What Follows After: A Novel (6 page)

Gina watched Scott’s face as he handed the picture of Colt and Timmy to Officer Franklin. She could see the strained expression he tried to hide, but it was clear. He was deeply worried.

The police officer looked at the picture a few moments then said, “We’ll get this back to you soon, after we make some copies. This is recent, right?”

“Last year,” Scott said. “They look pretty much the same, both just a little taller.”

“Timmy’s hair’s a little shorter,” Gina said.

The officer looked at it some more then looked up as if he had something else to say but stopped himself.

“What is it?” Scott said.

“I’m trying to understand the situation, that’s all. What we’re dealing with here. We don’t have a lot of experience with kidnapping, thankfully. But from everything I’ve read, kidnappers don’t usually go after two children, not unless there’s a lot of money in the deal.” He looked around their living area. “Y’all have a nice place here, but . . .”

“No, you’re right,” Scott said. “We don’t have a lot of money. I’ve got a pretty good job, but we don’t even have a savings account. Used up most of it when we bought this house.”

Gina thought about Scott’s parents. They had quite a lot of money and that huge house over in DeLand. Some might call them rich. She wondered if she should mention it.

“Something bothering you, Gina?”

She looked at Scott. “I was just wondering about your folks, whether that could be something.”

“What about them?” the officer asked.

“They’re pretty well-off,” Scott said. “My dad and two brothers are bankers over in DeLand.”

“Well, the point I was raising is, I find it hard to believe that a kidnapper would’ve been able to get two boys into his car, especially when one of them is eleven. Maybe the six-year-old—what’s his name?” He looked at his notes. “Maybe Timmy,” he continued, “but I can’t see the older boy going along with this.”

Gina couldn’t either. “I think Colt would have made a terrible fuss if someone tried to get him or his brother into a car.”

“I agree,” Scott said. “I can even see him kicking and punching anyone who tried to mess with him or Timmy. He definitely wouldn’t have gone quietly.”

“And there weren’t any reports of any altercations in front of the school this morning? No reports of anything unusual?” Officer Franklin asked.

“No,” said Gina. “It was just a very ordinary day.”

The officer shook his head. “See, that’s got me thinking that this ain’t a kidnapping. Something else happened here, some reason the boys had for walking away from the school on their own. They waited there until you drove off, then they walked away to pursue whatever scheme they had conjured up.”

Gina was relieved to hear him talk this way. She looked over at Scott; he seemed to feel the same way. It didn’t make things a lot better, but if all they had done was run away, at least they were safe somewhere.

“So that brings me around to what I was getting at before. I’m not trying to pry into you folks’ business, but I really need to ask these questions if we’re going to figure out what happened here.”

Gina tensed up; she knew where this was heading. Her eyes fell on Colt’s baseball glove and ball sitting on the hutch, still wet from being left out on the front lawn all night. Flashes of the conflict she’d had with Colt that morning came to mind. He was so irresponsible with his things. She had specifically reminded him to bring it in last night, but there it was when she went out to get the newspaper this morning. She thought about the second argument after breakfast. The boys seemed so distracted; they just wouldn’t get it into gear. They had to leave for school in ten minutes, and Timmy still didn’t have his teeth brushed or his socks and shoes on. Both the boys’ lunchboxes were still unpacked.

“You used to do that for us,” he’d moaned. “All my friends’ moms pack their lunchboxes.”

“Maybe you should go live with them,” she’d replied. “I can’t do those things anymore. Don’t you think I’d like to? But I’ve got to get ready for work myself. It’s not gonna kill you to help out a little around here.”

Oh no, she thought. Was that what set him off? She didn’t really mean it. She was just letting off some steam.

“Is there anything going on around here,” the officer asked, “something between the two of you, or with one or both of them that you’re not telling me? I don’t mean something small and petty—the ordinary parent-kid stuff—but something big enough that the boys might want to escape from?”

Scott looked at her, then nodded. Was he wanting her to bring it up? Was he planning to? He shook his head. Now what did that mean?

“Possibly,” Scott said.

“Possibly?” Officer Franklin repeated.

She heard Scott inhale deeply. How was he going to handle this? Would he blame it on her?

“Well, there is something going on. I don’t know if it has anything to do with the boys being gone, but I guess it could have.”

“Go on . . .” Officer Franklin had his pen and paper ready.

“My wife and I have been separated for the last ten months.”

“Oh, well . . . that could certainly make a difference,” he said. “Who’s living where?”

“The boys are here, living here with their mom. We thought that would be the easiest, or at least less stressful on them. The only apartment I could afford in a decent area would have put them in a different school zone.”

The policeman wrote that down. “And how often do you see them?”

“Not enough,” Scott said, with an edge. “Just Saturdays and—”

“When you’re not working,” Gina added.

