Cemetery Girl

Chapter Forty-two

My stepfather, Paul, died when I was in graduate school. When I told Abby-Buster was the one who’d called and given me the news, his voice hoarse and halting-I added that I wasn’t traveling home for the funeral.

But Abby told me I had to go, that not only did my mother and my family really need my support, but I also needed to face and ultimately close the door on the things I carried with me from the past.

“That’s why I don’t want to go,” I said. “I’ve already closed the door.”

Abby shook her head. “No, you haven’t.”

When I saw my stepfather in his casket, his face painted and sunken, a Bible tucked between the fingers of his gnarled and wrinkly hands, I felt nothing. It wasn’t him. At least, it wasn’t the version of him I once knew. My mom had told me during a couple of our infrequent phone conversations that he was changed, a different and better man. No more drinking. Better, steadier employment.

I didn’t care or believe it.

And if I’d hoped to feel some kind of glee standing over his coffin, that didn’t come either. He was just a dead body, an empty sack of flesh.

Later, after the service and the burial, the muttered “Amens” and the repetitious words of the minister, we all went back to my mother’s house, the house I’d grown up in with my stepfather, Paul, and Buster. I told myself and anyone who wanted to listen that I couldn’t stay long, that I needed to get back to school as soon as possible. In my mind, I planned to stay for just an hour. No more, no less.

But as the reception went on, as more and more relatives and friends came by and offered their condolences to me, condolences that I accepted even though I didn’t feel I had lost anything, my eyes were continually drawn to one particular feature of the house-the staircase leading up to our old bedroom, where my stepfather used to terrorize us in his drunken rages. I hadn’t been up there for many years-not since I’d left home to go away to college-but in the wake of Paul’s death, I felt a curiosity about the space that figured so prominently in my nightmares.

At an opportune moment, I wandered over to the foot of the stairs.

The same drab brown carpet covered the stairs, worn at the edges and apparently not vacuumed recently. My heart thumped a strange, accelerated rhythm as I stood there, and the palms of my hands felt greasy and slick as though a thin sheen of oil coated them. I almost turned and walked away, back through the party and out the front door to my car, back to the life I’d made for myself away from that place. But Abby’s influence must have worked on me. She’d pushed me to go that far. I decided to go all the way and I took slow, measured steps up the staircase.

The boards creaked as always. The staircase felt narrower, more constricting than in my childhood. I was bigger, of course, and their world was shrinking. But where my hand made contact with the banister, I still felt that greasy slickness, a film my body seemed to be secreting as a defense against the past.

At the top of the stairs, I paused.

It still smelled the same. Faintly musty, a space in need of a good airing out.

To the right was the bathroom, a cramped little space with flaking wallpaper and rust-stained fixtures. And to the left, the familiar room I’d shared with Buster. I went to the doorway, my legs feeling stiff and awkward. I didn’t enter right away. I stood at the door, my hand resting against the jamb. It didn’t look the same. A queen stood in the place of our two twin beds, and the American flag wallpaper was gone in favor of white paint. But without a doubt I recognized the curvature of the ceiling, the shape of the window, the familiar view of the very top of the neighbors’ red brick house.

And it wasn’t lost on me that, when I stood in the doorway, I was standing in the exact same space and nearly the exact same manner as Paul on those nights when he came up to the room. I felt cold, a deep chill the likes of which comes only on the worst of winter days. It was spring and pleasant outside, but being in that room frosted me and almost made my body quake with a shiver. I was about to turn and go when-

“You look like you miss this place.”

I spun at the sound of the voice, almost falling down. I came face-to-face with my mother, who’d somehow managed-squeaky stairs and all-to sneak up behind me.

She looked strangely pleased to see me standing in that doorway, as though I were any child reminiscing about the joys and happiness of the past. “I guess we all miss our childhoods, don’t we?” she said.

I shook my head. “Not me.”

“Oh, Tom.” She reached out for my arm. My posture remained rigid. “You should come back more. You should have come back more when Paul was alive.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because we’re your family,” she said. “Don’t you have any happy memories of being here?”

“I have to get back, Mom. There’s school and everything. .”

She didn’t let go of me. “Really, Tom. I know it was tough when your dad died and I got remarried. But we did okay by you, didn’t we? Didn’t Paul?”

I took a step back and studied her face to make sure she wasn’t joking. But there was no smile there, no laughter in her eyes. Just a sadness I’d noticed ever since I was a child, its starkness emphasized by the age that was increasingly making its mark upon her-the graying hair, the deep lines around her mouth and eyes, the spots on the backs of her hands. “Paul beat us, Mom. He beat me. He terrorized all of us, including you.”

For a moment, she looked confused, as though I were speaking of events from a long-ago time she knew nothing about.

She started shaking her head back and forth, slowly, the puzzled look on her face not fading but instead only deepening. “Tom, Paul never beat you. He never laid a hand on any of my children.”

“You’re crazy, Mom. You knew about it.”

“You say these things to me. I just can’t understand why you children hate me so much. Was I such an awful mother that you have to make these things up just to hurt me?”

“No one’s making anything up, Mom.” I pulled loose from her grip, my anger swelling unreasonably. “No one’s making this up. Just admit what you know to be true.”

Her eyes filled with tears. She brought her hand up to her mouth. She looked like she wanted to keep the sobs from escaping from her throat. It worked, because none came. But she did manage to speak. “Not today, Tom. Please, not on a day like this.”

“Why won’t you say what I want to hear you say?”

Buster appeared on the stairs.

He reached the top, apparently having heard at least some of our conversation. The raised voices. My mother’s pleas. He looked angry, but rather than taking my side-which I’d thought he would’ve agreed with-he took Mom’s side against me.

“Tom,” he said, “this isn’t all about you and your hurt feelings. We’re all hurting here today. We don’t need you making this stuff up about Dad again.”

“I’m not making anything up. I just want her to admit it.”

Buster gritted his teeth. “Tom, you asshole.”

Mom looked at the floor, wiping at her tears.

I stared, waiting. The two of them formed a Maginot Line of denial. I couldn’t squeeze through. There wasn’t a place for me there. There never was. Never once were they on my side. Not against Paul, not against anything.

I brushed past them and left the house.

And I never saw my mother alive again.

Chapter Forty-three

I wasn’t sleeping. I knew that.

In the days since Liann’s visit, my nights were spent staring at the ceiling of the guest room, the noise of an occasional passing car my only company. Caitlin was in our house, and John Colter was in someone’s house too. Free on bail. Charged with arson, second degree, just as Liann had predicted.

Something tapped against my window.

I sat up quickly.

John Colter? Could he be there, trying to get into our house?

I crossed the room to the window and looked down. My palms were flat against the glass, feeling the cold from the outside.

Nothing.

The street, the yard were empty.

My imagination, nothing more.

But I couldn’t go back to sleep.

Instead, I went downstairs and made a circuit of the house, checking every door, every window, making sure they were locked and secure. They were. The heat was down for the night, and my feet were cold against the kitchen tile. I looked in the refrigerator. Finding nothing much, I picked up an apple but didn’t bite into it. I thought about the girl from the cemetery and the noise against the window upstairs.

Was she out there again?

It didn’t take me long to go back upstairs and dress. I paused on the landing and stuck my ear against the door to Abby and Caitlin’s room. I heard faint, steady breathing. They were still there, as safe as they could be, so I slipped out of the house like a burglar.

The streets were quiet and empty. It was nearly one-thirty, and when I reached the main road a few cars passed. But even out there it was quiet. The streetlight flashed yellow, and in its strange glow, I scanned the sidewalk in both directions. I didn’t see anybody, and certainly no sign of the girl. My hands were stuffed into the pockets of my jacket, but I still felt a chill that made me hunch my shoulders.

Even in the dark, the headstones were visible. Faint, stony outlines, solid and eternal. I crossed the main road, jogging slightly, cutting at an angle across the front of the park and toward the driveway that wound through the middle of the cemetery. A sign said the cemetery closed at dark, and on rare occasions a security car made a sweep through as the daylight faded. But mostly the security was lax.

Trees lined both sides of the main cemetery drive. The trunks and branches were thick and gnarled, and in many cases grew close to the graves and knocked long-planted headstones out of kilter, tilting them to the side like falling towers.

I slowed my pace the farther I moved away from the street. I felt a little exposed. If the girl was in the cemetery, she could be anywhere, hiding behind any of the monuments or mausoleums, watching me.

And if she didn’t come alone. .

Even late in the season, with cool weather settling in, crickets still chirped in the grass. Above, through the breaks in the trees, the sky was clear, the stars bright. It was beautiful and peaceful. A wonderful place to spend eternity, if indeed we were granted an eternity to spend.

I reached the back where Caitlin’s headstone-cenotaph-stood. I looked around, still not seeing or hearing anything.

But then something rustled to my left.

It was a quick sound, a crunching of fallen leaves. It could have been a branch falling or the skittering of a raccoon. But as I stood there, listening and looking for more, the sense grew within me that I wasn’t alone, that more than just the legions of the sleeping dead were there in the night.

I waited, and the sound came again. It continued longer, a shuffling like footsteps through the carpet of leaves. And then I saw the girl.

She emerged from between two headstones, very close to Caitlin’s monument. My heart jumped when I saw the girl. I took a step toward her. She backed up a half step, as though she wanted to run.

“No,” I said. I held my hand out in what I hoped was a calming gesture. “Don’t go.”

In the darkness, she looked as vague as the shadows between the headstones. I saw her blond hair, and the loose, baggy Windbreaker she wore hung to her knees. Her big eyes glistened like pools of water in the darkness. She raised a finger to her mouth and chewed on the nail.

“Who are you?” I asked.

She kept chewing.

“What do you want from me? Do you know me?”

She studied me.

“He sent me,” she said.

“Who?”

She didn’t answer, but the realization dawned.

“John Colter sent you?”

She nodded, the finger still in her mouth. “He wants to see her,” she said. “He wants to see the girl in your house.”

“He’s going to jail.”

“No,” she said. “He says he wants to see her.”

“Is he here? Is he in the cemetery?”

The girl craned her neck around, looking behind her.

“Who’s back there?” I asked.

I stepped forward, squinting past the girl, but saw nothing. After a long moment, I heard the sound of footsteps, heavier this time and again stirring up the leaves.

I waited, and a figure resolved out of the darkness.

I expected to see that face from the sketch, the one from the photo Ryan had placed in front of me. That hulking, ugly, scarred face.

So it took me a moment to process the more familiar face I saw before me. The one that looked so much like my stepfather, Paul.

I must have blinked my eyes a few times until he said my name.

“Tom, take it easy.”

It was Buster.

Chapter Forty-four

He moved slowly toward me, his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted.

I felt the earth turning, the sky moving above me, the stars streaking through the night like fireballs. Everything welled within me, a burning taste at the back of my throat. Anger, frustration, confusion. My hands went out and took Buster by the lapels of his jacket. I gathered fistfuls of the material until I felt my fingernails bend back with the pressure.

“What are you doing here? What the fuck are you doing to me?”

“Calm down, Tom. Calm down-”

He grimaced as I shook him, his lips peeling back in a crazed-looking grin. But it was fear. He saw something in me. My own lack of control. My rage. I shook until he managed to get his own hands up. He gripped my biceps, slowing me down.

“Tom. Stop. It’s me. It’s Buster.”

“Paul-”

“It’s Buster.”

“You took Caitlin. You took her-”

“No, no. Listen. Listen to me.”

I don’t think I would have stopped, except the girl, the child who’d appeared outside my window, came up and grabbed ahold of me. She tugged on my belt loop and strained to be heard above our grunts and scuffling.

“Stop it!” she said. “Stop doing that to him. Stop it! Stop it!”

Her voice reached me through the fog of my anger. I turned to look down at her, and when I did, I loosened my grip on Buster.

She was about twelve. This close, I finally saw her features. The greasy hair, the pale, almost translucent skin. Her clothes hung loose on her body, like she possessed next to no body fat. There were dark circles around her eyes. Malnutrition. The child hadn’t been eating enough.

“Who are you?” I asked.

She looked scared of me, but held her ground. “He wants her back,” she said again. “The girl. Your girl.”

“John Colter sent you?”

She didn’t answer.

“Tell me!” I shouted.

My voice echoed through the night. The girl swallowed, her throat bobbing. But still she didn’t answer.

“Tom?”

I spun around. Buster stood about ten feet away, his right hand rubbing his throat.

“He did send her,” Buster said. “Colter.”

“And you? What are you-?”

He held his hands out again, asking for calm and patience. “Let me explain, Tom. Just listen.”

I stayed rooted in place. My brain spun as fast as the planet.

Buster went on. “I found the girl, Tom. This girl. She was outside your house tonight. You mentioned her in the papers that time, so when I saw her there, standing underneath your window, I knew who it was.”

“What were you doing outside the house in the middle of the night?” I asked Buster. “Were you there to take Caitlin?”

