Through the Darkness (17 page)

I dumped the contents of the dustpan into the trash can. “Paul, that's wonderful! I take back every snide remark I ever made about the woman.”

“The bad news is that the cops are dead set against it, the FBI included. Ron Powers in particular is concerned that offering a reward will result in a flood of false leads that will take valuable time away from the search for Timmy.”

I began to work on the area nearest the stove. “But, Paul, only one tip needs to pan out! Just one! If a reward helps motivate somebody to turn in the kidnapper, then I'm all for cleaning out our savings account to do it.”

“I agree, and that's what I told Agent Crisp, especially since Emily and Dante are so keen on doing it.” Paul gently removed the broom from my hands. “Sit down, Hannah. You're sweeping the pattern clean off the linoleum.”

“We don't have linoleum.”

“Well, sit down, anyway. Have some wine. Chill.”

I plopped down in a chair, folded my hands primly on the table in front of me, and asked, “How does putting together a reward work, exactly? We can't set a table up in front of the Safeway and solicit donations, can we?”

“We've asked Jim Cheevers to help us sort that out. We need to make sure the terms of the reward are clear, otherwise we could get sued. It's happened. Jim recommends setting up a separate bank account for the donations, which somebody outside the family will control, of course.”

“Do you think Hutch will be willing to do that? Ruth mentioned that he'd asked if there was anything he could do to help.”

“Did someone mention my fiancé?” Ruth asked, wandering into the kitchen and waggling her magnificent 1890s-style engagement ring in my direction for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

Without asking, Paul refilled Ruth's wineglass and handed it to her. “We were wondering if Hutch might be interested in managing the reward fund for Timmy.”

“I'll ask, but I'm sure he'll say yes. Should I call him now?”

Paul nodded. “If he's willing, please tell him that Cheevers will get in touch with him.”

“So many people have expressed concern over Timmy, Hannah. I know they'll be willing to contribute,” Ruth said, digging in her purse for her phone. “That reward fund will go sky high!”

Paul set his wineglass down on the kitchen table. “That may be true, but Agent Crisp advises that we settle on an amount for the reward in advance and keep it there. Otherwise, we might have tipsters waiting around for a more lucrative offer before calling in.”

I gaped at my husband. “They'd
do
that? How appalling.”

Cell phone attached to her ear, Ruth disappeared out the kitchen door, slipping into the backyard and the cool of the spring evening. Paul barely had time to refill our wineglasses before she was back, smiling with satisfaction. “Well, that's settled. Hutch will manage the reward fund.”

“That means a lot, Ruth. Thank you.”

Ruth joined us at the table. “I need to tell you something, Hannah. Upstairs just now? Jake asked me about the search for Timmy, and I didn't know quite what to say. So I simply told him that the police were looking everywhere for Timmy and that we hoped his baby brother would be home soon.”

I felt my eyes fill with tears. “What else
can
we say? You did great, Ruth.”

We sat quietly with our thoughts, sipping our wine. After a few minutes I rose and set my empty glass in the sink. “I'd better go upstairs and tuck them in.” On my way out of the room I stopped behind Ruth's chair, stooped, and gave her a hug. “I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help, Ruth.”

Upstairs, I found Jake already asleep, thumb in mouth, a habit I hoped he'd outgrow one day. On the floor next to his bed lay his blanket, all in a heap.

In the next bed, Chloe had pulled her covers up to her chin, and she appeared to be sleeping. But when I drew closer, I noticed her eyelids quivering. The little scamp was faking it.

I picked up Jake's blanket and covered him with it. “Oh dear,” I muttered as I tucked the blanket around Jake's solid, future soccer-player body. “Chloe's already asleep so I can't tell her good-night.”

Chloe's eyelids flew open. “I'm not sleeping, Grandma!”

“So you aren't.”

“Did I fool you, Grandma?”

“Utterly and completely.”

“What's utterly mean?”

“It means completely.”

Chloe's brow wrinkled. “So, I fooled you completely and completely. That's silly.”

“I guess you're right, Chloe. You're too smart for me!”

Under the blanket, Chloe squirmed. “Will the bad man who took Timmy away take me away, too?”

I smoothed back her hair. “Oh, no, sweetheart. We will watch you every minute. He won't get you.”

“Will the bad man steal Jake?”

“No, he won't.”

Chloe seemed to be considering what I had said, then surprised me by asking, “Can I live with you forever, Grandma?”

“Don't you think your mommy and daddy will miss you?”

“Mommy's sad all the time.”

“We're all sad, Chloe.”

“That lady was sad, too.”

The hair stood up on my arms. “What lady?”

“The lady at the ice cream store. She said I had pretty hair. She said she used to have a little girl like me, then she got sad.”

“Did the lady work at the store?” I asked, struggling to control the quaver in my voice.

“Nuh-uh.”

“What did the lady look like?” I asked, all the while thinking,
This is ridiculous. Lots of people stop to talk to children in stores
. I'd been known to make coochiecoochie-coo noises to children in shopping carts myself from time to time. Nothing unusual about that. But nothing about our present circumstances was the least bit usual, so I decided to press Chloe for information about this mysterious lady. “Do you remember what the lady looked like, Chloe?”

Chloe turned onto her right side, hugging her doll. “Like a lady.”

“Was she an old lady or a young lady?”

“She was real old, like Mommy.”

I suppressed a smile, hesitating to think what age bracket that must put
me
in, and moved on. “What color hair did the lady have?”

“Brown.”

“What color were her eyes?”

“Dunno. She had sunglasses on.”

“Was she fat, or was she skinny?”

“Skinny, like you, Grandma.”

The little scamp got points for that, at least!

“Who else was with you in the ice cream store, Chloe?”

