Frog

14. Frog Takes a Swim

Olivia doesn’t want to play on the beach anymore, wants to go into the water but not to swim. “Just a little more till I finish this paragraph,” “No,” “All right,” and puts down his book, walks her into a part of the lake where the sun is, lifts her under the arms and swings her above the water. “More, more, this is fun,” and he does it some more, then says he can’t, too tiring, let’s rest, stands her up. “Too cold,” she says. Holds her arms out. “Again.” “Give me a few seconds.” Looks out to the lake. Sailboat way off, or something with a sail. People jumping off the ledge into the water, but so far away that even from their shrieking he can’t tell if they’re kids or adults and which are male and which are female. Lily pads, closer, with flowers all over. Picks her up, swings her in a circle, her feet skimming the water, then her legs cutting through it. “Whee, this is great, better than swimming. Know what it reminds me of, Daddy?” and he indicates he doesn’t and she says “Twirling around and getting dizzy dancing,” and he does this till his arms ache, says “No more for now, I’m all hot from it, let me take a swim,” stands in place holding her till he doesn’t feel he’ll fall if he walks, walks to shore and sets her down. “How can we do this — for me to swim? I can’t just leave you.” “Yes you can. I’ll stay and play here.” “No, someone has to watch you,” while he’s drying her. “We’ll ask someone here to — would you mind that?” “Do I have to stay with that person?” “No. Just that if that person says come away from the edge of the water, for some reason — a leech, maybe, or motorboat being put in — well, you do that, but that person won’t have time to say much. I’ll only go out for thirty strokes, kick my feet a few times while I’m on my back out there and maybe dive down once, and then swim in, a little slower than when I swam out as I’ll probably do the breaststroke coming back, if that’s it — you know, where the arms sort of push the water underwater. Like this — how could I be unsure what it’s called?” and brings his arms to his chest, spreads them wide, brings them to his chest. “That’s a stroke, like the crawl’s a stroke,” and demonstrates that one, even the breathing. “I think you said the first one’s a breaststroke because it’s your breast you’re hitting.” “Right. So, which person looks good to look after you?” “Her. She asked me what I was building with my mud before, and she was nice.” Sitting by the beach, around twenty-five, noticed her when they walked down here and several times when he looked up from his book to see her reading hers, slim and nicely built from what he can see in the seated position she’s been in since they got here, doesn’t look like a local, magazine, travel and week-in-review sections of last Sunday’s Times held down by a hairbrush and sandals. “OK, let’s ask her.”

They go over. “Excuse me, but I’d like to — my name’s Howard Tetch and this—” “Oh sure — Olivia. We chatted before. She’s so pretty and well behaved, and sharp? — oh boy.” “She is, which’ll make what I want to say easier. I’d like to take a quick dip—” “Go ahead, 111 watch her.” “But a very quick one. Thirty strokes out, thirty back or so, maybe a little whale movement on my back out there, but that’s all. And she knows—” “Really, don’t worry. Even if she can’t swim or hold her breath underwater, she can go in up to her waist. I’ll be right here, and I’m a WSI.” I’m sorry, don’t know…” “Water safety instructor. I’ve two lifesaving badges, giving me the authority to save two adults of up to three hundred pounds total at one time.” “Well, couldn’t be better. OK, kid. Up to your knees, we’ll say, but no higher and not for long. I don’t want you catching a chill — getting one.” “Anyhow, I don’t want to go in again. I want to play here.” “Fine — By the way, your name’s what? — just in case I get a cramp out there and have to shout for help. Only kidding — but what?” “Lita Reinekin.” “Thanks, then, Mrs., Ms., Reinekin.” “Lita,” holding out her hand. “Lita,” shaking it. “OK, sweetie, Daddy’s going in. Be good. Do what—” “I will,” and she goes to her pail and things on the beach.

He throws the towel to their place on the grass, says to the woman “Think she needs her shirt? — nah, she’s OK,” walks in to the water, turns around. Olivia’s sitting in the muddy sand, her legs wrong, putting her two rubber adult figures into the pail. Woman’s a few feet from her, book closed on a finger holding the page, he presumes, looking at Olivia. He splashes water behind his knees and on the back of his neck. Why’s he doing that? He already adjusted to it when he was swinging her around. “Put your feet out, Olivia,” and without looking at him, she does. He walks out some more, dives in, swims. Counts ten strokes, turns around. She’s still playing on the beach. Should have told her to stay in the sun part of the beach, but he won’t be out long. Swims fifteen strokes, turns around. Can’t see her so well now. “Olivia … hi,” he yells. “Hi, Olivia.” She doesn’t respond. He waves — maybe she’s looking at him on the sly, which she does. The woman waves at him. Very nice, he thinks, she’s very nice. And good-looking, and that long and what’s probably a strong body. But WSI? Two people and three hundred pounds? How would she know what any two people weighed when they were drowning? People she didn’t know, in other words. If they weighed more than that and one or both of them drowned, would she be penalized in some way for having tried to save them? Maybe he’s missing the point. Ten more strokes, then thinks: give yourself ten more. Likes being this far out when nobody else is here. Ten more, looks around. People on the ledge seem to have left, sailboat’s not around anymore, no motorboats today either. Hates those things. If one came close and didn’t see him, what then? Yell, scream, wave frantically, then dive deep if it kept coming. When would he start diving? Depend how fast the boat was going, but something would tell him now. What an awful thought though, motorboat running smack into someone and maybe slicing off an arm or leg, and he shakes his head to get rid of it. Looks to shore. Can scarcely make out anything. The woman, he thinks, where she was sitting, and possibly that speck’s Olivia, but he’s kidding himself. Some other movement on the grassy slope above them, really just blurs, and what looks like a light-colored blanket by a tree, but can’t tell if anyone’s on it. So quiet out here. Nothing as peaceful anywhere. Maybe the top of a secluded mountain where one sees nothing but trees and other mountains, and on the same kind of day: mild temperature, light breeze, mostly clear sky. Should get back. But she’ll be OK. Gets on his back and looks at a bird, probably a hawk, circling way up in the sky. But time to get back. If she were calling him, would he even hear? And he’s much farther out than he usually goes. There’s always the chance of a sudden leg or stomach cramp, though he knows how to uncramp them. A motorboat could suddenly approach, even that sailboat, and his sense of timing in diving might not be as good as he thinks.