“No, Tom. I came here to see you. To help you. I saw in the paper that Colter was being let out, that they were only going to charge him with arson or some bullshit like that.” He brought his hands together and rubbed them against each other, steadily increasing the pressure. “I tell you, Tom, I was angry when I saw that. I can’t imagine how you felt. But I wanted to do something. I needed to do something about it.”

“What were you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” He punched one fist into the palm of his other hand. “I found something. I looked in the phone book. Do you know Colter’s number was in there the whole time? All this time he held Caitlin, his phone number was right there in the book. There he was, getting calls from telemarketers, people asking him to give money to charity, to switch his long-distance service, and he was keeping Caitlin locked away in some room in the basement.” He dug into his pants pocket and brought out a small, wrinkled piece of paper. “His mom bailed him out of jail, you know? She put up her house. Did you see that?”

“Yes.”

“Her number’s in the book, too.” He waved the paper in the air. “I called it. The old bitch answered, and I asked for John. She said, ‘Why can’t you reporters leave him alone? He doesn’t know nothing about that girl.’ I told the old bitch to fuck off. But you know what? That means we know where he’s staying. He’s staying there, at this address.” He waved the paper again.

“What are you suggesting?”

He shrugged. What do you think?

I pointed at the girl. “What were you going to do with her?”

“I saw her outside the house when I came up,” Buster said. “So I tried to grab her, to find out what she wanted. For you. But she ran this way, so I went after her. I caught up with her over here and asked her what she was doing outside my brother’s house. I probably scared the hell out of her. I didn’t mean to. But she told me something, Tom. Something really fucking freaky.”

“What?”

Buster looked at the girl. “Tell him.”

“I already did,” she said.

“Tell him everything you told me.”

“Tell me what?” I asked.

The girl’s eyes ticked between the two of us.

“Tell him,” Buster said again.

The girl nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.” She started to bite her nail again but stopped. She curled her hand into a fist and let it fall to her side. “He sent me to your house to get the girl back. He wanted me to tell her that he shouldn’t have let her go. He thinks it was a mistake. He didn’t mean it.”

“Let her go?” I said.

The girl nodded. “He said he got scared, so he let her go. The story was in the paper, that drawing. He let her go during the night.” She crinkled her nose. “She was too old, he said. And he had me. .”

Buster made a disgusted gasping sound.

“Where are your parents?” I asked.

“He loves her. He says he misses her and he wants her back. He sent me to your house to get her back, but I didn’t know what to do. I stood in the yard and tried to figure out which room was hers. I couldn’t see. And then you ran after me that one night. And he ran after me tonight.” She pointed at Buster.

“Did he leave a note here telling her to stay away?”

The girl shrugged. “He changed his mind, I guess.”

I took a step forward and bent down, trying to get closer to the girl’s eye level. Buster came up beside me. “Who are you, honey?” I asked. “Who are your parents?”

“I go back to them sometimes. They don’t care.” She ran the back of her hand across her nostrils. “He said he doesn’t need me anymore when he gets your girl back.”

“It’s not right for you to stay with him like that,” I said.

“We should call the cops-” Buster cut in.

“No,” she said and took two big steps back. Her voice was full of fear, like a child waking from a nightmare. “No. You can’t call the police.”

“We have to,” Buster said.

“He’ll run away,” she said. “He wants to run away. He doesn’t want to stay here. The police will take him. They’ll lock him up.”

“That’s what should happen,” Buster said. He reached in his jacket pocket and brought out a cell phone.

“No,” she said again.

“Hold it,” I said to both of them. “Just hold it.”

Buster held the phone in his hand, but stopped. He didn’t flip it open or dial. The girl stood still, staring at me, her eyes still wide.

“What does he want?” I asked. “Colter. What does he want from Caitlin?”

“Tom-”

“Quiet. Listen.”

Again her eyes moved between the two us. She looked like she could run at any moment. She finally settled her gaze on me. “He just wants to see her again,” she said.

“You said he’s leaving.”

She nodded. “He wants to. He wants to go away.”

“So he wants to take Caitlin with him?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Buster’s hand landed on my arm. “Tom, you need to stop this.”

I shook free. “Does he want to take her?”

The girl fixed her eyes on Buster. I looked. He held his phone and used his thumb to dial a number. “I’m calling the cops,” he said. “This is bullshit.”

“Goddamn it!”

I swung and knocked the phone out of his hand. Then I heard the scurrying.

I looked back. The girl was gone. She ran off into the darkness. I watched her disappear into the night, a faint blur moving jackrabbit quick. I took three steps in the same direction, then stopped. She was gone. Long gone.

When I came back, Buster was picking up his phone.

“Don’t,” I said.

“It’s dead. I never got through.”

“Good.”

“Good? That little girl is under the control of that creep. She must be the same age as Caitlin-”

“I get it.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I don’t know.” I paced back and forth in the dark, moving between the headstones, my shoes kicking the leaves around. I started to sweat, and when the wind picked up and cooled the sweat, a chill came over me. “He’s going to get away with this, Buster. All of it.”

“You’ve got this girl right here. He took her.”

“She’s gone. We’ll never see her again. You scared her off.”

“They’ve got the other witnesses. They can put it all together.”

“And prove what exactly? That my daughter likes to date older men?”

“Don’t joke about this, Tom. Don’t fucking joke around. This is serious. This is your daughter you’re talking about here.”

“Is she?” I asked.

“What are you saying?”

“Is she my daughter after four years?”

“Yes. Some animal came along and took your daughter, and he did do those awful things to her. Unspeakable things. But you can’t just let that go. You’ve got to fight for this. You’re in a fight, Tom.”

“Unspeakable things?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the key right there, isn’t it? Caitlin refuses to speak of them. Not to me or Abby or the police. But we all know what we mean when we say unspeakable. Right? Just because it’s unspeakable doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it. It doesn’t mean I don’t visualize it. Every night I see it.” My words came in a rush, so I paused to collect myself. “I see them in a bed. Or on the floor. I see that pig grunting and breathing over her. Mounting her. Kissing her. Everything. And worst of all, she’s doing it back and enjoying it.”

I couldn’t look at him. My rear molars ground against other.

“Do you think the truth is going to be worse than what you’ve imagined?” he asked.

“It can’t be.”

He put the phone away and crossed his arms. He looked like he understood.

He reached into his pants pocket again and brought out the slip of paper. “My car’s over by your house,” he said. “We can leave right now.”

I started to leave, then noticed Buster wasn’t by my side. I looked back into the darkness and saw his shape leaning over Caitlin’s headstone. He started grunting and huffing. I went back.

“Help me,” he said. “I’m tired of this fucking abortion standing here.”

He started pushing against the stone again, trying with all his might to tip it over. I moved in beside him. It was tough, resistant, but after a few minutes it rocked loose and fell into the soft grass with a heavy thud.

Buster straightened, wiped his hands on his pant legs.

“Now I’m ready to go,” he said.

Chapter Forty-five

Colter’s mother lived on the north side of town. I drove by the neighborhood on my way to the interstate, and from the highway I remembered seeing a few factories, some strip malls, and lots and lots of trailers and small homes, the kinds with debris scattered in their yards and blank-eyed occupants sitting on the stoops smoking and drinking soft drinks from plastic bottles.

“Looks like this is a pretty shitty neighborhood,” Buster said.

“That’s fitting.”

“I guess not too many professors live on this side of town.”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

Buster drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “You know, you called me Paul back there in the cemetery.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did. You looked me right in the eye back there, when you were holding me by the collar, and you called me Paul. Clear as day.”

We took an exit ramp and came to a stoplight. I opened the glove compartment and took out a map. While we sat at the light, I located the correct street among the red and blue lines and told Buster which way to go. He made the first couple of turns, then started talking again.

“You’ve led a pretty good life,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I pointed to the windshield. “I’m driving in the middle of the night to confront the man who kidnapped and raped my daughter. I’m a lucky man.”

“Your life has turned out better than a lot of people’s. You’ve got a good job, some money. Okay, your personal life is in the dumper now. Your marriage is on the rocks.”

“My daughter. .”

“Your daughter’s back,” he said. “Don’t forget that.”

He made the last turn. We were in a subdivision called Skyline Acres. Every street was named after a heavenly body-Venus, Saturn, Aurora. Colter’s mother lived on Neptune Way. I watched the house numbers and pointed. “There it is. Stop here.”

Buster braked, and we stopped three doors down from the Colter residence.

“Well?” he said.

“You’re telling me to appreciate all I have?” I asked.

“I guess so.”

“Tell me, did you feel like you belonged in our family? Did you believe there was a place for you?”

“I never thought about it,” he said.

“That’s right. You didn’t have to. There were the three of you, and then there was me. But that changed. That changed when Caitlin was born. I had someone like that. For me. I had a family. It was an even greater bond than anything I’d ever felt with Abby.” I fumbled around until I found the door lock.

“What are you doing?” Buster asked.

“I’m going to go look. Wait here.” I worked the door open. My shoes against the sidewalk sounded ridiculously loud in the quiet night. I’d taken two steps when I heard Buster’s door open behind me. I waved him back, but he kept coming. “Wait in the car,” I said.

He shook his head and kept coming. When he came abreast of me, I put my hand on his arm.

“Why won’t you wait?” I asked.

“I can’t let you go alone,” he said. “You don’t know what to do in a situation like this.”

“And you do?”

“More than you.”

We stood at the edge of the glow of a streetlight. Our heads were in the shadows.

“Back there at the cemetery, with the girl, were you telling me the truth?” I asked. “Did you just find her by chance?”

“What else could it have been?”

“Fuck if I know. I just don’t know.”

We moved on. It felt good to have him by my side. He was right. I’d never been in a fight. Never confronted a criminal. The whole endeavor felt crazy, so much so that my hands shook and my knees felt loose and jangly with every step I took.

When we reached the driveway, Buster pointed, so I followed him. Light spilled out the side of the house, casting a large rectangle on the cracked and crumbling blacktop. Buster moved alongside the lighted window. He held his hand out to stop me.

The window sat at eye level, so it didn’t take much effort for him to look in. He craned his neck and turned from side to side, scanning the room.

“What gives?” I asked.

“Nothing. It’s s dump. Just a TV and a bed.” He pulled his head back. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Some guy came in.”

“Did he see you?”

Buster shook his head. I grabbed his arm. Tight.

“Was it him?”

“I don’t know. I got out of the way.”

“Let me.”

I stepped past him and eased next to the window. I risked a look.

The overhead light was on, a bright wash over the entire room. The walls were painted a pale green. A small TV, a thirteen-inch black-and-white that looked to be about thirty years old, broadcast a fuzzy picture despite its rabbit ears. Crumpled clothes covered the floor, and the closet door was open, allowing more clothes to spill out.

Then I saw the man sitting in a sagging chair. He stared at the TV, his head drooping.

I studied his face in profile. The prominent nose, the pockmarked cheeks. The stringy hair was cut but still streaked with gray. He wore a dirty gray sweatshirt and sweatpants. His feet were in house slippers.

It was him. Colter.

He didn’t know he was being watched. His elbows rested on the arms of the beat-up chair, and his hands joined together before his chest, holding a steaming mug. While I watched, he lifted the mug to his face and blew gently on the hot liquid, then took a tentative sip and pursed his lips. I watched, waiting, but that was all he did.

Buster moved in next to me. He nodded toward the window, his face asking the question: Is that the guy?

I nodded, and while my head moved, something welled up within me. Colter looked pathetic, utterly defenseless and harmless, and it still didn’t stop the rage bubbling within me.

Without thinking, I raised my fist and pounded it against the window.

“Colter! Hey, Colter!”

Buster made a grab for my arm, but it was too late.

Colter jumped when I hit the window, spilling the contents of the mug down the front of his shirt. I jerked free of Buster and hit the window again and again. The pane rattled in the frame, and for a moment my fist moved independently of my mind. I kept hitting the glass, wishing I could break it and smash through and grab the man who had taken my daughter.

Finally, Buster grabbed me from behind and stopped me.

“Easy,” he said. “Easy. You’ll cut your hand off.”

“I don’t care.”

“Look, look-”

Colter was on his feet, peering at the window. Because of the interior light, he couldn’t get a good look at the two of us, and from where he stood, we must have been indistinct ghostly shapes. Two pale, oval forms hovering in the night. He reached and flipped the light off, leaving only the glow of the television. He moved closer, his ugly face uncertain.

I expected him to reach for the phone. Or a weapon. Instead, he took two quick steps across the room and slid the window up.

“What is this?” he asked.

He didn’t sound angry or agitated, just weary and defensive, like a man growing tired of answering questions.

I didn’t answer. I was face-to-face with the man. I grabbed for his neck, but he was too quick. He ducked back out of the way with the skill of a boxer. I stumbled forward and caught myself against the window ledge.

Colter’s eyes were alert now, like a threatened animal. He stared back and spoke in a low voice.

“Get out of here, you assholes. I thought you were reporters. .”

