The Night She Disappeared (18 page)

The scalp is covered by brown hair, approximately 3 inches in length at its longest point. The irides are brown with the pupils fixed and dilated. The head is normocephalic, and there is external evidence of antemortem injury to be described below.

There are no tattoos, deformities, or amputations.

The body appears to the examiner as stated above. Identification is by toe tag and the autopsy is not material to identification. The body is not embalmed.

Anatomical Summary:

Gunshot wound to head, through-and-through.

A. Entry—right temple, contact wound.

B. Course—skin, right retro-orbital, floor of right middle fossa, sphenoid bone, left (retro) orbit.

C. Exit—left temple.

D. Trajectory—right to left.

The Thirteenth Day

Drew

WHEN GABIE
and I walk into the church lobby, a big photo of Kayla sits on an easel right inside the door. It’s her senior photo, the same one they’ve used every place. Now when I look at it, it’s hard to see Kayla. It’s just dots of ink on a white piece of paper.

The lobby is jammed, even though the service isn’t scheduled to begin for twenty minutes. The only time I’ve seen this many people crowded together is for a concert or a football game. Not a funeral. Then again, I’ve never been to a funeral before.

Pete closed the restaurant today, and all the staff is here. There are lots of teachers and kids from school. And a bunch of people I don’t recognize. At first, I figure they must be Kayla’s relatives and neighbors. But then I realize some of them aren’t talking to anyone else. Just looking around at everything, standing by themselves, not looking stressed at all, just taking it all in. And I wonder how many of them are strangers, people who feel like they own a little piece of Kayla now because they’ve seen her picture on TV or read about her a dozen times. They’re probably disappointed they can’t buy popcorn.

Gabie is wearing a gray blouse and a black suit with a skirt. She looks like a college girl already. Maybe even older. Most of the guys, like me, aren’t wearing suits, just dress shirts and ties. Some of the ties are clip-on. I don’t even have a tie, just black Levi’s cords and a white shirt. It took me forever to find the iron since Mom has stored so much junk in our cabinets. She says she’s not bringing home more stuff, that she’s going to stop using, that she’s going to stop seeing Gary. That being arrested has scared her straight.

Right.

“I look like a waiter in these clothes,” I whisper to Gabie. “Do you want me to tell you about the specials tonight?” I would do anything to get her to smile, or even to see her lips twitch a little bit. Ever since we heard that Cody killed himself, that he asked for forgiveness, it’s like Gabie’s left her body.

She doesn’t seem to hear me. But it’s noisy. Everyone is milling around, talking and gesturing. And a lot of them are crying. Jade and Courtney are practically falling down, they’re weeping and wailing so hard. Even Miguel looks like he’s been crying.

An older lady in front of us says to her husband, “As soon as this is over, I want to get home and watch TV. Opal’s having that psychic on. The one who said what happened to Kayla.” Gabie stiffens. I touch her arm, and we move away from them so she won’t have to hear any more about Elizabeth Lamb.

A piece of brown butcher’s paper has been taped to the top of a long folding table. In the middle, in thick black letters, it reads good-bye Kayla. People are writing notes with Sharpies that have been scattered over the table.

Gabie and I squeeze in to read some of the messages. A few are to Kayla’s family, but most are written directly to Kayla. “I’ll miss your smile.” “You always made me laugh.” “The world is a smaller place without you.”

I pick up a pen, take off the cap, and then just stand there, my pen hovering over the paper. What can I say? “I’m sorry” isn’t nearly good enough. “It should have been me,” I write, and then I don’t sign it.

Gabie hasn’t said one word since she parked her car at the back of the church parking lot. Now she raises her eyes to me and says, “Kayla’s not dead, Drew.” A few heads turn in our direction.

“Gabie—” I start and then don’t say any more.

“She’s not dead.” Her face contorts. “I know it.”

Suddenly someone grabs both our arms. I jerk my head around. It’s Thayer. He’s wearing a suit, not a uniform, but he still looks every inch a cop.