Starts back, using the crawl for about fifteen strokes, then the breaststroke for about ten. Can see the beach fairly well now. Woman sitting where she was. Light blanket, if there was one, seems to be gone. Doesn’t see Olivia or anybody else there. Some might have left, others gone into the woods, Olivia with them for some reason, picking berries, looking for exotic mushrooms or birds; to piss, even. Or she could be behind a tree or bush, playing hide-and-seek. Stares; doesn’t see her. Ten more crawl strokes, stops. Woman reading. Their towels and shirts. Olivia’s toys on the beach. If they’re playing hide-and-seek, why’s the woman reading? Pretending not to see her perhaps. “Hello … hello,” he yells, treading water. She looks up. “Where’s Olivia?” Stares at him; he can’t make out her expression. He swims hard the rest of the way, stands when he’s able to and yells while walking fast as he can through the water “Where’d Olivia go?” “What?” she says, cupping her ear. “Olivia — my daughter — where is she?” “Who?” “The girl I left with you. Is she in the woods? Or you let her go back to the car alone?” “I’m sorry, sir,” standing when he gets right up to her, “but I don’t know what you’re talking about. You didn’t leave anybody or anything with me. You were here by yourself before—” “By myself?” “Over there, and you went in the water—” “I went in only after you agreed to look after my girl. You said you were a WSI.” “A WSI?” “Look, what is this, a joke on me? You two — together — and she’s hiding somewhere?” “No, nothing.” “Then you want me to panic, I’m panicking. You’re nuts, fine, be nuts. But — oh, fuck you — Olivia,” he yells, listens. “Olivia, it’s Daddy. Come out from wherever you are, and now.” Listens, looks around, runs to the woods and yells “Olivia, do you hear me?” “If there was a girl—” the woman says. “There fucking was. And be quiet. I want to hear if she yells back.” Listens. “Olivia,” he yells. “If you’re hiding, come out. Daddy’s serious. Game’s over if you’re playing one. If the woman I left you with told you to play a game, she doesn’t want you to play it anymore either. Now come out this second.” Listens.

“Stay here,” he says. “If you see her, tell her to wait till I come out.” Runs to their spot, slips his sneakers on, runs into the woods shouting “Olivia, Olivia.” Comes on a path and runs along it shouting “Olivia, it’s me, Daddy, where are you?” Path ends and he runs back along it and out into the grass and says “You see her?” and she says “No, who?” and he says “Jesus, I’d like to bop you. What the hell’s wrong with you — don’t you understand anything?” She says “You’ve threatened me enough — I have to go,” and he says “Please, I’m sorry, stay while I look,” and runs into the woods at a clearing closer to the beach, trips, gets up, knee’s bleeding, says “Screw it, fuck it, oh shit, shit, shit,” runs to the end of the clearing, shouts “Olivia, Olivia, it’s Daddy, yell if you hear me; please, darling, yell,” listens, squeezes his hands hard as he can, digs all his nails into his face till he’s out of breath, runs into the woods a few feet, too thick, she’d never get through it and wouldn’t even try, runs through the clearing to the grass, woman’s putting her things in a canvas bag, he says “Don’t go, whatever you do — I need someone to stay while I look up the hill for her, all right?” and she says “Really, this is crazy,” and he says “Please, no more accusations from me, just give me a couple more minutes,” and she nods and mouths OK, he runs up the path to the parking area, stops several times to yell for Olivia and stare into the woods on both sides, gets to his car, nothing seems changed: windows down, things where he thinks they were, shouts “Olivia, you around here? Daddy’s very worried about you, so yell if you hear me,” listens, runs to the other car there which must be hers if she didn’t walk here from wherever she’s staying or park and take the woods’ path from the ledge parking area, windows up, driver’s door locked, pillow in back, New England road map and several spruce cones and a sand dollar on the dashboard, microbiology textbook and magic marker on the passenger seat, memorizes the Massachusetts license plate and car color and make, is about to run back when he thinks “Why not?” and puts his ear to the car trunk, knocks on it and says “Olivia, Olivia?” runs back, woman’s in shirt and shorts and is fitting her feet into sandals, place where she was sitting’s cleared, he yells from about twenty feet away “One more minute; just want to check the path to the ledge; I’ll run, so I’ll be right back,” she slumps her shoulders and an expression that says “Enough’s enough already, I have to go,” runs on the ledge path about a quarter-mile shouting for Olivia and looking into the woods, nobody’s at the ledge, towel draped over a tree branch but it’s dry and could have been there for days, runs to the parking area, no cars or people, shouts her name and runs back along the path.

