Lost Innocents (13 page)

Paulina knelt down in the leaves, ignoring the brown bits of leaves that clung to her pants, the mud that stuck to her shoes. She could not make much sense of what Ellen was saying, and it frightened her. What was she doing out here, crawling around in the woods? Mr. H had been right to be worried. Paulina put her arms around the narrow shoulders of the fragile woman and stroked her wild, graying curls. “It’s all right,” she said. “The cat will be all right. You have to come home now.”

“You don’t understand,” said Ellen, shaking her head. “This happening right now. It’s a sign. I’m being punished.”

“That’s nonsense,” said Paulina. “Come along now. We’d better get back.”

Ellen nodded. Paulina tried to think how she was going to tell this to Mr. H. It was not hard to see this as some kind of mental…crisis. She dreaded to see the look on his face when he heard about it. Not for the first time, Paulina wished that her employers had a strong faith to turn to for comfort. She had always found refuge in her prayers, the beads of the rosary like a lifeline in her arthritic fingers. Paulina began to pray now as she took Ellen’s arm and pulled her up, supporting her weight as they headed back through the evergreens.

Although Donna and Johnny Wallace’s neatly kept bungalow was filled with people, there was little noise above the sound of the TV, which was running continuously. The kitchen counters were laden with food, wrapped in foil and Saran Wrap, and every available seat was filled with an aunt, an uncle, or a cousin. Johnny Wallace was having a beer, because it was the only way he could think of to calm his nerves. Johnny leaned against a kitchen counter and stared vacantly ahead while his older brother sat at the kitchen table and talked at him, trying to analyze the situation optimistically.

In her bedroom, Donna Wallace sat on a bed piled high with stuffed animals, still wearing one of Johnny’s shirts over her nightgown, Pound Puppy slippers on her feet, clutching a fist full of soggy tissues in her right hand. She gazed at a photo of Justin on the bedside table. The picture had been taken as Justin was being nuzzled by his grandmother’s dog. The child was crowing with delight.

Donna Wallace knew what she had to do. They had heard the news about Rebecca almost simultaneously on the phone and on the television. In the days and hours since Justin’s disappearance, the crowd at her house had not thinned. Her angry relatives had shouted the reporters away and refused to let anyone get near her. But there was no way Donna could shake off her duty now. Depositing the tissues in the bedside wastebasket, she stood up on shaky legs. She took off the flannel shirt, pulled the nightgown over her head, and dressed carefully—a clean blouse and dark slacks. Then she put on trouser socks and real shoes. Not running shoes. Not for this.

When she was dressed she looked in the mirror. Her face was white, with patches of gray under her eyes. She brushed a streak of blush across each cheek. Carefully she applied lipstick. Her hair was hopeless. She did not even bother. When she opened the door to her room a crack, her cousin Rose, who was standing outside like a sentry, looked in at her suspiciously.

“What is it, hon?” Rose asked.

“Tell Johnny I’m ready to go,” she said.

“Do you really think—”

“Just tell him, Rose,” said Donna.

Rose lumbered away from the door and returned in a few minutes with Johnny. He slipped into the room, holding Donna’s parka. “You’ll need this,” he said.

Donna looked at him and saw that he had shaved. She nodded approvingly and touched her hand to the skin on his face.

“We’ll go out the back,” he said as she pulled on her parka. Her arms and shoulders seemed to ache, as if she had a fever.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Ready?” he asked, meeting her gaze with his own strong gaze, and she was glad, once again, that she had married him. She nodded.

Johnny took her hand, and they sneaked out the back door.

Behind them, they could hear people arguing in the living room. The day was raw, and Donna shivered, even in her parka. Johnny gripped her hand tightly, and they walked across the small backyard, through the two backyards adjacent to it, passing rusty barbecue grills and plastic children’s riding toys. Fortunately no one on their block had a chain-link fence. They arrived at the familiar patio of Sandi Starnes’s little house, the green-and-white webbed lawn furniture still sitting outside, many of the webs frayed and broken. The patio umbrella in the middle of the white table was down and looked gray and moldy.

Johnny and Donna exchanged a glance, and Donna nodded. Johnny tapped on the sliding doors of the patio, which had the curtains drawn from inside.

