“What about Benjamin’s father, Jack Carter? Did you see or speak to him yesterday?”
“He was at an event, I think.”
“The mayor is a busy man,” Detective Evans says, still creeping me out with her penetrating stare. I feel like a problem she has to solve. Like she’s been a cop so long that people are no different than paperwork to her. Something you read, scribble on, then either pass along or file away.
“Do you think you can help us today, Lauren?” she says.
“How?”
“I’d like to visit all the places you were with Benjamin yesterday. If he’s run off, we’ll possibly find him somewhere he’s recently been. Would that be okay?”
I say, “Could I get something to eat first?”
“I can make you some breakfast,” Mom says.
Detective Evans stands and pockets her notepad. “Let me buy you something on the road. The sooner we get going, the better. If that is okay with you, Mrs. Saunders.”
“She wouldn’t want to be a bother,” Mom says.
“Do you really think he could have run away?” I say.
Detective Evans is flipping through something on her cell phone. That uncomfortable someone-is-staring-at-their-cell-phone silence occurs. I let it pass, waiting for her to come back to reality. Finally, she looks up. “That’s sometimes the case.”
“How’s his mom doing?” I say. “How is Erin?”
She quickly types something into the phone before finally putting it away. “As well as you might imagine. Same with the mayor.”
I grab my purse off the coffee table. “Quick teeth brush,” I say.
“I’ll meet you in the car.”
In the bathroom, I take two extra-strength pain-killers to try to cut the inevitable brain-splitting headache off at the pass. I brush my teeth, wipe the dirt from my face and step into my bedroom. I grab my cell phone from the charger, slide it into my pocket and head out of the bedroom and to
the front door. I stop for a second there, looking outside. My temples are pulsing. I feel incredibly dehydrated.
My teeth ache.
I close my eyes and attempt to focus. Try to remember the night before. The afternoon with Benny. But everything is a blur.
You have to wonder about humans sometimes. The things we do to ourselves in the name of entertainment. Or because what seems like fun is really just what everyone else is doing, and our lack of imagination and courage makes us all followers.
When I come back out, my mother has disappeared into the kitchen.
“I’m leaving, Mom,” I yell.
“You’ll find him,” she calls back. “He can’t have gone far.”
“It’ll be okay,” I say.
I inhale one last deep breath and step outside.
The street outside the Carters’ is packed with cars. We slow as we pass, then keep going toward Ravine Road.
Detective Evans is typing on the in-car laptop as she drives, which seems totally hypocritical because if I got caught glancing at a text while driving, I’d be hit with a giant fine. The radio is streaming a monotone voice saying pretty much only numbers: “85 25 76 15 Hillside. A 5420 Beach and Main. Unit 6509, please respond.”
“We should go backward,” Detective Evans says, finally focusing on the road. “Start at the end of the day and move to the beginning.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Unless you can think of somewhere specific Benjamin might have gone.”
“I can’t,” I say.
“Drive-through all right with you?” Detective Evans asks, pointing at the local McDonald’s.
“For sure. Thank you.” The windows are down, and the early-morning air works at further tangling my hair.
Detective Evans glances at me. “I hear bacon is good the morning after.”
“The morning after?” I say, probably too innocently.
“I used to go to bonfires too,” she says as we pull into the line. I have no idea how to respond to this, so I spend my mental energy trying to will the car in front of us to move forward.
I get something that looks more like a picture of a bacon-and-egg sandwich than actual food. Two large coffees fit into the cup holders. A side of bacon and home fries. The girl at the drive-through window, Amanda something, whom I’ve seen around school but don’t really know, is eyeing me up. Her thumbs are probably already sending word out to the social stratosphere regarding her new discovery:
Just saw Lauren S in POLICE CAR. WTF? + glasses?
Tweeted, Facebooked, texted to an inner circle. No picture, though, so
POINH
, Amanda something. My word against yours.
“Which park did you take Benjamin to?” Detective Evans says.
“The one off Helpern.” We’re back on the street and moving swiftly around the few early-Sunday vehicles.
“Tell me about him.”
