“We can’t reveal this at the press conference,” Sheriff Coffey said.
The police chief stared at him incredulously. “Are you kidding?” Paley demanded. His face was red. “Why the hell not?”
“If the kidnapper gets too panicked by hearing about it on the news, the repercussions might be considerable,” Coffey said. “On the kids, you understand. As it is, the kidnapper may believe that Phillip was simply talking to his sister.”
There was a heavy silence while we all considered the implications. After a moment, Paley nodded. “All right,” he said. “But for the record, I think we should reveal this.” Paley turned to look at us. “The agents are in the building, reviewing all the work done so far. From now on, we’ll be assisting them. We’ll see which way they choose to handle it.”
I looked anxiously from one man to another. We didn’t need a divided law enforcement effort. What if the FBI didn’t agree with either one? Surely a united front would be more effective.
“In the name of God, please get along,” Aubrey said, as if he’d heard my thoughts. “We are all praying for you to solve this, praying as hard as we can, and it doesn’t inspire us with confidence to hear you disagreeing about how to proceed.”
Both the men looked a little ashamed, or maybe “embarrassed” would be more accurate. “Father Scott, we’re doing our best to search as hard as we can,” Paley said. “I don’t think the different approaches we take to the search will end up in less efficiency.”
“We’re united where it makes a difference,” Coffey said.
Aubrey shook his head silently. I couldn’t tell if he doubted Coffey’s words, or if he was disgusted that the two men couldn’t agree.
“Now, about the press conference. I’ll make an opening statement from Chief Paley and myself, giving an overview of the case and the search,” Coffey told us. “We’ll take questions from the press. Then we’ll open it up, and I’m sure they want to ask some of you different questions. Like how you feel about your missing loved one, how you’re passing your time while you wait, what you think may have happened to the kids. And if you really want to answer these, of course you can. But we’d like each of you to make a statement, one per family, and leave it at that.”
“We don’t like the idea of putting ourselves in the spotlight like that,” George said.
“They want sound bites for the evening news,” Coffey explained. “Our psychologist says it would be helpful if you could say that you know the kids will be returned unharmed, you want them back for Christmas, and you’re sure no one set out to hurt them.”
Karina Harrison glared at him. “Of course no one set out to hurt them,” she snapped. “They’re all just kids. But we paid, and we didn’t get him back.”
The Scotts, the Finstermeyers, and my father had not known about the ransom drop, and the knowledge that Clayton had not been released even after the payment hit them like a large brick. There was a volley of questions about the ransom money how the Harrisons had paid, and how long ago that had been.
Robin and I glanced at each other, deeply puzzled. The ransom had been collected by an invisible person, as far as we were concerned. Dan had put it in the designated spot (we supposed), and then it had vanished, at least. Now Karina said it had been paid, and we didn’t know for sure to the contrary.
“Please, please, folks, let’s get back on track for this press event,” Coffey said, holding his hands up to get our attention. “The fact that ransom was asked for one kid is not public knowledge, and I don’t want it to be. Keep it to yourselves. We’re focusing on being positive, on projecting the belief that we do expect the kids to come back soon.”
“What good will that do?” I whispered to Robin. He shrugged and shook his head. “Dunno,” he whispered back. “I guess it’s better than weeping and wailing.”
“Did it seem to you that he was less than … convinced … about the ransom demand?”
“Yes,” Robin said. “And I wonder what that’s about.”
“I wonder if the kidnapper saw us watching Dan, and then called Dan and told him to pick the money back up. To do the whole thing again another time, when he wasn’t observed. That’s on my conscience.”
“Truthfully, Roe, I don’t think there was money in the bag at all. I think for reasons best known to himself, Dan dropped off a bag filled with newspaper and then picked it up. Though I can’t understand why he would do such a thing.”