“I do work some Saturdays, but not as much as I used to.”

“Is that true?” the officer asked Gina.

“I guess it is.”

“Just Saturdays and Tuesday evenings,” Scott said.

“Are you and the boys close?” the officer asked him.

Scott looked down at the terrazzo floor. “Not as close as I’d like.”

“But he’s not just referring to now,” Gina added. “I mean, since the separation. He means in general. The boys have always complained about not getting enough time with their dad.”

“So how do you fix that?” Scott said. “By only letting me see them twice a week?”

“It’s more than you used to see them when you lived here,” she said.

“Okay,” Officer Franklin interjected, “I get the idea. This how the two of you talk when the boys are around?”

It wasn’t how they used to talk, she thought. They hadn’t talked very much at all. Before she’d caught him with that secretary last Christmas, he was hardly ever home. For the first twelve years of their marriage, she had played the dutiful wife, the perfect homemaker like June Cleaver or Margaret Anderson on
Father Knows Best
—take your pick.
Yes, dear. No, dear. Whatever you think, dear
.
Can I
get you anything while I’m up?
Always trying to get him to notice her, always doing everything for him.

Him, him, him.

“I’m afraid we do talk this way sometimes with the boys around,” Scott said. “Certainly not all the time. Half the time I’m just dropping them off or picking them up. Gina and I might not say anything to each other for a week.”

“Sometimes he just sits out in the car and won’t come in,” she said. “If I need to give him a message, I’ll tell Colt.”

Officer Franklin sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked.

“Nothing,” the officer said. “It’s not my place to judge.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just . . . all this pretty much confirms what I said about them running away. We’re not in the clear, but it’s certainly better than a kidnapping situation.”

It definitely was, but it depressed Gina to think that she might have driven the boys away. Could it really be that bad around here? Bad enough for them to want to run away?

Officer Franklin started inching his way toward the front door. “I think I’ve got enough here to make a report. And I need to get back to the station and start disseminating this information, put out an APB, get our guys to start keeping an eye out for your boys.”

“What should we do?” Gina said.

“Well, one of you needs to stay here at all times. There’s a good chance after they miss a few meals or it gets dark, they might give up on this scheme. And stay by the phone. If anyone else calls, keep the conversations short.”

“Should we tell anyone else what’s going on?” Scott said. “Seems like if more people know, more people can help us look.”

“That’s up to you,” the officer said. “You may just want to wait a little while before spreading the word, in case they come home in a few hours. But if they don’t, and we still don’t know where they are tomorrow, then by all means, get the word out. That happens, and we’ll be doing the same thing.”

He opened the front door then turned. “You folks heard about President Kennedy talking to the whole country tonight?”

“No,” Scott said. “Why? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Heard it over the radio on my way here. Must be something big. The buzz is it’s something to do with the Russians, or maybe Cuba.”

Gina didn’t care about the news. Her boys were gone. Nothing else mattered. Not Russia or Cuba or anything the president had to say on TV.

Nothing.

Colt didn’t know how long he had lain there on the grass crying. Probably just a few minutes. When he stood and looked down the road, the bus with his brother was long gone. And it was all his fault. He didn’t know what to do. It had all happened so fast.

A loud clicking noise caught his attention. Off to his left, the last tank-carrying railroad car had just passed by. The end of the Army caravan of trucks was also in sight. Back toward the diner, a small line had formed by the door of the correct bus. He ran back to talk with their driver. Maybe he could do something. The driver stood by the door, nodding to people as they boarded. “Help me!” Colt shouted. “Someone just took my little brother.”

Everyone looked at him. “What?” the bus driver said. “What did you say?”

“My little brother, Timmy. He just left on that other bus, the one that was right over there. The one that went that way.” He pointed down the road.

“You mean he got on the wrong bus?” the man said.

“No . . . I mean yes, but not by himself. A man took him. A man wearing a gray hat.”

The driver’s face showed instant concern. He squinted as he looked down the road.

“You can’t see it anymore,” Colt said. “I ran after it, but it was going too fast.”

“Why do you believe a man took him? Maybe your brother just made a mistake.”

“Because he did!” Colt yelled.

“You sure it wasn’t your dad?” a lady asked.

“Yes, I’m sure! Besides, the bus was going the wrong way. And I know the man took him because of what the waitress in the diner said.”

“What did she say?” the bus driver asked.

“I was in the bathroom, and when I came out, Timmy was gone. She said our father came and took him. But our dad isn’t with us. We’re traveling alone. My dad’s in Daytona Beach, at work. We were going to Savannah to visit our aunt and uncle. A man took him, I’m telling ya!”

The bus driver looked down the road again, then at the line of passengers. Everyone stared at him.

“You know where that bus is going?” the same lady asked.