“Benny?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he’s five,” I say, taking a first squishy bite of the egg sandwich. “He’s—”
“I know that stuff. He’s five, weighs sixty-five pounds. Hair brown, eyes brown, last seen wearing Thomas the Tank Engine pajamas. I got all that. But what is he like?”
“He’s a good kid. A lot of fun. He’s interested in everything. He’s always asking questions, trying to figure the world out.”
Detective Evans takes a gulp of her coffee. As she’s putting the cup back in its holder, she says, “You’re seventeen, right?”
“My birthday was last week.” I think about the party. It wasn’t thrown for me specifically, but some people did bring my favorite drink. And every so often someone would say something like, “Shit, today’s your birthday. That’s awesome.” Stacy got me a giant stuffed penguin named Wobbles. It has these giant, perfectly round eyes, and I carried it around all night, telling everyone how Wobbles was my best friend ever.
“I don’t mean to be insulting, but I don’t see a lot of seventeen-year-old babysitters.”
“I don’t sit for anyone else. I’ve been with Benny since he was one, and it’d be too hard to just never see him again.”
“So you’ve known the family awhile?”
“Mostly Erin. Jack, well, like I said before, he’s busy.”
Detective Evans says, “A mayor never has a nine-to-five job. Jack’s been known to attend three events a night. It’s a very difficult career.”
She sounds impressed. I’ve always thought it is crappy for Ben to not have his dad around. It’s like you enter politics and your life is no longer your own. You belong to the people, unless, of course, those people are your own family.
“I usually take Benny out,” I say. “If it’s raining, we go to one of the indoor playgrounds or the library or—”
“What does he like to do?” Detective Evans interrupts.
“I guess what any five-year-old does? He likes the play structure at the park and the swings. We read a lot of books. The Beyblades thing. He just started biking. I think he could get his training wheels off, but Erin’s waiting until his dad is around to do that.”
“Training wheels is a dad thing for sure. My dad taught me to ride a bike.”
“My dad thought it was a better idea to send us out without training wheels and see what happened,” I say, immediately wondering why I’m telling her anything about my life. I decide to shut up and look out the window while testing how much coffee I can keep down. Eventually, we pull to the curb by the park.
“How long were you here yesterday?” Detective Evans asks.
“Almost two hours.”
She gets out of the car and I follow, bringing my coffee with me. I reach back in to grab a piece of bacon. I want to feel better. If not better, at least different.
“A couple of uniforms have already been here and didn’t see him,” she says, putting her sunglasses on. “Is there anywhere he might hide?”
“I never let him out of my sight. I go wherever he goes. But he still likes to try and hide on me.”
“Show me.”
The park is immense. Three play structures, a soccer field, basketball courts, even a little skate park. All of this is bordered by trees and zigzagging trails.
We crawl around the play structure, calling Ben’s name. There are plenty of places to hide here. I can remember hiding in them myself when I was a kid. My brother, Tom, and I spent hours here exploring the woods. Neither of us had a lot of friends back then. We just clung to one another. Especially after the divorce.
“Benny!” I yell. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
The coffee is not sitting well. It’s sloshing around in my stomach and thickening with the soggy sandwich and bacon. My brain feels as if it has been dropped into a carbonated drink.
“What about the woods?” Detective Evans asks.
“We go back there sometimes,” I say, happy for the opportunity to not be crawling around in the sand. “The neighborhood kids build forts by the creek.”
We take a well-worn path through the trees. At the bottom of the ravine, next to the creek, there are three forts made from broken branches, bits of plywood and old blankets and tarps. There’s a massive tree beside them with boards nailed into its trunk. I climbed to the lowest branch with Benny a week ago. Once we made it there and settled comfortably on the branch, he got freaked out and wanted back down.
Detective Evans pulls a tarp from one of the rickety structures, and something scoots into the undergrowth. I lift the tarp roof from the next one and come nose to nose with a grisly, dirty face. I scream and jump back as a man emerges with a battered sleeping bag wrapped around his shoulders. He’s coughing into his arm but keeping his eyes on me.
“Morning,” Detective Evans calls, quickly covering the distance to stand in front of me. The man nods. “You been here all night?”
