Songs for the Missing (13 page)

“Amen,” they all said.

Stop, Look & Listen

At night the trains came through. The woods behind her house ran unbroken, crisscrossed with creeks and ATV trails before backing up to the Conrail tracks. A half mile inland the Norfolk Southern’s lines shadowed them like rivals. All day the trains barreled east- and westbound, blaring their horns before every crossing, but after dark, when the clamor of work died down and the moon hung low over the trees, they filled the deepening sky with sound, their mournful warnings growing louder as they approached, peaking in a furious thrumming of diesels and clatter of trucks as if they were passing right behind her mother’s fenced-off compost heap, then fading again, long-drawn chords calling ever softer, moving away through town and into the distance until there was nothing but the sawing of locusts surrounding the house.

Like everyone in their subdivision, Nina knew the schedule intimately. As a girl she stayed up to hear the ten o’clock freight before giving herself to sleep, and was disappointed when she missed it. Since eighth grade she no longer considered catching the one o’clock an achievement. This last week she’d become reacquainted with the three-oh-five and the four thirty—trains she might hear once a month while drowsily using the bathroom.

Now when she padded to the toilet she was perfectly, frustratingly awake. Her feet were tender and her legs were jumpy from walking all day, and through a combination of exhaustion and being around too many people, she’d picked up a summer cold, which the central air that kept the house bearable made worse. Her mother suggested Nyquil, and while it knocked her out it also gave her terrible nightmares and made it harder to wake up. She decided to go without, with the predictable result that for hours while the rest of the house slept she lay chilly and alert and ready for tomorrow to start, picturing Kim and her at work, Kim in her bikini that last day, and then, when she’d resigned herself to counting the trains, fell unknowingly into a dreamless void that was over before she could appreciate it.

At breakfast her mother listened to the news. The war in Iraq had knocked Kim from the top spot.
The search continues for a local woman,
the anchorman read, professionally detached. It had been five days since she’d called the tipline. Every morning Nina waited to hear that the police were questioning a suspect, but there was nothing. She finished her orange juice and dressed for the woods, rubbing Skin So Soft into her neck and arms, pocketing a travel pack of tissues.

Hinch was being a dick. He only came when he didn’t have to work. He said he’d tried to switch shifts, but she questioned his effort. She didn’t see why he couldn’t quit. It was just the fucking Dairy Queen.

“I would if I thought it would do any good,” he said, meaning it had been eight days. The second weekend was coming up. They’d posted new flyers around town to rally support.

“So you’re just going to give up.”

“I’m not giving up, I just can’t do it 24-7 like you.”

“What if it was me?” Nina asked.

“Come on, Ni-ni.”

“No. How long would you look for me?”

“Forever.”

“Bullshit. You can’t even take one day off for Kim.”

“I already took three. I’ve been out every day except Monday and yesterday.”

“You’re not getting it,” she said.

What made her angrier was that he was just being realistic. Friday the turnout was barely enough for three teams, and though they were getting nothing done she was still pissed when he had to leave early.

“I’ll see you later,” he said.

“That’s okay,” she said. “I’m going to try and get some sleep tonight.”

“Are you guys all right?” Elise asked on the way home, and Nina shrugged like she didn’t care.

She didn’t, she decided sometime between the one o’clock and the three-oh-five. If Hinch didn’t understand how important Kim was to her, he didn’t understand anything. J.P. and Elise knew they weren’t going to find anything out there. That wasn’t the point.

Saturday he had to work. She was too busy to miss him. The flyers brought in a flood of volunteers, and they covered more ground than they had all week. It was only on the bus back to church that she turned on her phone and saw she had three messages.

He’d left two, in the middle of the afternoon, during the long lull between lunch and dinner, probably on break. She could see him smoking in the shade by the cemetery fence, rethinking his decision. As always, too late, he would try to apologize, saying they both knew he was a jerk. As always, she would confirm that fact and forgive him, but only after exacting serious concessions. The idea of the world returning to normal appealed to her. Outside, dusk was falling, softening the hills. The scale of today’s search had been gratifying, and she was too tired to fight. She would say she wasn’t angry with him, just frustrated, clearing the way for them to make up. It was Saturday night. Maybe they could go to the movies or down to the harbor. It had been too long since they’d been together. She suspected that was one reason why she couldn’t sleep.