The bus driver shook his head. “I don’t have all the routes memorized, just mine. I only got this job a few weeks ago.” He looked down at Colt. “Do you know where that bus is headed? Did you get the bus number or license plate, even part of it?”

“No.”

“You better call the police,” the lady said.

“When are we gonna get back on the road?” a man asked.

“In a few minutes,” the bus driver said. “The rest of you go on and board. I’m gonna go inside and call the police, get this little boy situated. I’ll be right back.” He started walking toward the diner and said to Colt, “C’mon. The police will know what to do.”

Once inside, the bus driver asked Colt to point out the waitress he had talked to, the one who’d seen the man leave with Timmy. She saw them talking and came right over. “Ma’am, this little boy’s saying some guy ran off with his little brother.”

“I know, I feel awful about it.” She looked down at Colt. “I had no idea. I thought he was your father.”

“Well, I need to get my bus back on the road. I didn’t see anything anyway, so I don’t know how I can help the police. Can you call them for me? I mean, for him? The only thing I can verify is that I do remember him traveling with a little boy. He’s not making that up.”

“Oh, I know he’s not making it up,” the waitress said. “I saw them over there in the booth. Your little brother was eating a slice of apple pie, right?”

Colt nodded.

“Great,” the bus driver said. “So, can you take care of this? I gotta get back on the road.”

“I suppose,” she said. “You have any suitcases?” she asked Colt.

“Just our book bags. They’re sitting on the seat.”

“Well, hurry back and get them. And I’ll call the police, get them headed this way.”

Colt ran out the door toward the bus. “Excuse me,” he shouted to the people in line. “I need to get my stuff off the bus.” People by the door stepped aside. He ran in and down the aisle, found their book bags, and grabbed them. They were mostly filled with clothes, not books, so they were light. He ran out and passed the bus driver heading back toward the bus.

“I hope you find him,” he said. “Sorry I can’t stay and help you.”

Colt said thanks and kept running toward the door. When he got inside, the waitress was already on the phone near the cash register. After she got off the phone with the police, she walked Colt back to the booth, and he sat down. People stared at him the whole way.

“Why don’t you have a seat until the police get here?” she said.

But he couldn’t eat.

Within ten minutes, a single police car pulled up to the diner, lights and siren flashing. Two officers got out and hurried through the door. The waitress met them and pointed in Colt’s direction. All three of them came toward his table. Everyone, including those outside, stopped whatever they were doing to look.

Five minutes had passed since the bus that was supposed to take Timmy and Colt to Savannah had pulled out of the parking lot. It was all Colt could do not to start crying again as it faded from view.

“You the one who lost his little brother?” the older and shorter of the two policemen said.

Colt hated how he put it. “I didn’t lose him. A man took him.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because Timmy would never leave me, not with a stranger, unless he was tricked somehow. We were on our way to visit our uncle and aunt in Savannah. I just went into the bathroom a minute, and when I came out, he was gone.”

“We were told he left on a bus.”

“He did, but the wrong bus.”

“You sure it was the wrong bus?”

“Of course I’m sure. I know which bus was ours.”

“You think your little brother did?”

Colt thought a moment. “I think so, but that’s not the point. The point is, he left with a strange man. I told him to wait right there till I came out. But for some reason, he didn’t listen. Instead he got up and followed this man.”

“I saw the man he’s talking about,” the waitress said. “He had
a bunch of comic books in his hand. The boy was staring at them as he walked away.”

“That’s how he did it,” Colt said. “Timmy loves comic books.”

Finally, the cop started writing this down. He looked outside, through the glass windows. “All the buses are gone?” he asked the waitress.

“Last one just left a few minutes ago.”

“Do we know where this bus was headed? The one carrying your little brother?”

“No,” Colt said. “I asked my bus driver, but he didn’t know. I know it was going south, back towards Florida.”

“We’re still in Florida,” the younger cop said.

“I mean, he was heading south. Aren’t we close to Georgia?”

“Yeah, but we’re not there yet. But if he was heading south, there’s a good chance his destination was somewhere in Florida.” He looked at the older officer. “Can’t we just find out where this bus is headed? Have someone waiting there at the next stop to pick them up?”

“It’s not that easy,” the older officer said. “He’s probably already in downtown Jacksonville by now. There’s a dozen different ways he could turn from there. I’ve had lots of cases involving Greyhound buses. There’s hundreds of different routes and bus stations all over the state. We don’t have the manpower to put a guy on each one. And besides, this sounds like a kidnapping. That means we have to get the FBI involved. They’re gonna want to run point on something like this.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s federal law. Ever since the Lindbergh baby got kidnapped thirty years ago, the FBI’s got jurisdiction on kidnappings.”

The FBI? Kidnapping?

Just hearing him use those words, Colt thought he was going to be sick.