Gordon Swift did not answer his door when she knocked that morning. She’d tried to arrive at his house as early as possible, yet not too early for a Saturday morning. Still, she’d missed him.
She debated what to do. She’d promised Pete she’d stop by to make nice with Gordon, but she’d also promised Pete she’d run interference at the Malcor home. Davy’s parents had received permission to go to the search site for a bit, and it was her job to escort them. The fear of what could happen while they were there made her stomach hurt. She said a quick prayer that nothing would.
She took a few steps away from Gordon’s house and paused, debating whether or not to leave a note for him. She turned to look at the little building that stood behind his house, wondering if perhaps he was in there, when a flash of movement caught her attention. She squinted against the bright morning sunlight as she registered what she was seeing.
A child had been hanging around the building, but he’d hidden when he saw her. She could see him there still, the glare from his glasses giving him away as he tried to peek at her. Sorry to have frightened him, she waved a greeting and he disappeared entirely.
“Hey,” she called out. “It’s ok. I’m—”
But all she heard was the sound of footsteps beating a path through the woods beside Gordon’s house, twigs snapping and pine needles shifting under the child’s feet. She wondered why a young boy would be there, and what had scared him off. Was it being caught, or did it have something to do with Gordon? She’d always been sure the scary tales about Gordon were myths and legends because of Davy’s disappearance. In the absence of information, people would always make up stories. Still, she didn’t think it was a good idea for Gordon to be seen in the company of any child, much less a boy of a certain age.
She heard a noise behind her and turned to see a car pulling into the driveway. She walked quickly back over to her car and reached inside for her purse, fishing out a business card like some sort of badge. She stood, awkwardly holding the business card, and watched as Gordon Swift parked his car in the space next to hers and turned off the engine. He turned to look at her, wincing as if preparing to be struck.
This close to him she confirmed that he looked nothing like a monster. He was attractive—a handsome face and longish hair, thin build, with a gentle demeanor—nothing like most of the cops she worked with, with their broad chests, thick necks, and buzz cuts. He looked like what an artist, a sensitive soul, should look like, she decided. Inexplicably, she felt the urge to reach out and touch his face, to smooth away his pained expression.
He opened his car door and she hurried over to intercept him before he could hustle inside his house and close the door behind him.
He strode quickly away from her, calling over his shoulder, “No comment.”
“No!” she cried. “I’m not with the press!” She waved her business card in the air as proof.
He stopped and turned to look at her. “Then who are you?” His voice was weary.
She lowered her hands and pointed at herself. “My name is Anissa Weaver. I’m the Public Information Officer assigned to the Davy Malcor case. Sheriff Lancaster asked me to stop by and check on you.”
She approached him slowly and handed him the business card, then gave him what she hoped passed for a warm smile. He seemed not to notice. Instead he took a few steps away from her, then blinked a few times, saying nothing. He kept his gaze just over her head, staring at the tree line that separated his house from the house next door, never bothering to glance at her card.
She continued. “Pete—I mean, Sheriff Lancaster—just wanted me to make contact with you, to let you know I’m here if you need anything—help with the press, questions about the investigation, or even police assistance in case . . .” In case things got ugly. In case people decide to mete out their own version of justice as they had before. She’d seen his files.
Looking at him, at his shoulders hunched in a permanent protective posture, she again felt the urge to comfort him. At that moment it didn’t occur to her to think about him as a possible murderer, the bogeyman in the field the night Davy went missing. Sure, he could’ve left that little house where he’d lived. He could’ve come after them. She knew that was possible. And yet, she’d always felt that was not what happened that night.
“Tell the sheriff I appreciate his effort.”
“We want to be here for you,” she said. She spread her arms wide and wondered if she looked magnanimous or just ridiculous to Gordon Swift.
He cocked his head, an ironic grin crossing his face, then disappearing. “What a nice sentiment,” he said. He began walking away again, seeking the shelter of his home. “Too bad it’s twenty years too late.”
* * *
She left Tabitha and Daniel Malcor behind the yellow caution tape meant to keep the public at bay and walked over to where Seth was standing, closer to where the search was taking place. She stood beside him saying nothing, feeling a sense of reverence come over her as she took in the scene.
The dog handlers milled about, their charges kenneled or leashed, all panting in unison. The forensics team members sifted, transferred, and dug in marked-off areas. Hot and tired, some sat in the shade and guzzled water.
