Before the press conference they’d been warned that a tribute video—a montage of photos, one giving way to the other—would play on a large screen erected for the occasion. Tabitha didn’t have to see the screen to know which photos would be used: Davy’s last school picture. Davy in his baseball uniform. Davy holding a toy airplane pretending to make it fly. Davy with Thaddeus and Kristyn, all of them so little. Lastly, Davy at Kristyn’s party, wearing his Back to the Future jacket and balancing an armful of colorful balls as he grinned proudly. He’d driven them all nuts as he practiced juggling obsessively in the weeks leading up to the party. The people watching didn’t know that part. How could they? They were strangers.
The tribute finished, predictably, with the video from the night of Kristyn’s party, a private family event that had become public fodder because of a tragedy. No one, Tabitha thought, should’ve ever seen that video but us. But, desperate to find their son, they’d given the press any and all images of him they had, especially the most recent ones, in hopes that the right one at the right time would bring Davy back. From where she stood tucked out of sight, Tabitha could hear her little boy talking a mile a minute on the video, the lines she’d heard so many times since. “Did you see, Mom, did you see? I did it! I kept four balls in the air! All at the very same time!”
Anissa had given them the choice to stay in the green room until it was over. But Thaddeus and Daniel said it was nothing they hadn’t seen before, and she’d nodded mutely, agreeably. Waiting in the wings, Tabitha had tried to steel herself for the sound of his voice, yet it was impossible not to feel the assault. As the video ended, Anissa took the stage, giving Tabitha time for her heart to return to a normal rhythm, for her legs to feel capable of holding her up.
Tabitha watched as the wind pushed Anissa’s curls out of place and she reached up in vain to tame them. She could tell Anissa was working hard to hide her nerves as she spoke into the microphone, welcoming everyone and introducing herself as Anissa Weaver, Public Information Officer for the Wynotte Police Department. She announced that there would be a memorial service for Davy on Wednesday at Wynotte Methodist Church and that the public was welcome to pay their respects. She reiterated to the members of the press what would and would not be addressed during the conference, in hopes that they would abide by the rules.
Then she introduced the Malcor family and waved them forward. As they started the short walk, she felt Daniel reach out and take her hand. He squeezed it, a reassurance. She squeezed back and held fast, steadying herself by leaning on him.
Thaddeus and Daniel stood until Tabitha was seated, then Thaddeus sank into the chair beside her, and Daniel moved toward the podium.
Tabitha could hear the nerves in his voice as Daniel thanked everyone for coming, thanked law enforcement, and thanked the community. Then he asked the press to give them time to process and grieve, promising that they’d make future statements when they were ready, but not before.
“After almost twenty-one years, you’d think this wouldn’t be a shock. But it has been. It’s been—” He broke off, turned his head to look back at Tabitha, who could barely see through the sheen of tears filling her eyes. She nodded once and he turned back. “I don’t think there’s anything harder,” he finished. Daniel slumped into his seat beside Thaddeus and wrapped his arm around his remaining son’s shoulder as he wiped his eyes with his fist.
“I said I wouldn’t do that,” he said to no one. Tabitha reached over to pat his knee, a signal that he’d done a good job, but also a gesture of gratitude for doing what she could not.
Then it was the sheriff’s turn. He peered at the crowd, gripping the edges of the podium as if, given the chance, he could tear it in two. He explained to the crowd that, after an extensive search, Davy’s body was discovered buried approximately forty yards away from where his jacket had been found by a property owner. He clarified that the official cause of death was as yet undetermined and that speculation would not be tolerated. Tabitha wondered how in the world he could enforce that.
The sheriff took some questions, most of which concerned the evidence possibly implicating Gordon Swift, as if the wily press could trick the sheriff into answering something Anissa had clearly stated they would not address. Then Pete Lancaster turned and expressed his condolences to the three of them, as if he hadn’t already, privately. Fumbling for words to close out his part, he thanked all the law enforcement personnel and volunteers who worked night and day to search for Davy after the jacket was found.
“They went without food, without sleep, to find this child,” he said. “They knew how important this search was and they committed to it as a team. Their thoroughness and tenacity made all the difference in finding Davy.”
He let go of the podium and leaned back as if to better take in the crowd, his long arms dangling at his side. “We don’t do these searches just for those who go missing. We do these searches for their families as well, to provide closure, or the closest we can come to it.” Once again, he nodded at the three Malcors, his eyes searching their faces for validation, or maybe commendation. But all three stared blankly back at him, blinking in the bright spring sun.