“Come with me,” he says in a low voice. “Now.” He walks us away from the table, pushes open a door, and takes us down a long, empty hall with doors leading off on one side. He lets go of us.

“Gabriella, I am going to give you one piece of advice. Stop it.” He bites off the words. “Stop saying that you think Kayla is alive. The Cutlers have already told me about how you made a big scene when they had the psychic there. Do you know how upset that made them? Do you?”

He stares at her until she nods.

“You can’t live in la-la land. Not when it hurts people who already can’t put one foot in front of the other. Look at the evidence. It’s not common knowledge, but when he was fifteen, Cody Renfrew was picked up for peeping in a neighbor’s window. That kind of crime frequently escalates to rape and worse. He was a drug addict who supported his habit by stealing. He drove a white truck, just like one that was spotted in the area where Kayla disappeared, and later he painted it to try to disguise it. He killed himself and left a note saying he was sorry. You’re supposed to be so smart, Gabriella—you do the math. Kayla Cutler is dead.”

“But—” Gabie says, though that’s as far as she gets.

Thayer barrels on. “She’s dead, and Cody Renfrew killed her. And while we may never know where he put her body, these people have to find closure. It’s the only way they’re going to heal. They need to grieve their daughter’s death and
move on
. They can’t hold on to a fantasy. I’ve seen it happen before. People who believe there’s a tiny possibility their child will walk through the door. They live in the past, and they don’t ever leave it. Until it’s like they’re dead too. But you know what makes them stay there? It’s thinking there is a teeny tiny chance their kid is still alive. It’s some stupid girl saying that she can ‘see’”—he makes quote marks in the air—“Kayla and knows she’s not dead. Just stop. I don’t want to hear one more word about Kayla still being alive.”

He stares at Gabie, but she doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t agree, doesn’t disagree.

“Do you hear me? If you won’t do it for me, if you won’t do it for the Cutlers, then do it for your friend here.” Thayer points a finger at my chest. “Because I could make his life hell if I wanted. His mom could end up with her bail revoked, right back in jail. And Drew could end up in foster care. He’s still seventeen.”

“What? What are you saying?” My stomach lurches.

“I’m just looking out for this poor family the way you won’t. You two have been zero help in this investigation. Zero. Drew can’t remember anything about the person who called. You both talk to Cody Renfrew, but you don’t bother to tell us until the next day. And now you’re trying to upset her family with your wishful thinking.” He reaches out and gives Gabie’s shoulder a little shake. “Kayla Cutler is dead, and I don’t ever again want to hear you saying anything different.”

Transcript of
The Opal Show

Opal:
Today we’re talking to famed psychic Elizabeth Lamb about the missing pizza delivery girl in Oregon, Kayla Cutler. On Friday, the man suspected of abducting her committed suicide while on the phone with a 911 operator. In his pocket was a note asking for forgiveness.

Lamb:
With all due respect to her parents, and I hope I say this with sensitivity, you know, her physical body went into the river. But her spirit is here with me now to reassure her parents that everything is all right.

Opal:
How do you know that?

Lamb:
Partly, it’s a heaviness. It’s hard to explain. It’s a knowing. You see, what happened is that the night before I received a packet from Ms. Cutler’s parents in the mail, I awoke around three
A.M.
I saw an attractive-looking girl standing at the foot of my bed. I realized it was a ghost.

Opal:
A ghost!

Lamb:
Being a psychic all my life, it wasn’t that strange a thing. I knew there was some reason for it. The next day I received the packet of information, including an eight by ten photograph. I told my husband, “That’s the girl who was in our bedroom.”

Opal:
And what did you think when you saw this photo?

Lamb:
My first impression was—this girl is dead. That it was sudden, violent, a lot of fear, a lot of terror. Someone Kayla recognized and knew, but not a close friend. You see, one of the things I can do is read photographs. Like when law enforcement has a suspect or sometimes not even a suspect but just a victim, they’ll ask me to look at a photograph. Just by looking at the picture, I know whether or not a suspect committed the crime. Or, in the case of a victim, I can often see what happened.