His voice trailed off. He kept his eyes locked on me. Studying me. Examining me.

“Oh,” he said. “I get it.”

“What do you get, shitwipe?” Buster asked.

Colter looked toward him and squinted before turning back to me. He raised his finger in the air as though just remembering something.

“What’s your name?” he asked me.

“You think you know him?” Buster asked. “You know his daughter, don’t you? This is Tom Stuart. Stuart. Caitlin’s father. The father of the little girl you snatched. My niece.”

Colter didn’t look surprised. He didn’t blink or nod, but I saw the recognition on his face.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” I asked.

“Please. My mother is asleep.”

“Fuck her. I ought to-”

“Be quiet,” Colter said. “Jesus.” He held out his hands. They were surprisingly small, the fingers long and thin. “The cops said they’d be keeping an eye on me, but I haven’t seen a single car since they let me out. For all I know, some nutjob will want to come around and take a shot at me. All those lies in the papers.”

“Boo-hoo for you,” Buster said.

“Come around to the back,” Colter said. “Quietly.”

I started to move, then noticed Buster wasn’t coming with me. I waved at him.

He shook his head. “I think you should go alone.”

“What? You brought me here.”

“I know,” he said. “You have to do this alone. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

I took a step back. “What if he has a gun or something?”

Buster shook his head. “You heard that stuff at the cemetery. You have something he wants. So go.”

I went toward the back of the house, leaving Buster behind.

When I reached the back of the house, no one was there. The wooden door, its paint cracked and blistering, stood closed, the single bulb above it dark. The door led into the kitchen, but the lights were off inside.

A light came on above the stove, and I saw Colter’s bulky form moving toward the door. The light above the door came on as well, and a few late-season moths and gnats appeared instantly, drawn to the light and warmth. I heard locks untumbling, then a chain, and with some effort he yanked the door open.

His body filled the doorway, lit by the faint light behind. He didn’t come out, but stood there on the step, his arms at his side.

“Does she ask about me?” he asked.

I still felt shaky. Something hot roiled in my chest. “You’re a pig,” I said.

He took two steps down so that we were on the same level. He was shorter than me, stockier, with a wrestler’s body gone to middle-aged fat. “What are you here for?” he asked. “Are you here to shoot me or beat me? Do you want to kill me?”

I moved forward. My mouth was dry, but I worked my tongue around. When I thought I was close enough to him, I spit. It wasn’t an impressive job, but some of it hit him in the face, making his head jerk back.

He kept his eyes on me while he brought his arm up and wiped his face.

“Okay,” he said. “Is that out of the way?”

My heart pumped like an overworked engine, but I also felt foolish, my anger abating. A grown man spitting on another grown man.

He went on. “Because I don’t think that’s what you really came here for, is it?”

“You called me back here.”

“And you showed up at my window. With reinforcements. So. .” He spread his arms wide. “How’s she doing?”

“No, no. You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get to know anything about her.”

“I know one thing about her. She won’t testify against me.”

“Give it time.”

He shook his head. “I love her. And more importantly, she loves me. That’s why she’ll never testify. Ever.”

“Is that what Tracy Fairlawn thought about you?”

He made a quiet snorting noise, a form of a laugh. “I see she’s been running her mouth. She never did understand the value of keeping quiet.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know. Probably run off. Partying somewhere.”

“If you love my daughter so much, why did you make her leave?”

He hesitated a moment, looking at the ground. Light from the bulb above the door spilled over his feet. He still wore the slippers. “I see you met little Jasmine. I guess that’s how you all ended up out here tonight.”

“Why did you send Caitlin away?”

“And what do I get out of talking to you?” he asked. “Are you going to forgive me? Grant me a pardon?”

“You. . owe me.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” I said. “I. . gave her to you. I let her walk the dog in the park. I let her out of my sight for too long. Let me guess-you went up to her in the park. You’d seen her walking there. And you went up to her and you asked her something about the fucking dog, right? Something inane and stupid. Maybe something that made her laugh or giggle. . and you had her. You had what you wanted. And I didn’t.”

I stopped. My hands shook and were cold, so I rubbed them together.

“I really shouldn’t be talking to you,” he said. “For all I know, this could all be a setup. You could be wearing a wire.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I don’t care about any of that. I really don’t. I want to know why she came back to us. Why?”

He considered me. I thought I saw real concern, real pity in his eyes. He shrugged. “I don’t really care if you are wearing a wire, I guess. It wouldn’t stand up in court, and I don’t really plan on sticking around to see the judge.” He kicked at a pebble on the ground. “At the time, I thought Caitlin needed to go. That stuff showed up in the paper, that stuff Tracy was saying. The sketch of me. I thought about just hightailing it out of here, packing the car and starting over somewhere else. But I didn’t want to be on the run all the time. People wouldn’t understand the two of us. We could pass ourselves off as father and daughter for a while. Caitlin was getting older, too. I thought maybe she needed a better life than the one I could give her. It was just me and her. I couldn’t teach her about being a woman. Not everything anyway. I could always start over with a new girl, a younger one. Jasmine maybe.”

“Did Caitlin want to come back home?” Just asking the question made me feel weak, like I was a beggar. But I couldn’t not ask. I needed to know.

“No, she didn’t.”

Don’t send me away. Don’t send me away.

“How did you get her to go?”

“I told her I’d turn myself in. I’d call the police if she didn’t leave. I forced her hand. I remember that night. .” He paused again and stared past me, off into the darkness. “You know what it’s like to have a parting of the ways with someone you love. There were tears. It almost broke my heart-it really did. Before she left, she swore to me she’d never tell what we did together. I guess she hasn’t, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“What happened between you?”

“Now that’s private, isn’t it?”

One corner of his mouth ticked up, and one eyebrow as well. It set me in motion. I charged forward, trying to bury my shoulder in his midsection and knock him to the ground. But he handled me expertly. I was quickly spun to the ground, his thick forearm locked around my neck. He didn’t apply full pressure to my throat. I could still breathe. But he applied enough to let me know he could do more if he wanted.

Buster came to the edge of the house and stopped. I heard his shoes against the driveway, but he remained in the dark.

“Easy now,” Colter said. I didn’t know if he’d meant it for me or Buster. He said it again. “Easy now, fella.” Colter was still on one knee. I saw Buster’s shape out of the corner of my eye. “Just stay there,” Colter said to Buster. “We’re calming down now, real easy like.”

“Let him go,” Buster said.

I tried to talk, but I couldn’t. I hoped Buster would stay back. I hoped he could see Colter held control of my airway. Apparently he did. He moved back a little, giving Colter some space. “You just go right on back where you were,” Colter said. “We have a few more things to talk about here.” He eased the pressure on my neck so I could speak.

“Go,” I said. “It’s fine.” My throat was raw, like I’d swallowed thumbtacks.

“You don’t look fine,” Buster said. “You look like you’re fucked-up.”

“Back off,” I said.

He did. He took slow steps backward until his form cleared the side of the building again. When he was gone, Colter released the pressure even more.

“Are you going to act right?” he asked.

I nodded like a fool.

He let go all the way and stood up. I fell to the ground, my face almost hitting the pavement. I reached for my throat and gulped air. It took a couple of minutes for me to feel right and push myself up. When I did, the night tilted a little like I might pass out. But I didn’t. My legs came back to me, and I cleared my throat, making sure I could speak.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fuck you.”

“I showed you mercy,” he said. “I could have crushed your throat.”

“You’d never see Caitlin again.”

“I can see her anytime I want. I can snap my fingers and she’d be here.” To emphasize his point, he snapped his fingers in the air. “You can’t even deny it. I’m showing you mercy. I’ll let you say good-bye to her, before she comes with me.”

“I’ll call the police. I’ll tell them what you said. You confessed.”

“Hearsay.” He laughed a little. “But I guess I did make a little mistake with Caitlin. She isn’t like the girls I typically date. Look at you-she comes from a good family. Good parents. You care. There are a lot of girls in the world without that. When they go away, no one notices. When they come back and go to the police, they get ignored. Still, this is all dependent on whether Caitlin wants to rat me out or not.”

He was right. There was little I could do unless Caitlin testified. “Why show me mercy then? Why do anything for me?”

Colter looked me up and down. “Because she’d want me to. She loves you, so I’ll do this favor.”

“Did she talk about me? Did she remember me-?”

A sound from the house cut my words off. The back door was pulled inward again, and the light revealed an older woman, close to seventy, wearing a kerchief on her head and a housecoat. Her face was long and thin, unlike her son’s, and the skin around her jawline hung loose.

“What’s going on out here, Johnny? Who is this man?”

“He’s a friend, Mom.”

“Is he a cop?”

“No.”

“I’m not a friend,” I said. “I’m Caitlin Stuart’s father.”

The woman raised her hand to her chest and gathered the loose folds of the housecoat tighter against her body. She looked stricken, almost ill. She’d put her house up to secure his bond, and if he left town before a trial. .

“What are you doing at our house?” she asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “Johnny isn’t. . He just can’t be seeing people, any people, right now.”

“Did you know about this, Mrs. Colter? Did you know about Caitlin?”

She moved back into the shadow of the doorframe. “Johnny, you come inside now. It’s late.”

Colter walked toward the house like an obedient child. Before he went inside, he looked back. “Remember what I offered, Mr. Stuart. A chance to say good-bye this time.”

Chapter Forty-six

Buster didn’t say anything until we were buckled in the car and pulling away from the curb. “What was that about? Colter said he offered something?” He kept his eyes on me and the car weaved across the road. That scared me even though it was late and there were no other cars out.

“Watch it.”

“What were you two talking about?”

I watched out the window at the passing houses. They looked dumpy and run-down, but I envied the residents their certainty, their comfort. They were likely sleeping the quiet sleep of the just.

“Tom? Tell me.”

I didn’t turn to face him. “He wants to see Caitlin again.”

“I bet.” He laughed.

“He says he loves her, and he made a mistake when he let her go.”

“Bullshit. Is he crazy? Is the guy fucking crazy?”

I kept my eyes straight ahead, but the side of my face burned. His eyes were on me.

“No, no, no,” he said. “No.”

As we reached the base of the on-ramp to the interstate, Buster jerked the wheel to the right, forcing the car to the side of the road. He hit the brakes hard, skidding a little. My body jerked forward, and I used my hand to brace myself against the dashboard.

“You’re going to do it? You’re going to take your daughter to that man?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said.

“You don’t know? That’s not an answer.” He raised his finger in the air. “There’s only one answer, and the answer is no. That’s it. End of story.”

“Just take me home.”

“She’s your little girl.”

“She’s not so little, is she?” I said. “She’s able to say she loves that guy. She’s capable of feeling that, of thinking that. I know what the shrink says. I know about Stockholm syndrome. But, Jesus, what can I do with all of this? They were fucking, Buster.”

“He fucked her, not the other way around.”

I rested my hands in my lap. I turned them over and over, knotting the fingers together and twisting them until the knuckles hurt. “Did you see him?” I asked. “Did you see his fucking face? He’s a fucking pig. And a loser. Living with his mom. She was with him for four years. We lost four years. That kills me.”

“He took her, Tom. Do you understand that? He took her. He’s a criminal.”

What happened to me. The words cycled through my head, but I could no longer apply those words simply to Caitlin. They applied to me as well.

What happened to me.

I rubbed my eyes. “I want to go home. It’s late, Buster.”

“Not until you drop this,” he said. He turned to face me in the small car. The glow from the display panel lighted his face, turning it a pale and alien green. I could feel his breath. “Tell me right now you won’t do it.”

I watched occasional cars passing on the highway, their headlights creating bright white cones in the darkness. “It’s not your decision, Buster. She’s not your kid.”

“She is my kid. We came out here in the night. We came together, side by side. As brothers. That means she’s my kid. She doesn’t just belong to you.”

“You don’t have kids. You don’t know.”

“Oh, fuck that, Tom. You know, I’m tired of your sad-sack routine. The ‘Nobody loved me’ bullshit. I stood by you throughout our childhood. I was there for you. And now you throw it back at me and treat me this way. Fuck you, Tom.”

I took a short, futile swing at his face in the dark. I meant to hit him hard, to drive him back and hurt him. But he ducked away.

He reached back and pushed his door open. He didn’t say anything. He came around the front of the car, his body passing through the headlights, and then he stopped at my door, pulling it open.

I didn’t have time to react or think. He opened the door and reached in, taking me by the front of my shirt.

“What the fuck?” I said.

He kept pulling, the fabric of my shirt digging into the back of my neck, until I stopped resisting and allowed myself to be brought out into the night air. I tried to knock his grip free, but couldn’t. He held on; then something jolted the side of my face. It took a second for me to realize I’d been hit, that Buster had punched me in the left jaw. I fell back against the car, but he pulled me forward and hit me again, stunning me. My knee joints loosened and I started to crumple. As I went to the ground, he swung a last time, catching me in the back of the head and knocking me flat to the ground beside the car. The ground was cold. Dirt and gravel pressed against my face. I didn’t try to push myself up.