“Please, I know I said no more accusations, but this is unbelievably crucial. I left my daughter with you — left her in your charge. I went for a swim.” “Yes, I saw you. You went quite a way’s out. I was even concerned for you somewhat.” “Now listen, stop that bullshit. Those are our towels over there — Olivia’s and mine. Two towels. I threw the second one over there right in front of you,” and runs to the towels and holds them up. “Towels, goddamnit, towels. And beach toys — hers,” and runs to the beach and holds up the pail and two shovels, pulls the two figures out of the pail and waves them in the air. “These are my daughter’s. Pail, toys, everything. Who else’s? Nobody else is here.” “Another child could have left—” “She was playing with them when I went in to swim. You were watching her, right from this spot here. She was still playing here when I last saw her from the water about forty strokes out. You had said she could even go into the water. That you were a — did she? Is that what happened? She’s in there, under there, and you don’t want to admit it? God no,” and he runs in, stops because he doesn’t want to churn up the water, walks around looking for her in it and then walks out a few feet, dives down, swims around underwater, when he comes up he looks back to see if the woman’s still there. “One-seven, forty-two, PL, baby blue, Opel,” he says to himself in case she goes. If she did anything why wouldn’t she go? Because she’s trying to pull something off. Because he has her name. Lita something. What the hell is it? Not important now. Goes down, again and again, looking for Olivia. If he sees her he’ll dive for her and swim to shore with her and pump and pump and pump till he gets the water out and breathe air into her till she’s alive or ask the woman, if she really is a water safety instructor, to do it or help. Sees something in the distance underwater and dives. It’s a rock with a few long pieces of waving seaweed on it. She’s nowhere around. She couldn’t have gone out farther. She could have drifted out there before she sank. She would have screamed. He would have heard her. She could have screamed when he was on his back and water got in his ears. Still would have heard. Maybe she’s in the weeds. Comes up and shouts “Did she go down in the weeds?” and points to the area of them sticking out of the water. She throws up her hands. Treads water and shouts “Save me the trouble looking. If she drowned then say so and maybe I can still save her. People can be underwater for twenty minutes and somehow still be revived. Where’d she go down if she went down, and if she didn’t, then just say where she is or what happened to her?” and she shakes her head she didn’t hear or doesn’t understand. He swims to the weeds and dives to the part closest to shore, but the weeds stop him. Too thick. Treads through them a few feet, puts his face underwater to look. Can’t see anything past the top. He’s looking in the wrong place. He doesn’t know where to look. Shore would be better, if only to threaten her some way unless she tells.

Swims to shore. Woman walks to him while he walks through the water to the beach and she says “Listen, I want to explain—” “Fine, quick, that’s what I want.” “I mean I want to be direct with you, though God knows what good it’ll do me, so I’m saying I’m leaving. I don’t know what you’re searching for, but it has nothing to do with me and you have to start believing that, or just thinking about it, all right?” and she turns to leave and he says “But you saw me before. If I wasn’t with my girl, who was I with?” “As I said—” “But the toys. The little kid’s towel with the cartoon animals on it, and her clothes in my bag up there — shirt, pants, these little Japanese beach sandals — oh, why the hell my telling you? I have to get the police. And tell my wife. Maybe you’re crazy or have some instant memory-loss affliction. Maybe Olivia went through the woods and came out some other place. Or got lost somehow, but I’ve got to get help in searching for her before it gets dark. Look, I don’t know why you’re saying this, denying it — you’re obviously responsible for whatever—” “If I was—” “If you were, why would you have stayed? Because I have your name. I probably have your license plate. The Opel. One-seven PL, etcetera. Because people who were on the grass when we were all here, saw me leave the girl with you. My daughter. If they noticed. So you know you’re caught. So come on, will you, tell me already,” and grabs her by the shoulders. “I mean it. Where the fuck is she? Tell me or I’ll shake your fucking head off,” and starts shaking her. “Get your hands off,” and pulls his hands away. “Not till you tell me where she is.” He swings her around and puts his arm around her neck and twists her arm behind her back and pushes it up till he knows it’s hurting. She says “Stop that, stop,” and tries to wrench free and he says “Tell me where she is or I’ll break your arm off and strangle you right here. I’ll do it. Now where is she?” “I don’t know.” “You know, you know.” “I don’t — please. You came alone. You have two towels but I never noticed them till you mentioned them. I was reading my book so I didn’t see. I don’t know anything about the beach toys and your bag of clothes. There was never a girl while I was here.” “Liar, liar, liar,” and pushes her arm up farther and she shouts in pain and he says “Last chance before I break it off,” and waits but she’s just shouting in pain and he wants to push it up more but can’t. He doesn’t want to break it. Wants to give her just so much pain before she tells him but he seems to have gone beyond that point and she’s still not telling. “Damn your lying ass,” and lets her arm go and from behind squeezes her neck with his forearm. She coughs, says “I’m having trouble breathing,” and he says “That’s the point. I’ll cut the air in your windpipe. I’ll even break your windpipe if I have to.” “I don’t know… imagining it… I wasn’t, there isn’t… my book … can’t breathe,” and then she’s just choking and he wants to go on, he knows that at some point she has to tell him where Olivia is, but he seems to have gone too far, she’s not getting any air in. He lets her go and she drops to the ground and gasps and spits and he looks at her to see if she’ll say anything, then in the woods for Olivia, the lake to see if her body came up from where it sank, sees the same or different sailboat way off, a pile of stones by the beach, thinks “That’s an idea.” Woman’s still on the ground. He runs to the pile, all too big, looks around, picks up a rock on the grass, one he can hold in one hand, runs back and gets down, she’s stroking her throat, bends over her, face a few inches from hers and says “I’m going to smash this rock against your head but with such force that I’ll split it open with the first crack. If you don’t tell me where she is. Now tell me. You can see I mean business,” and holds the rock over her face so she can see it. She says “I swear, don’t know. Please, no more. I’d tell you by now if I knew. Swear.” “Stay here. I’m not kidding. Don’t move from this area. You can at least do that for me. If you see her, tell her to what? To wait. I’ll be back or my wife will or the police. We’re at 7 Bear Road in case you have to start moving with her for some reason. That she’s very sick, or you are, and we’re not back. Bear as in animal. Seven. We’re summer renters. Tetch, Howard and Denise. Just Howard. The Brook Isle post office knows us and we have a phone for the summer in my name. You have it?” Nods. “I mean, everything I said about what to do and our name and address?” “Yes.” “Or just immediately call, or if someone comes down here get him to call, the police.” “I will.”

