When Jeff Comes Home (6 page)

"I don't know. That's what he told me to call him, so ... "

Stephens nodded. "Do you know where he's heading?"

"No. He did mention Nevada once, Las Vegas, but... I don't know."

"Where did he keep you?" I shook my head. Stephens watched me calmly, notepad out, poised to write.

"No. I can't say that." I kept my head down, but I was serious, no matter what they did to me. "I can't..." I dared to look up at Stephens. "I won't."

He sighed, thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "What does Ray look like? How old is he?"

"I don't know how old he is," I said, irritated, trapped. "Maybe forty."

"What does he look like?"

"He has long black hair. Past his collar. Brown eyes. He's tall, about six feet."

"Body type?"

"Ray's thin, but he has muscles. He lifts weights." I flushed at that bit of information, cursing myself for giving Stephens more than he'd asked for. He remained expressionless, taking notes as I spoke.

"Does Ray have any scars? Any identifying marks?"

"He has a little scar above his left eyebrow. When he gets mad, it stands out white against his skin." I saw that my hands were shaking and clasped them together in my lap.

"How did he bring you here? Car, van, what?"

"He has a Lexus. It's black. I don't know the license number." Stephens looked at me. "I don't!"

"Did he tell you anything about himself? His family, where he grew up, any personal details?"

"He said he used to be a lawyer. He'd laugh about it." Dad released my shoulder, staring down at me. "He talked about his ex-wife a few times. Not her name. Just. . . just that he'd been married once."

Stephens nodded. "Fine. That'll do for a start. Anything else, Jeff?"

"Yeah." I looked at him but the message was for Dad. "I know what you think about Ray, and you're wrong. He never touched me."

Stephens nodded, turning to Dad. "I want Jeff to come down to the city to look at mugshots. Why don't you bring the whole family and we'll put you up at a nice hotel? This situation will be easier to control if you're out of town, isolated together in a safe place."

"I can protect my family," Dad burst out, so suddenly I flinched.

"I know you can," Stephens said quietly. "I'm not just talking about Ray here. The press will be around soon enough, and all the relatives and anyone else who ever knew Jeff will be wanting to see him. He's not ready for that yet."

I ducked my head, embarrassed, hiding my face from both of them.

"All right," Dad said angrily. "We'll go to the Bay area then."

Stephens made the arrangements by phone
for us to stay in a suite at the San Francisco Hilton. We formed a two car tandem for the three hour commute to the city, Stephens leading the way. I was silent the entire time, sunk in disbelief that I had broken so easily to his questioning.

As soon as we hit town, Stephens insisted I go to the FBI building with him. He directed Dad to stay at the Hilton to "get the family settled" which I figured was a ploy to get me alone again.

"The FBI offices are over there," Stephens said, maneuvering his way through the late afternoon weekend traffic. "See? That skyscraper that looks like black steel. There should be a few people working today, but it won't be crowded."

"I don't care," I said tightly.

Stephens pulled into the underground parking garage connected to the FBI building and motored into a space marked with his name.

"I know I pushed you hard back at the house," he said as we got out of the car. "I hope you understand why I did it."

"Sure. You wanted to teach me a lesson or some other shit like that."

"No," he said, staring at me over the top of the car. "No, Jeff, I didn't want to teach you a lesson, in particular."

"You wanted to scare me then."

Stephens nodded, a touch reluctantly. "I wanted to shock you into telling the truth. I'm sorry I had to do it that way."

"You liked doing it, I could tell," I shot back at him. "You had your hands all over me." He watched me for a moment, expressionless, then took off walking through the lot. After a moment, I followed him.

Stephens's office was cluttered but organized. His desk was stacked high with folders divided into neat piles, and metal filing cabinets as tall as I was lined one wall. The wall opposite held posters of missing children, tacked up and spaced so neatly they resembled a mural. I approached the wall with a sick fascination, stopping when I saw myself there, the same poster I had seen on the convenience store window.

I stared at the poster, absorbing the details I could not before. The boy in the poster was blond, clean-cut, grinning widely and wearing a blue polo shirt that I suddenly remembered as my favorite from that year. He weighed 120 pounds, stood 5'6"and had a small scar on his right hand. I fingered that scar absently—Charlie had accidentally slammed a car door on my hand once—until I sensed Stephens's presence behind me.

"We're going to have to list you as 'found' now," he said, sounding happy.

I stepped around him carefully, heading for a battered green couch by the door. At the last moment, I realized I did not want Stephens towering over me again, so I perched on the arm of the couch.

"Did you know Ray was bringing you back?" Stephens asked, leaning against his desk now, all business.

I shook my head. "He didn't tell me where we were going, or why."

"Did he drop you off right away or did he hang around for a while?"

I stiffened. "What do you mean 'hang around'?"

"Why does that upset you, Jeff?" Stephens opened his eyes wide.

"It doesn't!" I flared. "Just... he left me in Wayne, okay? That's all."

Stephens pointed at me. "Ray didn't just leave you and drive off. He stayed around long enough to drop off your clothes. The same clothes you were wearing when you disappeared."

I almost laughed. "Yeah, I know."

"Did you know he was going to do that?"

"No." I shifted, feeling prickles of heat up and down my arms. "I came here to look through photos for you. Don't ask me anything else."

"Eventually you'll have to say what happened between you and Ray. You might as well start now."

"Nothing happened. He kidnapped me. That's all."

"Why did he kidnap you?" Stephens asked. "You told your dad Ray wanted a traveling companion. Is that true?"

I stared at him, betrayed. Goddamn Dad.