“It was Ben and Jerry's,” Chloe said. “I got chocolate with sprinkles.”

“Yum yum,” I said. “Were Timmy and Jake with you at Ben and Jerry's, Chloe?”

“Uh-huh. And Daddy.”

“Did your daddy talk to the lady, too?”

Chloe's head wagged vigorously from side to side on her pillow. “When Daddy brought me my ice cream, the lady went away.”

“I see.” I tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you for telling me about the sad lady.”

Chloe hugged her doll tightly under her chin. “Missy is sad, too.”

I kissed my granddaughter on the forehead. “Good night, Chloe.”

Chloe thrust her doll out. “Missy wants a kiss, too.”

I planted a kiss on Missy's porcelain cheek. “Good night to you, too, Missy. See you in the morning.”

I was halfway to the door when Chloe piped up again. “Grandma!”

“What, sweetie?”

“You forgot our prayers!”

In the subdued light from the bedside lamp, I hoped Chloe wouldn't notice me flushed with embarrassment. “Silly me.”

I tiptoed past Jake and sat on the edge of Chloe's bed, resting my hand on the quilt where it covered my granddaughter's knees. “Let me hear your prayers, then, Chloe.”

Chloe squeezed her eyelids shut, laced her fingers together, tucked her hands under her chin and began to pray.

“Jesus, tender shepherd, hear me,
bless thy little lamb tonight;
through the darkness, be thou near me,
keep me safe till morning light.
And God bless Mommy, and Daddy, and Jake, and
Timmy, and Grandma, and Grandpa, and Coco.
”

Chloe took a deep breath, then squeezed her eyelids even more tightly together. “And tell Timmy I'm not really mad at him for chewing the fingers off my Barbie. Amen.”

“Well done, Chloe,” I said, and hurried into the hallway so she wouldn't see me cry.

When I got myself together, I left the children's door ajar, made sure the antique Mary Had a Little Lamb nightlight was burning on the table in the hallway, then wandered downstairs, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. The woman who spoke to Chloe at Ben and Jerry's could mean nothing. Or it could mean everything.

I rejoined Paul and Ruth in the kitchen and told them about my conversation with Chloe. “I think I should call Agent Crisp about this woman, don't you? Especially in light of what the profiler said at the press conference this afternoon.”

“Absolutely,” Paul agreed.

“Do you think Crisp will want to interview Chloe?”

Paul nodded. “If she doesn't, she's not worth what they're paying her.”

“I wonder if Chloe will be able to tell Amanda Crisp anything she hasn't told me?”

Paul smiled. “The FBI has people who are experts at interviewing children, drawing information out of them. At least they always seem to do so on
Law and Order
.”

Ruth chimed in. “I'd mention it to Emily and Dante first, though. I'm assuming the FBI needs the parents' permission when they interview a child.”

“Right,” I said. “And there's always the chance that Dante himself noticed something unusual about this woman. He might not have been so blind as Chloe thinks.”

Once again I felt cold fingers of doubt creep along my spine. What if Dante had known the woman in the ice cream shop? What if he were in cohoots with her? I shivered and checked the clock. It was almost ten o'clock, time for
Cross Current
to begin. “Should I call now or wait until morning? I don't want to wake anybody up.”

Paul scowled. “The FBI is working Timmy's case 24/7. Why would you consider waiting even for a single minute?”

Paul was right, of course, and I was an idiot. While he and Ruth migrated to the living room, I used the telephone in the kitchen to contact Amanda Crisp on her cell phone and report directly to her what my granddaughter had told me. I detected a reassuring note of optimism in Crisp's voice when she said that, indeed, the FBI had a child abuse unit specially trained to work with children, and she would encourage Dante and Emily to arrange for an appointment for them to talk with Chloe.

When I got back to the living room, Paul was aiming the remote at the cable box, scrolling down to Channel 4.

Aside from Erika's interest in the program, we still hadn't the slightest clue what the show was about. We'd kept the television turned off until the kids went to bed, so if NBC had been running any trailers about
Cross Current
that night, we'd missed them. Earlier, I'd checked the TV listing in the newspaper, but it provided no hints whatsoever to what person or institution Mitch Harmon would be skewering that evening.

Our wineglasses had miraculously refilled themselves, however, so we were prepared for anything.

Paul patted the spot next to him on the sofa. I sat there, curled my feet up under me, and endured the final five minutes of some ridiculous reality show before the
Cross Current
theme music began.

“Good Evening. This is
Cross Current,
and I'm Mitch Harmon. Several months ago we reported to you that the Internet has opened doors for pedophiles and child predators to enter, uninvited, into the privacy of our homes. Not only are children being lured into traveling to meet a person in the physical world whom they've met online, but pedophiles are traveling to our children! And it's happening worldwide.”

Ruth groaned. “Pedophiles! Erika thinks this is the kind of thing we need to watch right now?”

“She's a children's rights advocate, Ruth. She implied that she has some sort of connection with the show.” I turned to Paul. “Maybe she's on it!”

“Shhhh,” Paul ordered. “Just watch!”

I returned my attention to Mitch Harmon, as ordered. The reporter had a square face, handsome in a rugged sort of way, and a shock of wavy brown hair. At that moment his normally smooth thirty-something brow was deeply creased. Mitch and his brow disappeared, to be replaced by a slide show of men, all fairly normal-looking. The guy who changes the oil in your car. The teen who cuts your grass. The manager at the bank. Your next door neighbor.

In voice-over, Mitch continued, “
So many children are at risk, that we decided to go undercover, filling an upscale home in a Maryland suburb with hidden cameras. Soon, a long line of visitors came knocking, expecting to find a youngster they'd been chatting with on the Internet home alone. Instead, they found
Cross Current.