Cemetery Girl Read online

  “Yes, of course. She got eight stitches.”

  “This young woman allowed a female police officer to look at her knee. She rolled her pant leg up. The scar is there. We’ve gone ahead and fingerprinted her in order to make a comparison with the prints that were taken when she was little. That will take a few hours, but I don’t have any doubt, looking at her and comparing her to the pictures of your child. This is your daughter. It’s Caitlin.”

  I felt the sharp pain in my chest, the same one I’d felt in Caitlin’s closet. My heart swelled like a balloon, expanding until it reached my throat and choked off the passage of air. I put my head in my hands, closed my eyes. I squeezed them tight until I saw firework patterns on my eyelids, great starbursts of red and green. Caitlin. Here.

  Alive.

  Ryan’s hand landed on my shoulder. I let go of everything—the runaway theories, the unreturned calls, the suspicions. I stood up and wrapped my arms around him.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you.” I squeezed him tighter, a reversal of our little struggle from a few minutes earlier. He smelled like shaving cream, and I felt his own gentle but awkwardly delivered man-pats against my back.

  “It’s okay. We have some things to talk about, Tom. Just sit down. Go ahead there. It’s okay.”

  I ended up back in the chair, my vision blurred by tears. I wiped them away with the backs of my hands. Ryan handed me a box of tissues. I don’t know where he found them, but I took one and continued wiping at my eyes.

  “Do you want some water?” Ryan asked.

  “No, I’m fine. What happened?” I asked. “What the fuck happened?”

  Before Ryan could tell me, someone knocked on the conference room door. I looked up.

  “Is that her?” I asked.

  Ryan went to the door, but it opened before he reached it. Abby stepped into the room, the whites of her eyes prominent, the corners of her mouth turned down. She took short, tentative steps across the carpet and didn’t look up or make eye contact with anyone.

  “Who invited her?”

  Ryan’s head turned toward me. “I called her, Tom. She’s Caitlin’s mother.”

  “She hasn’t acted like it. A mother wouldn’t give up on her child.” I stood up. “You were wrong, Abby. You and Pastor Chris. She’s alive. She’s right here, alive, and you were dead fucking wrong about it.”

  Ryan held his hand out toward me. “Please, Tom. Not now.”

  Abby didn’t look toward me. She sat in a chair across the room. She dropped her hands into her lap and twisted them around and over the top of each other.

  “Are you okay, Abby?” Ryan asked.

  She finally spoke in a low church whisper. “It took me a while to get here. I was so . . . surprised when you called.”

  Ryan grabbed one of the rolling chairs and moved it out into the center of the room so he was between us. He sat down, feet splayed, his knees far apart.

  “I’d like to tell both of you what’s going on and how we got to this point,” he said.

  “Yes, please. I’d like to know,” I said.

  “Abby,” he said, “do you want to hear this?”

  For a moment, it looked like she wasn’t listening. Then she nodded.

  “This morning, at approximately three-thirty, officers on a routine patrol saw a young woman walking along the side of Williamstown Road, out near the mall. She looked too young to be out at that time of night, so the officers questioned her. She appeared to be in good health. A little dirty, but with no obvious signs of injury. She didn’t appear to be drunk or under the influence of drugs. She didn’t have any identification, and the officers on the scene were going to take her to juvenile detention for processing—that’s routine when a kid turns up like that with no ID—when one of them, a female officer, thought she recognized the girl from somewhere. She remembered the coverage of Caitlin’s burial and the sketch of the suspect. She asked the girl, pointedly, who she was.

  “The girl got nervous and agitated. She told the officers, ‘I know you think I’m that Caitlin Stuart girl, but I’m not.’ That seemed to confirm things for the officers, so they brought her here for further inquiry, and they decided to call me.”

  “Jesus,” I said. “Was she brainwashed? What was wrong with her?”

  Ryan held up his finger, indicating there was more to tell.

