Only Ever You (14 page)

“So you checked outside,” Detective Ottilo prompted in a quiet voice. Jill wondered how he could be so calm. He was late forties or early fifties, tall and skeletally thin with short-cropped gray hair, sharp cheekbones, and pale and penetrating gray eyes. He wore brushed steel reading glasses taken from the pocket of his charcoal gray suit. Even his tie was a dull pattern of black and silver. He looked as muted as he spoke. His partner, Detective Finley, couldn’t have been a greater physical contrast. She was a short, curvaceous woman in her thirties with fiery red hair and the sort of milky skin that burned like paper in the sun. She wore a clingy emerald green wrap dress and long, brown high-heeled boots, and her blue eyes darted around the room, taking in everything before settling back on Jill and David. If Ottilo looked like an accountant who ran marathons, then Jill thought Finley resembled an Irish version of the Barefoot Contessa. Neither of them matched her mental image of a detective, and why were they both sitting there wasting valuable time?

“When we couldn’t find her in the woods, I called the police and then we both searched the house a second time, like the 911 operator told us to,” she repeated, struggling not to speak in a rapid monotone just because she’d told the story one too many times. It didn’t begin to convey the horror of it; it couldn’t convey the fear.

“What happened to your hand, Mrs. Lassiter?”

“My hand?” Jill glanced at the Band-Aids she’d taped around two fingers. “Nothing, I broke a glass and cut myself picking it up.”

“Last night?”

Jill nodded and Ottilo made another mark in his small notebook. He’d been making occasional scribbles all along, his eyes rarely leaving her face. She avoided his gaze, watching the traffic in the hall with her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. Gradually aware of pain in her arms, she glanced down to find her nails digging into the skin. She was surprised she could feel anything. Fear had given way to panic and that, in turn, had given way to a certain numbness. Maybe this was shock? Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who thought so, as Ottilo flagged down a young uniformed officer with instructions to “get Mrs. Lassiter a glass of juice or ginger ale or water if you can’t find anything sugary.” Bizarre to be a guest in her own home.

Detective Ottilo looked back at Jill. “So the front door was locked this morning?”

Jill nodded. “Definitely. I remember locking it last night. We don’t use the front door all that often; we usually come in through the garage.”

“And both that door and the garage door were closed?”

“Yes.”

“So you went out the French doors, between the kitchen and the family room, which were unlocked?”

David had been talking to his office on his cell phone, but he hung up in time to catch the question. “We’ve told you all this already! We went out the French doors and they probably weren’t locked. This is a safe neighborhood—we don’t always remember to lock those doors.”

“Sophia could have unlocked them,” Jill said. “I don’t know if we locked them last night, I can’t remember.” She pushed a hand against her forehead, willing herself to see it—her hand reaching for the door, turning the knob. “I don’t think it was locked this morning.”

“What time did both of you go outside?”

“I don’t know,” David said. “Sometime after six thirty?” He looked at Jill for confirmation.

“Six thirty-five? Six forty?” Ottilo turned his gaze back on her.

“I don’t know.” Jill struggled to think clearly. “I can’t remember. I wasn’t thinking about the time, I was thinking about finding my daughter!”

A cluster of officers in the hall turned as her voice rose. Tears pricked in her eyes and she struggled to hold them back, feeling the detective’s stare like heat against her skin. The young officer came back with a glass and offered it to her. She took a sip and choked on the cloying sweetness of the artificially flavored orange drink that they kept in stock only for David’s mother. The officer was speaking in a low voice to Ottilo. That’s all they were doing—talk, talk, talk.

So much time had passed. If Sophia had wandered off, she could be miles away by now. And if someone had taken her …

Anxiety forced Jill up from the couch. “I can’t just sit here talking.” She paced to the living room window, pushing back the curtains. “I’d rather be out looking. Are they checking people’s yards? Sophia likes animals—she might have gone to look at someone’s dog.”

“Has she wandered off before?”

“She’s not supposed to leave the yard, but she went into the woods a couple of weeks ago,” Jill said. “That’s why we checked there first.”

“And the park a few months ago,” David added. “She wandered off there.”

