Cemetery Girl (24 page)

“Sure,” Ryan said. “We’re just going to have a friendly chat.” Ryan adjusted his bulk on the couch, settling into the cushions a little like a bear choosing a spot to hibernate. It took long seconds, and when things were just right, he let out a long sigh. “Okay, Caitlin, do you want to tell me anything? Do you feel like talking about where you’ve been?”

Caitlin stiffened visibly and gave Ryan a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t respond.

“I know this might be difficult, but we’ve got to get to the bottom of some things here, and the sooner we do that, the better. A crime’s been committed, and it’s my job to figure out who did what. Can you help me with that?”

Ryan reached into his inside coat pocket again. He brought out a piece of white paper, folded into thirds. He unfolded it and held it in front of Caitlin.

“Do you know this man? Do you know who he is?”

Nothing.

“You know his name, don’t you? He took you when you were little.”

“Maybe—” Abby began to say.

Ryan held up his hand without turning around, cutting Abby off.

“Caitlin, did this man hurt you in any way? Do you know the kind of ways I might mean?”

Abby gasped, but Caitlin turned and faced Ryan for the first time. She spoke to him through gritted teeth. “You think you know so much, but you don’t. You don’t know anything.”

“I want you to tell me those things, Caitlin,” Ryan said, his voice softer. “I want you to tell me what I need to know to find this man and convict him.”

Caitlin’s eyes darted back and forth ever so slightly, and she used her tongue to moisten her lips.

“Did this man threaten you? Did he say he’d hurt you if you talked to the police? Did he threaten your family? Your parents? You don’t have to worry about all of that. You’re safe here. Your parents are safe. We can protect you and your family.”

“Yes, Caitlin,” I said. “Listen to him.”

Ryan paused, letting his words sink in. I’m sure he was hoping the fatherly, protective approach might break Caitlin down, but when it didn’t, he pressed ahead.

“You know, people saw you out with this man,” Ryan said. “They saw you in public places, acting as though you were a couple. Let’s see, you were at the Fantasy Club with him, Pat’s Diner over in Leesburg, the Country Inn and Buffet in Russellville. You weren’t in handcuffs when these people saw you. You weren’t tied up or shackled or anything like that. In fact, some people saw you go off and use the restroom, which means you could have run away if you wanted to. Why didn’t you, Caitlin? Were you scared? Did he say he would hurt you if you ran?”

The sick feeling in my gut, the one that had started on the porch, came back even stronger. I bent down into a squatting position, resting my back against the wall. Abby was looking away, off toward the blank TV screen. Her right hand was raised to her chest and clutched a handful of fabric from her shirt.

Ryan sat back a little. He refolded the paper with the sketch on it and placed it back in his pocket. “I think I know what’s going on here,” he said. “I think you were trying to go back to this man last night. That’s why you went out the window and ran away. Do you love him, Caitlin? Is that what you think? Do you think you love him?”

“I do love him,” she said. “And he loves me. He does. Still. He loves me.”

I stood up, my mouth dry. I felt on the edge of panic. “Who does, Caitlin?” I asked. “Who is this man who’s been telling you these things?”

Ryan held up his silencing finger again, and when he did, Caitlin turned away from him and folded her arms across her chest. She looked younger than her years, like a small child throwing a tantrum, and to complete the effect some tears ran down her cheeks. It wasn’t full-fledged sobbing like the night before, but it was enough to signal the end of the conversation.

Ryan pushed himself up from the couch, the springs groaning with relief.

“Okay, Caitlin,” he said. “I’ll leave off there. But I do hope we’ll talk about this again. And I’ll be sure to tell Dr. Rosenbaum about our conversation. Maybe you’d rather talk to him about it at some point. Would you prefer that? Would you prefer to talk to Dr. Rosenbaum?”

Caitlin didn’t answer.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s fine. Well, I’m glad you’re home with your parents and getting settled in.”

