I do not have to stay in the room. I excuse myself, leave the building, and return to the Landing. The police are still there, loitering around the boathouse, keeping people away from the men’s restroom. I speak to them and express my gratitude; they are sympathetic. Partner arrives, says my mother has had two martinis and is somewhat subdued. He and I split up and roam the walkways of the park. The sun is setting; the shadows are getting longer. Partner brings me a flashlight, and we continue our search well into the night.
At 8:00 p.m. I call Judith to see how she’s holding up. She’s at home, with her parents, waiting by the phone. I offer to come over and sit, but she says no thanks. She has friends over and I wouldn’t fit. I’m sure she’s right about that.
I roam through the park for hours, shining my light at every bridge, culvert, tree, and pile of rocks. This is the worst day of my life, and when it ends, I sit on a bench at midnight and finally weep.
Aided by whiskey and a pill, I manage to sleep for three hours on the sofa before waking in a pool of sweat. Wide awake now, and the nightmare only continues. I shower to kill time and check on my mother. She’s had some pills and seems to be in a coma. At dawn Partner and I return to the park. There’s nowhere else to go, really. What else am I supposed to do? Sit by the phone? It’s in my pocket and it buzzes at 7:03. Lynn Colfax checks in to see how I’m doing. I tell him I’m at the park, still searching. He says they’ve had a few tips but nothing useful. Just some crackpots interested in the reward money. He asks if I’ve seen the Sunday morning newspaper. Yes, I have. Front page.
Partner brings some muffins and coffee, and we eat on a picnic table overlooking a pond that’s used for skating in the winter. He asks, “Have you thought about Link?”
“Yes, I have, but I don’t think it’s him.”
“Why not?”
“Not his kind of crime.”
“You’re probably right.”
We return to the silence that defines our relationship, a quiet I have always appreciated. Now, though, I need someone to talk to. We finish eating and split up again. I cover the same paths and trails, look under the same footbridges, walk along the same creeks. I call Judith mid-morning, and her mother answers her cell phone. Judith is resting, and, no, they’ve heard nothing. Back at the Landing, the police have removed the crime scene tape and things have returned to normal. The place is bustling with people again, all apparently oblivious to yesterday’s horror. I watch some boys race their boats around the pond. I stand where I stood yesterday when I saw Starcher for the last time. A dull pain rips through my gut and I’m forced to walk away.
At the rate I’m going, Starcher is the only child I’ll ever produce. He was an accident, an unwanted child born in the midst of a raging war between his parents, but in spite of that he has blossomed into a beautiful boy. I haven’t been much of a father, but then I’ve been shut out of his life. I never dreamed I could miss another human so much. But then, what parent can imagine a child being abducted?
Hours pass as I roam the park. I jump out of my skin when my phone rings, but it’s only an acquaintance wanting to help. Late in the day, I sit on a park bench near a jogging trail. From out of nowhere, Detective Landy Reardon appears and sits beside me. He’s wearing a suit under the standard black trench coat.
“What brings you here?” I ask, startled.
“I’m just the messenger, Rudd. Nothing more. Not involved, really. But your kid is okay.”
I take a deep breath and lean forward, elbows on knees, thoroughly confused. I manage to grunt, “What?”
He stares straight ahead as if I’m not here. “Your kid’s okay. What they want is an exchange.”
“An exchange?”
“You got it. You tell me; I tell them. You tell me where the girl is buried, you get your kid back after they find her.”
I don’t know what to think or say. Praise God my kid is safe, but he’s safe because the cops have snatched him and are holding him as bait! I tell myself I should be angry, furious, volcanic, but I am nothing but relieved. Starcher is okay!
“They? Them? You’re talking about some of your own people, right?”
“Sort of. Look, Rudd, you gotta understand that Roy Kemp has pretty much checked out. They’ve put him on administrative leave for a month or so, but no one knows it. He’s a mess, and he’s out there acting on his own.”
“But he has a lot of friends, right?”
“Oh yes. Kemp is highly regarded. He’s a thirty-year man, you know, with a lot of contacts, a lot of pull.”
“So this is an inside job. I don’t believe it. And they’ve sent you to negotiate.”
“I don’t know where the kid is, I swear. And I don’t like being where I am right now.”
“That makes at least two of us. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. In fact, I should’ve known the cops were not above snatching kids.”
“Back off, Rudd. You got a big mouth, you know that? Deal or no deal?”