Runs to the path to the car. Maybe Olivia was in the woods, lost, and found a path and it led to the car and she’s now in it. Gets to it. Everything’s the same. Car’s pulling in. All just in swimsuits, man with his shirt off, woman, two kids. Says to the woman as she parks the car “You see a girl around four, about this height,” holding out his hand, “long blonde hair in a ponytail, very pretty, walking down that way to the main road or on the road?” She’s shaking no. “In a bathing suit. Yellow. Red it was. Red-striped, one piece.” “No, I’m sorry.” Man beside her says “What is it, she lost?” “Lost. Or something. Too strange. I went for a swim.” “You should never leave a child like that alone on a beach,” the woman says. Kids have let themselves out of the car, father saying “You wait there by the door till we’re finished with this man.” “I didn’t,” Howard says. “I left her with a woman on the beach. She’s still there, the woman. I almost killed her just now. She said she didn’t know anything about it. It’s ridiculous — she’s lying — I left my daughter in her charge while I swam. I’m obviously going insane over it. With worry. Listen, I don’t trust that woman. She’s probably gone some other way out of the beach by now, though I’m sure that’s her car. But if she’s there, please, I told her to wait for my daughter. Olivia. Olivia Tetch. I’m Howard, at 7 Bear Road, for the summer. Remember that if you see the girl. Or if the woman tells you where my daughter is or what happened to her, which she wouldn’t to me. We’ve a listed phone. T-e-t-c-h. Because I need someone to stay here in case Olivia comes out of the woods — got lost, or had been hiding — though why this woman would lie I don’t know. Maybe Olivia ran away from her, but something has to be wrong. But please stay there till I come back or my wife or the police. Stay with Olivia or bring her to our cottage on Bear Road. You know where that is? Very near here.” Man says no. “We know Bear Road,” the woman says. “Second one off 176 after the war monument.” “Sure, that’s right, now I see it,” the man says. “Our mailbox is right across from our driveway with a big I on it in electrical tape. The Brook Isle post office knows us. I’m going for the police now to get some searchers in case she’s still in the woods. But you, every now and then, even if the woman’s down there, yell out her name. Olivia. Yell it out loud and for her to come to your voice — that her father told you to yell for her — or for her to shout and you’ll come to hers. Please, I know I’m ruining everything for you today, but this is too important, so you’ll do it?” and the woman looks at the man and he thinks it over quickly and says “Sure” and Howard runs to his car.