Jill whirled around; she couldn’t believe she’d forgotten. “She didn’t wander off, someone tried to abduct her!” She quickly described what had happened, trying to include all the details. “She had a puncture mark here.” Jill pointed to the spot on her own arm. “It looked like she’d been given a shot or—”

David interrupted. “You’re the only one who saw that, Jill.”

Detective Ottilo stopped writing and looked up. “There was a needle mark on your daughter’s arm?” He leaned forward in his seat, pen poised for their reply

“Yes,” Jill said just as David said, “No.”

He said to Ottilo, “Our daughter was gone for about thirty, maybe forty minutes, probably roaming around in the woods. There was a small mark on her arm and Jill was understandably upset. It looked like a bug bite to me, but we took her to the ER just to make sure. They didn’t find anything.”

“Did the police file a report?” Ottilo asked.

“I don’t know,” Jill said. “They left before I found the puncture—”

David interrupted. “Look, we’re wasting valuable time here. That had nothing to do with today, except to explain that our daughter wanders off. You should be out looking for her, not sitting here discussing things that happened months ago.”

“Of course it has something to do with today—it could be the same guy,” Jill snapped.

“What guy? We never saw anybody and you know as well as I do that Sophia is always taking off.”

“So your daughter routinely wanders off?” Ottilo asked, looking from Jill to David and back again.

“No,” Jill said just as David said, “Yes.” Then he repeated, “Why aren’t you out looking for her?”

“We have officers looking for your daughter as we speak, Mr. Lassiter.” It was Detective Finley who spoke this time. She perched in an armchair across from them, next to her partner in a matching chair, tapping a pen against her knee. “The state police have issued an Amber Alert for Sophia. Do you have a recent photo we can give to the news media?”

“I’ll get you one.” Jill headed for the stairs, anxious to do something.

Detective Finley fell into step behind her and Jill wondered why she needed an escort until they got to the top of the stairs and she saw police officers milling about the second floor, one of them coming out of Sophia’s bedroom, another on his hands and knees dusting for fingerprints on the door, and still another checking the linen closet. It shocked her into stopping.

“This is just routine,” the detective said. “We have to follow procedures, Mrs. Lassiter.” Voice calm, she touched Jill’s arm, a gentle pressure to steer her toward the bedroom. Jill swallowed hard and looked away; it felt so invasive, and it only got worse when she entered the master bedroom and saw a police officer coming out of the attached bath.

“My daughter was not in here this morning,” she said, trying to control her indignation.

“Sorry, ma’am.” The officer glanced at the detective before exiting.

Jill’s bedroom was as she’d left it earlier that morning, bedclothes in a tangled heap, David’s towel tossed on the floor, her robe a silk puddle next to it. It felt like a lifetime ago, not just a few hours. Detective Finley picked up a five-by-seven photo of Sophia from a display on the dresser. “Is this recent?”

“Yes, I took it this summer.” Jill stared at Sophia’s smiling face over the other woman’s shoulder. There were over a dozen photos on the dresser and most of them featured Sophia. Sophia alone, Sophia with friends, Sophia with Jill or David.

“Is she an only child?” Detective Finley was looking at the other photos and Jill saw her gaze rest for a moment on a small photo of an infant in a baby-blue onesie.

A split-second hesitation before Jill said, “Yes.” She looked away from that photo and reached for a headshot of Sophia giving a shy smile to the camera. “Here, this is another recent one.” The detective took it, but Jill saw her glance stray back to that small, single photo.

As she walked back into the living room Detective Ottilo said to David, “We need to know who’s been in the house besides the three of you in the last twenty-four hours.”

“No one. We were at a party yesterday, but we came home early.”

Ottilo nodded. “Okay. Anyone in the last few days?”

Jill shook her head, impatient. “No, the cleaning crew comes earlier in the week. We already told the first officer.”

“We’re going to need contact information for your cleaning crew.” Ottilo paused scribbling to ask, “Do you have family here?”

“My parents,” David said. “They live in Fox Chapel. I have a sister, Diane. She lives in Philadelphia.”