Ryan left the room, and as he passed, he placed his hand on my arm and nodded, indicating he wanted us to follow him. We did, but before we left the living room, I looked back at Caitlin. She still sat on the couch in the same position—arms folded, jaw set. She looked stubborn and determined. Not only did I wonder about the secrets she held inside her, but also about the nature of the effort it would take to pry them loose. Before I left the room, Caitlin reached up and took hold of the topaz necklace. She rubbed the stone between her thumb and forefinger as if it were some kind of charm.

The three of us gathered in the kitchen, presumably out of Caitlin’s earshot, although a part of me suspected Ryan wanted her to hear our conversation.

“Continue to keep a close eye on her tonight,” Ryan said. “She may bolt again.”

“Oh, God,” Abby said. “Those things you said to her . . . Why . . . ?”

“I’m sorry if it seemed too harsh. She has a strong wall up, and she’s strong willed. I had to try to get through it. The sooner we answer these questions, the sooner we can catch the person who did this to Caitlin. This guy’s out there, and I think he’s close.”

“Close?” Abby asked.

“In town. Or at least he was. Where did your brother go?”

“The porch, I guess,” I said.

“I’ll catch him on my way out.”

“Why do you want to talk to him?” Abby asked. “Frankly, given some of his past behavior, I thought maybe you should . . . examine him more closely.”

“This is just routine,” Ryan said. “Really, keep a close eye on her tonight. She’s still attached to this guy.” He gave Abby a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Stay strong. We’re getting there.”

Abby and I walked with Ryan to the front of the house, back to the room where Caitlin was sitting. She’d turned the TV back on. Through the large picture window, I saw Buster sitting on the porch, smoking a cigarette. I thought he’d quit, but there he was, the long tendrils of smoke leaving his mouth and nostrils and being carried away on the wind.

“I’ll just have a word with William and be on my way.”

“Tom?”

I followed Abby’s gaze. She stared out the window to the porch, where Ryan stood over Buster. Ryan’s face displayed the same unfriendly grin, and Buster was shaking his head back and forth, back and forth.

She said my name again.

“Tom?”

I looked over at her. She jerked her head toward the kitchen, so I followed her back there. She leaned against the one counter and I leaned against the other, facing her.

“It’s true, isn’t it? All that stuff Ryan was saying to her? It’s true. She lived with some man, and she . . . lived with him or whatever.”

“She was taken.”

“Are you sure? What if she ran away? What if she wanted to be away from us? Someone else seemed more appealing. Better.”

“Stop it.”

“It’s possible, Tom. Admit it’s possible. Don’t all kids wish they could be away from their parents? Maybe Caitlin . . .”

I went back to the living room and looked out the window. Buster wore a large smirk, and for a moment, he looked as childish and pouty as Caitlin under the heat of Ryan’s questions. He flicked his cigarette butt out into our yard and kept smirking.

Chapter Thirty-one

I
turned back to Caitlin. It was getting late in the afternoon, and the light was going. I sat in a chair across from her and didn’t bother to see if she would move her eyes from the TV screen to me. I knew she wouldn’t.

“I know Detective Ryan was kind of hard on you,” I said. “He’s just doing his job, trying to find out what’s going on.”

Silence.

“He left you a note.”

“Fuck him.”

“I don’t mean Detective Ryan.”

She cut her eyes toward me. I waited while the realization showed on her face.

“He left it in the cemetery, with a bouquet of flowers. Ryan took it, but I’m sure he’ll show it to you at some point. I think they’re looking for fingerprints.” I paused, letting that hang in the air a moment. “The note said not to come back. It told you to go away and not come back.”

“Why would anyone leave a note in the cemetery?” she asked.

“Maybe because that’s where he took you.”

She started to turn back to the TV, but stopped. She looked at me again, still processing. “Was my name on it? The note. Was my name on it?”

“No.” I didn’t know where she was going with this.

“Then how do you know it was for me?”

“He left it someplace special,” I said. “Someplace just for you.”

She had never been a stupid kid. She was always two steps ahead of Abby and me, even when she was little.

“What could be just for me in a cemetery?”

I didn’t say anything, but Caitlin stared, her eyes a little wider.

“No,” she said. “You fuckers.”

I was trapped. “You were gone a long time, Caitlin. We wanted to celebrate your life somehow.”