Drives to the cottage. Denise is feeding the baby. She looks up with a smile when he comes in, face drops when she sees his, and he says “It’s very bad, couldn’t be worse. Olivia’s disappeared,” and breaks down and she takes the baby off her breast and says “Tell me,” and he quickly tells her. Phones the county police. Man there says they’ll get right on it: searching party for the woods, boats to drag the lake, notify all the hospitals and trooper and police stations, someone to speak to the woman and if she’s not at the lake, to find her. Lita what? He doesn’t know, but her last name will come to him, he says. “One of you stay home so we can always reach you.” “My wife will. I’ll go back to the lake but first I’ll drive around the area looking for her, in addition to your troopers and the fire department people looking. I could recognize her from a distance and, up closer, immediately. She might be in someone’s car. She might be with someone who’s giving her an ice cream treat at Lu-Ann’s Drive-in or some such place. She might be wandering along the road looking for home or a way back to the lake and nobody’s stopped her yet because they think she’s a local, no sneakers or sandals and in only a swimsuit and all.” “Probably little chance of that, it sounds like, but go ahead. The trooper who goes to your house will get photos of her for us to copy and pass around. You have them?” “Plenty.” “Do you have that Lita’s last name yet?” “No. Lita something. If I keep saying her name it could come to me, but that’ll just be wasting time. Patchok comes to mind, but that’s not it. Don’t even know why I thought of it. If the Opel’s hers, you’ll be able to trace her through it, won’t you?” “That or we’ll try to locate her by her first name. It’s unusual enough, even for around here, if she gave you the right one, that is, and if she still isn’t at the lake. Nothing we can do but try.”

Howard makes calls to everyone he knows in the area whose number he remembers. Help look for Olivia. Go to the lake. Search with the troopers and firemen in the woods. Tell as many people as you can to help. Don’t give up till it’s declared hopeless. Tells Denise to look up the numbers of other people they know in the area and say the same things. “Also ask if they know a Lita. I forgot about that. And call the police every so often just to make sure they haven’t been trying to get through to us and to keep after them. But make all your calls quick so the lines aren’t tied up. Of course, you know that,” and runs out of the house, drives around the area, asks everyone he speaks to at the various drive-ins and shops, after he’s told them about Olivia and given her description, if they know or ever heard of a young woman named Lita. Nobody has. Goes to the post office, tells his story to the postmistress and asks if she knows of a woman named Lita. She doesn’t but she calls several post offices in surrounding towns and none of the other postmasters have received mail for her. “Maybe that’s her nickname,” she says.

Goes to the lake. Lots of cars and people, couple of fire trucks. He speaks to the police chief he spoke to on the phone. “No trace of her so far. We ordered some hounds and a helicopter in. When it gets dark we’ll try best as we can with searchlights and bullhorns, but I think by nine or ten we’ll have covered every foot of these woods. That woman Lita was still here. She’s in her car. It’s not the Opel. Hers was parked along the main road and she said she walked in, so we let her go out and bring it to the lot. Your Opel wasn’t here when we got here, so it could have been anyone’s — another visitor, but in his own private spot — and not seeing any commotion yet, just drove away. We put a call out on it with the plate number you gave. That Miss Reinekin—” “That’s it, that’s the name.” “Well, she said you attacked her real bad, and showed the bruises to prove it, and that she had nothing to do either with the girl or provoking you to threatening her life. That it’s all in your head, she said, which is why she stayed — to tell us. Or that you did something previously to the girl and are trying to put the blame on her. Because you came to the lake alone, swam alone and when you came out of the water you went straight up to her and asked where’s your daughter. She’s from near Hartford, only here for a long weekend. Friends she’s staying with are with her now. They’re very respectable summer people, been coming up for years and before then the parents and grandparents of the man, and they say the woman’s as truthful and right-minded as anyone they know. That she comes from a good family, well brought up and educated, never hurt anyone, and is a teacher engaged to a governor’s assistant; the woman friend’s known her since childhood. Just hearing all this and talking to Miss Reinekin, she doesn’t seem like a child molester or kidnapper, but that’s not for me to judge.” “Let me speak to her.” “If you don’t mind someone taking down what you two say; and also no rough stuff from you, words or force.” “Take down anything, and don’t worry.”

They go to the woman’s car. She’s in the back seat sitting between a man and woman, has a sweater on now, pants, glasses. “This is the man—” “She didn’t wear glasses before,” Howard says. “She only uses them for distance,” the man says. “Let her speak. Can’t she speak? Why isn’t she speaking?” “She can speak but I chose then to speak for her. She’s emotionally shaken. That rock over her head didn’t help any.” “I didn’t hit her with it.” “Held it over. Three inches away, if not two.” “And strangling her,” his wife says. “Strangling her, and nearly breaking her arm. She doesn’t have to answer any more of your asinine charges or be talked threateningly to. She can even be demanding you be locked up and then suing you if she wants.” “Gentlemen, let me continue,” the chief says. “For the record, Miss Reinekin, this is the man you said accused you of doing something terrible to his daughter and then—” “If I hurt her, who wouldn’t for his daughter? She’s lucky I didn’t do worse.” “Anyway, I had nothing to do with it,” she says. “But if this girl truly is missing—” “She’s missing,” the chief says. “We spoke to his wife. There’s an older daughter, same description and age he gave, who’s not home or anywhere to be seen. The whole county’s out looking for her by now.” “Then I’m sorry. It has to be the worst possible thing for the mother. But I’ve told everything I know of it. And Mr. Kaden here — he’s not a lawyer but he knows something about it — has advised me not to talk about it further except in front of a lawyer. But a girl’s missing, we all pray she’s safe—” “Oh shit, just listen to her,” Howard says, “—and I’ll answer any more questions you have if it’ll help find her. First, yes, he is the man who did all the things I said he did. I still don’t know why. We hadn’t said a word or even looked at the same time to one another till he came out of the water, though I did notice him go in and then swimming. Mostly the crawl but occasionally the breaststroke and once the butterfly stroke—” “I did no such stroke. I don’t know how.” “Well, it looked like the butterfly stroke by someone not that good at it, all that splashing and arm-flopping. But after he came out—” “He accused you and grabbed your arm and so on?” the chief says. Nods. “Nothing new to add?” Shakes her head. “Then you ought to go home, rest — we have your statement and now your identification of Mr. Tetch — and well go on with our search as though the girl were lost in the woods and no doubt contact you later.” “You going to let her go just like that?” “It’s been more than ‘just that,’ Mr. Tetch.” “And I didn’t say Olivia was lost in the woods. I said it’s one of the main possibilities. I don’t know where she is. She can be in that freaking water. She can be under a rock or down a well. This one knows though.” “You said I may go, officer? It’s been, as you can see, too much of an afternoon for me and I don’t want to say now what I really think about him.” “Do you have any evidence for what you don’t want to say?” the chief says. “I definitely suggest you don’t say anything, Lita,” Kaden says. “If there’s an inquest or trial or anything like that—” “You fucking liars, with your inquests and trials,” Howard says. “You fucking murderer and kidnapper,” he says to her. “Or you’re all murderers or kidnappers. Now where is she already? Where the goddamn fuck is she?” and tries opening the door, Kaden pulls it shut and locks it while his wife rolls up the window and Lita screams and covers her eyes. Howard bangs on the window, is led away by the chief and made to sit on the grass.