“You think Karina knows that? Or was he double-crossing her, too?” Just when I thought people couldn’t get any more despicable, they’d find a way to do it. I didn’t like being so negative. I felt it was being forced on me. Baby, I thought, don’t mind me. Your mom is just a little depressed right now. It was the first time I’d thought of the little cells multiplying in my womb as an individual person, and it flooded me with a new emotion. I couldn’t ponder it for long, because we were all getting up for the walk to the front of the station and out the front doors to and the area designated as the press conference site.
“I thought we were going to get to ask Paley and Coffey questions, ourselves. Maybe he wants to keep questions at a minimum,” Robin said, as we emerged into the cold.
“Pretty good strategy,” George Finstermeyer said. He was walking beside us. Beth was a few steps ahead. She was clutching a tissue, and watching her feet move. “I would have asked him more about the FBI coming in, myself.”
“From my book research, I’ve come to believe that the FBI can make a big difference,” Robin said.
“Right now I’m wondering how badly our son is hurt, and if our daughter has been shot. The FBI can’t take charge soon enough for me. The more eyes and ears and feet on the ground, the better.” And George hastened his steps a little to walk by his wife.
I found myself agreeing wholeheartedly. I didn’t doubt that the local law enforcement was trying hard to find the kids, but surely more brains and manpower couldn’t hurt? We were filing out the front door of the law enforcement complex, now, and I was shocked by the number of cameras and microphones waiting for us.
My father maneuvered his way to my side. I couldn’t outpace him or dodge him. He had a right to be here. I just didn’t want to talk to him.
“Roe, I’m trying, here,” he said.
“Really?” I kept walking, didn’t look at him. That might seem childish, but at the moment I didn’t care. “How are you trying?”
“I just want to find my son, same as you,” he told me, his voice raised. A couple of people looked around at us curiously. Robin pulled me to a stop, and faced my father, towering over him. “Listen, Phil,” Robin said, “I think Roe has made it clear that right now, talking to you is putting even more strain on her. Back off.” And then we were moving again, leaving my father standing by himself.
After that, Dad kept his distance.
I squeezed Robin’s hand in thanks.
Some thought and preparation had gone into this press conference, I saw. The family members were herded to cluster to the right of the microphones. The law enforcement contingent was to the left, Cathy Trumble among them. Chief Paley and Sheriff Coffey were at the center.
Robin said, “See that woman with the long red hair?”
It was hard to miss her. She had made some bold fashion choices. Her hair, an improbable bright red, was styled à la Adele, and she wore a mustard-colored coat with a full skirt, cinched at the waist. She was also wearing formidable heels. She was the only woman present not wearing trousers. I could only imagine how cold her thin legs were in the chilly wind. “She must be freezing,” I said, awed by her determination to present herself according to her own vision.
“That’s Scarlet Mabry, a true-crime blogger,” Robin said. “She travels to the location of interesting murders, writing blogs about the crimes as they’re being investigated.”
“And she can make a living doing that?” I was astonished.
“Yes, a good living.” He hesitated a moment. “I met her when I was in Holly
wood.”
“Okay,” I said. “Did you date her?”
“No, no, it wasn’t like that,” he said, unconvincingly. “She interviewed me about the club murders.” I’d met Robin when he came to a meeting of the Real Murders club, which had examined old cases and debated who might have been guilty, or if the right verdict had been reached. It wasn’t as ghoulish as it sounds. At least, I hadn’t thought so at the time.
At that moment, Scarlet Mabry spotted Robin, and gave him a brilliant smile of recognition and a little discreet finger wave. “Uh-huh,” I said, trying not to sound skeptical. “Not like that.”
Robin looked acutely uncomfortable, and I didn’t think it was just the cold wind. To tell the truth, I thought it was just a little funny, but there was a tiny thread of pique running through my reaction. I had to fight the urge to hang on Robin’s arm like a spare coat.
Then Sheriff Coffey stepped up to the microphone, and my attention was all for the main event.
