Missing Child (12 page)

When she got back to the house, the door to their room was shut. She knew her face was swollen from weeping on the way home, but there was nothing unusual about that. The police in the house were used to seeing her like that. They hadn’t seen her any other way. Still, she felt as if she had no refuge. She took off her wet coat and hung it on a hook by the front door. Then she went into the den and curled up on the leather chair. She pulled the knitted throw over her legs stared out the window. There were books and newspapers and magazines in the den. There was a television and a computer. None of it interested her in the least. She felt too weary to even expend the energy to stare at a screen.

She wondered how long it would be before they would be speaking to one another again. She didn’t know how she could endure the fact that Geordie was missing without Noah to lean on. They leaned on each other. He was bound to realize that. She didn’t expect him to forgive her right away. She had already forgiven him for his cruel accusation. She understood that he wanted to strike out at her because he felt betrayed. Every time she wanted to sob, or be angry at his reaction, she stopped herself. He had a right to his anger.

She heard the door to their room open and she looked up hopefully at the door as she heard his footsteps coming down the hall toward the den. Noah appeared carrying two bulging suitcases. Her suitcases. Her mouth fell open.

He looked in at her. ‘I’ll put these in your car,’ he said.

Caitlin scrambled to get up from the chair and came out into the living room. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

‘What does it look like I’m doing? These are your things. Some of them, anyway. Take them and go. I’ll send you the rest.’

‘You’re putting me out of my own house?’ she asked.

‘Your house?’ he said.

‘Oh, that’s right,’ she said. ‘It’s not my house. It’s Emily’s house.’

There was a flicker of guilt in his eyes, but it was gone in an instant. ‘Please go,’ he said. ‘Let’s not drag this out.’

‘And Geordie,’ she demanded, ashamed of the catch in her voice. ‘What about Geordie?’

He looked at her coldly. ‘Do you know something about Geordie? Because if you do, now’s the time to tell it.’

She understood that he wanted to punish her. She didn’t even blame him for that. But to continue to suggest that she was concealing some information about Geordie . . . That was more than she could stand. That was the limit. ‘That’s cruel, Noah. Worse than cruel. You know how I love him.’

‘Do I?’ he asked.

She pulled her coat and bag off the hook, snatched the suitcases from his hands, and awkwardly pushed open the front door. The rain had let up a little. She lugged the bags across the lawn, threw them into the back of her car and slammed the trunk shut. She did not look back at the house. She got into the driver’s seat and headed down the driveway. Out of sight of the house, she sat at the driveway’s end and stared at the highway in front of her. She did not know where to go. She literally did not know which way to turn.

ELEVEN

C
aitlin stopped her car beside the weather-beaten ‘For Sale’ sign, and sat staring at her parents’ modest retirement home. Some houses seemed to be cursed, she thought. Her parents had bought this house full of hope for the future, and instead each had fallen ill and died within two years. James had killed himself in this house. And now, here Caitlin was, back here, exiled by her husband, her child missing. At least here she could call Geordie her child in her own mind. Her heart could not be any more shattered, she thought, if she had given birth to him.

She did not want to be here in this abandoned house which had seen so much sorrow, but she didn’t know where else to go. Everyone she knew in this area, she either knew through the college or through Noah. She didn’t want anyone at work to know about this fresh disaster, and anyone she knew through Noah would not want anything to do with her when they found out why she and Noah were estranged.

Caitlin pulled her cell phone from her purse and called the realtor’s number on the sign. She got the voicemail. ‘Stephanie,’ she said. ‘This is Caitlin Eckhart. I’m going to be staying in my parents’ house for . . . a while. So, if you have any prospective . . . lookers, please call my cell and let me know before you show up at the door. Thanks.’ Not that lookers were much of a problem, Caitlin thought, throwing the phone back in her bag. The house had been on the market for two years now, without a nibble. Because of the collapse in the housing market, it was the worst possible time to try to sell a house. Particularly a house as unexceptional as this one.