The first message said he was at the sheriff’s department and needed a ride.

The second, a minute later, said to forget it, Marnie was going to pick him up.

He knew she couldn’t stop searching and come get him. They were warnings, but what was she supposed to do with them?

Her mother had left the other one. The police stopped by and said they wanted to talk to her. “I told them you were out searching for Kim.”

Neither of them sounded upset. Nina had to remind herself that this step was inevitable, and necessary. She was surprised it had taken this long.

She called Hinch but couldn’t really talk, with people all around and the racket of the engine blowing through the windows in stereo. He was paranoid about his phone being tapped. In the background, drawers rolled open and thumped shut.

“Are you okay?”

“My mom’s the one who’s going nuts. There’s clothes and shit all over the place. They said they could arrest me for having a scale. That was their excuse.”

“What did you say?”

“I just told them the truth.”

How she interpreted this would determine her strategy. She spent several questions nailing down what happened, and realized she needn’t have. She could count on Hinch to stick with the plan. His allegiances were simple.

“So I guess I won’t be seeing you later,” she said.

“Oh yeah.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“I seriously doubt it.”

By the time she got off they were on the bridge, the river invisible beneath them. Across the aisle, J.P. and Lindsay were curled over the Sudoku from today’s paper. Nina reached out and tapped him on the arm, crooking a finger so he leaned closer.

“It’s happening,” she whispered. “What I said.”

He pulled away and appraised her, then nodded. She thought he would dig out his phone, but he just went back to watching Lindsay fill in the squares.

She wanted to be that calm. From the minute she decided to call the tipline, she knew what would happen, yet now she felt the urge to run. Her chance was coming up. The bus had to stop for the Norfolk Southern tracks. She could ask the driver to drop her off and walk a mile along the ties, then cut through the woods—impossible in this light, and where could she go but home? She was overreacting. If they hadn’t arrested Hinch she had to believe she’d be okay.

The driver slowed and came to an exaggerated stop. Far up the line a single headlamp shone, but it was impossible to tell if it was moving. Foolishly she was rooting for anything that might postpone their arrival. The driver waited a full three seconds before inching them over the hump. He did the same at the Conrail tracks, the bus lurching when he let out the clutch. Nina held on to the seatback in front of her as they lumbered across, swaying. He found second gear and the first streetlights of town floated by, the dark houses and parked cars. They made the light at Main and Harbor, dashing her last hope.

The facade of the church was floodlit, the belltower rising into the night. As they turned into the lot she could see a pair of news vans and an unmarked car in front, and standing on the curb as if to greet them, the detective and his deputy. Behind them a door opened and a figure with a clipboard descended the stairs, favoring one leg—Kim’s dad.

J.P. and Lindsay were watching him too. As the bus swung through the circle, braking, he hobbled straight for them, the cops falling in behind him, all three converging on the door as it folded open.

Kim’s dad pulled himself up the steps. Nina and J.P. were sitting near the front, and she imagined him striding down the aisle and dragging them off. Instead, he stood beside the driver and held up his arms for quiet. For a sickening instant she was certain he was going to tell them Kim was dead.

The detective watched from the top step, taking note of her and J.P. She stayed still, afraid of betraying herself.

“Lindsay,” Kim’s dad said, holding out a hand, and J.P. got up to let her by.

Kim’s dad hugged her with the clipboard and kept that arm over her shoulder as he addressed them.

“I just wanted to thank you all for coming out today, and to let you know that starting tomorrow we’ll be working out of Firehouse Number Four.” He was subdued, as if he didn’t agree with the move. Nina wanted him to look at her, but he was focused somewhere above her head. “That’s the one on Erie right across from the park. So don’t show up here, because we’re going to be over there. And please tell anyone you know who couldn’t make it today. Thank you.” He gave the front row a batch of flyers to pass back, waved and ducked down the stairs with Lindsay.