Would they find Davy? Would this be the end of his mystery? Or would this just be another false alarm?
“I don’t think it’s ever gone this far before,” she whispered to Seth.
“No,” Seth replied, his demeanor stalwart, his mouth a grim line. He was there to monitor the crowd, but the crowd didn’t seem to need monitoring. They, too, stood silently by, many of them stealing glances at Daniel and Tabitha. A few patted their shoulders or spoke briefly to them, their faces sympathetic and kind. So far, so good.
“I wonder,” she mused, again in a whisper, “why this place was never searched before.”
Seth leaned over. “Come on, you know why,” he whispered, his mouth so close to her ear that it tickled. But she did not smile. Seth pulled at her elbow and indicated for her to follow him away from the scene so they could talk. She glanced back, checking on the Malcors.
“They’ll be fine,” he assured her. So she followed him over to his car.
He opened the driver’s side door and pulled out a water bottle from the center console, tipping it in her direction to offer it to her first, but she shook her head. He shrugged, then took a long pull from the bottle before speaking.
“They didn’t search here for the same reason they never followed up with you or the other kids after that night. The same reason they didn’t cordon off the farm to keep the public out until later the next day. The same reason they delayed analyzing the tire tracks till numerous delivery vehicles and plain ole nosy Nellies had already driven up and down that drive. So if there had been a car like you claimed—”
“There was!” she protested, her voice too loud. She looked around to make sure no one had heard her outburst, then, softer, said, “There was a car. I saw it. It’s been a long time, but I remember that clearly.”
Seth looked at her with something akin to fondness. “I know that. I’m just saying, it was a small-town police force and it was a long time ago. They were out of their element and not prone to thinking the worst. They decided Davy was lost or had run away, and he’d turn up by morning.” He laughed, a scoffing sound. “I heard they sent up a helicopter to make a loop over the area just to appease the parents. But they weren’t really looking.” He shrugged. “They didn’t make it the priority it should’ve been because things like that didn’t happen here.”
“But they did,” Anissa said, looking back to check on her charges again. Daniel and Tabitha were both stone-faced as they observed the search. Tabitha had asked to see the jacket they found, but Anissa had to tell her no. It was evidence now.
Seth saw her looking at them, then asked, “Have you told them the truth yet? About that night?”
Still watching the Malcors over her shoulder, Anissa shook her head.
“Don’t you think you should?” Seth pressed. “I mean, if it comes out some other way, it might . . .”
Anissa jerked her head in his direction. “You better not breathe a word. I mean it, Seth.”
Seth huffed his exasperation. “I didn’t mean it that way. I won’t say anything, but it could still come out . . .”
“There is no other way,” she said. “The only people around here who know that I’m the little girl from that night are you and my sister. And both of you”—she fixed him with a stern gaze—“Have promised never to mention it.” She went back to whispering, though it was doubtful anyone could hear them from where they stood. “I could lose my job.”
“Ok,” Seth said. “Sorry.” He glanced over to where the action was, to make sure the small crowd that had gathered was staying within the boundaries. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Maybe later I could . . . come over?”
Anissa looked up at him, then over at the Malcors, then back at him.
“No,” she said. “I’m pretty tired. I think I better sleep alone.”
Seth shook his head, his cheeks reddening out of anger or embarrassment. She didn’t know which. It occurred to her that she didn’t care.
“Fine,” he said. He kicked at a loose rock, dislodging it from the dirt. “Seems like whenever I start to wonder why we split up, you come along and give me a reminder.”
“Funny,” she said, crossing her arms and turning on her heel to stride away from him. “I was just going to say the same thing.”
As she rejoined the Malcors, she thought of a fight she and Seth had gotten into just before they separated. She was still pretty new in her role as Public Information Officer and a man in prison had confessed to Davy’s abduction. Pete Lancaster had told her to be ready to get over to the Malcors if the claim panned out. She’d been anxious, nervous to the point of feeling ill, at the thought of facing Davy’s parents, pacing around with her hands in her hair, her fingers knotting her curls.
“They’re no different from any other victims you help,” Seth had said, trying to be a comfort. But she’d lashed out at him, yelling that he didn’t understand, that he could never—would never—understand what that night had rendered.
Seth had ducked and mumbled something, a wounded look on his face. She’d known she should ask him what he’d said, but she hadn’t bothered. The truth was, she hadn’t cared. Not when Davy felt so close, so present.
In truth, some part of him always had been.