The Drowning Child

6

Ruddock appeared at the top of the conference room and silence fell. He paused to guide John and Teddy Veir ahead of him. John Veir pulled out the chair for his wife as he passed. He was a muscular, hard-looking man with a stern face, thick eyebrows and a solid jaw that he was clenching and unclenching. His wife was a delicate skinny-limbed woman. She had clear skin, huge brown eyes, and wavy light-brown hair. She shifted in her seat, pulling her cardigan closed over a floral blue-and-yellow shirt dress, holding her hand there in a white-knuckle grip.

You fragile thing. This environment is all wrong for you. But is this you as you always are or you as the mother of a missing child?

When the Veirs were settled beside the photo of Caleb and their three faces were lined up in a row, Ren could see that though Caleb had his mother’s eyes, the steel in them came from his father. John Veir’s stare was moving around the room like a drunk looking for a fight.

Ruddock tapped the microphone, once, twice, and started to speak.

‘Thank you all for coming,’ he said. ‘We’re here today to appeal for information on the whereabouts of Caleb Veir, who has been missing from his Burton Street home in Tate since seven forty-five yesterday morning. Caleb is five feet tall, weighs one hundred pounds, and is of medium build. This photo beside me was taken two weeks ago. Yesterday, Caleb was wearing the same gray Puffa jacket, blue denim jeans, a navy-blue long-sleeved sweatshirt with a red-and-gray graphic print, and white-and-red Nike sneakers. You will find photographs of all these items of clothing pinned to the noticeboard at the back of the room.’

Teddy Veir was rigid, her elbows pressed tightly to her body, her ankles crossed underneath the table.

‘To my right here are Caleb’s parents,’ said Ruddock. ‘John and Teddy Veir. Teddy would now like to say a few words.’

Teddy shifted the chair forward. ‘Thank you, Chief Ruddock.’ She looked up, her lost and panicked eyes blinking quickly before she focused on a point on the floor three feet ahead. ‘Our son, Caleb, has been missing since yesterday morning. Caleb is only twelve years old. Caleb, we want you home with us, we want you to come home. To your mom and dad. We miss you, and we love you very much. Please... come home.’

She welled up so quickly, and the pain robbed her of her voice so suddenly, that everyone else on the platform was thrown; they weren’t ready to break in, to rescue her.

Someone help!

John Veir kicked in, putting his arm around his wife, sliding the microphone that was in front of her toward himself, knocking over a glass of water as he did. The piercing sound of feedback erupted in the room.

‘Caleb is a good boy,’ said John. ‘Just a... good kid, who is... good to everybody... and everyone... and helped his mom and me out, and...’

No one prepared you. You weren’t planning on speaking.

‘Please bring him home,’ said John. ‘Whoever has him, if someone has our son, please bring him home. We love him so much.’ His voice started to crack. ‘He’s our son.’ He broke down. He briefly raised his head to say: ‘No matter what. We want him back. We love you, Caleb. I want you to know that. We love you very much.’

No matter what? He’s our son, no matter what? Or no matter what, we want him back?

A sudden smell – powerful, stale and liquor-laced – struck Ren.

What the... whoa...

She turned to see a man take a few steps, then stop abruptly. He was dressed in a faded black sweatshirt with unraveling cuffs and crusted white stains. His pale jeans had two stripes of filth down the center, his sneakers were gray, the laces half undone. His eyes did a full sweep of the room before he walked any further.

Now, who might you be?

He took two steps closer.

And what bar’s supplies have you recently depleted?

He walked past Ren. She put her hand to her mouth and swallowed.

Jesus. Christ. Wow.

I probably smell the exact same...

In a flash, Wiley was striding their way. He struck Ren hard with his shoulder as he passed.

Dickhead.

He grabbed the man by the arm, effortlessly dragging him toward the exit. The man’s face was pinched in anger, his expression childish, petulant. There was tutting, eyerolling and nose-wrinkling from locals who seemed to know him.

The man opened his mouth wide, looked ready to speak, but he took in all the stares and his face fell and he didn’t say a word.

You are a hurting man. You know you’re a sideshow to these people.

Just as he was about to go through the door, a burst of courage delivered his voice:

‘Lake Verny!’ he shouted. ‘You need to look in Lake Verny! Tell Ruddock. Tell Ruddock! You tell him Clyde Brimmer says that lake’s a killer!’

Ren looked around at the crowd, gauging their reactions. There was no sense that the man’s words held any meaning, that they were anything other than a terrible thing to shout in a room where two parents were hoping to reach out for a son they wanted to believe was alive and well – not sucked down into the depths of a lake.