  “When I arrived at the station, I questioned her about her identity and where she lived. She wouldn’t tell me anything else except to repeat that line. ‘I know you think I’m that Caitlin Stuart girl.’ When I asked her why she was out walking so late at night, who her parents were, where she went to school, she just stared at me like she was deaf or didn’t understand English. I offered her something to eat, and she asked for a cup of coffee.”

  “Caitlin doesn’t drink coffee,” Abby said, her voice just above a whisper.

  “Did she ask about us?” I asked.

  Ryan shook his head. “She kept asking us to let her go.”

  “Are you sure it’s her?” Abby asked. “It might not be her.”

  Ryan nodded. “It’s her. She looks smaller and younger perhaps than the average sixteen-year-old. Maybe she hasn’t been eating as well. I don’t know. But that means she looks more like the pictures taken before Caitlin disappeared than we would have suspected. Then I told her we were going to fingerprint her, which she went along with. It’s going to take a few hours to find out if they match, but—I told Tom already—this girl has the same scar on her leg from a bike accident.”

  “She was eight,” Abby said. “She needed stitches.” Abby finally looked up and faced Ryan. “But that’s not proof. Lots of people have scars. Until you have DNA or the fingerprints or an X-ray . . .”

  “Jesus, Abby,” I said. “You really don’t want her back, do you?”

  She looked at me. “I don’t want to get crushed,” she said. “I don’t want that for either of us.”

  “I understand that. I do, Abby,” Ryan said. “And, ordinarily, I would try to wait for something more conclusive. I don’t want to wind you both up for nothing. But in a town this size, people are going to know that girl’s here, and before things get too far away from us, I want you to be able to see her. I wouldn’t have brought you both here if I weren’t certain. My gut tells me this is it.”

  “Let’s go see her then,” I said.

  Ryan held up his finger again. “We have some things to take care of once you’ve seen her. We have to get her to the hospital to be examined by a doctor. You won’t get a lot of time, and the time you spend with her here, today, might be the last quiet moments you have for a while. This is going to be a hell of an adjustment for you two, and since we don’t know where she’s been or who she was with, we all need to be prepared for anything.”

  “We know who she was with,” I said. “That man in the sketch. Did you ask her about him?”

  Ryan shook his head. “It’s best in a case like this not to press too hard at the outset. Not to ask too many questions too soon, even if we want to.”

  “A case like this?” Abby asked. “Are there other cases like this?”

  “I just mean when a child has been kidnapped or run away.”

  “No, no, no, no. Not a runaway,” I said. “That man, the sketch—that proves it. She didn’t run away. Someone took her—they took her from us.”

  Ryan nodded along, placating me. But then he said, “I know this has been a long road for the two of you, but I can promise you what we already know and see is just the tip of the iceberg. There’s much more to the story here, and we’re going to have to get to it.”

  “What are they going to do at the hospital?” Abby asked.

  I knew. I knew I knew I knew. I didn’t want to hear it, but I knew.

  Ryan confirmed it.

  “They’ll do a complete exam. Gynecological included. They’ll be looking for evidence of sexual assault and pregnancy.”

  Abby made a small noise in the back of her throat.

  �
��Someone who needs to be checked for those things didn’t run away,” I said.

  Ryan stood up. “Wait here, and I’ll go see if things are ready. I thought I’d give the two of you a moment together before we bring you back. I think maybe you have some things to get straight before you see Caitlin.”

  “Ryan?” I asked. “Is this going to be all right?”

  He offered me a small smile. “Your daughter’s back. Doesn’t that mean this is a good day?”

  When he was gone, I turned to Abby.

  She didn’t look at me.

  “Abby?”

  She remained rigid as a block of wood.

  “Abby? Are you okay?”

  “I was at the church, working, and then Ryan called me.” She was looking at the floor. “I knew something bad was happening, something about Caitlin. I wasn’t expecting this today, Tom. This just comes out of nowhere.”