A large, surly man came to the sliders, pulled back the curtain, and glared at them. Then he looked slightly confused as he recognized the Wallaces. “Could we come in?” Johnny asked.

The man turned from the sliders, dropped the curtain, and spoke gruffly to someone inside. Donna and Johnny stood shivering on the patio, looking up at the gray sky.

There was movement near the windows, and then Sandi Starnes pushed back the curtains. She opened the sliders. Her whole face was red from weeping.

Donna felt her heart turn over in her chest. “Sandi,” she said.

“Hello, Donna,” said Sandi.

For a moment Donna thought that she would not be able to speak, that she would just stand there, frozen on that patio, like some cement statue. Then, suddenly, the words came tumbling out. “Sandi, you may not even want to speak to us ever again and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, but we just heard about Rebecca and we had to come…and say…and say…” The end of her sentence was lost in sobs.

Johnny cleared his throat manfully and took up where his wife had faltered. “And say how we are really sorry and really…ashamed that we thought…or ever said that maybe Rebecca…” He swallowed hard. “Who was always such a good girl.”

Donna turned away from the door, hiding her face in her hands, but Sandi, wearing only a little gray cardigan sweater for warmth, stepped out on the patio and put a hand on Donna’s shoulder.

Donna turned and looked at the older woman, her eyes fearful but willing to take whatever blows might come her way. “You must hate me,” she said miserably. “I hate myself.”

Sandi shook her head. She felt a strange stillness inside. Compassion, even, for these two. Who’s to say, she wondered, what I might have thought if that baby had been my Rebecca? You think crazy things. You think the worst thoughts in the world. Usually it doesn’t turn out to be anything. Someone stopped for an ice-cream cone. Someone forgot to call. There was a flat tire. Usually all those fears were for nothing. You made up all these horrible scenarios in your head, and then all at once the door opened and your precious child was standing there, bright and heart lifting as a rainbow. And then you started hollering because they made you worry so.

Sandi gazed at Donna and Johnny. They looked so vulnerable standing there, like children themselves. But they were not children. They were the terrified parents of a missing baby.

Sandi reached out and squeezed Donna’s trembling fingers. Donna grasped Sandi’s hand, and awkwardly, gratefully she pressed it to her lips.

“At least my waiting is over,” Sandi said.

P
aulina shook the hand of the priest, who stood in foyer of the Henson mansion. “Thank you for coming, Father. I know you’re trying get to to ready leave…”

Nick shook his head. “It’s all right, Paulina. I wasn’t getting much accomplished anyway.” He thought of Maddy in his arms, their brief embrace that had made him feverish with anxiety. After she had left, he had tried to continue his packing, but it was hopeless. “I welcomed your call,” he said truthfully. He had been grateful for an opportunity to get out of his own head, to get away from his shameful thoughts and try to minister to others as he had promised to do when he took his vows.

“I haven’t been able reach to her husband. He’s a lawyer and he’s out of the office. So I thought of you. She’s not a Catholic, Father. But she’s a soul in torment if ever I saw one. I thought maybe you could talk to her. You have a good way with people. I’ve come to with my problems you often enough.”

Nick smiled. “I’ll happy to try. You say she lost her son?”

“It was many years ago, and she had a breakdown afterward. It’s always been difficult, but this time…It seems like there’s a burden that’s crushing her. I’ve found so in my help faith. I’m not trying to force her to believe anything, but I don’t know any other way to comfort her. I told her I was going to call you, but she didn’t seem to hear me. When she sees you she may just tell you to get out and leave her alone.”

“She won’t be the first one,” he said with a smile. “All we can do is offer our help.” He gestured for her to lead the way, and Paulina started up the wide staircase ahead of him.

“That went pretty well,” Doug said cheerfully, loosening his tie. He was seated in a leather chair, next to a mahogany desk in Charles Henson’s office at Henson, Newman and Pierce. The offices were in a handsomely renovated Queen Anne-style house across from the public library; Charles’s private office boasted a fireplace with an ornate mantel, Persian carpets, and Tiffany-style lamps scattered around.