“Thanks for coming today,” he said, by way of opening. “This is what we know. Five days ago, five young people went missing. Jocelyn and Josh Finstermeyer, ages sixteen, Phillip Teagarden, age fifteen, Clayton Harrison, eighteen, and Liza Scott, age eleven. Found dead at the probable scene of the abduction was Tammy Ribble, sixteen. Three days ago, Connie Bell, eighteen, was found dead, an apparent suicide, in her home. We are operating under the assumption that all these events are related. Josh Finstermeyer’s car has been recovered, and there has been no significant evidence found in it. Clayton Harrison’s car has not been found.” He described the car and gave the license plate number.
“You don’t think they’ve all run away together?” asked a voice from the back of the crowd.
“That theory was considered, but discarded.”
“Why?”
“Because none of these kids were in trouble at home or with the law. They had every reason to look forward to the vacation from school and to Christmas with their families.”
Emily utterly broke down and shook with sobs.
“Did any of them have debit cards? Have they been used?” Another question, this time from a reporter at the Lawrenceton paper.
“No,” Coffey said heavily.
“Did Connie Bell leave a suicide note?” said someone else.
“A very brief one.”
“What did it say?”
“Nothing pertinent to the case,” Coffey said, stone-faced.
The questions rained on, some of them interesting and some of them retreads of information I’d already gotten. I wondered if some of the reporters hoped Coffey would give a different answer, or reveal something new.
Then Chief Paley had his turn at the microphone, and he described the crime scene behind the hair salon, and the injuries suffered by Tammy Ribble, though in no graphic detail. He emphasized that the two departments were working in tandem because their goal was to bring the kids home safely, not to play one-upmanship.
That was a relief. Robin snorted, though.
Scarlet Mabry asked, “Have any of the parents received a ransom demand?”
“We’re not commenting on this at this time,” Paley said.
“Does that mean such a demand has been received?” Suddenly, she was on point, and the whole crowd of newspeople became more attentive.
“We’re not commenting. That’s what it means.” Paley was trying to imitate a stone wall. He was doing a pretty good job.
“We didn’t get any notice of such a demand,” he added. Nothing short of an unambiguous “No” would have deflected the crowd now, and I wouldn’t have expected it could. Waffling is easy to detect. Paley was not subtle.
“If I may finish,” he bellowed, and the questions died down. When he’d glared around to make sure people were listening, Chief Paley continued, “Since we have limited resources and manpower, we have asked the FBI to step in on the case.”
This was a huge piece of news, and temporarily eclipsed the ransom question. I wondered if news conferences were always so adversarial.
There was a barrage of questions that had no answer (as of yet): how many agents were coming, were any technicians coming, how long would it take the FBI agents to get up to speed on the investigation, and so on. By this time, I felt like an icicle, and my eyes were tearing, and all I wanted was for this to be over. It was hard to pay attention when I was huddling close to Robin for warmth, and burying my nose in my scarf.
But it wouldn’t be over for a while, yet. The families were scheduled to speak next. We all had messages to deliver, and Paley was anxious to get away from the microphone. But he had a parting shot. “The families will take no questions,” he said in an iron voice. “None.”
That was fine with me.
Aubrey Scott went first, since Emily was completely unable to step up to the microphone. Aubrey said what you would expect any man to say: that his daughter was very young and needed her parents, and that he and his wife were praying that she would be returned to them unharmed.
Dan and Karina had chosen not to speak.
Beth went next, with George standing silent beside her. She was collected and clear, and I admired Beth even more. She said her children were guiltless of any crime except somehow being in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Even if my children have been injured, even if they have been frightened, I will forgive whoever took them if they will just release Josh and Jocelyn so they can come back to us.”
Well said, I thought.
