Never Look Away (42 page)

FIFTY-SIX

Jan and Oscar Fine were both declared dead at the scene. Once the initial panic was over, I couldn't bring myself to go back into the front hall and look at the tangled wreckage that was my wife and her killer.

I spent the better part of an hour with Barry Duckworth, explaining everything to him as best I could. Broad strokes, mostly. Many of the details I didn't know, and didn't expect I ever would.

I had the sense he believed me.

But even before we got into that, I had something more urgent to discuss with him.

"Ethan's still missing," I said. "Jan was certain Oscar Fine had taken him, but upstairs there, just before everything happened, he said he didn't know anything about him."

"Was he lying, you think?" Duckworth asked. "Messing with you?"

"I don't think so," I said. "If he'd had Ethan, I think he would have enjoyed taunting us with the fact."

But to be certain, we found a black Audi--registered to Oscar Fine--one street over. We checked the back seat and trunk for any signs of Ethan.

We came up empty.

"We have everyone working on this," Duckworth assured me as the two of us sat together at the kitchen table. "Every single available member of the department is looking for your boy. We've brought people in on their days off. We're doing a block-by-block search."

"What if Ethan's disappearance ... what if it has nothing to do with any of this?" I asked. "What if he just wandered off? Or some sick son a bitch just happened to be driving through the neighborhood and--"

"Regardless," Duckworth said, "we're doing everything, exploring all those angles. We're interviewing everyone on your parents' street and your street, doing a door-to-door right now."

None of this made me feel any better.

"She did it for Ethan," I said. "And for me."

"She did what?" Duckworth said.

"She pulled it together long enough to kill that man so I'd be there for Ethan."

"I guess she did," Duckworth said.

"She said she didn't expect my forgiveness," I said.

"Maybe, if she could ask you now ..."

I said nothing and looked down at the table.

Mom and Dad arrived shortly after that. There was hugging and crying, and as I had done with Duckworth, I tried to tell them what I knew about the events of the last three days.

And the last six years. And even before that.

"Where could Ethan be?" Mom asked. "Where would he go?"

While Duckworth went off to help oversee the crime scene, the three of us sat at the table, not knowing what to do.

We were tired, depressed, traumatized.

Part of me was grieving.

Sometime around midnight, the phone rang. I picked up.

"Hello?" I said.

"Mr. Harwood?"

"Yes?"

"I've done a terrible thing."

I was there by 3 a.m.

Detective Duckworth put up some objections at first. First, he didn't want me leaving the crime scene. Second, if I knew who had taken my son, if he'd been kidnapped, Duckworth had to send in the police.

"I don't know that it's exactly a kidnapping," I said. "At least not now. It's kind of complicated. Just let me go and get my boy. I know where he is. Let me bring him home."

He mulled it over a moment, then finally said, "Go." He said he'd try to pave the way for me with the New York Thruway authorities, maybe save me the trouble of getting pulled over for speeding.

When I pulled up in front of the Richlers' house on Lincoln Avenue in Rochester, the living room lights were on. I didn't have to knock. Gretchen Richler was standing at the door waiting for me, and had it open as I came up the porch steps.

"Let me see him," I said.

She nodded. She led me upstairs and pushed open the door to what I presumed to be the bedroom she shared with her husband, who was not around. Ethan was under the covers, his head on the pillow, sound asleep.

"I'll let him sleep for a bit more," I said.

"I've put on some coffee," Gretchen said. "Would you like some?"

"Yes," I said, following her back downstairs. "Is your husband ..."

"Still in the hospital," she said. "They have him in the psychiatric ward, I guess they call it. They've got him under observation."

"How do they think he's going to be?"

"It's a kind of wait-and-see situation," she said. "With any luck, he could be home in a few days, although I ... I don't know how he'll fend on his own."

She filled two mugs with coffee and set them on the kitchen table. "Would you like some cookies?" she asked.

I shook my head. "Coffee's fine."

Gretchen Richler took a seat across from me. "I know what I did was wrong," she said.

I blew on the coffee, took a sip. "Tell me what happened."

"Well, first of all, we were looking at that picture you left with us, the one of your wife. It was the necklace she was wearing. The cupcake."

"Yes?"

"It had been our daughter's. She'd lost it just before she died. She'd accused Constance of stealing it. When I saw it on your wife, it all came together. I knew."

"It was the only time I remember seeing her wear it," I said. "She had it in her jewelry box but never put it on. But just before that trip, Ethan found it. He loves cupcakes and begged her to wear it."

"That last time you called, just after Horace tried to take his own life, when you said you thought your wife was still alive, that you thought maybe you were going to find her, I went ... I went a little crazy."

"Go on," I said.

"I was so angry. Here's this woman, she'd taken my daughter's life not once but twice. I couldn't get it out of my mind, what she'd done to us. I wanted her to know how it felt."

I nodded, had another sip of the hot coffee.

"I just, I just thought that she deserved it. That if she could take a child from us, if she could take her from us, and then take her identity, something bad had to happen so she'd understand. So, with Horace in the hospital, I drove to Promise Falls. I found your parents' house and I saw your son playing in the backyard. I told him I was his aunt Gretchen, and that it was finally time for him to come home."

"And he went with you."

"That's right. He was so excited about going home, he never questioned me for a minute."

"He didn't think it was odd that he had an aunt he'd never heard of before?"

Gretchen shook her head. "He never questioned it."

"So he got in the car with you," I said.

She nodded. "I'd stopped around the corner, before I got to your place, and bought some treats to keep him happy. Then I started driving back here, and he was telling me I was going the wrong way. I had to explain to him that before I could take him home, he was going to stay with me for a little while."