Buster’s shoes came into my line of sight. He was wearing work boots for some reason. I knew what might come next, and it did. He drew one of the boots back and kicked forward. I managed to curl up a little, and the boot struck me just below the rib cage on my left side.

“You’re lucky I don’t kill you,” he said.

The pain seared through me, radiating out like an electric charge, into my back and down my left leg. I couldn’t talk.

“I’m through with you,” he said, the words falling upon me like spittle.

I thought he’d kick again, but he didn’t. He shoved my door closed; then the shoes disappeared around the front of the car. I managed to roll away, putting a few feet between the car and me. He dropped it into gear and hit the gas hard, sending a spray of gravel into my face and over my body. And when he was gone, I just lay there on the side of the road, curled up in the dark like a broken and terrified child.

Chapter Forty-seven

I lay on the side of the road for a long while, staring at the stars, waiting for the pain in my side to go away. The stars and winking satellites offered no comfort or conclusions, nothing I could orient myself by or make sense of.

When the pain eased, I pushed myself up. The landscape whirled and tilted before me, the lights on the nearby highway blurring together and swimming. I thought for a moment I was seriously hurt, concussed or wounded in such a way I’d need to call for help. But after a couple of minutes on my feet, as I gathered my senses and balance, the world steadied. My equilibrium returned, and only the pain in my side remained.

I didn’t have anyone to call. To wake up Abby would invite questions and examinations about how and why I’d ended up in that neighborhood in the middle of the night. To call anyone would invite such questions. And the only other person I could call had just left me here on the side of the road.

The walking did me good. Five miles to home, moving at a snail’s pace. I worked the painful muscles loose, the ones that were clenched and stretched while not just one but two different men assaulted me. I tried to understand how I’d come to be in the place I was. The wheel of fortune had spun, and the arrow had landed on me: I’d been the guy whose daughter was taken. And then the wheel spun again, an even more unusual and perhaps crueler fate: I’d also been the guy to get his daughter back. Was it a mark of my confusion that I still couldn’t decide which was the worse fate to suffer?

By the time I reached the house, the sky was turning gray with first light. My feet hurt, and all I wanted to do was fall asleep in my own bed. But the wheel of fortune would turn one more time.

I saw Ryan’s car out front. It was just six-thirty, way too early for him to be there unless something was going on.

I thought I knew. Buster. He’d called them and told all. The girl in the cemetery, the trip to Colter’s, my interest in dealing with the man who’d taken my daughter.

Having nowhere else to go and no energy with which to do it, I went up the steps to face the music.

Ryan and Abby were in the living room. Abby was dressed, but I could tell by her hair that she wasn’t showered. When I entered the room, their heads turned in unison, as though they were part of a well-rehearsed stage act.

“Where have you been, Tom?” Abby asked.

“I was out taking a walk.”

“You’ve been gone for hours.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Are you hurt, Tom?” Ryan asked, sizing me up.

“I fell.”

Abby looked away, fixing her eyes on the coffee mug she lifted to her mouth and sipped from.

“Did you land on somebody’s fist?” Ryan asked.

I stood near the door, let my weight rest against its frame. I ignored him.

“I’m here about your brother,” Ryan said.

“Okay.”

Abby put the mug down and started to cry. Her eyes were full of tears, and she brought both her hands up to wipe them away.

“Did something happen to him?” I asked.

“Oh, Tom,” Abby said. “If only it were that easy.”

“Why don’t you sit down, Tom.”

I did, gingerly lowering myself onto the opposite end of the couch from Abby. She looked over at me and shook her head, disbelieving and angry.

“Have you heard from your brother lately?” Ryan asked.

“Will someone just tell me what’s going on?” I asked. I shifted so my side didn’t hurt. “It’s been a long night.”

Ryan took a long moment, still studying my face. Then he relented. “We’ve been continuing our investigation of John Colter and his relationship to Caitlin. We’ve been examining every angle, trying to understand how he ended up with your daughter. Work relationships, church relationships. . these are the things we examine in a case like this-”

“I don’t understand where you’re going with this. And what does it have to do with my brother?”

“We’ve identified some points of commonality between your family and associates of John Colter. There’s a connection there, a link.”

“Our family knew John Colter?” I asked.

“It was Buster, Tom,” Abby said. “Buster. All along. It was Buster who gave Caitlin over to this beast.”

I still didn’t move. While Abby wept, I stayed rooted in my seat, staring at Ryan.

Not Buster. No way.

Finally, Ryan jerked his head a little toward Abby. His motion broke the spell.

I slid down the couch and placed my hand on Abby’s back. She jerked away.

“Don’t touch me.” She looked up, her face tear streaked, her eyes on fire. “Did you know about this? All along, did you suspect this and keep it from me?”

“I don’t even know about it now.”

“Your brother gave our little girl away,” she said. “He’s a druggie and a failure, and he brought his own mess down on our lives.”

I looked to Ryan.

“Our investigation has revealed that John Colter was friends with a man named Loren Brooks. Do you know him?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”

“Are you sure you don’t know him, Tom?” Abby asked.

“I don’t know the name. Should I?”

Ryan continued. “Loren Brooks was a small-time drug dealer around here. Cocaine and marijuana mostly. Also some petty crimes. Burglaries, car thefts. He was an all-around malcontent and noncontributing member of our society.”

“Did you arrest him?”

“Many times, but not for anything relating to this case. He died two years ago. Drug overdose. I can’t say the world is worse off without him. We did manage to locate his former girlfriend, a woman who’d lived with Brooks for several years. We asked her what she knew about John Colter. She told us that everybody knew one thing about John Colter.”

“What’s that?”

“That he liked little girls. And, sometimes, he liked to keep them in his basement.”

I felt the air go out of me, like I’d been hit between the shoulder blades.

Abby spoke up. “You can arrest him now. Rearrest him. You have a witness.”

“Buster. .” I said.

I couldn’t bring myself to say it all.

How does Buster fit into all this? What did Buster do?

“Your brother owed Loren Brooks money, the result of some drug transaction about five years back. This girlfriend of Brooks, she believes that your brother offered Caitlin to Brooks as some form of payment for the debt he owed.”

“But Buster never had Caitlin,” Abby said. “She was never his to give. She was never with him.”

“But he knew where she lived,” Ryan said. “He knew her routines. She trusted him and would have followed him if he asked her to. Right?”

The money Buster had borrowed from me. . his phone call and apology. . his appearance at the cemetery. .

“Are you saying Buster led Caitlin to Colter and this other guy? That he tricked her into going and sold her to them like-” The only word that came to my mind sounded ridiculous, but I said it anyway. “Like a concubine.”

“This girlfriend of Brooks picked Caitlin’s photo out of a group of photos. She says she’ll testify that she saw Caitlin in Colter’s house. She’s actually the kind of witness we’ve been waiting for. She’s going to help the case a great deal.”

“Is she reliable?” Abby asked.

“More reliable than the men she’ll be testifying against, despite whatever problems she’s had,” Ryan said. He turned his attention to me. “Tom,” he said, “I need to ask you something very important. Do you know where your brother is?”

“Did you check his house?” I asked.

Ryan nodded. “Of course. I need you to tell me other places we might find him.”

“I don’t know-”

“And I need to know if you’ve heard from him lately. Anything at all.”

Ryan held his gaze on mine, his eyes boring into me like an X-ray.

“Buster is. .” My voice trailed off. I tried again. “Look. .” I replayed the scene in the car early that morning. His words. He’d been right, I had to admit. He had always stood by me when we were children, and I couldn’t underestimate that. Even if he had been involved-which I doubted, I really doubted-I wanted to find that out for myself. I couldn’t bear the thought of handing him over to the police, to strangers. I drew the line there. “I don’t know where he is. We had a falling out. We often have them. I haven’t spoken to him in a few weeks. In fact, the last time I saw him was right here at this house. And you were here, too. Listen, Ryan, are you really telling me Buster was directly involved? Just because this woman said something about him?”

“Like I said, we’re moving forward on the case with the goal of placing Colter in custody again,” Ryan said. “We need to talk to William as well. If he comes in voluntarily, it can be easier on him. If not. .”

“Tom?” Abby asked. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know. I said I haven’t seen him.”

Ryan let out a little sigh. He placed his hands on his knees and pushed himself up out of the chair. He straightened his jacket by tugging on the lapels.

“You’ll let us know if anything else happens,” Abby said.

“I will.” Ryan pointed at my face. “And if I were you, I’d put some ice on that eye. Whoever you fell on was probably trying to hurt you.”

Chapter Forty-eight

Abby and I remained on opposite ends of the couch, not saying anything to each other. Not moving. I shifted a little, adjusting my position, trying to get comfortable.

“Aren’t you going to say anything, Tom?”

“What’s there to say?” I looked to the hallway, to the space where Caitlin’s pictures had been removed.

“I should have known it was him,” she said. “I should have known it would be someone in the family, someone close to us. It always is. Statistically, you know, it’s always a family member involved. And considering Buster’s past, his record. And you defended him. You said he wouldn’t hurt Caitlin.”

“Where is she?”

“Upstairs. Asleep. At least she was when Ryan called.”

I brought my hand up and touched my cheek. It felt tender and a little puffy. Ryan was right. It needed ice.

“Where were you?” she asked. “Really. Where were you?”

“I thought I heard someone trying to get into the house. I came downstairs and looked. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I took a walk.”

“Someone tried to get into the house and you left us?”

“I thought someone tried to get into the house.”

“Did you really fall?”

I looked toward the stairs. “It was wet. The dew. I was wearing these shoes.” I pointed at my feet distractedly. “I’m going to talk to her.”

“About what?”

“I’m going to ask her about Buster.”

“Good. Bring her down here.”

“No. I think it would be better if I went alone. She’ll listen to me.”

Abby made a bitter, dismissive noise. It sounded like Hut. “She hasn’t listened to you for four years, Tom. She never listened to you. You were more like friends. That’s why she liked you. She didn’t have to hear or obey anything you said.”

I stood up. Slowly, gingerly, taking one step at a time, I went up the stairs.

I knocked on the door of the master bedroom and didn’t wait for a response before I pushed the door open. Caitlin was sitting on the floor, her back against the bed frame, the bulk of a sleeping bag spread underneath her. She was wearing long underwear-tops and bottoms-and she looked wide awake, her eyes alert.

I moved over to the bed and eased myself down. A stitch of pain poked me in the side, and I winced. Caitlin showed no concern.

I pointed to my puffy cheek. “Do you know who did this to me? Buster. Your Uncle Buster. We haven’t fought like that since we were kids. It used to be more even then. But last night, he kicked my ass.”

Her eyes widened.

“Was he there, Caitlin? With Colter? Was Buster ever there?”

She looked down at her hands and started picking at the cuticles. Her nails were short, the skin around them red and scabbed, as though she’d picked them over more than once.

“Caitlin? I’m not going to tell Mom.”

I was ready to let it go when she spoke up.

“I thought I heard his voice once,” she said. She continued to stare at her hands. “I thought maybe I imagined it. At first. .” She paused a long time. “I used to hear a lot of voices. I used to think a lot of people were there, looking for me.” She hesitated. “I even used to think I heard you and Mom.”

“No, no,” I said.

“I couldn’t tell if it was imagined or real,” she said. “It seemed very real. It sounded just like both of you. I knew your voices. I could recognize them.”

“We were never there. If we were there, we wouldn’t have left without you.”

Caitlin seemed to consider this for a moment, then went on. “Once I heard someone talking and laughing, and it sounded just like Uncle Buster. I almost called his name, but I didn’t.”

“Did you see him?”

She shook her head.

“Caitlin, this is important. Did you ever see Uncle Buster in Colter’s house?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “Never.”

I put my hand on her shoulder, felt the textured fabric of the long johns. “Were you in the basement?” I asked. “Is that why you didn’t see him?”

She shook her head again, more forcefully.

“You can tell me, you know? If you want to tell me something and not have Mom know, I can do that. It’s okay.”

“I already told you what I want.”

I let my hand go limp and slip off her shoulder. “Really, Caitlin? Still?”

She picked at her fingers and didn’t pay attention. I touched her again.

“Come on, Caitlin. You can’t still want that. Not that. It’s okay to let that go.”

She spun out of my grip and crab-walked away from me.

“You don’t know,” she said. “Don’t say that.”

“Caitlin-”

“No. I already told you.”

I went to the closed door, opened it, and looked into the hallway. No sign of Abby. I closed the door. Caitlin looked surprised when I came back into the room and took my spot on the bed again. “You know how I said I was fighting with your uncle Buster? Do you know what we were fighting about?”

“I don’t care.”

“We were fighting about you. And I’d think you would care, because I was on your side.” I could tell she didn’t follow. “We went to see your friend last night. Mr. Colter.”

“You’re lying.”

“We went to his house. Actually, we went to his mother’s house, since that’s where he’s living these days. Do you know her? Did you know he burned his own house down? The one you lived in with him? He completely torched it.”

