The Last Thing She Ever Did(23)

“You could set a clock by his routine,” she said. “He’ll be back soon. Like clockwork, that guy.”

Esther tucked her business card into the doorway. “If you see him, have him call me.”

“Hope you find that kid,” the neighbor said, quickly adding, “I have a scanner.”

“Did you see anything?”

“Nope. Nothing at all.”





CHAPTER ELEVEN

MISSING: EIGHT HOURS

Drake Park was Bend’s civic centerpiece, a verdant expanse next to Northwest Riverside Boulevard speckled with mature trees and highlighted by a body of water that seldom failed to live up to its namesake. Mirror Pond was created early in the last century as a hydroelectric power source for the growing high-desert city, the largest in Central Oregon. Few think of that when they gaze out at its pristine, reflective surface. They think of the beauty of nature, of the forethought of the pioneer families who settled Bend and had the presence of mind to create a gathering place for all time.

The afternoon Charlie Franklin went missing, a classic car show had commanded nearly all of Drake Park’s space along the pond. It was one of the last events of the season, with visitors from all over the state and beyond. Old Fords, Corvettes, and T-birds shimmered in the ponderosa-filtered sunlight as classic rock pummeled the scene from a temporary stage set up for the event. The band, the Rock and Rollers, segued from Steve Perry to Chuck Berry with barely a break between songs.

At first no one noticed the two divers as they geared up and went into the water. Subtlety was an asset when a city is as dependent on tourist dollars as Bend. The summer season was nearly over, then a short lull before Oktoberfest events, and then the start of the ski season. Distinct seasons and nearly guaranteed good weather were among the area’s strong suits.

“What are they looking for?” asked a woman who’d grown bored of the chrome grill on a ’57 Chevy that was mesmerizing her boyfriend.

“Dunno,” he said, scarcely looking up. “Maybe a body.”

“That’s so gross,” the young woman said, moving closer, unable to look away.

Another man, also fixated on the same old Chevy, a turquoise-and-cream-colored beauty, spoke up: “I heard some kid drowned upriver.”

“No,” she said.

“Yeah. That guy has a police scanner.” He indicated a man in a lawn chair next to his classic Mustang.

“Seriously,” she said. “That’s heartbreaking.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Come on, Carmen,” her boyfriend said. “Let’s go get a beer.”

She stood there for a beat, watching, before leaving for that cold one.

The dive team disappeared under the shimmering surface, then a few minutes later reemerged before repeating the process. They were working in a grid, methodically searching what many considered the jewel of the city. A small crowd gathered as word got out about what was going on. In time, another pair of divers from out of the area joined in the search.

Three young white men with dreadlocks and miners’ headlamps at the ready ignored the scene and continued doing what they did every day, methodically picking through the garbage containers next to Northwest Riverside Boulevard in search of aluminum cans, mostly untouched food, and whatever else they could scrounge.

Unable to go right home, Liz Jarrett sat on a bench at the water’s edge, watching the scene. It was nearly an out-of-body experience. She couldn’t feel her legs. She could barely breathe. A little girl looked at her as though she were a wax figure in a California tourist town. She couldn’t go home just then, although she knew she had to.

Instead, she sat there as the divers searched for something they’d never find.

While she was remembering what she had done.



The clock over the fireplace had been Carole’s idea. It was a kinetic sculpture that aped Calder. At the moment she hated it more than anything in the world. As the minutes flew by, the hours moved too. She and her husband sat in the living room and waited. There was nothing more to be done. In her direct, borderline cold manner, the Bend police detective had told them that while they could not know what had happened to Charlie, there were several possibilities. All were being worked.

The first scenario was the only one that brought any measure of comfort: Charlie had gone somewhere nearby and fallen asleep. “He might be awake now,” she’d said, “but all the commotion may have frightened him.”

The Franklins had asked if they should be out calling for him.

“You’ve done that,” Esther said. “He hasn’t responded. Doing it any more might only frighten Charlie, if he’s hiding.”

“We can’t just sit here,” David said.

“Let us do our job.”

It was the kind of shutdown that David hated, but for once he acquiesced.

The second scenario was horrendous, but it was better than the last one that the detective would mention as a possibility. “It is very rare,” she said, “but we are also considering an abduction.”

“Who would take Charlie?” Carole asked, her eyes red from crying.

David put his hand on her leg. He didn’t need to answer.

“As I said, child abductions are atypical,” Esther went on. “We’ve already done an Amber Alert on Charlie. In most cases, however, those are child custody related. That’s clearly not what happened here.”