The Return(86)

“I was tired,” she said. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I did, however, have a chance yesterday to speak with the police again, as well as the sheriff. Before I picked you up, I mean.”

“And?”

“Like the police, the sheriff didn’t have any information on a runaway named Callie. I don’t know how much help they’ll be.”

“I still have confidence that we’ll get to the bottom of this,” I said.

“I also wanted to explain about earlier,” she said. “At the airport.”

“Don’t worry about it. I was able to figure out your reasons for avoiding me.”

“No hard feelings?”

“Not at all,” I said. “You still have to live in New Bern.”

“And you’re leaving soon.”

“My new life awaits.”

I could feel her eyes on me as I said it, and wondered whether she would tell me that she was going to miss me. But she didn’t. Nor did I tell her that I would miss her. We both already knew that. Instead, we didn’t speak much the rest of the way, both of us content to ride in silence, alone with our thoughts, wherever they would lead us.

*



Natalie was right; Helen was a very small town but remarkably scenic and beautiful in a way I hadn’t expected. It looked as though it had taken its inspiration from alpine villages in Bavaria; the buildings were sandwiched together, with red-tiled roofs and painted a variety of colors, some featuring decorative trim and even the occasional turret. I imagined it was popular with tourists in search of hiking or zip-lining adventures, or tubing on the Chattahoochee River before retiring for the night in a setting that felt exotic for northeastern Georgia.

Since neither of us had eaten, we had lunch at a small sandwich shop downtown. We discussed our game plan, which didn’t consist of much other than stops at the police station and sheriff’s office. I’d been hoping that I’d come up with a better idea than the one Natalie had quizzed me about—knocking on doors or talking to people on street corners—but so far, I had nothing. I wished I had had the foresight to snap a photograph of Callie in the hospital to see if her face would jog anyone’s memory, but I doubted whether she would have consented to it if I’d tried.

Our first stop was the police station, quartered in a building that looked more like a house than a municipal office complex and that blended well into the community. The chief, Harvey Robertson, who’d been expecting us, met us out front. He was tall and thin with white receding hair and spoke with a thick Georgia accent. He led us inside, seating us in his office. After introductions, he handed over a manila envelope.

“As I mentioned on the phone, these are the only three runaways that I know about with any certainty,” he explained. “One from last year, and two of them from two years ago.”

I opened the manila envelope and pulled out three flyers with the word MISSING emblazoned across the top, bearing photos of the girls, descriptions, and information as to their last known whereabouts. They looked handmade—like something the families had put together—not official police bulletins. A quick scan of the pictures confirmed that none of them was Callie.

“How about missing persons in general?”

“Again, there’s no one named Callie. Now, if the family or other acquaintances didn’t report her missing for whatever reason, we’d have no way of knowing. But because it’s a small community, I think I have a pretty good handle on who’s around and who’s not.”

“I know it’s not my business, but do you have any idea what happened to these other girls?”

“Two of them had boyfriends and we can’t find them, either, so my hunch is that they ran off together. As to the third young lady, we have no idea what happened to her. She wasn’t a minor and she was reported missing by her landlord, but for all we know, she could have moved away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You said on the phone that this girl Callie you’re looking for…she’s sick? And that you need to find her family?”

“If we can.”

“Why did you think you might find her here?”

I told him the whole story, watching as he seemed to soak in every word. I had the sense that he was the kind of person who could surprise you with his intuition.

“That’s not much to go on,” he commented when I was finished.

“That’s what Natalie said, too.”

He looked to her then back to me again. “She’s a smart one. You should think about keeping her.”

If only, I thought.

If only I could.

*



The sheriff’s department was in Cleveland, Georgia, about twenty minutes from Helen. It was a much more imposing building than the police department in Helen, which made sense since it was responsible for a larger geographic area. We were ushered into the office of a deputy sheriff, who had likewise compiled the information we’d requested.

In total, nine people were missing, which included the three from Helen. Of the remaining six, two were males. Of the remaining four, only three were Caucasian, and only one was a girl in her teens, though it wasn’t Callie.

On our way out, Natalie turned to me. “Now what?”

“I’m working on it.”