Lita drives off with Mrs. Kaden, Kaden drives behind them in Lita’s car. Mazda, NXH 107, dark red, Connecticut. Search goes on for hours. He calls Denise every half hour from a police car. Last call she says friends have come and gone and been very kind but she needs to be with him. He’s given his and Olivia’s beach things and goes home. She puts some dinner on the table for him, weeps, checks the baby, weeps, says she has to control herself so she can think straight while there’s still a chance Olivia can be found, says she doesn’t understand any of it. “Now go over it, once more, maybe there’s something we missed.” He goes over it thoroughly. She says “How can anything like this happen to her?” “Nothing has — I’m sure she’s alive and we’ll find her — but how can anyone do anything like that to her? How come they don’t press that woman more? How can her friends protect her like that when they must know she’s lying? The police should give her a lie detector test. They should have done it immediately. Or get a hypnotist to work on her — drugs, even, to draw out the truth — if she’s crazy or has a mental or physical disorder where she can’t remember things and one of those means would get her to say where Olivia is or what she did with her. What about where she’s staying? Maybe the Kadens are involved. Some kind of satanic cult or just selling beautiful children or a ring for whatever kind of devious or moneymaking purpose — but in a basement there or some place. Am I thinking straight or is all this part of my own growing craziness?” He says no, it’s valid, “We have to try everything that’s reasonable or possible,” calls the police station, hoping it would relay the call to the chief’s car, is told to call him at home. “The search has been called off, the chief says. “We’ll resume it early tomorrow if you want.” “I want.” “Not even the dogs could turn up anything. They smelled blood but nothing human. They started digging up the ruins of an old cabin. That cabin must be three hundred years old. Nobody even knew an earlier settlement had been there—” “I’m not interested. Listen, my wife and I think you should give Miss Reinekin a lie detector test, and immediately. Or just get a hypnotist to hypnotize the truth out of her, or some serums or drugs to do it.” “No can do. She’s got to be suspected of a crime first and then agree to the test or drugs or hypnotism, and she’s not.” “Then what do you say to going to the Kadens’ house where she’s at? Anybody think of that? Olivia could be there. A satanic cult, let’s say. Maybe they sell babies or slightly older children or are into all sorts of ugly things. The respectability and old-family stuff and all that lawyer-knowledge and holier-than-thou protest shit could be some kind of cover — some ruse.” “Again, it wouldn’t be a bad idea if anyone in the state or county police departments believed that, but we don’t. The Kadens would have to be suspects too and they’re anything but that. We put out queries on them and Miss Reinekin and they’re as clean as they come. Try to listen to me now, Mr. Tetch — don’t make trouble. We know how you both feel and our hearts go out to you as if she were our own child, but you don’t want to be jailed at a time when your wife and other girl need you so much. A state’s attorney and detectives will be out to see you tomorrow morning. Please be there. Then if you want to come where we’ll be searching, you’ll be more than welcome.” “I’ve complete confidence in all your and your people’s abilities, so of course I’ll do what you say.”

