All the Little Liars (19 page)

“We don't have any big news,” the sheriff said directly.

The air went out of my lungs.

“I'll be telling the media all this soon, but I wanted you all to know it first. Josh's car didn't have any prints we could identify as belonging to someone who might be the abductor. Comparing the prints to those we found in their homes, we identified prints from all the kids. The spots of blood were from Jocelyn Finstermeyer. As I've already informed the Finstermeyers, the blood was not sufficient to indicate anything life-threatening.”

Emily began to cry almost silently. Aubrey put his arm around her. He looked helpless and hopeless. George and Beth sat straight, eyes ahead, stoic. My father simply looked relieved.

“In conjunction with the police department, we've searched every location connected with the missing kids or their families. We've questioned known felons in the area. We've come up with nothing but some stolen goods we didn't expect to find.” Both Paley and Coffey looked grim and unhappy at having to deliver such negative news. “The cell phones of all the kids … we've been unable to track them, so they've been destroyed or disabled. On the other hand,” Coffey continued, “we haven't found bodies, personal effects, or anything that might make us think that the kids have been harmed.”

I hadn't looked at it that way. But it didn't exactly make me sit up and cheer. The absence of negative news didn't make me feel positive.

My cell phone rang, and I winced. I had forgotten to silence it. Everyone turned to look at me as I pulled it out, saw the number calling was unknown. But since every call might be news, I put it to my ear without apology. “Yes?” I said warily.

“Roe,” a voice said, low and urgent. The minute I heard it, I put the phone on speaker

“Philip?” I said, my voice rising. “Where are you? Have you escaped?” From the corner of my eye, I saw someone lean forward, absolutely focused on me. Karina. She must hope for news of Clayton.

“Josh is hurt. I can't leave him.” Phillip was still talking in that low, hurried voice.

“How is Josh hurt?” I had so many questions I couldn't force them all out of my mouth.
“Where are you?”

The sheriff plucked my phone from my hand and put it to his ear automatically, as if that might make him hear more clearly despite the phone's setting. “Phillip,” he said, in what was meant to be a reassuring voice. “This is the sheriff. Son, give me a clue where you are.”

There was a slight pause, voices coming faintly over the phone.

“I can't talk any more,” Phillip said. His voice was dull. “He's got a gun to her head.”

And the line went dead.

We were all frozen in the moment, eyes wide, terrified, waiting.

But there was nothing more to hear.

It was a terrible moment. And yet, I knew that just a moment before, Phillip had been alive and talking. And he'd somehow made it to a telephone. I could not bear to look at the Finstermeyers or the Scotts. Josh was hurt, and either Liza or Joss had been threatened with a gun.

“Oh, George,” Beth said to her husband. Her composure dissolved, and she wept.

“But Josh was alive,” George said. “And so was our girl.” And he wept with his wife.

The Scotts were staring at each other, too upset to speak, and my father got up and began pacing around the room. His jaw was set tight and he did not look at anyone at all.

The sheriff was still holding my telephone. I asked him,“Did Phillip say anything we couldn't make out? Did you hear any background noise that we didn't hear?”

“I heard only what you heard,” David Coffey said.

There was an outburst of protest at this. No one believed him. If I could have, I would have opened his ears and dug out what he'd heard my brother say. But nothing we told him swayed his decision.

When the noise had died down, the sheriff said, “Obviously, this gives us more to go on. And if you'll give me your phone Mrs. Crusoe, I'll take it to our tech guy to see if he can learn anything from it.”

Being called “Mrs. Crusoe” was the least of my worries now. He could call me Annie Oakley for all I cared. I surrendered the phone numbly, feeling I was giving up my last contact with Phillip. Levon hurried out with it.

“We can't reveal this at the press conference,” Sheriff Coffey said.

The police chief stared at him incredulously. “Are you kidding?” Paley demanded. His face was red. “Why the hell not?”

“If the kidnapper gets too panicked by hearing about it on the news, the repercussions might be considerable,” Coffey said. “On the kids, you understand. As it is, the kidnapper may believe that Phillip was simply talking to his sister.”