  “It’s not a bad thing, Abby.”

  “Why did you say such awful things about me?” she asked, raising her head.

  “Are you looking for an apology? Because I’m not offering one.”

  “Do you really think I don’t deserve to be here?”

  “It’s not about you, Abby. Your feelings have nothing to do with this day.” I stood up. “But I can tolerate the idea of you being along for this. I’m willing to put up with that . . . for Caitlin. But I’m also not going to wait for you. They should be ready for us now, so get up and let’s go.”

  Her upper body tilted forward, then back, and she slowly rose to her feet. She stood there for a second, looking like an unsteady drunk, one who didn’t trust that the world wasn’t about to tip over and throw her to the floor.

  “Tom?”

  “What?”

  “I can’t do it.”

  “You can’t—?”

  “I can’t do it. I can’t go see her.”

  “Oh, Abby. Come on.”

  “Don’t push me, Tom.” She held her hand out. “Don’t give me some guilt trip about how I’m some kind of bad mother because I don’t want to . . . can’t . . . go see Caitlin right now.”

  I looked to the door, my anxiety rising. She was here. Caitlin.

  “Why don’t you want to go back there? Tell me.”

  “I’m scared, Tom. Okay? I’m scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of what I might see. Of what Caitlin is going to be like now. Of what she’s been through. We’ve talked about a lot of things since she’s been gone. Is she still alive? Who took her? We never talked about what we’d do, what it would be like, if she did come back. I never really thought about it. Not in detail. And now . . .”

  I went to her and crouched down, so we were at eye level.

  “Abby, this is what we wanted. This is what we’ve been waiting for. You should go back there.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Abby?”

  “I just need more time.” She looked away. “Give me more time.”

  Ryan stuck his head in the door, looking like a giant turtle emerging from its shell.

  “We’re ready,” Ryan said.

  I straightened back up.

  “Abby’s going to take another minute while I go back.”

  Ryan’s eyes shifted from me to her and back to me again. He looked uncertain, but went ahead.

  “Whatever works,” he said, holding the door open for me. “Let’s do this, Tom.”

  I took one last look back at Abby, expecting her to change her mind. But her head was down, and she didn’t look at me.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Even though I’d spent a lot of time in the police station, it still felt like an incomprehensible maze of hallways. We passed small rooms with closed doors, the brass finish on their knobs rubbed off to reveal the darker metal underneath. Two uniformed cops sat in a small office, one that overflowed with paper. They laughed as we approached and then, seeing us, lowered their voices. They continued laughing after we’d passed. Ryan didn’t speak. He walked in front of me, his head bobbing with his movements, his broad shoulders and thick middle nearly filling the entire hallway.

  Something like adrenaline burned through me. Every pore and hair follicle in my body tingled with anticipation. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry. And I resisted the urge to reach out, shove Ryan to the side, and charge ahead to the room where they were keeping Caitlin.

  Finally, Ryan stopped in front of a metal door.

  “Okay,” he said. “Take your time. But remember, she does have to go to the hospital at some point.”

  I nodded.

  “Did you work things out with Abby?” he asked.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll cover for her.”

  Ryan opened the door and made a gesture into the room. I couldn’t see who was in there, even as I stood on my toes and craned my neck to see around Ryan’s big body. A female police officer came out. She nodded at me as she passed, and Ryan pushed the door open wider.

  He turned to me. It was time.

  “You can close the door behind you for privacy,” he said.

  How many times does a life turn in a moment? For me, twice in four years. Once when Caitlin disappeared, and then again, right there, when she came back.

  I moved through the doorway. It was a small, cramped room, a kind of lounge or break area for the employees of the station. A round table with four chairs sat on the left, the morning’s newspaper scattered across it. Along the back wall, there was a percolating coffeemaker and a refrigerator covered with handwritten notes and newspaper articles. And then on the right, a long, low couch, where a teenage girl sat holding a mug of coffee.