She chided herself for that thought. Her parents had been so pleased when they found this house. It was neat and tidy, and had only one story for easy access for the old age they did not live to see. The house was surrounded by trees and had a screen porch in the back with rocking chairs, where they had envisioned sitting during long, twilit summer evenings. Tears came to her eyes as she remembered her mother and father. Their dreams had not been extravagant. Peace. Quiet. A little well-earned leisure. It was not to be.

At least, Caitlin thought, she still owned this house. Right now, it would serve a valuable purpose. She could turn the key and go inside, and no one could throw her out, accusing her of terrible crimes. For that, she was grateful.

Caitlin sighed and got out of the car. She pulled out her suitcases and carried them toward the house. She passed the garage, where her father’s damaged truck was rusting away in the darkness. Emily’s blood had probably flaked off the smashed front bumper by now. Caitlin had parked the truck in there and never moved it. It was easier than trying to explain the needed repairs to someone at a body shop. As she passed it, Caitlin did not glance into the garage. Why look? If that truck had somehow vanished, she would be grateful.

Caitlin inserted the key in the front door and had to struggle to get the key to turn in the lock, which was stiff with disuse. She opened the door and walked into the dark, clammy house. Home, sweet home, she thought, and her heart sank at the thought.

She wanted to collapse on the sofa, curl up in a fetal position and not move, but she resisted the urge. She had to make sure the place was habitable before night fell. It had been empty for so long, except for the occasional quick visit from a realtor, that she was not sure what she would find. She was up to date on the bills, so at least she knew the gas and electricity were still on. Was the water running? Were there sheets on the bed, or anything to eat?

Caitlin carried her suitcase past the doorway to her parents’ bedroom. Though it was the largest bedroom, she couldn’t bear to sleep in that room, which had been a sick room almost nonstop for almost two years. Her father’s heart had given out quickly. Her mother had lingered. Each one had been carried to the hospital from that room to spend their final days. She moved down the hall past James’s room, with only the briefest glance inside. More misery, she thought. The tiny guest room would do. She opened the door and placed her bags inside. It was a sweet-looking room, decorated in the country style her mother had favored. The bed was made. Caitlin ran her hand over the sheets. They were as clammy as the air in the house. She opened up the bed to air it. She would turn the heat on. Maybe that would dry it out before she had to lie down in those sheets. She hoped it would dry it out soon. But she was so exhausted that it almost didn’t matter. She would sleep wherever she dropped.

She went back to the living room. There was no cable in the house so the TV didn’t work. She turned up the heat and went into the kitchen. The heat made clanking noises, but it came on. The kitchen was dusty, but not dirty. She had paid a cleaning service to clean the whole place before she put it on the market. She opened the refrigerator door hesitantly. Fortunately, there was no food inside, and it didn’t smell bad. She looked in the cabinets. There were still a few staples. Some cans of soup. Some boxes of stale crackers and pasta. There were cans of vegetables and jars of sauce. The water in the faucets ran. It was enough, she thought.

A sharp rap on the front door made her jump and clutch her chest. No one knew she was here. She went to the window of the kitchen door, pulled back the ruffled curtain, and peeked out down the driveway. Immediately she recognized the car. She had ridden in it just this morning.

Caitlin went to the front door and opened it. Sam Mathis stood on the front step. ‘Geordie?’ she asked.

Sam Mathis shook his head. ‘May I come in?’

Caitlin’s shoulders slumped. She stepped back so that he could come inside. ‘How did you know I was here?’ she asked.

‘Your husband thought you might be here,’ said Sam. ‘He said he’d asked you to leave the house.’

Caitlin felt as if her face had been slapped. ‘He didn’t waste any time. Did he tell you why?’

‘Yes. He said that you know who killed his first wife.’

Caitlin flinched at the word ‘killed’ but did not protest. She indicated that Sam should sit down. He took a seat in her father’s old easy chair. Caitlin sat on the sofa. She knotted her fingers together and looked down at them. ‘Did he tell you anything else?’ she asked.

‘I’ll ask the questions,’ said Sam brusquely. ‘What do you know about Emily Eckhart’s death?’

Caitlin stared at him for a moment. It was difficult to see his eyes in the gloom of the late afternoon. She got up from the sofa and went around the room, turning on the lamps. Then she sat back down. Sam was watching her coldly.

‘I don’t know where to begin,’ she said.