“He did?”

“He did. Why?”

“He said he would do that. I didn’t believe him.”

“He’s a man of his word, isn’t he? He destroyed any trace of you, any evidence that you were ever there. He covered his tracks. Except he couldn’t destroy that room in the basement, the one you must have lived in. The one you heard Buster’s voice from, right? Remnants of it survived the fire, enough so the police could see what it was for.”

The sun came through the window, creating a rectangle of light that covered half of Caitlin’s body.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” she asked.

“Because I talked to Mr. Colter. About you.”

“What did he say?”

I took my time now. I leaned back a little and folded my arms across my chest.

“What did he say?” she asked again.

“You want to see him again, right?”

She stomped her foot against the floor. “Goddamn it! What did he say?”

“We’re going to make a deal,” I said, leaning forward again. “Are you interested in that? If you want to know what he said, you have to agree to the terms of the deal.”

“How can I agree to this if I don’t know what you’re offering?”

It wasn’t easy, but I pushed myself off the mattress, acting as though I intended to walk out of the room.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, I agree. Jesus. Just tell me what’s going on.”

I backtracked and sat down on the mattress again. Caitlin watched me eagerly, expectantly. I almost couldn’t bring myself to say it. I almost walked away for real. But I couldn’t. I needed to finish.

“He wants to see you again,” I said.

It took me a moment to read and understand her reaction. She blinked her eyes a few times, and at first it looked to me like she was crying. Then the corners of her mouth turned up, the emotion spreading across her face-and no doubt through her body.

Joy.

Joy at the prospect of reuniting with the man she claimed to love. It was the most emotion, the most happiness she’d displayed since her return.

Caitlin raised her hand to her chest and fingered the topaz necklace just below her throat. She looked like Abby-her narrow hand, her long fingers, the way only her left cheek dimpled as her smile grew. “Will you take me there, Dad?” she asked.

Dad.

I didn’t know when she’d last called me that.

“I might take you there,” I said.

“Okay,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.

“One condition,” I said. “First you have to tell me everything that happened during those four years you were gone. You have to tell me how he took you and where you went. You have to tell me what he did to you there. And you have to tell me why you stayed and why you want to go back so much. If you tell me all of that, I’ll think about taking you there.”

“Think about?”

“Think about,” I said.

“Does Mom agree with this?” she asked.

“No way. And if you tell her or mention it to her, the whole deal’s off. Not only will the deal be off, but you’ll be locked up like this place is Alcatraz.”

She thought this over for a long moment. “But if I tell her what you’re offering, she’ll be mad at you, right? I mean, she’ll throw you out.”

“Certainly. And then you’ll never get to see your boyfriend.”

“When do we go?” Caitlin asked.

“As soon as you spill it.”

She shook her head. “I don’t trust you. I know you don’t want me to be with him. If I tell you, you’ll never take me there.”

“You don’t have a choice. Give it up.” When she didn’t say anything, I opted for putting more heat on her. “The longer we wait, the less chance you’ll see him. You heard what Detective Ryan said, didn’t you?”

“Some.”

“They found a witness, some mouth-breather from a trailer park who says she saw you in Colter’s house. Did you ever make the acquaintance of some guy named Loren Brooks? You know him?”

She nodded. “He came by sometimes.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“What is that bitch in the trailer saying about me?” Her face was blank, but her voice sounded capable of cutting glass.

“Enough to put Colter back in jail. They’re drawing up the papers today. He’s going back to jail-and soon. And given your reaction to this news, I suspect they have enough to keep him there.”

“Then what does it matter?” she asked. “There’s no deal you can make. They’re going to take him away.”

With great effort, I choked out the last words I needed to say. “He’s leaving town. And he wants you to go with him.”

Chapter Forty-nine

Caitlin continued to stare at me, her lips parted. The room, the house was silent. Outside a diesel engine rumbled. A school bus moved up the street, stopping and starting, collecting neighborhood kids for school. The simple routines of everyday life. Caitlin would have been driving herself to school that year. We would have bought her a cheap car, added her to the insurance.

Instead. .

“Are you saying. .?”

“You want to go with him, right?” I asked.

She nodded slowly. She brought her hands together again and started picking at them.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yes. I didn’t think you’d let me go.”

“You want to go. And a father is supposed to make his daughter happy, right?”

She kept picking at her fingers.

I started to get up, but Caitlin spoke.

“Parents aren’t supposed to let their children go, are they?” she asked. “Not ever?”

I settled back down on the mattress. She wasn’t looking at me but continued to study her hands. Still, I could tell she was listening. “I’ve known since the day you were born I’d have to let you go someday. You were going to grow up and have a life. Get married maybe. Move away. Any parent who isn’t aware of that is setting themselves up for emotional hardship.”

I waited. Finally she said, “But it happens too soon sometimes, right?”

“It does. Like me and you. Are you reconsidering?”

“No.” She looked up. “Not at all.” She shrugged. “What about Mom?”

“She’s a big girl.”

“Will the two of you stay married?”

“No. But we aren’t going to stay married whether you’re here or not.” I felt relieved having said it out loud. “Does that bother you?”

She shook her head hard, almost too hard. She looked like she wanted to make sure I knew how little it bothered her. Abby knocked lightly on the bedroom door. Caitlin and I both jumped a little. I wondered how long she’d been out there and what she’d heard, but when I opened the door for her, she didn’t look angry.

“What are you two talking about?” she asked.

I looked back at Caitlin. “I was just telling Caitlin what Detective Ryan said.”

“Oh.”

“She heard most of it from up here,” I said. “And as for the rest. . I guess she didn’t have much of a response to it.”

Abby looked like she wanted to say something to Caitlin, but she didn’t. She turned to me and said, “Liann’s here. She said she wants to talk to you.”

I was halfway through the door when Caitlin’s voice stopped me.

“Thanks, Dad,” she said.

I looked back. “For what?”

“For telling me what you told me.”

“No problem,” I said and headed downstairs to see Liann.

Abby followed me to the stairs. Halfway down, she placed her hand on my arm. “Did you hear that back there, Tom? She called you Dad. That’s something, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “Yes, it is.”

“Did you ask her about Buster?”

“I did.” I paused. Something caught in my throat. My eyes burned. “She thought she heard him one day. His voice.” I felt the tears coming. I choked back on them, held them in. “She said she used to think she heard our voices.”

Abby reached out to me. “It’s okay, Tom.”

“I used to imagine her screaming. Calling my name in the park. I should have been there. I should have stopped it.”

“It’s not your fault, Tom.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. “I thought you thought it was.”

“It’s not anybody’s fault.” She took my hand and squeezed it in hers. “She’s home, Tom. She’s here. And they know who did this, and they’re going to arrest him. We can move on. What matters is where we are now.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” My hand slipped out of hers. “I’m going to see what Liann wants.”

“And we need to get her back into normal life soon. School, church, friends. It’s time.”

“Once Colter’s taken care of,” I said and continued on down the steps.

Liann sat at the dining room table, a cell phone to her ear. When I came in the room, she folded the phone shut and slid it into her purse.

“You look like shit,” she said.

“Thanks.”

I wanted coffee, so I went to the kitchen and poured a cup. When I sat down, Liann cleared her throat.

“The atmosphere seems a little charged in this household.”

“You haven’t heard?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been distracted by other things.”

I told her about Buster and his connection to Colter. Liann listened, her face cool and dispassionate. When I was finished, I asked her what she thought of it all.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” she said.

“He’s my brother. .” I didn’t know what else to say.

“They’ve been looking at him hard from the very beginning,” she said. “I can assure you of that. They always look hard at the family. And as you and I both know. .”

“Family members are likely to be involved.”

“Amen,” she said. “It’s the gospel truth ninety-eight percent of the time.”

“But this time? Buster? He loves Caitlin. He’s crazy about her. Always has been. I’ve had my doubts about it, their closeness. But I think he just loves her.”

“Love’s got nothing to do with it. If he’s mixed up with the wrong crowd, it’s his butt that’s on the line. If he tells the wrong guy the wrong thing.”

The coffee tasted burnt and bitter. It needed cream and sugar. I almost pushed the mug away.

“Have you talked to him?” Liann asked.

I looked toward the stairs. No sign nor sound of Abby. “You’re my lawyer, right?” I asked.

“Sure.”

I spoke in a low voice. “I saw him last night. In the cemetery across the street.”

Liann’s body stiffened. Her shoulders went up, then settled back down. “What was he doing there?”

“He was coming to talk to me, I guess. At the house. It was the middle of the night. .” I couldn’t tell her about the girl, Jasmine. Not yet.

“And you’re not telling the police about this?”

I shook my head. “I can’t turn him in.”

“After what he did?”

“Allegedly. You always say not to trust the police. And you don’t understand, Liann-my relationship with him is complicated. This goes all the way back to our childhoods.”

“They could nail you for obstruction,” she said. “You know something, and you’re not sharing it with the police.”

“It’s my fault. He wanted to borrow money from us. I didn’t give him the full amount, so he owed these guys something. This could have been stopped. .”

She leaned in close to me and placed her hand on top of my forearm. “What are you planning on doing, Tom? What’s going on?”

I worked my arm loose and choked down more coffee. “Nothing. I just want to see the guilty party behind bars.”

She placed her hand on my arm again, forcefully enough that the coffee mug shook and liquid sloshed over onto the table.

“Hey.”

“I can’t protect you from everything, Tom,” she said, her teeth gritted. “I know what your motivations are.”

“You do?”

“You want to know what happened out there, during those four years she was gone. You’re less concerned with justice.”

“I’m not as noble as you, I guess.”

“You think you want to know these things. But do you? Really? Do you want to stick your nose in all that darkness? Will it make you feel better to know that whatever you imagined isn’t as bad as what really happened? Because I don’t think you can-even on your worst day-imagine what really went on in that house.”

I didn’t look at her. I traced my finger through the spilled coffee, smearing it around on the tabletop. She stood up.

“Are you even going to ask me why I came here today?” she asked.

Once we’d started talking, I’d forgotten. “Why are you here?” I asked.

“They found a body floating in a pond over in Mayfair County. No ID on it yet, but they think it might be Tracy Fairlawn.”

She didn’t say anything else. She let the news sink in. I felt sick. Hollowed out. A bitter taste filled my mouth, but not from the coffee.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I don’t need to wait for the official ID. I know it’s her. Girls like her often end up floating in ponds like that. Or hidden in the woods. Or thrown in a ditch. It’s the lucky few who don’t.”

Like Caitlin, she meant. The lucky one.

“I’m going to go sit with her mother,” she said. “Call me if anything else changes. Like your mind.”

She left me there, still smearing the coffee around like a troubled, distracted child.

Chapter Fifty

I was still at the table when Abby came down. I refilled my mug, stared at the dark liquid, and thought of Tracy’s body facedown in the cold water of some country pond.

“What did Liann want?” Abby asked.

As I told her, Abby slid into a chair, her body seeming to lose weight and almost crumple. She raised her hand to her chest, her eyes unfocused.

“He killed her,” she said. “They’ll arrest him for that, too.”

“Maybe. How do we know they can prove it? A girl like Tracy, someone with those kinds of problems.”

I could hear Liann’s voice in my head: Criminalization of the victim. I used to judge and blame parents with wild, uncontrollable children. Now I lived with a child I couldn’t control. Who was to blame?

Colter.

“I was going to go to church,” she said. “Maybe I shouldn’t. .”

“You can go. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” She waited for more of a response. I didn’t offer one. Our marital standoffs could be like this. Abby probing, pushing; me resisting. Caitlin came by it honestly, the ability to wall out even those who could most do well by her. “Tom, I’m scared. He’s out there. He’s free. And he killed another girl. What are we doing here?”

“Waiting, I guess.”

“What if he wants to hurt Caitlin? What if he comes here. .?”

I shook my head. “He won’t hurt her,” I said.

“How do you know that?”

“He thinks he loves her. And she thinks she loves him.”

I felt her gaze. She studied me. “How do you know that, Tom? Do you know something I don’t know?”

I waited. I shook my head again. “I think you should go to church today, if you want. I’ll stay here with her.”

“I can take her with me-”

“No. I want Caitlin to stay here. With me.”

She studied me more; then she nodded. “Okay. If you change your mind, let me know. I can come right home.” She squeezed my hand when she stood up.

When she’d said her good-byes and left the house, I went to the foot of the stairs and called Caitlin.

We sat across from each other at the dining room table. My chest felt buoyant, like the ballast tank on a submarine.

Caitlin didn’t look at me. She held her right hand near her mouth, her teeth working on a piece of loose skin around her thumb. I didn’t bother to tell her to stop. She’d never stop the chewing, the cursing, the poor hygiene habits. All the things we could have helped, the disciplinary battles we could have fought, were lost. What was left?

“What do you want to know?” Caitlin asked. A large glass of water sat in front of her, and she took a drink.