“What about you, Mrs. Lassiter?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t have any family nearby.” When he continued to stare at her, she added, “There’s just my mother. She lives—” She struggled to remember the latest postmark. “—somewhere down South. We’re estranged.”

“Could any family members have taken Sophia?” Finley asked. “It could be for any reason at all—dispute over parenting styles, wanting to see their grandchild…”

“No,” David said bluntly. “My parents wouldn’t take our child, that’s ridiculous.”

“We will need to talk to them anyway. It’s all routine, Mr. and Mrs. Lassiter.”

“It isn’t routine for us,” David snapped.

Jill’s felt suddenly weak-kneed. Why hadn’t she thought of it immediately? “Sophia’s adopted.”

chapter sixteen

JOURNAL—OCTOBER 2009

I told you today. I’d carried the news around with me for over a week, waiting for the right moment. I think some part of me knew that there was never going to be a right moment, not with you.

I expected surprise, but not the shock that followed, or the anger. “This is the twenty-first century,” you said, gaping at me like I’d announced terminal cancer. “You’re telling me you didn’t use birth control?”

“I thought I’d taken it—”

“You thought?” You had that awful voice you get sometimes in court, the one that says whatever the witness has testified to is completely and unquestionably idiotic.

“You didn’t wear a condom,” I said, but you weren’t listening. You already had your phone out, scrolling through search screens.

We were sitting in your car. I didn’t plan it that way, but it’s appropriate, don’t you think, since that’s where it all started? You’d pulled into the motel parking lot and I didn’t want to share this with you in that cheap, awful little room with the pasteboard furniture and the TV bolted to the wall.

“We need to get you to a clinic as quickly as possible,” you said. “I’ll arrange it all, you don’t have to worry about cost.”

I said, “A clinic?” My turn to sound shocked, and you smiled, patting my arm.

“Don’t worry, not one of those awful ones with protestors out front. There’s a private one I know about.”

I didn’t really think about that comment until just now. How do you know about this private clinic? How many times have you had this same conversation?

“I’m not going to get an abortion.”

The look of even greater surprise on your face would have been comical if I hadn’t pictured this conversation going in a completely different direction.

You switched into your whiskey-smooth voice, the one that makes me feel like believing anything you say. “This desire of yours, to selflessly have this baby to help another couple, that’s really great of you.” You were stroking my hair and I pulled back.

“No, no, I’m going to keep it.”

You flinched. You actually flinched. And then you said that that was the stupidest thing you’d ever heard. “Are you out of your mind? This will ruin both of our careers!”

You told me how I’d never keep up with the work, you told me that there was no way on my salary that I’d be able to afford more than the worst day care for my child. My child. Not ours. You told me that if I proceeded with this stupid plan that you wouldn’t be able to help me, that I’d end up without a job. “You couldn’t stay at the firm, don’t you see that?”

I started to cry and you sighed. “Look, I’m not trying to hurt you, but this is how it is.” I cried harder and you wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close against your expensive suit, something you usually don’t do until you’re undressed because you care so much about your clothes. “Don’t cry,” you said. “It’s going to be okay.” The only thing to hope for is that you’ll change your mind before the time comes to give our baby up.

chapter seventeen

DAY ONE

Bea’s shoulders ached from hauling the bag, her arms twitching with fatigue. She had to concentrate to keep the wheel straight as she drove. Be careful, keep within the speed limit. The last thing she wanted was to attract the attention of police at just after five in the morning. There were no streetlights in this damn suburb; she could barely see the road.

The duffel bag sat on the floor of the backseat on the passenger side; she’d been afraid to leave it in the trunk. She’d pulled out of the copse and onto the road as quietly as possible, but there was no way she could avoid using the headlights. It was cloudy and had been bitterly cold in the woods; the night was so complete that she could barely see a hand in front of her face. The yellow headlights glowed like flares in the darkness.

A small sound from the backseat. Bea glanced in the rearview mirror, cursing when she saw the bag moving. She still had close to ten minutes of driving before they reached the house. Bea increased her speed, watching the arrow move along the little map on the GPS mounted to her dashboard. Calculated arrival at destination: six minutes, twenty seconds.