Nina watched them go. Instead of heading for the doors they walked arm-in-arm toward their station wagon, Lindsay propping him up on one side.

“Thanks for your patience,” the detective said. “I won’t keep you long.” He had a a single sheet of paper, and paused, looking over the rows as if he might read a list of names. Outside, first one and then another silvery spotlight popped on, blinding them, etching the interior with shadows. “The reason for shifting the command center is that the state police are taking over the case. Earlier today they found Kim’s car outside of Sandusky.”

As the bus erupted Nina turned to J.P., who was just as confused as she was.

All she knew about Sandusky was that Cedar Point was there.

“That doesn’t mean we stop looking here,” the detective said loudly, to quiet them.

It was good news, but now she doubted everything they’d done so far. The flyers, the searches. They’d wasted ten days looking in the wrong place. She’d snitched on Wooze for nothing.

“We’ve got some media people who are going to want to talk to you, so please, think before you speak, okay? Remember that what you say could have an effect on Kim. Finding the car is definitely a positive, but it’s not the end of anything, it’s just a starting point.”

After he dismissed them she and J.P. shuffled up the aisle and down the steps together, careful of the curb. The reporters had grabbed the first people off and were grilling them on the walk, using the bus as a backdrop. Nina didn’t want to talk with anyone. She wanted to skip the debriefing and go straight home, but followed J.P. toward the doors. The lights were so distracting that she didn’t see the deputy until he was right beside her.

“If you’d come with me,” he said discreetly. “You too, sir.”

The Motorist’s Prayer

He drove out the same way she’d been taken, passing the same exits and rest areas and billboards, navigating the same insane curve to skirt downtown Cleveland, wondering if she was still in the car then. I-90 sliced clear across the top of the state, a straight shot popular with long-haul truckers. He recalled the serial killer theories left in the guestbook and found he could no longer dismiss them, if only because he was following the road. He kept the radio on as a distraction, a call-in show about the Indians’ second-half chances after a disappointing beginning—not good, he agreed. It was a gray Sunday and the Winnebagos were rolling, the lacquered muscle cars being trailered back from shows. At home Fran and Lindsay would be at church, and he wished he was sitting between them, listening to Father John calmly untangle the knot of his sermon.

The state police had told him the car was clean, they just needed him to identify her personal effects—as if she was already dead. Though all the evidence was against him, he’d done his best to suspend judgment, and refused to draw any conclusions.

In the back of the Taurus he had a thousand new flyers, a couple hundred buttons and a whole box of office supplies donated by the Copycat. He had extra pictures of Kim if the media needed them, and a dozen copies of the DVD Fran had put together. For the dogs he had Kim’s bikini bottom and a pair of underpants from her hamper, sealed in a freezer bag.

On the far side of Avon he hit the drive-thru at Roy Rogers for lunch, balancing a Gold Rush sandwich on his thigh, chewing with his eyes on the road. Worried that he was dripping, he wolfed it and had to release the pressure with several gurgling, flavored burps. He balled up the wrapper and tossed it into the passenger footwell, slapped the crumbs off his shirtfront and took a cleansing suck of soda.

“Well that was a mistake,” he said.

“Why are you in my lane?” he asked a camper, and miles later caught himself arguing with a perky shill for a discount furniture store.

As a realtor he was accustomed to being his only company—the car was his office—but after being so besieged these last weeks it was strange to be alone, and dangerous, on the heels of such ugly news. Though he was on a quest, speeding toward a destination where he was urgently needed, he felt disconnected and empty, and couldn’t rid himself of the notion, as in a bad dream, that he was going the wrong way.

What Kim sleeping with this Wooze character meant, Ed didn’t know, but he held it against him as if he’d raped her. Dennis Wozniak, twenty-two, a decorated Marine, as if that made any difference. A drug dealer. Perry promised they were keeping a close eye on him while they secured a warrant. He lived out in the hills, so he might be cooking up the stuff. If they came across anything that gave them probable cause they’d go back to the judge for another warrant. Ed didn’t understand why they were giving the guy time to hide everything. They might as well call him and tell him they were coming.