“I want to know what happened in the park that day. I want to know how he got you to go with him.”

Her brow wrinkled as though she were thinking hard. Four years. I’d assumed the facts would be right at her command.

“I was walking Frosty,” she said. “He wasn’t very good on a leash, you know. He used to tug and strain and make that weird hacking noise because the collar choked him. You know what I’m talking about?”

I did.

“Really, I was too small to be walking him. He wasn’t trained well enough. So he was pulling me along and pulling me along, and I was holding on as best I could, but the leash started digging into my hands, deep into my hands. My fingers were all smashed together, the knuckles rubbed against one another. It hurt, really hurt. I tried to shift the leash from one hand to the other so it wouldn’t hurt so much, but when I tried, Frosty took off. He just bolted through the park, toward the cemetery. He was gone, just gone.” She gave a pained, almost wistful smile at the memory. “Anyway,” she said, “I freaked out. I was scared. If something happened to him, I knew I’d be in trouble, and I knew you’d never let me walk him in the park again.”

“That would have been your mom’s reaction,” I said.

“Whatever. I ran after him as fast as I could, but by the time I got to the cemetery, he was gone. I couldn’t see him anywhere. I looked around. I called his name. Nothing. He was gone. I started to cry. I didn’t like to cry-I thought I was too old for that, but I couldn’t help it. I felt the tears burning my eyes, and I knew I was losing it.”

She stopped. I wished I could get a tape recorder, something to preserve her voice.

“I guess I was about to run home, to run back to you and Mom and tell you what happened, when a van pulled up beside me. A white van. The man rolled down his window and asked me what was wrong. I told him. He said if I wanted to hop in he’d drive me around a little and help me look for Frosty.” She took a drink of water, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. “I knew I wasn’t supposed to get in a car with someone I didn’t know. I knew all that. You and Mom taught me all of that.”

She didn’t go on, so I filled the gap. “Why did you get in with him?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then how. .?”

“I walked away. I turned around and started back for the house. And the guy in the van called after me-he kept saying he would help me. So I started to walk faster, and that’s when John came up beside me. He was walking his own dog, and he’d heard what the guy in the van said to me. He came up beside me and told me I should just ignore that guy, and if I wanted help finding my dog, he’d walk around with me, with his dog on the leash, and he said he bet we’d find him. ‘He couldn’t have gone far,’ he said. ‘Not with that leash around his neck.’ He seemed nice and safe, at least compared to the other guy. He seemed like a nerd, really.” She smiled. “So we started walking around the park with his dog, looking for Frosty. I don’t know what happened to the guy in the van. He drove off, I guess. Who knows what he wanted. I guess we’ll never find out. The world’s probably full of guys like that.”

She took another drink of water.

“So how did you end up going off with him?” I asked.

“We looked and looked for Frosty. We went around the walking track in the park and up and down the rows in the cemetery. I was still crying a little, and John tried to talk to me and make me feel better.”

John. She called him John.

“I started to realize it was getting late, that you and Mom were going to worry about me if I didn’t come home. I knew I’d have to go back and probably get in trouble over Frosty being gone. I told John I needed to go back to my parents. He offered me a ride in his car. He said he could drive me, and while we drove back we could look for Frosty some more. He said maybe Frosty just turned and headed for home, that dogs do that sometimes. They just follow their instincts.” She paused. “I didn’t know what to do. I was upset and scared, and John really did seem nice. He did.”

“We wouldn’t have been mad at you.”

“Mom would have. And you would have too. You always act like you don’t get angry about those things, but you do. Maybe you don’t even know you do it, but you get this look on your face. This disapproval. It’s there. I know it.” She looked at me, waiting for me to defend myself, I suppose. When I didn’t, she went on. “So I walked with him back to his car and got in. The car wasn’t anything special, just an old Toyota. And it didn’t feel that strange getting in and driving off.” She paused and held up her index finger. “Wait. It did feel strange. It felt different, I guess, and that’s really why I wanted to do it.”

“Different how?”

“Different like I wasn’t supposed to do it, but it still felt safe doing it. I felt a little excited, even though I was scared and worried about Frosty. It just seemed like the most unexpected thing I could do-get in a car with a strange man, even though he was just promising to help me look for my dog and take me home to my parents.”

“But you didn’t come home.”

“No.”

“Where did you go?” I asked.

“We went to his house.”

“How did that happen?”

“We looked for Frosty and drove back this way. We drove right past the house in fact.”

If only I’d been outside. If only I’d been watching for her.

If only.

“After we’d driven around looking for a while, he said I should go back to his house with him and clean my face off. He told me I didn’t want to see my parents that way, that if I cleaned up and looked grown up, it wouldn’t seem as bad as I thought it would be. I really think if I asked him, he would have just pulled into the driveway here and dropped me off. I don’t think he was intending to force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. I was in control of which way things went, and I liked that feeling. So I said to myself, ‘What the hell. Let’s see what else happens.’ And I told him I’d go back to his house with him.”

“You know you weren’t in control, right? You never were.”

But she had stopped. There was a finality to the way she broke off. She stood up and went to the sink for more water. She drank it down, then refilled and drank some more. She kept her back to me, acting as though I weren’t in the room.

“But you had seen him before? Colter? Right?”

She turned around. “Why do you say that?”

“In your coat, the coat you wore the day before you disappeared, there was a flower in the pocket. A red flower. It was right before Valentine’s Day, and you kept that flower in your pocket like someone gave it to you.”

She swallowed but didn’t answer.

“You know, it’s not going to matter now,” I said. “It’s not going to change anything. I just want to know-did he give you the flower?”

“Yeah, he did.” She drank from the glass. I didn’t say anything because I could tell there was more to say. “I saw him at the park. I talked to him a few times.”

“How many times?”

“I don’t know.”

“How many?” I said, tapping the table with my index finger.

She gave an exaggerated, exasperated shrug. “Five or six?”

“A strange man, a grown man, spoke to you in the park five or six times and you didn’t tell us?”

“Why should I have?”

“Because we are your parents. We are supposed to protect you from those things.”

“Well, you didn’t, did you? You didn’t.”

“Did he give you that necklace then? Before he took you?”

“No,” she said. She fingered the necklace. “He gave this to me one year later. It’s a token of what we mean to each other. As long as I wear it-”

“No, no,” I said. “If you’d told us when you saw him in the park-” I stopped. My anger and my voice rose. If, if, if. . If I’d seen them drive by the house. If I hadn’t let her walk the dog. If I hadn’t allowed us to live with such an undisciplined pet. If, if, if. . “What made you stay?” I asked. “Why, after all that, did you stay? People saw you with him in public places. You could have screamed and cried. You could have run away. Why did you stay with him? Why did you do that. .?” I resisted for a long moment. I tried to swallow it back, but finally I couldn’t hold it in. “Why did you do that to me, Caitlin? Why?”

She shook her head. “To you?”

“Yes. Why?”

She looked at the glass and set it aside. “No,” she said.

“No? What do you mean?”

“No, I’m not telling you anything else until you take me to see John.” She pursed her lips and set her jaw. “I just gave you a down payment. I gave you something.”

“You just started. That’s only the beginning.”

“What else do you want to know?” she asked. “Do you want to know everything? Every detail?”

“Tell me that he made you stay,” I said.

“Take me to him. Or just stand aside and I’ll go there myself.”

“But he did make you stay, right?” I asked. “He held you there. He forced you.”

“I can’t tell you something that isn’t true.”

I pounded my fist against the table, rattling my mug.

“He made you stay. I know it. You wouldn’t have imagined our voices if you didn’t want to leave. Right, Caitlin? You wouldn’t have imagined you heard us, would you?”

“What makes you think I imagined them?”

“Because I didn’t know where you were. None of us did.”

“I don’t know that. I don’t.”

I stood up, almost knocking the chair over. I shoved it out of the way and moved toward her. “No, honey, that would never happen. Never, ever. Never.”

She cringed. Her body locked when I approached, and she took two steps back. She held her hands out in front of me as though she wanted to shove me away. “Just take me to him,” she said. “We made a deal. Take me to John if you want to know anything else from me.”

She left the room before I could say anything.

Chapter Fifty-one

I pulled the phone book out and looked up the number. It took two tries for me to find the right one. An older woman answered, and I asked for John. A long pause followed, a staticky stretch of dead air. “Why can’t you all leave him alone?” his mother asked.

“I’m not a reporter,” I said. Another long pause. “I’m the man who was at your house last night talking to John.”

“Oh, I see.” She sniffed. “Are you really that girl’s father?”

“I am.”

“Well. . Johnny. . he’s always loved children. I mean. . he wouldn’t really hurt anybody. He wouldn’t. Not intentionally. Now did you ever think these girls-they ask for it, don’t they? They wear certain clothes. Even the young ones. .”

“Just put him on.”

She breathed a deep sigh into the phone, then the receiver clunked against either the counter or the floor. “Johnny?”

Someone picked up the phone; then I heard voices arguing. I couldn’t make it all out, but Colter’s mother said, “I can’t have you in trouble again. My house, Johnny.”

“Get out of here,” he said. He must have waited while she left the room, because it took a few more moments for him to come on the line and speak to me. “Mr. Stuart?”

His voice caused a shiver of revulsion to pass through my body.

“It’s me,” I said.

“I’m glad you called. I knew you would, though.”

The phone felt warm against my ear. “You’re awfully confident.”

“Don’t we both have things the other wants? Don’t we have a. . what you might call a symbiotic relationship?”

“Symbiotic?”

“It means that we mutually benefit.”

“I know what it means.”

“Hell, we’re practically family. So what’s your answer?”

“I spoke to Caitlin today.” I swallowed hard. “She’s game, and I am too. So. .”

“You’re agreeing to bring her to me?”

I hesitated. I wanted to know. I simply wanted to know. “Yes,” I said.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.” What he meant was: Now we’re in business. I heard a door close on his end of the line, and he must have moved into another room or outside the house for privacy’s sake. When the movement stopped, he said, “Okay, how are we going to do this?”

“Start talking.”

“I got a call from my lawyer this morning. Apparently, they have a new witness and new information about the case. He told me to expect an arrest and a new indictment any day now. For all I know, they’ll be showing up today to put me in chains. What I’m saying is, if we’re going to do this, we don’t have much time to make it happen.”

“Maybe I should just let it all go then. You can go on to jail, and Caitlin would never have to face you in court.”

“I told you-I’m leaving no matter what. And if you don’t ante up, you’ll never know what you want to know.”

“I know some things. Caitlin told me a few of them just today. Hell, maybe I know enough already.”

I walked through the house to the living room and stopped, staring out at the front yard. The trees were almost bare, the leaves carpeting the ground or else piled at the curb by my industrious neighbors. The clouds hung low, seemingly just above the treetops. They were as gray as cold ashes.

Colter hesitated. “What could she have told you?” he asked.

“She told me plenty. How you got her in the car, looking for the dog. She told me how you got her back to the house. Your dumpy little house.” As I talked and looked into the yard, I pictured that day. The car circling the park, then leaving with Caitlin inside. I pictured it driving right past our house, Caitlin in the front seat perhaps, staring out the window as she went by here for the last time. “I can go to the police with that, tell them what Caitlin told me. I can add to what they already have.”

“Hearsay.”

“How did you get her to stay in your house?” I asked. “How did you keep her there?”

He ignored my questions. “No one will believe you. After you told the cops about seeing ghosts and all that bullshit, you have no credibility.”

“The parent of a crime victim always has credibility. Now tell me-how did you keep her there in your house?”

“I want to see her before I tell you anything. That was the deal I offered.”

I turned away from the window. “If you want to see her, you have to give me something. You have to tell me some facts.”

“Why should I deal with you?” He lowered his voice, added a hint of menace to it. “You want this more than I do. You’re obsessed with knowing. I can hear it. You know, Caitlin told me some things about you. She told me about your stepdaddy. How he didn’t love you. How he used to come in your room and scare you, like you were a little baby.”

“Caitlin didn’t know that.”

“Somebody told her about it. Somebody in your family.”

“Do you know my brother?” I asked. “You saw him at your house. Do you know him?”

“That’s the angle the cops are working, right? That your brother put me onto Caitlin’s trail?”

“Do you know him?”

“Let’s just say I’ve crossed paths with a lot of people in my time. It’s possible your brother was one of them.”

“Caitlin says she heard his voice there, in your house.”

“He might have been there. Like I said, I can’t keep track of everything that happened in four years. And someone in Caitlin’s situation-living in a strange house, away from everything that used to be familiar-she might imagine some things. It might even be that a guy like me might help her along in that direction.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did she say she thought she heard your voice?” he said, his voice almost jovial.

“She did.”

“It’s not hard to convince a confused kid that certain things might be true. Like her parents don’t want her back. That they came to the house and said it was okay if she stayed with me. Forever.”

My throat burned. “No. No, you didn’t.”

“How are we going to make this trade?”

“Is that how you kept her there? You filled her head with lies? Tell me if you want to see her. Did you lock her up? Did you force her?”