"Look, I understand that you're embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed," I said through gritted teeth. "I have no reason to be embarrassed."

Stephens nodded. "That's true. You have no reason to be embarrassed. I hope you'll understand that one day."

I looked away from him, confused.

Stephens stood, gesturing toward a stack of papers on his desk. "My assistant pulled these mugshots for us. All of the men have been arrested for kidnapping a child within the last ten years in California, and all of them roughly match your description of Ray. I want you to go through them carefully. All right?" He waited for my nod. "I'm going to go out and play with the computers for a while. Give me a yell when you're done."

Once Stephens was out of the room I hesitated, feeling a strange reluctance to delve into the pile, as though seeing all the men would make me a part of what they had done.

I looked carefully at the first dozen or so photos. But soon the staring dark eyes, black hair and blank faces began to run into one another. Only an especially bizarre-looking man or an inappropriate expression made me look twice. Halfway through, I came to a convict who'd bared his teeth for the camera in an unconvincing imitation of a grin, his eyes half-lidded and head tilted back. I flipped the photo up and read the crime sheet clipped to the back. The man had been convicted of kidnapping and raping his five-year-old nephew. I threw the picture down on Stephens's desk, sickened. I read the rap sheets of the next five men: all had served time for sexual crimes as well as kidnapping.

I stood motionless for a moment, then swept the pictures off the desk, knocking over two of Stephens's folders in the process. My fury turned to fear when I saw the mess I had created. I knelt, grabbing the papers off the floor, my heart racing as I watched for Stephens. Without looking at the stack of papers I had collected, I divided it in half, placing each section randomly inside the folders. Next I picked up the mugshots, tapped them into a neat pile, and set them back in the center of Stephens's desk.

When Stephens returned fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on the arm of the couch, just as he had left me.

"Through already?" he said after a moment.

"I didn't recognize anyone," I said flatly.

"How hard did you look?"

"Why is every man in there some kind of sick rapist pervert?" I stumbled over my words. "I told you Ray isn't like that."

"I think he is," Stephens said calmly. "The longer I'm around you, the more strongly I believe that."

I dared to look at him. "You think you know me. You're wrong."

"Actually," Stephens said, "I don't know you. But I do know guys like Ray." Our eyes held for a moment, and then I looked away.

* * *

Our suite at the Hilton was near the top floor. Connie and Dad had set up in the master bedroom, with Charlie, Brian and I ranged out in the spacious living room.

I flopped into the daybed by the window, far away from where the others would sleep. Charlie chose one of the long velvet couches and Brian settled onto the rollaway cot.

After Connie triple-locked the door, even setting a chair against it, she hugged Brian, wished Charlie good night and came over and stood by my bed. I knew she was waiting for a signal from me, but I kept my eyes closed. Finally Connie kissed me lightly on the forehead. I restrained myself from wiping it off, but I turned over and buried my head in the pillow.

Good night. Turn off the goddamn lights.

After a moment, she did, retreating to the room where Dad and Stephens were discussing my performance. I wrapped the pillow around my head so I wouldn't hear anything, blanking out Charlie's voice calling softly to me.

I
 DIDN'T
 SLEEP UNTIL
I SAW THE FIRST CRACK OF

sun through the hotel drapes. The next thing I knew, Dad was shaking me awake.

"We're ordering room service," he said. "What do you want for breakfast?" His light brown eyes were intense as he knelt beside me. I watched him, speechless, wondering what Stephens had said to him the night before.

Dad cleared his throat. "How about some eggs—an omelet, something to get you going? I'm taking you shopping today after breakfast."

"Can I have toast and coffee?" I wasn't hungry at all.

"Coffee?" He frowned, then shrugged. "Okay."

I was sullen in the car, waiting for him to ask me about Ray or about what had happened with Stephens. But Dad was quiet, driving fast through mostly empty streets to the downtown shopping area.

We hit The Gap just as the store was opening so there were hardly any customers. Still, the floor-to-ceiling glass walls, bright white lights and mirrors everywhere made me feel on display. I grabbed two pairs of jeans and a couple of long-sleeved T-shirts off display tables near the door.

"Is this okay, Dad?" He was watching me like a hawk. A salesclerk hovered, scoping me out with almost the same intensity.

"He'll need some sweaters," she said.

Dad frowned at her, then nodded. "Pick out a couple of sweaters, Jeff."

"Green would go good with his eyes," the girl suggested, her own blue eyes gleaming. She was somewhere in her twenties, tall with long black hair and a nametag that read Michelle. "And turquoise would bring out those flecks of blue. He has the kind of eyes that can look deep blue or deep green, depending on what he wears." Resting her weight on one leg, she looked me over head to toe. I felt my face start to burn and I looked imploringly at Dad.

"Miss, when we decide, we'll find you." His voice was cold. Once she was gone, he smiled at me. "I think you have a fan."

I felt so awkward I could barely raise my eyes. "Can we go?"

Dad hesitated. "Sure. But I want to get this done. Pick out a couple of sweaters and a jacket, try them on and we'll get out of here."

We were walking out of The Gap when I remembered. "Dad, I didn't really need a new coat. I have that leather jacket. It's really warm, and I just got it. . . . "

"You don't need any of those things now. After we get you some shoes, you're going to dump the ones you're wearing." I looked sideways at him. "I don't want anything around that reminds you of that man."

"Okay," I said softly, but my stomach lurched as I realized the impossibility of his statement.

Dad steered me into a Foot Locker and bought a brand-new version of the white Filas I had been wearing. As we left the store, he crossed over to a garbage container by the curb, slamming my old shoes into it with an intensity that made me cringe.