He looks up the Kaden address, tells Denise to take a couple of aspirins and maybe some port and try to get some sleep. “I know what I’m doing, honestly,” when she says what he’s doing probably isn’t such a good idea, and drives to the road the Kadens’ driveway leads to, parks, walks in a few hundred feet, ample moonlight, looks around, no outbuildings about, down to the beach, boathouse with a kayak and canoe, sailboat anchored in the water, different colored sail than one he saw in the lake, wades out to it and looks inside, back up the path, looks through all the first-floor windows, sees them sitting beside a fireplace in the only lighted room in the house, Kaden reading a magazine and drinking wine or something pale in a wine glass, two women talking, fireplace going. Knocks on the door. Kaden comes to it. “You.” “Listen, you’ve got to believe me, I’m not nuts. I had my daughter. I went for a swim. I left her with your friend. She’s lying about everything. My wife and I are desperate. Right now she’s going crazy from it. I’m about to too. You know what it means to lose a child like this? It’s the worst feeling in the world. There is no other. Maybe if she got hit and killed by a car right in front of me. That’s what it’s like. Or the doctor’s just told me she has cancer and only a month to live. If you have kids—” “Excuse me, but if you don’t leave our property — and I mean right up to the public road — this minute, I’m phoning the police.” “Hell with the police. Olivia might be here. There might even be a chance you don’t know about it. Now you have to—” but he can see by his face he won’t, so he pushes past him and goes inside. Kaden grabs his arm. He throws him against a wall, puts his fist under Kaden’s nose and says “I’m only going to look around for my daughter. Don’t stop me or 111 bust you, I’ll even break you in two,” and shoves him out the door, kicks but misses him, slams and latches the door, runs through the first floor turning on lights and opening doors looking for the basement, finds it, from another room the women are screaming for him to go. “Scream your bloody heads off; I’m looking, I’m looking.” Goes downstairs, yells “Olivia, are you down here? Are you anywhere around here, Olivia?” Turns over boxes, looks behind a huge wine rack and stacks of newspapers and magazines, only door is to a toilet, nothing else to hide someone in or behind, nothing he can see to show anything strange going on. Runs upstairs; nobody’s around. Runs through the first floor opening cupboards and a bathroom and closet doors. Runs upstairs to the guest bedroom, hallway bathroom, master bedroom, unused bedroom, kids’ bedroom where when he turns the lights on two boys in double-decker bunks and the women start screaming. Checks every room and closet for an attic entrance. Guest bedroom a third time. Dresser and night table drawers for anything that might lead to something, woman’s valise and handbag and under the bed and once more the shower stall. Goes downstairs. “Yes, this moment, walking right past me,” Kaden says on the hallway phone. “Maybe he’s now going to make good on his threat to bust me in two. Well, let him, since I’m not about to fight back. That’s not what I do, and you’re my aural witness on that, Chief Pollard… Now he’s leaving the house. Good riddance I want to say to him … No, the children and women all seem to be OK — Sure you’re all right, boys? Doris?” he yells upstairs. “We’re fine, Daddy,” a boy says. “Is he gone?” his wife says.

He starts up the driveway. “You should wait for them here,” Kaden says from the porch. “Or they’ll meet you at your place, Pollard told me to tell you. But they’re on their way. You’ve got a number of serious complaints against you, sir. You’d better get yourself a good lawyer — one who’ll be able to get you off with only a few years, for you can be certain I’ll see that you’re charged with everything that can be thrown at you. For slander, trespassing, verbal intimidation, assaulting Miss Reinekin, barging into a private home and tossing the occupants around like an ape. Whatever you’ve gone through and are going through, you can’t do these things to people because of it. You have — it gives you — no moral license to, do you understand that, sir? No, you wouldn’t.”

Drives home, Pollard’s waiting for him there, is arrested, taken to the police station, jailed overnight, state’s attorney and detectives question him the next day, released on is own recognizance, search continues, he drinks himself to sleep every night, Denise is on medication for a while, search is ended, woman’s exonerated, he’s indicted for the disappearance of Olivia, Kaden never presses charges, Miss Reinekin drops hers, he asks for a lie detector test and passes it unqualifiedly, he asks to be hypnotized by a court-appointed hypnotist and is told his story didn’t change one iota from the one he told before being hypnotized, state drops its case against him: no body or witnesses or evidence of any wrongdoing beyond parental neglect no matter how hard they looked, though the state’s attorney feels sure, he tells reporters, that Howard’s guilty of some heinous crime against his daughter which they’ll find out about in time and charge him with and send him to prison or even execute him for. Denise doesn’t know what to think through all this. She doesn’t believe the woman was involved in Olivia’s disappearance, but how couldn’t she be if Howard says she was? That’s not saying she thinks he had anything to do with it, she says, other than being irresponsible in leaving Olivia with a stranger, but how couldn’t he have anything to do with it if the woman didn’t? Did he lose Olivia someplace, she says once—“Quick, answer me now, no time to think of one, no or yes?” “No, absolutely not.” Maybe, she says, both he and the woman are responsible in a way she hasn’t figured out yet. “Are you lovers, and an accident happened with Olivia and you’re covering up for each other in some way where you both assumed you’d get off?” “What am I supposed to answer to that?” “Of course; that was ridiculous of me, but I simply don’t know what to think. I’m not afraid of you for Eva, but I’m also not entirely comfortable with you for her and myself. I’m just confused.” Goes on like that. She won’t make love with him anymore, the few times he’s felt like it since Olivia disappeared, and then she won’t sleep in the same bed and then the same room with him. Then she brings Olivia’s bed into Eva’s room and sleeps there. She puts it all down as just part of her continuing grief and confusion.