He let out a low chuckle. “You wish I did lock her up, don’t you? That’s what you want me to say, isn’t it?”

“I want you to tell me what happened. What really happened.”

“And then?”

“And then we’ll make the switch.”

I heard his breathing through the line. My heart rate slowed. I sat on the couch, letting myself sink deep into the cushions.

“I didn’t really have to lock her up,” he said. “Not really.”

“What does that mean?”

“She stayed at first because. . I don’t know. . I think she thought it was a game. Something different. Something new. Do you remember what it was like to be a kid? Everybody telling you what to do. Your life is never your own. You’re always under somebody’s thumb. Hell, I’m living with my mom now. It doesn’t change.”

“You said, ‘Not really.’ You didn’t really have to lock her up. But that implies you did something to keep her there. What was it?”

“Okay, okay. I guess she. . got nervous. . at the end of the first day, and she started asking if she could go back. Back to your house. Look, I knew at that point I was in trouble, you know? A guy like me can’t just keep a twelve-year-old girl at his house all day and not expect repercussions. I knew the cops would be coming down on me. I know how trouble falls in these situations, and who it falls on. And the cops never understand a deal like this. They don’t see that two people like me and Caitlin can have something special. They want to call it a crime, make an issue out of it. It’s not really that complicated when you get right down to it. It’s love.”

“What did you do?”

“What could I do?” He sounded truly perplexed. “I tried to talk to her, you know, reason with her. She seemed like a smart kid. I just asked her to stay. I told her that she could go home whenever she wanted the next day, but at that moment she needed to stay at my house. I even offered to help her look for the dog again in the morning before I took her back home. She didn’t say anything for a long time. She looked blank. You know, she does that sometimes, just gives that blank look so that you’re not even certain if she’s heard you or not. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

I reluctantly agreed. “I’m familiar with the look.”

“So she did that, just that blank look for a long time-minutes. I swear she could totally wear me down just by doing that. But eventually she said, ‘I prefer not to.’ It was so long, I didn’t know what she was saying no to. Was she saying she preferred to stay with me, or was she saying she preferred to go home? So I asked her, and she said she preferred not to stay with me, that she preferred to go home. What am I supposed to do then, right? Like I said, I’m in too deep as it is. So I did the only thing I could do.”

My throat felt raw, scratchy. “What was that?”

“I locked her in my basement. I took her by the arm-not too rough, because she really didn’t resist or fight against me-but I took her by the arm and I led her to the basement door. I got her down the stairs. I put her in the room, and I told her there was no way out and no way anyone could hear her if she yelled and screamed.”

“And you knew that because you’d done it before?”

“There were other relationships, yes.”

“Tracy Fairlawn? You know what happened to her, right?”

“My lawyer may have mentioned something about that, but she was a girl with a lot of problems.”

“Like the child she leaves behind. Your child.”

He laughed again, a low huffing sound. “You know, it seemed like-To be perfectly honest, it seemed like running into Caitlin in the park that day, with her dog lost and me right there, it seemed like destiny of some kind. Like we were meant to meet on that day and end up together.” Colter laughed some more. “Hell, for all I know, you’re taping this conversation, hoping to use it against me sometime. Is that what you’re doing? Taping this? Look, you can’t put a label on destiny. You can’t explain it all away or call it names. However it happened, even if there was a little resistance at first, it was meant to be. It’s that simple, isn’t it? And if you just let me see her again, let me see the girl, you can know it all. For real. And she can be happy again. Let me guess what’s going on over there-she’s barely speaking to you. She’s moping around, doing that stone-faced routine. I knew she’d be doing that. It’s classic Caitlin behavior.”

“Don’t. Don’t act like you know her better than me.”

“I do. I’ve spent the last four years with her. Where can we meet?” he asked. “We can all have what we want. Where can we meet?”

“Why did you let her go?” I asked. “If you were so happy, why did you make her leave? And why did you burn your house down after she was gone? What were you hiding?”

“You can’t come here because of my mother. And who knows, the cops may be watching me. But I can get out for a little while. Later in the day. Where can I meet you both? You and Caitlin?”

I felt like he’d tied me to a leash and was walking me around the block. He was right. I wanted to know too much. And I needed to dial back, to pull away. I felt like a man tottering on a ledge. I could only windmill my arms for so long before I fell.

“Can I come to your house?” he asked.

“No. My wife. .” I hesitated again. “I think it would be best if we just-”

“Where then?” Colter asked, pushing.

I held the phone tight, felt the pressure in my knuckles. You just want to know, I told myself. You just want to know. You don’t have to give her away, but you do have to find out.

The meeting spot was so obvious, I shouldn’t have even needed to say it out loud.

“Why don’t we go back to the beginning,” I said. “I’ll meet you in the park, on the cemetery side.”

“When?”

“How soon can you be there?” I asked.

He paused, no doubt calculating in his head.

“An hour after sunset,” he said. “I have things to get together, and the park will be quiet and empty by then.”

“An hour after sunset.”

“And you’ll have Caitlin with you?”

“It doesn’t look like I have much choice, does it?”

Chapter Fifty-two

I went up the stairs. Caitlin had left the bedroom door open.

She was sitting on the floor again, staring into space.

“Let me ask you something,” I said from the doorway.

“What?”

“Did you really believe your mom and I wouldn’t look for you or want you back?”

She nodded, but her face was lacking some of its defiance, its certainty.

I pushed. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“And how long-?”

I stopped myself. I’d wanted to ask her: How long would it be before that feeling of rejection and abandonment went away? But I already knew the answer: Never. It simply never would. We all would be living with it forever. And I was willing to accept that burden, to share it with my daughter, if only I knew what had really happened.

“You might want to pack a small bag,” I said. “We’re going to meet John Colter tonight. And we need to leave before your mom gets home.”

Caitlin didn’t move. Her eyes were narrowed, her face suspicious.

“Well?” I asked. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

My words released her from whatever spell she’d been under. She jumped to her feet, and I left the room, leaving her to her packing.

My phone rang while I was waiting for Caitlin. It was Abby. I let it go to voice mail.

“Caitlin, hurry up!”

In a few minutes, Caitlin came down the stairs carrying a plastic grocery bag full of clothes. She wore the same jeans and sweatshirt combination she’d been wearing since she’d arrived, but something was different about her face. She was wearing makeup-presumably some of Abby’s-and her hair appeared to have been brushed and styled, despite its short length.

“We’ve got to go,” I said. The phone rang again as we went out to the car.

“I wish there was time to take a shower,” she said. “Is there?”

“No. I don’t want to stay here any longer.”

We got into the car and Caitlin threw her bag of clothes onto the floor. I backed down the driveway. Quickly-too quickly. The car veered off into the grass. I stopped, pulled forward and corrected, then backed out again. We made it into the street, and as I swung the wheel around to go forward, another car approached.

“It’s your mom.”

“So?”

“She knows something, that something’s going on.”

Abby pulled alongside. She waved her arms back and forth, almost frantic.

I inched forward.

Abby threw open her door and stepped out into the street. “Tom! Stop!”

I rolled down the window a little. “We’re just going out. It’s okay.”

“Buster called,” she said. “He told me what you’re doing.” She reached for my door handle and started tugging. “He acts more concerned for your daughter than you do.”

“Let go, Abby. Let go.”

She banged on the window twice, then reached for the rear door. I didn’t give her a chance to get to it. I hit the gas and pulled away. I looked back only once. She stood in the middle of our street, her hands raised to her head. I looked over at Caitlin, whose eyes were straight ahead, looking toward what was to come.

There were a few hours to pass before the sun went down. We drove around aimlessly for a while, crisscrossing town, passing through the campus and then out by the mall and the strip of chain restaurants. While we moved, I thought about what Abby had said at the house. Buster called. He told me what you’re doing. Would she call Ryan and tell him?

Without a doubt.

“Where are we going?” Caitlin asked.

“It’s too early. We need to pass some time.”

“Where are we going to do that?”

I cut through the center of town, dangerously close to the police station. I didn’t say anything, but I looked over at Caitlin as we approached. Her eyes widened a little. She understood.

“The dog pound?”

“Remember when we used to go there?”

She nodded.

I parked in the back so the car would be out of sight of the street.

We didn’t get out right away.

“What?” Caitlin asked.

“You know, I tried to get Frosty back after I brought him here. Your uncle Buster drove me here one day.”

“What happened?”

“He was gone. Somebody had already adopted him. I tried to get their name so I could go get him. I would have paid them for him, but the shelter doesn’t give out that information.”

“Oh.”

“It’s probably someone in town who has him,” I said, trying to be reassuring. “Somebody who likes dogs.”

“I don’t want to talk about Frosty anymore.”

“Do you want to go in?” I asked. “They might let us walk one.”

She nodded.

“Did you-? You said Colter was walking a dog when he picked you up at the park that day. So you had a dog where you were?”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t his,” she said. “It was his mom’s. And they put it to sleep after a couple of years. It was old.”

“He started the whole thing with a lie,” I said. “You see what he-”

“Dad,” she said. She sounded tired. And maybe she was-of me, no doubt. “What does any of it matter now? You know?”

I didn’t say so, but silently I agreed. We got out of the car and went inside.

Caitlin found a midsized mutt, something that looked like a cross between a collie and a poodle, and after getting a few minutes of instruction from a volunteer, we took it for a walk. For a shelter animal, the dog did surprisingly well on a leash. It must have lived in a home where it had received some training at one time. It didn’t resist the leash or work against it. Rather, it accepted the tie and walked by Caitlin’s side.

While Caitlin talked to the dog, I looked over my shoulder, expecting at any moment to be surrounded by police cars. After about twenty minutes of strolling, we brought the dog back to the shelter. The volunteer smiled at us.

“Well, this looks like a perfect fit,” she said. “Will we be making an adoption today?”

I looked at Caitlin expectantly. I would have given her whatever she wanted.

But she shook her head. “No, thanks,” she said. “I’m just about to move.”

Chapter Fifty-three

We made one more stop before driving to the cemetery. The sun had slipped away, a red band of sky spreading just above the treetops. The air was considerably cooler, and the wind increased. Huge flocks of black birds moved across the sky, migrating.

I drove behind the grocery store to an area near its loading dock. No one was back there after hours, and when I dropped the car into park, Caitlin looked over at me.

“Why are we here?”

“I need to ask you something. I’ll only ask one more time. Are you sure you want to do this?”

She didn’t blink or hesitate. “I’m sure.”

“Nothing will be the same if we go there and do this,” I said.

“I know. That’s what I want,” she said. And then, after a pause, she added, “Is anything the same anyway?”

“No,” I said. “But sometimes there are chances to turn back and sometimes there aren’t. I think we’re at a point where it’s going to be hard to turn back.”

She took a deep breath. It almost looked like she shuddered.

“I’m ready,” she said.

I’d been thinking about the setup of the event all morning, the logistical aspects of making what was supposed to be a trade. All I had to do was bring Caitlin to Colter, let them see each other, and I would be able to extract the information I wanted. The difficult part would be pulling back at the right moment, making sure Caitlin left with me and not with him.

“I want you to get in the backseat,” I said.

“Why?”

“How do I know you won’t just run when you see him?” I asked. “If you’re in the back, I can have some measure of-”

“Control?” she said.

“Certainty,” I said. “Certainty that you won’t just run.”

“I won’t run away. I promise. Do you believe me? I won’t run away. I’ll do what you want.”

And I did believe her. Her eyes were clear, her voice level.

“Okay,” I said. “But I do want you to get in the backseat. And stay down.”

She didn’t argue further, and she didn’t even bother to get out of the car. Like a little kid, she wormed her body over the front seat and into the back. She landed with a light thud.

“Okay?” she said. “Happy?”

I made sure the child locks were activated.

I knew Caitlin was behind me. I sensed her. But I felt alone in the dark. Very alone. The wind picked up again, scuffling leaves across the parking lot, and I shivered.

No turning back.

I drove to the cemetery.

Chapter Fifty-four

I thought of the first time I ever drove Caitlin, when she was a newborn and we brought her home from the hospital. I drove slower than slow, sensing disaster at every stoplight, in every other car on the road. New-parent syndrome. I outgrew it, let go of the fears and anxieties, let her grow up, fall down, and make her own mistakes.

At some point, she’d have to be let go again. But not then, not yet.

I reached the narrow road that divided the cemetery from the park and turned. The park was closing. The tennis courts and ball fields were empty and dark, and any day now the grounds crews and workers would begin preparing them for winter, rolling up the nets, covering the dirt infield. I flashed back to that day months ago, back when I walked Frosty here while the weather was still warm and Caitlin was gone, her memory preserved by the headstone in the ground. And I thought of Jasmine, the girl who’d looked so much like Caitlin at the time. The one who was Caitlin, as far as I was concerned. She seemed so much younger than the girl in the back of my car. Younger and more carefree, an innocent who could still run and laugh and move with the buoyant happiness of a spirit. Where was that girl tonight?