So I flew up to Oregon and I had the police take me to where her car was found in case I could get some insight into where she was. Standing on that lonely road, I had a vision. I saw Kayla in her car, coming down the road, looking for an address.

And I saw a guy in a pickup flag her down. He was real friendly, and he leaned out of his window and told her he was sorry, but he had given her the wrong address. And Kayla got out of her car, got ready to hand him the pizzas, and he grabbed her.

Opal:
Oh, no.

Lamb:
One thing you pick up as a psychic is impression of trauma or terror. This spot on the road had that kind of feel to it. I literally had goose bumps. It was like I
was
Kayla, living her desperation and fear. When we were at the site, I asked the detective if he could read me the names they had collected of people who had white pickups, which was the type of vehicle seen in the vicinity the night Kayla disappeared. And when he read me Cody Renfrew’s name, I knew. I asked the police to take me to where he lived. And the officer took me up to his apartment and introduced me to Cody. When we shook hands, his hand was cold, clammy, and limp, and I knew that he knew that I knew. We didn’t talk for very long. He wouldn’t say much. But then again, he didn’t need to, did he? Because I already knew what he had done.

Opal:
And then just a few hours later…

Lamb:
Cody killed himself. My first reaction was anger because he didn’t leave us any idea where Kayla is. But at least we know what happened to her. I’m not God, I can’t walk on water, and I’m not always right. But in this case, thankfully, I was able to locate the perpetrator.

Opal:
How do you react to those naysayers who say that what you do is a trick?

Lamb:
I can’t. This is my work. I do the best job I can. To prove that what I do is true, that’s a personal thing. It is like saying, “Prove God.” If you have a belief system, and you have faith, then there is nothing really more than that. We can learn so much from people who have passed on about love and forgiveness and how to live a better life on this earth.

Opal:
Thank you for bringing answers to those who so desperately seek them.

The Fourteenth Day

“John Robertson”

IT’S OFFICIAL.
Everyone thinks Kayla is dead. Everyone.

So why should I disappoint them?

As I think about what to do next, I use two-part liquid epoxy to place the figure of a tiny young woman in the roller coaster, her hands raised above her head. Or below, in this case. She’s upside down as the coaster does a 360-degree loop. The other figures were easy enough to locate, but I had to special order the girl from England. She only arrived today, the day the model is due. She’s part of a circus set, her arms originally reaching out to catch the trapeze, but she serves my new purpose well.

The roller coaster is one portion of a mock-up for a proposed new coastal amusement park seeking financial backers. The scale needs to be large enough that investors can visualize it. Mentally walk along the paths, stand in line for the rides. But the model can’t be so big that it won’t fit through a doorway.

Waiting for the epoxy to set, I think about Cody Renfrew. I saw his white truck that night. Drove right past it, with Kayla Cutler unconscious in the trunk. I had pretended not to see him, my hands easy on the wheel.

The Renfrew kid must really not have seen anything, or he would have told the police.

I resist the temptation to take my fingers away to see if the girl will stay in place. It’s too soon, and cutting corners always leads to problems. I’m working nonstop to meet the deadline. Because modeling happens late in the design process, I am the one who is expected to make up the time that was earlier frittered away. The only break I’ve taken was to go to the funeral yesterday. It was hard to hide my smile. All those people crying in the packed pews. Thinking they knew everything. When they didn’t know anything at all.

With my free hand, I pick up a color swatch to make sure it matches the shade of the metal roof. I have swatches for all the surfaces: metal, bricks, rocks, trims, wood, siding. For each color you actually need three, to add depth: one as a baseline, one for highlights, and one for shadows. While coats of paint dry, I’ve been catching naps on the couch. Kayla was screaming yesterday, but today she’s quiet. Each time I wake up, I feel a little fuzzy, but once I pick up the tiny paintbrush, my attention to detail snaps back.