There was a heavy silence while we all considered the implications. After a moment, Paley nodded. “All right,” he said. “But for the record, I think we should reveal this.” Paley turned to look at us. “The agents are in the building, reviewing all the work done so far. From now on, we'll be assisting them. We'll see which way they choose to handle it.”

I looked anxiously from one man to another. We didn't need a divided law enforcement effort. What if the FBI didn't agree with either one? Surely a united front would be more effective.

“In the name of God, please get along,” Aubrey said, as if he'd heard my thoughts. “We are all praying for you to solve this, praying as hard as we can, and it doesn't inspire us with confidence to hear you disagreeing about how to proceed.”

Both the men looked a little ashamed, or maybe “embarrassed” would be more accurate. “Father Scott, we're doing our best to search as hard as we can,” Paley said. “I don't think the different approaches we take to the search will end up in less efficiency.”

“We're united where it makes a difference,” Coffey said.

Aubrey shook his head silently. I couldn't tell if he doubted Coffey's words, or if he was disgusted that the two men couldn't agree.

“Now, about the press conference. I'll make an opening statement from Chief Paley and myself, giving an overview of the case and the search,” Coffey told us. “We'll take questions from the press. Then we'll open it up, and I'm sure they want to ask some of you different questions. Like how you feel about your missing loved one, how you're passing your time while you wait, what you think may have happened to the kids. And if you really want to answer these, of course you can. But we'd like each of you to make a statement, one per family, and leave it at that.”

“We don't like the idea of putting ourselves in the spotlight like that,” George said.

“They want sound bites for the evening news,” Coffey explained. “Our psychologist says it would be helpful if you could say that you know the kids will be returned unharmed, you want them back for Christmas, and you're sure no one set out to hurt them.”

Karina Harrison glared at him. “Of course no one set out to hurt them,” she snapped. “They're all just kids. But we
paid,
and we didn't get him back.”

The Scotts, the Finstermeyers, and my father had not known about the ransom drop, and the knowledge that Clayton had not been released even after the payment hit them like a large brick. There was a volley of questions about the ransom money how the Harrisons had paid, and how long ago that had been.

Robin and I glanced at each other, deeply puzzled. The ransom had been collected by an invisible person, as far as we were concerned. Dan had put it in the designated spot (we supposed), and then it had vanished, at least. Now Karina said it had been paid, and we didn't know for sure to the contrary.

“Please, please, folks, let's get back on track for this press event,” Coffey said, holding his hands up to get our attention. “The fact that ransom was asked for one kid is
not
public knowledge, and I don't want it to be. Keep it to yourselves. We're focusing on being positive, on projecting the belief that we do expect the kids to come back soon.”

“What good will that do?” I whispered to Robin. He shrugged and shook his head. “Dunno,” he whispered back. “I guess it's better than weeping and wailing.”

“Did it seem to you that he was less than … convinced … about the ransom demand?”

“Yes,” Robin said. “And I wonder what that's about.”

“I wonder if the kidnapper saw us watching Dan, and then called Dan and told him to pick the money back up. To do the whole thing again another time, when he wasn't observed. That's on my conscience.”

“Truthfully, Roe, I don't think there was money in the bag at all. I think for reasons best known to himself, Dan dropped off a bag filled with newspaper and then picked it up. Though I can't understand why he would do such a thing.”

“You think Karina knows that? Or was he double-crossing her, too?” Just when I thought people couldn't get any more despicable, they'd find a way to do it. I didn't like being so negative. I felt it was being forced on me.
Baby,
I thought,
don't mind me. Your mom is just a little depressed right now.
It was the first time I'd thought of the little cells multiplying in my womb as an individual person, and it flooded me with a new emotion. I couldn't ponder it for long, because we were all getting up for the walk to the front of the station and out the front doors to and the area designated as the press conference site.