Fall’s come, it’s cold, cottage isn’t insulated, everyone they know has left, she wants to return to their apartment in the city, he wants her to stay with him here but in a heated house. “Maybe Olivia will turn up somehow. At the very least, if we’re here and badgering the police, they’ll continue looking for her more than they would if we weren’t here, or at least not give up looking for her completely or investigating what might have happened that day. Maybe, while Miss Reinekin wasn’t looking, someone came and snatched Olivia away — possibly one of the persons or a group of them sunbathing on the grass that day; or even the sailor of the sailboat I saw when I swam in the lake — and will want to turn himself in for whatever reason and also give up Olivia. Or Olivia could escape from her kidnapper — a door left unlocked a first time and she just walks out or something. I’ve read about such things — sometimes happening weeks later, sometimes years. That wouldn’t explain why Miss Reinekin insists I was never at the lake with Olivia. Maybe she was threatened by this person or group not to say anything about the kidnapping or they’ll kill her and maybe kill Olivia also, and that’s why she’s been lying all this time. Maybe Olivia was taken away at gunpoint. Lots of maybes, maybe one of then on target, or one future one. But I can’t leave feeling Olivia might still be around here or in an area near here and that I might, by just sticking and looking around, think of or do something to get her back.”

Denise leaves with Eva, he rents a room in town. He looks for Olivia or does something to help find her every day. Asks everyone he can about her in this county and the surrounding ones. Goes to houses and logging camps in the woods and other remote areas with photos of her. Places ads in newspapers with a photo of Olivia and him, asking if anyone was or knows anyone who was at the lake that day and saw him with Olivia or just saw anyone with her that day or any day since. Puts up her missing-child poster everywhere he can. Tries to generate news interest in her disappearance, by calling and sending letters to news editors, and when that doesn’t work, in the story of the father obsessed with the search, so her picture will appear again in the papers and on local TV. Goes to the Kaden house sometimes. It’s boarded up for the winter. Explores the beach and woods around the house, thinking he might have missed something the previous times; studies the house from all sides, trying to determine by the windows and dormers and roof shape and size of the walls whether he missed a room or two when he went through it. Would like to break inside, but he might get caught and jailed or ordered out of the county or even the state for a while. Many people in the area think he had something to do with Olivia disappearing and that by staying on and looking for her so hard he’s just trying to establish his innocence and get their sympathy. That’s what the anonymous notes say that frequently come through the mail or are slipped into the letter box of his building and a couple of times under his door.

He searches through different parts of the lake woods almost every day. Goes into them in high boots because of the snow, calls out for her, nails her poster to trees, thinks he’ll one time find a sign of her, something hanging from a tree branch or message or article of clothing left someplace, though maybe not till the spring thaw. Maybe there’s a habitable cave in the woods no one knows about or a hut, same thing, but completely camouflaged. Pollard said the searching teams covered every part of the woods, but there had to be areas too thick for anyone to go in to, or at least not without the cutting tools he always takes with him. He imagines coming on one of these huts — he’s come on two already not shown on the town’s survey maps he has, but with no doors or roofs — and looking inside the window, seeing Olivia and a man talking, eating. He smashes down the door with his foot and charges inside and knocks the man down and beats him, continues beating him with his fists or one of the tools till the man doesn’t move. Till he’s dead — the hell with him. Two or more men, he’d charge in the same way and use his tools on them, cutting through them, aiming for their faces and necks and groins, and then scoop up Olivia, dress her for the cold, or not dress her — just run with her to his car and drive to the one doctor in town.

He goes to the lake a lot, mostly to look around it but sometimes to think. Gone out on the ice several times to see what he could make out on the shore from there. Crisscrossed it, walked in to every cove, stood in various spots on it to see if any smoke was coming from places where no houses were supposed to be. Once he thought he saw a girl around Olivia’s height on the beach not far from where he lost her. Walked back without taking his eyes off her, yelled while he walked “Don’t move, don’t go away, stay there for God’s sakes, it’s Daddy,” then imagined her on shore when he got there and putting his coat and scarf around her and picking her up and kissing her head and hands all over and carrying her back to the road where he left the car — running with her, shouting “I’ve found her, my little baby; everybody, I’ve found her, found her.”

Sits in the snow in the same place he last sat with her. Tries to bring her back. Talks to where she sat. Says “Olivia, please be here. Materialize from wherever you are. Just by some miracle or something, be with me now. Or walk through those woods there, say you’ve been kidnapped and you just broke free or they let you go. Please, my dearest child, come back. Daddy’s heartbroken. He can’t live without you. He’s sad all the time knowing what might have happened and might still be happening to you. If it can only be a miracle that brings you back, you never have to tell me where you were or how you got back to me or anything about it. Never, I swear.”

Later he calls the police chief as he usually does once a week and says “Please bear with me again, I know I’ve become a terrible nuisance to you, but is there anything new regarding my daughter here or in this country or the world?” “Nothing,” Pollard says; “I wish there was.” “But you’re still doing your best to find her, right?” “Whatever there is to be done, and there isn’t anything anymore without new information or leads on her, we’re doing it, sir, you can count on it. If anyone calls the special phone number we set up for her, the news would reach me in minutes. And believe me, if I couldn’t get hold of you by phone right away, I’d come, or send another officer, to wherever I thought you were. As I’ve said I don’t know how many times, I fully understand how you feel, so you call me anytime you like.”