  I pushed the door shut behind me.

  I’d imagined this moment many times, but I could never allow my brain to work through the scenario completely. I could picture a young girl, that twelve-year-old who’d vanished while walking Frosty, squealing and jumping into my arms. As time passed, I couldn’t update it, couldn’t conceive of what she might look or act like. So I left it blank. But now, here I was, being considered by the cautious eyes of a teenage girl who was supposed to be my daughter.

  Was she? Really?

  Ryan’s words and observations had promised it. But a lot of people bore scars. The fingerprint evidence wasn’t back yet . . .

  “Caitlin? Honey?”

  Her eyes looked large, as always—just like Abby’s—but this was accentuated by how thin she was. She looked sickly, like someone recently recovered from a long illness. Her skin was pale, her cheeks almost without color. Caitlin always wore her hair long, but this girl’s hair was cut short, almost chopped, as though someone who wasn’t a professional had used a pair of household scissors to whack it off. She wore a loose, baggy NCPD sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up, and her shoes were scuffed and dirty.

  She didn’t say anything. She watched me with those big eyes, white and blue orbs that tracked me from across the room.

  I watched her, too. Studied her. The facial features, the shape of her nose, the set of her jaw. I saw Abby in that face, as always. My mother, too. And, yes, a touch of me somewhere.

  It was her.

  It was Caitlin.

  “Caitlin?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Do you remember me?”

  “Of course I remember you.”

  Her voice was flat, emotionless, as though I were a passing acquaintance. And the voice was huskier, more raw. Not the voice of a little girl but that of a postpubescent young woman.

  I approached the couch and sat down next to her. She eyed me a little suspiciously, but didn’t pull away or get up.

  I couldn’t hold back.

  I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close to me, crushing her against my body. I kissed her head, her cheeks.

  “Oh, Caitlin, my Caitlin, my sweet baby girl. I missed you. I missed you so much. My baby . . .”

  She let me hold her and hug her, but she didn’t return the gesture. She remained stiff under my touch, and I only let go whe
n my fingers and hands began to ache.

  I leaned back, taking in a full view of Caitlin’s face. The changes only accentuated her resemblance to Abby, and, in fact, the Caitlin who sat before me looked remarkably like the high school photos of Abby—slender, big eyed, not entirely confident under the gaze of the camera.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Really? Fine? Are you sure, honey? They’re going to take you to the doctor in a minute.”

  “Why?”

  “To check you over, to make sure you’re not hurt.”

  She squirmed a little, looking uncomfortable. “They won’t find anything. I’m not hurt.”

  I brought my hand up to her cheek, then cupped her chin like when she was a baby. There were some blemishes, teenage acne. I soaked her in until my vision blurred and grew watery.

  Caitlin either didn’t notice or chose not to comment.

  “You were gone for so long. We thought you . . . I started to think . . .”

  I noticed how greasy her hair looked, a few days unwashed. Caitlin was a neat child, almost fastidious, yet she smelled a little, the rough scent of an unwashed body and stale cigarettes. I remembered the admonition to not ask questions, not to press, but my mind spun like a wheel.

  “Who did this to you?” I asked. “Where were you?”

  She looked away. “It’s over, I guess.”

  “What’s over? No—” I said. “Where were you? Who took you?”

  “Where’s my mom? Is she here?”

  “She’s here.” I hesitated. Was Caitlin trying to change the subject? “She’s in the other room.”

  “I’d like to see her. Can I see her, please?”

  “Of course, honey. Of course.” I held her hand. “She’s upset by all of this, your mom. It’s hard on her. It’s been hard on both of us. I know it’s been harder on you—don’t get me wrong—but we’ve been so worried.”

  “Did you get divorced or some shit like that?”

  Shit?

  “No. Why would you ask me that?”

  She stared straight ahead and spoke in a monotone, almost programmed voice, like she was repeating something she’d heard somewhere.