“I thought we were going to get to ask Paley and Coffey questions, ourselves. Maybe he wants to keep questions at a minimum,” Robin said, as we emerged into the cold.

“Pretty good strategy,” George Finstermeyer said. He was walking beside us. Beth was a few steps ahead. She was clutching a tissue, and watching her feet move. “I would have asked him more about the FBI coming in, myself.”

“From my book research, I've come to believe that the FBI can make a big difference,” Robin said.

“Right now I'm wondering how badly our son is hurt, and if our daughter has been shot. The FBI can't take charge soon enough for me. The more eyes and ears and feet on the ground, the better.” And George hastened his steps a little to walk by his wife.

I found myself agreeing wholeheartedly. I didn't doubt that the local law enforcement was trying hard to find the kids, but surely more brains and manpower couldn't hurt? We were filing out the front door of the law enforcement complex, now, and I was shocked by the number of cameras and microphones waiting for us.

My father maneuvered his way to my side. I couldn't outpace him or dodge him. He had a right to be here. I just didn't want to talk to him.

“Roe, I'm trying, here,” he said.

“Really?” I kept walking, didn't look at him. That might seem childish, but at the moment I didn't care. “How are you trying?”

“I just want to find my son, same as you,” he told me, his voice raised. A couple of people looked around at us curiously. Robin pulled me to a stop, and faced my father, towering over him. “Listen, Phil,” Robin said, “I think Roe has made it clear that right now, talking to you is putting even more strain on her. Back off.” And then we were moving again, leaving my father standing by himself.

After that, Dad kept his distance.

I squeezed Robin's hand in thanks.

Some thought and preparation had gone into this press conference, I saw. The family members were herded to cluster to the right of the microphones. The law enforcement contingent was to the left, Cathy Trumble among them. Chief Paley and Sheriff Coffey were at the center.

Robin said, “See that woman with the long red hair?”

It was hard to miss her. She had made some bold fashion choices. Her hair, an improbable bright red, was styled à la Adele, and she wore a mustard-colored coat with a full skirt, cinched at the waist. She was also wearing formidable heels. She was the only woman present not wearing trousers. I could only imagine how cold her thin legs were in the chilly wind. “She must be freezing,” I said, awed by her determination to present herself according to her own vision.

“That's Scarlet Mabry, a true-crime blogger,” Robin said. “She travels to the location of interesting murders, writing blogs about the crimes as they're being investigated.”

“And she can make a living doing that?” I was astonished.

“Yes, a good living.” He hesitated a moment. “I met her when I was in Hollywood.”

“Okay,” I said. “Did you date her?”

“No, no, it wasn't like that,” he said, unconvincingly. “She interviewed me about the club murders.” I'd met Robin when he came to a meeting of the Real Murders club, which had examined old cases and debated who might have been guilty, or if the right verdict had been reached. It wasn't as ghoulish as it sounds. At least, I hadn't thought so at the time.

At that moment, Scarlet Mabry spotted Robin, and gave him a brilliant smile of recognition and a little discreet finger wave. “Uh-huh,” I said, trying not to sound skeptical. “Not like that.”

Robin looked acutely uncomfortable, and I didn't think it was just the cold wind. To tell the truth, I thought it was just a little funny, but there was a tiny thread of pique running through my reaction. I had to fight the urge to hang on Robin's arm like a spare coat.

Then Sheriff Coffey stepped up to the microphone, and my attention was all for the main event.

“Thanks for coming today,” he said, by way of opening. “This is what we know. Five days ago, five young people went missing. Jocelyn and Josh Finstermeyer, ages sixteen, Phillip Teagarden, age fifteen, Clayton Harrison, eighteen, and Liza Scott, age eleven. Found dead at the probable scene of the abduction was Tammy Ribble, sixteen. Three days ago, Connie Bell, eighteen, was found dead, an apparent suicide, in her home. We are operating under the assumption that all these events are related. Josh Finstermeyer's car has been recovered, and there has been no significant evidence found in it. Clayton Harrison's car has not been found.” He described the car and gave the license plate number.