Ren studied the crowd. ‘Sometimes I feel so guilty thinking some of the shit I think about these kind people,’ she said. ‘They’re here sacrificing whatever it is their day would have held, while some stranger lady is thinking they’re Ted Danson. I mean, Ted Bundy.’ Hello? Charles Manson, maybe?
Gary glanced at her briefly.
‘You know,’ said Ren, ‘it still blows my mind how often the guilty party shows up. Whatever about the ones who are so close to the victims that it would be suspicious if they didn’t show. But I’m thinking of those peripheral nutjobs who put themselves in the frame by hanging around. The ones who might never have been on our radar otherwise – and they can’t see how that’s what they’re doing. I mean, even if you change channels on your television in a micro-second these days, there’s a crime show helping your ass out with these things.’
‘We like the dumb ones,’ said Gary.
Ren scanned the crowd again.
Is there a psycho among you?
Gil Wiley was moving through the line, greeting the people he knew.
‘Wiley looks like he’s on the campaign trail,’ said Ren. ‘His voice … it’s like it’s being garbled for a TV interview to protect his identity. Like we should only ever be seeing him in sil-you-ette.’
Gary held in a laugh, but still managed a low-volume sound of approval.
‘It’s not Denver cold,’ said Ren, ‘but it’s still cold. That Puffa jacket might have been fine for the walk to school, but if Caleb Veir’s been out overnight …’
Gary nodded. ‘I know.’
People continued to arrive, and the crowd began to expand toward them.
Ren’s heart started to pound.
Oh, no, please don’t do this. Not here.
She swallowed. She swallowed again.
No, no, no. Not now. Not here.
And the sensation struck, again.
Drowning, drowning.
Keep it together, bitch.
‘Gary …’ One word, and it came out like it had needed the Heimlich maneuver to make it.
Oh, God. My legs.
She pressed her hand against her thigh.
Like that’s going to help.
‘Gary,’ she said. ‘I’m not feeling a lot like being around big groups of people.’
He turned to her. He was waiting for more.
Breathe. Breathe.
Speak.
Speak!
‘Ren?’ said Gary.
Crowds people I’m going to pass out don’t you won’t stop breathe in out in out breathe I can’t you’re going to pass out.
Gary took her to one side. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m … I’m feeling overwhelmed.’
He studied her face.
Oh, no. Not the grave concern. No fucking way.
‘I just need a moment,’ said Ren, ‘I’m fine.’
No you’re not.
‘I just … don’t feel like being in the thick of this right now,’ said Ren, ‘or, like, in the middle of search teams or lunches where I have to do small talk with people. I just—’
‘If that’s how you’re feeling,’ said Gary, ‘I’m glad you told me. So I know to make sure you do exactly those things.’
You have got to be shitting me. I can’t believe I said ‘lunches’. Jesus.
‘Come on, Ren – what did you think I was going to say?’ He was looking straight ahead. ‘Do you think I’m carrying around free passes for people? No. You’re here one hundred per cent or you’re not here at all. That’s how this works. They were the conditions.’ He paused. ‘I know you’re not a big fan of conditions, Ren.’ He looked at her. ‘I’ve got your back. Conditionally.’
‘Great.’ Greaaaat. ‘Thank you.’
‘The good news is,’ said Gary, ‘there’s only one condition – that you do the best job you can. And that means being no more special than the next investigator or the next. Or the one standing beside you minus half his left triceps.’
Ooh, even you know that sounds like it’s a competition.
A touch of awareness flickered in Gary’s eyes.
‘I, however, will give you a free pass for that,’ said Ren.
She had been in the room, inches from him, watching as the bullet ripped through his arm, and the memory still drove a spike of pain through her core.
‘I think you need to see Dr Lone more often,’ said Gary. Dr Leonard Lone was Ren’s psychiatrist. Her job was dependent on regular visits with him. ‘Every two weeks is clearly not enough.’
Sweet Jesus. Gather yourself. Do not let him see you like this again. ‘OK,’ said Ren. Oh. Fucking. Kay.
Ren slapped a studied frown on her face as her heart pounded.
Fake it ’til you make it.
She drew subtle, slow, deep breaths through her nostrils as she scanned the crowd again. She saw a pretty blonde in her mid-forties, dressed in a pink zip-up fleece, lycra pants, and bright pink sneakers wrap her arms around a lanky, shaven-headed young man who looked to be in his early twenties.
Skin and bones and an air of the unwashed.
The woman squeezed him tight. It was a maternal gesture, and he didn’t fight it. There was profound sadness in both their faces.
Ren turned to Gary. ‘Excuse me for two seconds.’
She walked toward the embracing pair, looking at a point past them, pausing as she reached them to take out her phone and pretend to text.
‘This is a grieving town,’ the woman was saying. ‘A grieving town.’
Grieving agent finds spiritual home.
‘I’m praying for him,’ said the woman, squeezing his arm. ‘Praying for him night and day.’
But he’s only just gone missing. There’s only been one night and one day.
‘Thank you,’ said the young man. ‘I appreciate it. And I know Aunt Shannon will too.’
I’m lost …
‘Hopefully,’ said the woman, ‘there’ll be a more positive outcome for Caleb Veir.’
Oh. OK. She’s talking about the other boy … the one who drowned: Aaron Fuller.
‘Yes,’ said the young man. ‘I couldn’t not come to help today.’
‘Good for you,’ said the woman.
She left quickly, and as Ren looked up, there was no one between her and the young man, and they locked eyes. He gave her a small nod, then turned and walked toward the line of volunteers.
When Ren went back over to Gary, Ruddock was standing with him, looking in her direction, but following the path of the young man.
‘Who is that guy?’ said Ren.
‘Interesting you should ask,’ said Ruddock. ‘He’s a former inmate of BRCI, got out last summer: Seth Fuller. He’s a cousin of Aaron, the boy who drowned. He lives with his aunt out at The Crow Bar on Lake Verny. She owns it. In fact, she bought it from John Veir – he bought it when he came back from one of his tours of duty. He was going to set up a dive school there, or do boat tours, but it never really worked out for him, so he had to sell up.’
‘How did he afford that?’ said Ren.
Ruddock shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What was Seth Fuller in prison for?’ said Ren.
‘Possession. He’s a former heroin addict, cleaned up his act, apparently.’
Not that apparent …
‘He wasn’t mentioned on John Veir’s questionnaire as someone to consider,’ said Ren.
‘No,’ said Ruddock. ‘And Veir would have known him through selling the business to his aunt too.’
‘What’s your take on him?’ said Ren.
Ruddock tilted his head. ‘On Seth Fuller? He was a very bright, creative kid until he got involved in drugs – he was more a danger to himself than anyone else. That would have been my take on him … up until about five minutes ago. We’ve just learned a little something about Seth Fuller: apparently, he used to pay particular attention to Caleb Veir …’