He coughs a couple more times and says, “Maybe.”
“We’re looking for a kid. A little boy.” She takes a step forward and removes the tarp from the entrance to the fort. Detective Evans has a photo of Ben on her cell phone, and she holds it up in front of the man. “Seen him?”
As he squints at the screen, I look inside the fort. There are a couple of empty bottles and an empty
KFC
bucket.
“Nope,” he says, eyeing Detective Evans’s coffee.
“Would you like this? I’ve only had a sip or two.”
The man reaches out and takes the cup. He puts it to his lips and closes his eyes. He smiles as he brings the cup away. “I love that feeling of the burning coffee on the lips and tongue. Makes you feel alive.”
“It does,” Detective Evans says.
Every time the man moves, I get a fresh waft of his odor.
“Do you stay here often?” Detective Evans asks.
“It’s the suburbs, lady. People don’t like people in the suburbs.”
“Why are you here now?”
“Took the wrong bus,” the guy says. He laughs, the effort turning into another coughing fit.
“But you’ve been here before?”
“Sure. It’s peaceful. Sometimes it’s nice to get away from the crowds, you know. I only come once it’s dark, and I don’t bother no kids. I’m usually gone by first light.”
Detective Evans looks through the canopy at the sun. “Bit late, then, isn’t it?”
“Church day,” he says. “All the little ones ’round here are good Christians.” He looks at me, probably trying to figure out what my role is in all of this.
“Listen, you should go to the shelter downtown,” Detective Evans says. “It’s a better place to stay. A nice bed rather than the cold ground.”
“They kicked me out of the shelter last month for no goddamn reason.”
“Here.” She pulls a card and pen from her breast pocket, writes something on the back and hands the card to the man. “Take this to Peter, who runs the shelter. He knows me. Behave yourself and you’ll have a good place to stay.”
“Huh,” the guy says with absolutely no feeling. “A cop.”
“And I’d suggest you clear out of here before any kids are around. Right? You’d have the whole neighborhood up in arms if someone found you sleeping down here. You know how it is.”
“I’m not hurting no one.”
“I know it. But still.” Detective Evans turns to me and puts a hand on my elbow. “See anything?”
The guy looks at me, waiting. I shake my head no.
“Okay. Let’s head back.” She gives the man a nod, and we clamber up the hill.
Some kids are on their way to the play structure, screaming and waving their arms, with their zombie parents trailing behind. There’s a rustle of activity from the parents as they watch us clear the rise of the hill.
“That scare you?” Detective Evans asks once we’re out in the sunlight.
“Not really,” I lie. My heart is pounding. At least the jolt of adrenaline has momentarily lessened the headache.
“It’d be good if we could tag these kids,” Detective Evans says as we cross the sand of the playground. The little kids have made it to the structure and are swinging and
climbing as all kids do. A great mess of motion on the metal bars and plastic slides. The parents watch us as we close in on the cruiser.
“Tag?” I say.
“Yeah, like we do dogs and cats. Put a
GPS
in them. Then a kid goes missing, no worries—there’s an app for that. Find him with your phone.”
I don’t respond. I can sense Detective Evans waiting for me to say something.
“I know,” she says. “
Nineteen Eighty-Four
. Big Brother. Government spying. Privacy rights and all that. But if Benjamin had been tagged? We wouldn’t be out here right now.”
Back in the cruiser, Detective Evans calls someone and berates them for their less-than-thorough search of the playground.
“A homeless guy came out of one of the kids’ forts, Sean,” she says. She listens for a moment while I wish I could put the window down. The engine is off, and with all the windows up, the heat is becoming unbearable. “Someone needs to talk to them. I don’t care if it was the end of their shift. The mayor’s son is missing. They obviously didn’t do their job. How are we to know if they even got out of the cruiser?” There’s a pause before she says, “Fine. Yes,” and drops the phone into the cup holder where her coffee had been.
She starts the engine. “Where to now?”
Both windows descend, and blissfully cool air blows onto my skin. “The Dairy Queen.”
“Which one?”
“Strondmount,” I say.
“You went straight from there to here?” she asks.
“We finished our cones on the picnic table there.”