Snow Creek(22)

I give them a moment to process.

“I’m very sorry,” I say.

Joshua nods. “I think we’re in shock. Is our dad in the hospital?”

“No, he’s not,” I say.

“He killed Mom, didn’t he?” Sarah says.

“We don’t know that,” I say, switching the subject, admittedly awkwardly so. “What kind of car did he drive?”

“A GMC pickup,” Joshua says. “Are you looking for it?”

I shake my head. “No, we found it. Dumped off the logging road.”

Joshua stares at me. His eyes are glistening, yet he’s not yet crying. He’s being brave for his sister.

Like I’d been for my brother.

“You found Mom, but not Dad?” he asks.

“Yes, and as I said, it might not be your mom. We have to confirm.”

“You want us to come to town and look at her? I don’t know if I can do that,” Sarah says, through her tears.

“No,” I say, softening my voice. “I would not recommend that. The body is not in any condition that you should view.”

“I don’t understand,” she says.

“There was a fire at the scene where the truck was found.”

Sarah wails and Joshua puts his arm around her, tighter. He whispers in her ear that everything will be all right.

“Maybe it’s not her,” he says.

I give them some time, before speaking again.

“I need something with your mother’s DNA. A hairbrush would be good. Or a toothbrush.”

Joshua gets up and disappears into the house. A minute later, he comes out with a tortoiseshell hairbrush. Strands of blond hair catch the light of the sun.

I put it into a plastic bag and seal it.

“I need one more thing,” I tell them. “I need some DNA from one of you. It will be compared against your mother’s, so we can determine a match, all right?”

I pull the swab and vial from my pocket.

Sarah is closest to me, but she’s suddenly inconsolable.

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

She gets up and runs into the house.

“I’ll do it,” Joshua says.

I hold out the swab, and he opens his mouth like a baby bird. A severely injured bird. I feel my hand shake a little as flashes of my own life come back to me. I know what’s coming next for them. It won’t be easy. It will leave a scar for the rest of their lives.

“It won’t hurt,” I say. “I’ll just rub the tip against your cheek.”

I finish and put the swab into the kit and seal it.

“Our dad had his issues, but he wouldn’t hurt our mom. Not like that. His kind of hurt was not talking to her for days. Never even yelled at her.”

I won’t tell him what I’m thinking. The strong silent type is often silent because to give words to what’s in his mind would shock his audience. Ted Bundy never said a cross word to his girlfriend, but inside he was reliving the things he did to the girl he’d just left, skull shattered, head severed, in the woods. Gary Ridgway had his son in the truck when he picked up women to murder and dump along the Green River. Wait here, he’d say. Me and my friend are taking a walk. After raping and strangling her, he’d take his boy for an ice cream. Playing the murder like a silent movie in his head while the boy ate his cone.

“I’ll call your Aunt Ruth,” I say, “but it would take her a day at best to get here.”

Joshua nods. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“Do you have anyone in the neighborhood you can be with?”

He shakes his head.

“I mean there are people around here, but we only know them in passing. I don’t even know their names.”

“Are you going to be all right? Should I send someone out here tonight? Otherwise, I’ll be back when I have more news. You call me if you need anything, Joshua?”

“We’ll be fine,” he says, tucking his shoulder-length hair behind an ear. He’s acting strong for my benefit, showing me that he can deal with the tragedy. I also see the hope in his eyes. “Our dad has to be out there,” he says. “Someone must have abducted them. Maybe he escaped or something?”

I doubt it, though I don’t say so.

“We’ll do our best to find him.”





Fourteen





I try Ruth Turner three times but no one picks up. Maybe she’s at the church caucus, whatever that is. Or her husband won’t allow her to take my call. There’s no answer on her so-called borrowed cell phone, either. Though I wonder how close the sisters actually were—after all, she hadn’t been to Snow Creek in a half dozen years, I know that my words will crush her.

I order a pizza from an Italian place across from the courthouse on my way home. I want thick crust with a mountain of cheese and pepperoni. I’ll probably burn the roof of my mouth with the oil that pools on each little round slice of pepperoni. I don’t care. The pizza is so good and maybe I deserve a little pain to shift me from what I know I’ll do when I get home.

I pull a triangle of cheesy goodness from the box and eat it as I drive. Oh perfect, I think… I feel a burn.

The house is surprisingly cool when I go inside and I set down the pizza box next to the tapes. Analog tapes. I suddenly feel old. The world today is a vapor. Nothing, not even photographs, exists in tangible form. Just ether floating around your phone or computer. I crack a cold beer and open the windows to suck in the maritime breeze.