She started shaking her head.

“You buried me,” she said.

“No.”

Her mouth hung open, her face disbelieving.

“He was right,” she said.

“Who?” I asked. But I knew.
The man
.

“He said you’d forget about me. You’d move on.”

“He lied to you, Caitlin. We
never
forgot.”

“It’s bullshit.”

“It’s a headstone, Caitlin. It’s just a memorial, a tribute.”

She turned back to the TV, her jaw set like granite.

“I’ll show you the note when I can. He’s done with you. Stop protecting him.”

“You’ll never know what happened,” she said. “Never.”

“I will.” I raised my hand, index finger extended. “I promise.”

She shook her head, speaking one word.

“Never,” she said. “Never.”

I looked outside, where Buster paced back and forth on the porch, a new cigarette burning in his mouth. It looked like Ryan was gone, so I went outside.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“Breaking my balls, I guess.”

He kept pacing.

“What did he ask you?”

He stopped pacing and came up to me. The cigarette smoke curled up into his face, and he squinted.

“He showed me that sketch and asked if I knew who the guy was. Then he asked if any of my associates might know the guy.
Associates
. Can you believe he used that word? Associates.”

“What did you say?”

He took the cigarette out of his mouth, still squinting. “What do you think I said? I told him I didn’t know the guy. I told him the same stuff today I told him four years ago. Did you put him up to this?”

“I need to know.”

He broke off eye contact with me and walked away, turning his back. I was surprised to see his hair was thinning at the crown of his head, allowing pale skin to show through. He was younger than me, so much younger than me, I always thought. He took a last drag on his cigarette and dropped it on the porch, grinding it beneath his shoe.

“Your brother?” he said. “You’d really question your brother?”

“I don’t know . . .” I paced a little, back and forth on the porch.

“You’ve got all this anger, Tom. All this anger toward me. Toward the family. We were close as kids. We looked out for each other. I looked out for you. Always.”

“I know,” I said. “But you should have heard the things Ryan was saying back there . . .”

“What kinds of things?”

I sat down, taking the same seat I was in when we talked to Ryan. Buster sat down, too, using Ryan’s chair. He waited for me to talk, leaning forward expectantly. I wasn’t sure where to start.

“Ryan came by today to tell us that people saw Caitlin out in public with this guy.”

“You’re kidding,” he said.

I shook my head. “Restaurants, strip clubs. Hell, maybe they went to church together for all I know. She was with this guy, in public, and she could’ve gotten away from him—several times—and she didn’t. She stayed with him. I don’t know what I’m supposed to think of that.”

Buster leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. He looked like a wise sage, absorbing my story. But I noticed that his fingers were intertwined and squeezed so his knuckles turned white. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s fucked-up.”

“At the hospital,” I said, “they did a bunch of tests. They wanted to make sure Caitlin was in good shape and everything.”

“Sure.”

“They did a gynecological exam.” I felt deflated. “She’s not a virgin anymore.”

Buster lowered his hands and gripped the armrests of his chair. He looked like he’d been slapped. “He raped her,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “It figures, the fucking pig.”

I made a helpless, hopeless gesture with my hands, somewhere between a shrug and a surrender.

“What are we going to do?” Buster asked.

“I need to get back inside.”

“You didn’t answer my question. What are we going to do?”

I couldn’t look at him. “I need time to think about all of this.”

“Sure.” Buster stood up. “The thoughtful, scholarly man. Consider all the angles. Mull it over. We’ve got time, right?”

“You want to go beat the guy up? Find him and kill him?”

“It’s a start.”

He didn’t sound like he was kidding.

“I thought you didn’t know who he was,” I said.

“That’s just it, professor. You find out. You’ve got the sketch. You’ve got two good legs. Can you do any worse than the cops?”

“Did Caitlin tell you anything when you were alone with her?” I asked, jerking my thumb toward the house. “Did she talk to you?”

“Not really. We talked about TV. She said she’s watched the last few seasons of
American Idol
. It’s her favorite show.”

“So she could watch TV, wherever she was.”

“I guess so.” He seemed to be thinking about something. “Hey?” he said.