Charles, who was in the process of opening his briefcase, stopped and stared at his client, who had one arm tossed comfortably over the back of the leather chair. Of course he understood Doug’s relief. Julia Sewell had been unable to identify him in the lineup, and though the police had threatened to produce other witnesses, apparently they did not have any at hand. After Charles threatened a lawsuit for harassment, the police had let him go.

“I’d keep that tie tight if I were you,” Charles said coolly. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”

Doug’s self-satisfied expression vanished as he straightened in the chair and fixed his tie. Charles chided himself for sounding so harsh. The young man had every reason to be relieved. Charles wondered if maybe his own anxiety was coloring his attitude. He heard the phone ring in the outer office and wondered if his secretary was back to pick it up. She had not been at her desk when they’d come in. Automatically Charles tensed up, wondering if Paulina was calling. But the light went out on the phone line after a moment, and Charles resumed the hunt through his briefcase.

“What do you mean, not out of the woods?” Doug asked warily.

“Well, when we went down there earlier, we had a missing persons situation. Now it’s murder,” he said, referring to the fact that Rebecca’s body had been found. “Chief Cameron would like nothing better than to drag you down there again. He’s got his sights set on you.”

“Did you mean what you said about filing the harassment lawsuit?” Doug asked.

Charles tapped his Mont Blanc pen absently on the curving leather arm of his chair. “I think we may have to. As sort of a preemptive strike. Just so he knows he can’t keep dragging you down there for whatever develops.”

“Are we talking a lot of money?” Doug asked eagerly. “Do you think we can win?”

Charles could practically see dollar signs lighting up in Doug’s eyes. “Doug, we’re not talking about winning the lottery here. These suits can drag on through the courts for years. So far, we haven’t got a strong case.”

“But that picture was so vague it could have been anybody,” Doug said indignantly.

“On the other hand, it could have been you. It did look like you. It’s not as if the witness described a short, bald, swarthy man…”

“She didn’t recognize me,” Doug protested.

“No, she didn’t. Let’s hope that’s an end to it.”

“Well, then why did you say that about the lawsuit?” Doug asked, disappointment in his tone.

“You have just been exonerated from some extremely serious charges, and you are trying to rehabilitate your reputation. We all know how the papers will trumpet a man’s disgrace and give only the slightest lip service to his exoneration.”

“That’s the truth,” Doug said.

“Now, you suddenly find yourself back in the headlines, back on the TV news, and if it’s merely because this chief of police is having trouble accepting the fact that his daughter lied about you…”

“That’s how I see it,” Doug said.

“Well, a lawsuit may be the only recourse we have to fight back. I mean, if he intends to pillory you.”

“So we probably should go for it,” Doug said.

“No. Actually I’m hoping that the threat of it will be enough to bring the man to his senses. I’m hoping that from now on he will leave you alone. You don’t want to drag your family through any more of this, do you?”

Doug chewed his lip absently. “No…”

Charles glanced at his watch and then at the telephone.

Doug spread his hands wide apart. “But I don’t see what else I can do. How else am I going to stop him from hauling me in there every time some teenage girl thinks she hears a noise on her front porch? I’m like the bogeyman now. I want to put a stop to this. I can’t imagine how a lawsuit could be any worse for my wife than this.”

Charles sighed. “Well, as I said, I’m hoping that a word to the wise will be sufficient. If not, we have to weigh our options. You have to realize that if we get involved in a lawsuit against the police department, you’re going to find yourselves under a microscope for the foreseeable future. I know that Maddy was looking forward to everything getting back to normal.”

“But it isn’t normal,” Doug insisted. “It isn’t normal to be dragged down to the police station at the chief’s whim. Maddy will understand that.”

“Agreed,” said Charles, feeling a little exasperated. “But threatening the lawsuit is a tactic that may prevent that from happening. So far, the chief is not out of bounds on this.” He leaned toward Doug. “A girl is dead. A baby is still missing. He has to try everything, do everything he possibly can, no matter whose feelings get hurt. You file a lawsuit right now just because you had to answer some questions and I guarantee you, you’re going to look like Public Enemy Number One.”

Doug slumped back in his chair. “All right,” he grumbled. “I suppose you’re right. For now.”

The phone buzzed on Charles’s desk and the attorney jumped. “Excuse me a second,” he said. When he picked up the phone his secretary told him that Paulina was calling. “Put her through,” he said.