The Sleepwalker(12)

And then there was the guilt our father seemed to be shouldering. I, too, was feeling its weight. He had gone away; I hadn’t awoken. He should have stayed; I should have slept on his side of the bed. We both had let Annalee Ahlberg down. Our guilt coated the house like pollen. I told myself it was my imagination, but the more the state police learned, the more I felt judged.

I listened to the conversations until I couldn’t bear it and then went back outside. I heard a helicopter nearing and was surprised for only a second: of course there was a helicopter. I was confident that soon there would be a second and a third. I watched it hover over the village on the far side of the river and then continue on its way in the direction of the elementary school and, eventually, the forest. I noticed the sun on the maples at the edge of our driveway—the light almost like honey—and saw that a few of the leaves were already starting to turn. A state police truck rumbled by the house with a pair of Zodiac rubber boats on a trailer behind it. There were two state police cruisers in our driveway now, as well as the mobile crime lab—a long green-and-white van with logos and shields for the State of Vermont—parked on the street.

I turned and saw a fellow in a gray tweed blazer and a silver-and-black-striped necktie emerging from the barn where we parked our cars. I hadn’t spotted him earlier, and wondered if he was a reporter nosing around our property. I guessed he was in his early to midthirties, trim, thin yellow hair just starting to roll back. He had a leather attaché slung over his shoulder. When he reached me, I saw that his eyes were hazel, a kaleidoscopic (and rare) spatter of brown and green. I thought he was cute, and then felt guilty for noticing.

“A sleepwalker, eh?” he said to me.

“Yes,” I told him firmly, unsure whether he was asking because he doubted the story. Most people, I had learned, were skeptical of sleepwalkers. They couldn’t believe the things a person could do in that state. “My mom walks in her sleep. You can check her medical records. It’s all there.”

He nodded. “I wasn’t doubting. I’m Detective Rikert, ma’am.”

“Ma’am? I’m twenty-one.”

“Would you prefer I called you Lianna?”

“I would,” I said. I wasn’t surprised he knew my name. It was clear I was the missing woman’s older daughter. “And you’re not a reporter? You’re really a detective?”

“Yes. Let’s start again. I’m Detective Rikert. I’m with the Bureau of Criminal Investigation in Waterbury—a part of the state police.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a leather wallet with a badge and ID card. “The G stands for Gavin.”

I waited. When I said nothing, he continued, “You’re the magician. And you’re home from college for the summer.”

“I’m not a magician. I do kids’ birthday parties to make money and clubs sometimes in Massachusetts. Small clubs. It’s not exactly a career path.”

“What is your career path?”

“I’m an English major. I have no idea.”

“Teaching, maybe? Like your father?”

“I doubt it.”

“Writing?”

“Maybe.”

“Can I ask you a few questions about your mother?”

“Why not? Everyone else has been,” I answered, exasperated.

“I’ve looked through a lot of the team’s notes about her and thought about what we know. What I know.” He shook his head. “She wasn’t having an affair. She hasn’t run off with some other man. The fallacy with that theory is you and your sister. My sense is she wouldn’t just up and leave the two of you because there was some man she loved more than your father. And for that same reason—you and your sister—I don’t think she killed herself.”

“I agree. Thank you.”

“Nah, don’t thank me. At least not yet. All that means is…” His voice trailed off.

“Is what?”

“It means nothing,” he said, trying to sound definitive. But it was clear he was backpedaling.

“Tell me.”

He sighed. He looked away. “All that means is that she’s probably had an accident. It means that we need to find her soon or this doesn’t end well.”

I was shocked by his candor. But I also sensed a subterranean ripple of pain as he spoke. Of empathy. And, of course, I knew he was right; I’d known it for hours. He was simply the first person to verbalize the obvious around me. I understood it had taken some courage to speak so frankly, and, in truth, a part of me was grateful. I swallowed hard and asked, “If that’s true, what happens next?”

“Tell me if I’m being too honest—Just stop me, okay, Lianna?—but if we don’t find her in the next day or so, all of this activity will turn from a search-and-rescue mission to one of body retrieval.”

“And then you’ll find her?”

“I expect so. We’ll find her in a ravine somewhere. Some corner of the woods. Maybe even in the water. There’s actually a lot of research into—forgive me—how far a body will drift.”

Once again, I felt a little sick. “So, you think she might already have drowned?”

He took a deep breath. He looked a little forlorn. “It’s my fear, yes. Think of where we found that scrap of nightgown: it was by the river. Think of the time you pulled her down from the side of the bridge. So, yes, we have to consider that possibility.” He motioned ever so slightly with his head in the direction of the village. “So, let’s hope she’s in the woods and the accident is a broken leg. Worst case, a concussion. But let’s pray she’s not in the water.”