Paley looked from me to my father, asking silently which one of us would speak. I half-thought my father would take the opportunity to tell the world how much he missed his son, but he made an “it’s all yours” sweep of the hand. I had a hard time making my numb legs move, but Robin put his arm around me to get me there. Robin had guessed that morning that I might be making a statement, and before we left the house we’d made some notes, thank God. “My brother Phillip is a newcomer to town,” I said, “so he hasn’t been here long enough to make enemies. He did make good friends of Josh and Jocelyn, and they are with him wherever he is. He and Liza go to the same church.” When I could get Phillip up on time. “They are all good kids. I love Phillip and I want him to spend Christmas with us. Please, please let him go.”
As I retreated, I noticed Beth was looking at me with a troubled expression. I wondered if she felt I’d try to distinguish Phillip from the other kids, long-time residents. We’d felt obliged to emphasize that if any local situation had caused the abduction, Phillip had had no part in it. I wasn’t trying to throw anyone to the wolves, but I had to do the best I could for my brother. I felt I was compromising myself right and left, and I didn’t like that. But my moral purity wasn’t the issue. Phillip’s life was at stake.
Then Chief Paley stepped back to the microphone. “Are there any more questions before we conclude?” he asked.
“Yeah!” Scarlet Mabry called. “What is the connection between the bullying Liza Scott was undergoing at school and her abduction? Is it true that the three girls responsible were going to be expelled?”
“I can’t speak to that,” Paley responded. “That’s something you’ll have to ask the school authorities. All I can say is that at the moment, we have no evidence that the two situations are connected. That concludes our press conference. Please respect the privacy of these families in this stressful and painful time.”
The Harrisons were livid. I could understand why. Their daughter Marlea was one of Liza’s tormentors, yet their son had disappeared with Liza. They were damned either way. What a position to be in. Looking at it now, it was hard to believe we’d followed him through the sleeping town, and we’d felt almost lighthearted and triumphant about it.
We all filed back into the station. “Wow, that Scarlet is thorough,” I muttered, impressed.
Emily Scott was dry-eyed and angry. “I’m glad Sienna is sorry,” she was saying to Aubrey. “But Marlea and Kesha shouldn’t get away with it! They tore our daughter’s life apart.” She shot a glare in
the Harrisons’ direction. But the Harrisons were clearing out as if the building were on fire.
“Emily,” Aubrey said, sounding both desperate and pleading, “when we get home, we’ll talk about it. Again.”
But Emily Scott, that most correct and upright of women, pulled away from her husband and strode out of the back door of the station to their car, her back straight, her eyes burning. Emily’s Christian forgiveness had just taken a hike.
As Robin and I drove home, I rummaged in my purse before I remembered the sheriff had confiscated my cell phone. “What if he calls me again?” I said. “What if no one at the sheriff’s office answers the phone?” The picture of Phillip, disappointed in me because I didn’t answer, because I failed him, was agony. Robin glanced over at me, and I could tell he was scrambling for something consoling to say. “You know they’ll sit on that phone like hawks,” he told me, trying to sound sure. For the rest of the day, we just went through the motions of living.
The next morning, after a night of no news, we put up our Christmas tree. We couldn’t think of anything else to do. Robin said he simply couldn’t focus on work. I didn’t even call the library. I thought of calling Amina; I’d had a message from her on our landline’s answering machine, telling me she’d seen me on television. But I couldn’t summon up the energy. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so helpless. I got up once, I threw up, drank some peppermint tea and ate some toast in bed, then tried again. This time I managed to stay on my feet.
I moved through the routine of getting clean and getting dressed. We got the artificial tree out, because we didn’t have the heart to go buy a fresh one—though Phillip had looked forward to a real tree. Selecting one at the tree lot seemed beyond my capability.
My mother had been calling every day, and I’d been giving her the “no new information” bulletin. This was not her crisis; she had another family to think about, too. John’s sons and grandchildren had grown very dear to her. They were still going to have a Christmas, and it would be a happy one. I didn’t begrudge them their holiday. I only wanted the same for myself and Robin and Phillip.