To my left, the cemetery sat in darkness. I could see the outlines of the heavy monuments and stones, the vigilant angels on top of markers and mausoleums who stood watch through the night, indifferent to the cold and the human drama in my car. As I moved farther down the road, my eyes adjusted to the light and I was able to make out the shape of a car sitting at the back corner of the park. It didn’t have its lights on, and in the darkness I couldn’t yet see if there was a person inside. It could have been Colter, but just as likely it could have been groping, fumbling teenagers, steaming the windows while their clueless parents ate dinner and watched the news. I pulled behind it, my headlights illuminating its rear and the license plate. It appeared to be empty.

The car looked enormous and old. It was an elderly person’s car, an Oldsmobile 88 or something like that, the kind of thing an elderly lady would keep in her garage and drive on special occasions.

“It’s him,” Caitlin whispered. “John.”

“You’re staying in the car, remember?” I said. “Just wait a little while longer. For me.”

She didn’t answer, nor did she move.

I stepped out onto the road and gently closed my door. I looked around, scanning the landscape for a figure. A late, straggling jogger went by on the track, huffing in the dark. The band of red in the sky was almost gone above the trees, and a sliver of moon rose to the east.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but in the distance, off in the direction of Caitlin’s “grave,” I saw someone. I knew it was Colter before I went over. His thick, squat body and large head made a distinctive shape in the twilight. He stood at the grave with his head bowed, an almost reverent pose, and his hands were folded in front of him. Even though it took me a full minute to walk over to him, my shoes crunching through the leaves, he didn’t look up as I approached. But he did speak.

“You were right to do this,” he said, still staring at the ground.

“You mean to come here tonight?”

“That too.” He looked up and gestured toward the stone. It was still there, tipped over and flat on the ground. “But I meant this. The stone. You were right to do this. To bury the past. This girl doesn’t exist anymore. She really is gone. She disappeared that day I picked her up.”

“You destroyed her.”

“No, no. I released her. I freed her from the chains you had put on her-we all had put on her, in this society we live in. It restricts, it binds. I gave Caitlin freedom.”

“By raping her? By locking her in a basement?”

Colter turned toward me, raising his index finger. “No, no. Never that. Never.”

“How did it happen then? How did you have sex with her?”

“What makes you think I did?”

“She’s not a virgin. The doctor checked her out when she came back. She was a virgin when she left our house that day.”

“Was she?”

My fists clenched. I wanted to strike out.

“Don’t say those things,” I said.

“But really-do you know that? Do you?”

“I know my daughter.”

“You thought you did. You thought she wouldn’t leave. You thought she wouldn’t get in the car with a strange man. You thought a lot of things. Wrong things. Why did your brother come looking for her?”

A light mist started to fall, speckling against my face. Caitlin said she thought she’d heard Buster’s voice in the house. Buster knew Brooks, who knew Colter. .

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“Your brother, William. I know that was him at my mom’s house, hiding in the dark, right?”

I didn’t answer, so Colter went on.

“He came to my house once. He said he knew I liked little girls, and his niece was missing. He’d heard rumors, talk from the lowlifes I associated with. So he showed up on his white horse, Sir Galahad style. He was going to get the girl back, be a hero and save the day.”

“What happened?”

“I told him if he hassled me again, I’d call the police, tell them what I knew about him. Hell, I’d make stuff up if I had to. Or maybe I’d just tell Brooks to call in the debt.” He shrugged, casual as the falling rain. “Now why did he show up at my door and you didn’t? Why the special interest from the uncle and not from the father?”

“We looked. We looked and looked. We never gave up.”

He raised the finger again. “I’m sure you did. But I made sure Caitlin heard my chat with William. I made sure she knew only her uncle came to the house to find her. As far as she was concerned, her parents had given her up for dead. She felt rejected by you. When I told her you weren’t looking for her anymore, she felt like she didn’t have a family. I became her family. Hell, I became her everything. Rejection is a powerful motivator, as I’m sure you know.”

My hands were still in fists and my anger swelled. But I didn’t know where to direct it. This man before me? Brooks? Buster?

For his part, Colter didn’t seem to care. He craned his neck, looking behind me.

“Where’s the girl? Did you bring her? We had a deal.”

“She’s in the car.”

“And she didn’t run out here?” Colter lowered his eyes to mine. “Did you lock her in there? You see, that’s the problem. You’re holding her back from what she wants.”

“Where would you go with her?” I asked. “What do you think is going to happen here?”

But Colter didn’t answer. Once again, his eyes looked behind me, back toward the road and the car where Caitlin was waiting.

I turned, expecting to see Caitlin coming, but then I saw what Colter saw.

Headlights, coming down the road. Another car approaching mine.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“They’re probably just turning around,” I said. But the car stopped right behind mine.

“Is that a cop? Did you screw me?” He started moving back into the dark.

Someone climbed out of the car and looked toward us. I recognized the figure before he said anything. I had run into him out in the cemetery before.

“It’s my brother,” I said. “It’s Buster.”

Chapter Fifty-five

I walked over to the cars and approached Buster, leaving Colter behind in the dark. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Looking for you. I drove all over town looking. I figured you might end up here eventually.”

“You’re not needed-or wanted. Leave me alone.”

“Where is she? Where’s Caitlin?” He looked into the car, squinting in the dark. “Tom? What did you do? Did you hand her off to him already?”

“She’s in there, okay?”

Caitlin must have heard our voices. She leaned closer to the glass, allowing us to see her. But she didn’t make a move to come out.

Buster looked horrified. “Tom, just get in the car and take her home.”

“She’s my leverage. She’s safe in the car because I can’t have her running off before I get what I need.”

“That’s cold, Tom. Cold. Jesus-referring to your daughter as leverage.”

“Did you call the police like you called Abby?”

“We’re family, Tom. All of us. We protect each other. I did what I thought was right.”

“Family. Why did you do it, Buster? Why? You gave her away, like a piece of meat. Why? You went to that house. She was there. She heard your voice.”

He made a hurried shushing gesture by bringing his finger to his lips. He pointed at the car.

“I don’t care,” I said.

“Come on,” he said. “Over here.”

“No.”

“I want to explain.”

We stepped away from the cars, far enough so Caitlin couldn’t hear us.

“What did the police tell you?” Buster asked.

“Enough. That you owed a guy money for drugs. And he knew Colter. So-”

“I didn’t give Caitlin to anyone. I couldn’t. But I did. . I was messed up. You remember. I owed him money.”

“Colter?”

“Brooks. He was all over me. I was scared. I thought I might just leave town, never come back.”

“You should have.”

He looked hurt, but he went on. “I talked about Caitlin. I talked about her all the time. She’s my niece. You have to understand-I felt like she was more than that. Like she was mine. My kid.” He threw his hands up a little. A hopeless shrug. “I’m never going to have any of my own. You can feel that way about a niece or nephew. Even if they’re not your own, you can feel like they belong to you in some way. There’s a bond there that goes beyond blood or family or who gave birth to who. Right?”

“I’ll have to take your word for that one.”

“Like me and you, Tom. Am I your brother or your half brother? Does it matter what it’s called? Look-okay, so you wanted me to admit that my old man used to get after us and beat us, and I wouldn’t before. I was a dick, I know. Well, I’ll admit it now, right here. He used to beat us and terrorize us when he drank. And he used to come down on you most of all, probably because you weren’t really his kid. You see-I said it, Tom. I said it. You were right about my dad and all of that.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s the truth. But something else is the truth, too. I used to protect you, Tom. I used to put my body over yours. I tried to get in between you and him. I know you remember that, too. See, that’s what I’m talking about. There’s a bond there, one that can’t be broken by some circumstances.”

“Go on,” I said. “What about Colter and Brooks?”

“When she disappeared, I thought of those guys. Maybe I had talked about her too much around them.”

“So you knew Colter?”

“I knew of him at the time. He didn’t know me. I thought of going to the police, but what did I know? Really? That I knew a guy who might know a guy who might have taken my niece?”

“You tell them anything you know.”

“Like you told them about me after last night? I know they came to you asking about me. Did you cover for me? Did you protect me?”

“I shouldn’t have.”

“Did you tell them about the girl we saw here in the cemetery? That little girl.”

“Why didn’t you say anything about this?”

“I had a record. They busted me for being naked by a school. And the drugs. What were they going to do with me?” He shrugged again and walked in a small circle.

I looked over to the cemetery and saw Colter’s figure in the dark. Listening. Waiting.

Buster came back to me and stood even closer. “I decided to check it out myself. I asked Brooks about it, if he knew about Colter and the little girls. He said Colter was a creep and a pervert, but he didn’t think he had anyone in the house. He’d been in there a few times. He hadn’t seen anything, or so he said.”

“Caitlin says she heard your voice in Colter’s house.”

Buster shook his head. “No, no. Never. I didn’t know where he lived. Brooks put me off. He said he dealt with unpleasant people, but he didn’t know anything about Caitlin. Tom, if I had gone there, if I had been in that house, I would have turned it upside down. I wouldn’t have left without Caitlin. Never.”

His words rang true to me. Despite Colter’s story, I believed my brother. I believed him.

“Why didn’t you tell the police I’m meeting Colter here tonight? You could have stopped all of this.”

“The cops are looking for me now because of what Brooks’s girlfriend told them. I can’t make contact with them. They want to lock me up. And I wanted to come find you. And help you. After last night, with the fight and everything, I wanted to be the one to help you see this from a different angle. You’re not seeing it clearly yet, okay? But you still can. You can just get back in the car and drive her home. That’s all you have to do.”

“It’s that easy?”

“It really is.”

“What about the rest of our lives?”

“I don’t know. .”

“You see, something happened in that house, in that basement room. Something happened that transformed my daughter and transformed my life. I need to know what it was. If it was able to so profoundly, so completely turn me off the course of my life, I need to know about it. All about it.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because. . it’s gone. And you weren’t there. And whatever it is or was. . it’s not really relevant to your life now. It’s not going to change the past.”

“What will?” I asked.

And I meant it. What would wipe the past away, clean the slate?

Buster pointed to the car.

“You know what to do.”

I moved to the back of the car and took out my keys.

Chapter Fifty-six

Before I could reach the car, the driver’s door came open. Caitlin looked scared, disoriented, in the faint glow from the dome light. She must have slid back over the seat into the front and opened the lock. She came out into the night, looking back and forth between Buster and me.

“Where’s John?” she said. “Is he here?”

I nodded toward the cemetery. “He’s here,” I said, but I put my hand on Caitlin’s arm.

“Let me go.”

“We’re leaving, Caitlin.”

I held on to her and released the door locks with my fob. I maneuvered her toward the backseat of the car again.

“You promised,” she said.

I pulled the back door open and had her halfway in when Colter came running up.

“Hey!” he said.

“John! John!”

I kept my body between the two of them, felt myself wedged and pressed between their grasping forms. Caitlin cried out for him, a plaintive wailing, and I felt Colter’s hot breath on the back of my neck, smelled the onions he had eaten for his dinner.

Then the pressure against my back eased. Colter fell to the ground and Buster stood over him. Then Buster dropped to his knees by Colter’s side, his fist going up and down like a piston while Colter squirmed beneath the blows.

“Enough,” I said. “Enough.”

I let go of Caitlin long enough to grab Buster’s arm, to stop his pummeling of Colter. When I had him pulled back and under control, I looked down.

Colter was still there, his face bloodied. Caitlin slipped past me and went to the ground, cradling his face in her hands.

“Oh, John,” she said. “John, did he hurt you?”

But Colter didn’t take his eyes off mine. He even smiled a little, his teeth stained with blood.

“Satisfied?” he said. “Is it over now?”

Caitlin’s eyes were full of tears, and she sniffled in the dark, her hand now resting on Colter’s arm.

I bent down a little, wrapped my hand around her wrist, and pulled her up.

“She’s coming with me.”

Caitlin gasped a little, but she didn’t resist as much as I’d thought she would.

“We had a deal,” Colter said. “A fucking deal.”

I pulled Caitlin toward the car, not looking back. I knew Buster was behind me, watching the rear, not letting Colter up off the ground.

“Let me go!” she said, pulling against me. But I kept my grip-loose enough not to hurt, tight enough that she couldn’t get away. I never should have brought her, I thought. I never should have exposed her to Colter again. It was over. We were going home.

“No,” I said. “You’re coming with me.”

The wailing began again, but this time it was more distant, more sustained.

I looked out to the main road. The blue and red lights strobed, approached the cemetery, and turned in. I looked at Buster, and he shrugged.

“Abby?” I said. “She called them?”

He shrugged again.

Colter pushed himself to his feet. The police cars were coming toward us, blocking the way for our vehicles. There was only one way out, and he took it. He didn’t even look back. He turned and ran into the cemetery, into the darkness, past Caitlin’s headstone and into the darkening night.

“John!” she shouted.

Caitlin tugged against me, but I held on.

I wasn’t going to let go.