‘First things first,’ said Sam. ‘Does this have anything to do with Geordie’s disappearance?’

‘NO,’ Caitlin exclaimed. ‘No, it has nothing to do with Geordie. If it had, I would have told you right away.’

Sam looked at her coldly. ‘You better tell me right now.’

Caitlin took a deep breath. She felt like someone who was about to fall off a cliff. ‘OK. Just to explain . . . A girl named Karla saw our plea on the internet and came to see us today. She’s my late brother’s girlfriend. She was in touch with my brother at the time that he . . . killed himself. Well, it was a drug overdose, but I’ve never thought it was accidental. Anyway, Karla was in touch with my brother when it happened. He told her that he had hit a woman while he was driving my father’s truck. Then he fled the scene. The woman died. James was distraught about it. This event actually precipitated his overdose.

‘I wasn’t home when Karla arrived. While she was waiting for me to return home, Karla explained all this to Noah. Noah’s a very smart man. He figured out the rest. The person that my brother hit was Emily Eckhart.’

Sam grimaced.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Your brother was Emily’s killer?’

‘That’s right,’ said Caitlin.

Sam recoiled. ‘And you knew this? You knew it when you married Noah?’

‘I knew it,’ she said.

‘No wonder he kicked you out,’ said Sam disgustedly.

‘Thanks,’ said Caitlin.

‘Well, come on, Caitlin.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I brought this on myself.’

‘Why didn’t you turn your brother in, if you knew he’d done something like that?’

‘I threatened to turn him in. That’s when he overdosed.’

‘You still could have come forward, so the family would have closure.’

‘That’s what I was trying to do when I met Noah. I sought out Emily’s family to tell them the truth and, instead, I fell in love with her husband.’

Sam shook his head. ‘And you never told him . . .’

‘I never told him. I was too ashamed. I never told anyone.’ Caitlin knew there would be consequences to this admission. She didn’t care. ‘I realize that by keeping silent, I may have committed a crime,’ she said.

Sam frowned at her. ‘What car was your brother driving when he killed Emily Eckhart?’

‘He was driving my father’s truck. It’s . . . out there, in the garage, if you want to see it,’ said Caitlin.

‘Has it been repaired?’

Caitlin shook her head. ‘I thought about taking it to a body shop. Telling them I’d hit a deer. I just didn’t have the heart to tell any more lies about it. Would you like to see it?’

‘Yes,’ said Sam. ‘I would.’

‘Come with me,’ said Caitlin. Part of her knew that it was foolish to offer this evidence of a crime up to the police. She should call a lawyer and cover her own interests. But she had brought this on herself by staying silent. All she felt now was the need to be shed of it. And, if necessary, to be punished for that silence.

She turned on the outside lights, slipped her coat back on and led the way out to the garage. She opened the garage door and they went inside. The battered pick-up truck sat where she had left it years ago.

Sam walked around the truck and looked at it. ‘It’s got a lot of dings,’ he observed.

‘This is no ding,’ she said.

He had to wedge himself between the front of the truck and the wall of the garage to get a look. He frowned as he examined the damage. ‘Was your brother high when this happened?’ he asked.

‘Probably,’ said Caitlin. ‘He usually was.’

Sam was studying the truck, his eyebrows knitted together in a frown. He bent over the front bumper and squinted at the rusted spot where it was bashed in. ‘I’ll need to impound this truck,’ he said, ‘so we can determine for certain if this is the vehicle that killed Emily Eckhart.’

‘It is,’ said Caitlin. ‘Go ahead and impound it. I don’t care. Just tell me what’s going to happen to me.’

Sam shrugged. ‘You withheld evidence in a homicide investigation. First we have to be sure that this is, in fact, evidence of that crime. If there is still blood on this grille, we should know in pretty short order.’

‘And then?’

‘You could be arrested.’

Caitlin wondered if she could feel any worse than she already did. She doubted it. ‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘I don’t want any more lies.’

Sam’s icy expression thawed a little bit. ‘You may be treated leniently, now that you’ve voluntarily given up the evidence. It all depends on the judge. In any case, I would suggest you engage an attorney.’

‘You’re not arresting me now?’ she said.