"How'd he take that?"

Gretchen choked up and a tear formed at the corner of her eye. "He started to cry. I told him not to, that everything was going to be okay. That he wouldn't have to stay with me all that long."

"What were you planning to do?" I asked.

Gretchen looked into my eyes. "I don't know."

"You must have some idea."

"On the way to Promise Falls, I'd made up my mind. I was going to ... I was going to ..."

"You wouldn't have hurt him."

She couldn't look at me. "I hope not. It's like, for a while there, I was possessed or something. I wasn't myself. I was going to get even, make things right. But when I saw him, once I had him in the car ..."

"You couldn't do it," I said.

"He's a lovely boy," she said, looking at me again. "He really is. You must be so proud of him."

"I am," I said.

"But once I'd taken him, I didn't know what to do."

"So you just came back to Rochester."

She nodded sadly. "I'm very ashamed of myself. I am."

"You have no idea what you've put us through," I said.

"I know."

"My mother, I don't know that she can ever forgive herself for letting Ethan out of her sight."

"I'll tell her I'm sorry. I will. Don't you get a chance to make some sort of statement when they sentence you? Don't you get to say something to the family?"

I felt so tired.

"I don't think that will be necessary," I said.

Gretchen was confused. "I don't understand. I kidnapped your son. I have to be punished for that."

I reached across the table and put a hand on hers. "I think you've been punished enough. You and your husband." I paused. "By my wife."

"Even if you don't want me arrested, she might," Gretchen said.

"No," I said. "She won't. She's dead."

Gretchen gasped. "What? When?"

"About four hours ago," I said. "Her past--one of them--caught up with her. So there's no one to get even with anymore. She's gone. And the truth is, you may have saved Ethan by taking him away when you did."

"That doesn't excuse me," she said.

All that matters to me, at this moment, is that my son is okay, and that he's not in any danger. I'll do what I can to persuade the police not to charge you. I won't cooperate if they want me to testify."

"I made him a late dinner," Gretchen said, not hearing me. "He settled down after a while, and I made him some macaroni and cheese."

"He likes that."

"I knew I was going to have to call you. I was going to do it in the morning. But I knew you wouldn't be able to sleep, not knowing where he was, so I decided to call when I did."

"I'm glad." I took my hand off hers. "I'd like to get my son now."

"You'd be welcome to sleep on the couch again, go in the morning."

"Thank you for the offer," I said, "but no."

Gretchen led me upstairs. I sat on the edge of the bed. Ethan stirred, rolled over.

"Ethan," I whispered, touching his shoulder gently. "Ethan."

He opened his eyes slowly, blinked a couple of times to adjust for the light spilling in from the hall.

"Hi, Dad," he said.

"Time to go," I said.

"Back to our house?" he said hopefully.

"Not for a while yet," I said. Maybe never. "Probably Nana and Poppa's. But I'm going to be with you."

I pulled back the covers. He was still dressed, his shoes on the floor next to the bed.

"I didn't have any pajamas for him," Gretchen said apologetically.

I nodded. As I helped Ethan sit up, Gretchen handed me his shoes. While I was slipping them on his feet and securing them with the Velcro straps, he said, "That's Aunt Gretchen."

"That's right," I said.

"She picked me up at Nana's."

"I hear she made you macaroni and cheese."

"Yup."

Once I had his shoes on, I picked him up, let him rest his head on my shoulder, and went back downstairs.

"I hope Horace will be okay," I said as Gretchen opened the door for me.

"Thank you," she said. "But you just worry about your boy." She patted Ethan on the head. "Bye-bye."

"Bye, Aunt Gretchen," he said, rubbing his eyes.

I carried him to Dad's car and belted him into the safety seat in the back. I was about to turn the key when Ethan asked, "Did you find Mommy?"

"Yes," I said.

"Is she home?" he asked.

I took my hand away from the key, got out of the front seat and into the back. I closed the door behind me and snuggled in close to Ethan, taking his hands into mine.

"No," I said. "She's gone away. She won't be coming back to us. But you have to know she loves you more than life itself."

"Is she mad at me?" he asked.

"No, of course not," I said. "She could never be mad at you." I paused, then found the words I wanted. "The last thing she did, she did for you."

Ethan nodded tiredly, cried a little, then yawned and fell back asleep. I kept holding him. We were still there like that when the sun came up.

Acknowledgments

Let's start with booksellers. You wouldn't have this in your hands--or on your eReader--without them. I am most grateful for the enthusiasm shown by those people who've turned their love of books into a life's work. It doesn't matter how many ads you may see or reviews you may read, nothing sells a novel better than a bookseller putting it in your hands and saying, "You really should try this."

Thank you.

I'd be nowhere without my good friend and agent, Helen Heller. She knows a good story, and she knows a bad one, and she's never afraid to tell me which kind I'm writing. Her instincts and advice are invaluable.

I am deeply indebted to Gina Centrello, Nita Taublib, Danielle Perez, and everyone else at Bantam for their dedication and support.

Keith Williams, of Williams Distinctive Gems, filled me in on diamonds. At the Vaughan Press Centre, where the
Toronto Star
--my terrific employer for twenty-seven years--is printed, Sarkis Harmandayan and Terry Vere kindly gave me a refresher course on how presses operate.

Speaking of newspapers, I'd like to thank them, too. Most of what I know comes from reading them, and working for them. They're having a tough time these days. If they end up going totally online, so be it, but we need to pay for it, or stories that need to be told won't be.

And, as always, none of this would matter without Neetha, Spencer, and Paige.