Never Look Away Page 10

  “Did you see that?” Reeves said. “Perfect drive. I don’t even know where yours ended up.”

  “Somewhere,” Samuels said.

  “This is good, huh?” Reeves said. “We don’t do this enough.”

  “It’s been a while,” Samuels said.

  “Takes your mind off things. I’m sure you’ve got your share of stress being a doctor, but let me tell you, running a city, that’s a twenty-four/seven kind of thing, you know?”

  Reeves was such a jerk, it made Samuels wonder whatever happened to the former mayor, Randall Finley.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Samuels said.

  And then his cell rang.

  “Aw, come on, you didn’t leave that on, did you?” Reeves whined.

  “Hang on,” Samuels said, reaching eagerly into his pocket for his phone. Let it be an emergency, he thought. He could be at the hospital in fifteen minutes.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Dr. Samuels?”

  “Speaking.”

  “My name’s Barry Duckworth, a detective with the Promise Falls police.”

  “Detective, how are you today?”

  Reeves perked up at the mention of the word.

  “Not too bad. I gather you’re out on the course someplace. I called your service and they told me and gave me your number when I leaned on them.”

  “No problem. What’s up?”

  “I’d like to talk to you in person. Now.”

  “I’m at the Promise Falls Golf and Country Club, fifteenth hole.”

  “I’m already at the clubhouse.”

  “I’ll be right there.” He put the phone back into his pocket. “You’ll have to finish without me, Stan.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Samuels put up his hands in mock bafflement. “I guess I’m going to get a taste of what it’s like for you, this being on call at all hours.”

  “Hey, if you take the cart, I’m going to have to—”

  But Samuels was already driving away.

  Barry Duckworth was outside waiting by the pro shop, where golfers dropped off their carts. He shook hands with Dr. Samuels, who said, “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Don’t have time,” Duckworth said. “I need to ask you about one of your patients.”

  Samuels’s bushy gray eyebrows shot up momentarily. “Who?”

  “Jan Harwood.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “She’s disappeared. She and her husband, David Harwood, and their son went to spend the day at Five Mountains, and she went missing.”

  “Dear God,” said Samuels.

  “A thorough search has been done of the park, although I’d still like to take another run at it.” Duckworth led Samuels into the building’s shade, not just to get out of the heat, but to distance themselves from other golfers who might be listening.

  “Mr. Harwood thinks it’s possible his wife may have killed herself.”

  Samuels nodded, then shook his head. “Oh, this is just terrible. She’s a very nice woman, you know.”

  “I’m sure she is,” Duckworth said. “Mr. Harwood said she’s been depressed the last couple of weeks. Mood swings, talking about how the rest of her family would be better off without her.”

  “When was this?” Samuels asked.

  “A day or two ago, if my understanding of what Mr. Harwood said is correct.”

  “But it’s still possible that she’s just missing, that she hasn’t killed herself or anything,” the doctor said. “You haven’t found her.”

  “That’s right. That’s why there’s a sense of urgency about this.”

  “What is it I can do for you, Detective?”

  “I don’t want to violate patient-doctor confidentiality here, but if you have any idea where she might go, what she might do, just how serious the threat is that she might kill herself, I’d really appreciate it.”

  “I don’t think I can be much help here.”

  “Please, Dr. Samuels. I’m not asking you for personal details, just something that might help us find this woman before she does any harm to herself.”

  “Detective, if I knew anything, I’d tell you, I really would. I wouldn’t stand behind some privacy shield. I want you to find her, alive and well, as much as anyone.”

  “Did she tell you anything, anything at all, that would indicate to you whether she might take her own life, or whether she was just, I don’t know, trying to get attention?”

  “She didn’t tell me anything, Detective.”

  “Nothing? A place she might go to think things over?”

  “She didn’t tell me anything because she hasn’t been to see me.”

  The detective blinked. “Say again?”

  “I saw her … maybe eight months ago? Just routine. But she didn’t come see me about being depressed or suicidal. I wish she had.”

  “But Mr. Harwood says he went to see you about her. That you told him to convince his wife that she should make an appointment with you.”

  “That’s all true. David came in last week, very concerned. And I told him I needed to talk to her myself to make an assessment, and possibly refer her to someone else for counseling.”

  “And she never came in?”

  The doctor shook his head.

  “Because Mr. Harwood,” Duckworth said, “told me she saw you.”

  Samuels shook his head. “I kept waiting for her to make an appointment, but she never did. This is just terrible. I should have called her myself, but then she would have known her husband had been to see me. Oh shit. If I’d called her, maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation now.”

  ELEVEN

  Once I’d pulled myself together, Mom and Dad and I sat down at the kitchen table to talk things out. Ethan was in the living room, having a heated discussion with the various vehicles he owned from the Cars cartoon movie.

  “Maybe she’s just gone to think things over,” Dad said. “You know how women can be sometimes. They get a bee in their bonnet and have to go sort things out for a while. I’m sure she’ll be getting in touch any minute now.”

  Mom reached out a hand and placed it over mine. “Maybe if we put our heads together, we can think about where she might have gone.”

  “I’ve been doing that,” I said. “She wasn’t home, she didn’t come here. I don’t know where to begin.”

  “What about her friends?” Mom asked, but even as she asked it she must have known what my answer would be.

  “She doesn’t really have any close ones,” I said. “She’s never been a joiner. She probably talks more to Leanne at the office than anyone else, and she doesn’t even like her.”

  Ethan walked in, ran a toy car across the table, going “Vroom!”

  “Ethan,” I said, “scoot.” He did two laps of the kitchen, “vrooming” the whole time, then returned to the living room.

  “We should call her anyway,” Mom said, and I agreed that was a good idea. I didn’t know her number, so Mom grabbed the book and opened it to the K’s.

  She found a listing for an L. Kowalski and I dialed as she called out the number to me.

  Two rings and then, “Yep?”

  “Lyall?”

  “Yep.”

  “Dave Harwood here. Jan’s husband.”

  “Yeah, sure, Dave. How’s it going?”

  I dodged the question. “Is Leanne there?”

  “She must be out shopping,” he said. He sounded hungover. “And taking her time getting back. Anything I can help you with?”

  Did I want to get into it with him, about Jan’s disappearance? There was nothing in Lyall’s voice to suggest he had even an inkling anything was wrong, but he must have found it odd that I’d be calling for his wife.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll try her later.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “I wanted to bounce a gift idea off her, something for Jan.”

  “Okay,” he said, satisfied. “I’ll tell her you called.”<
br />
  Everyone was quiet for a moment after I hung up the phone. Then Dad said, very matter-of-factly and just a little too loud, “I just can’t believe she’d kill herself.”

  “For God’s sake, Don, keep your voice down,” Mom hissed at him. “Ethan’s just in the other room.”

  It wasn’t likely Ethan would have heard over all the car noises he was making.

  “Sorry,” Dad said anyway. He had a habit of talking louder than he had to, and it had nothing to do with hearing loss. He heard everything fine, but always assumed no one else was ever really listening. With Mom, it was often the case. “But still, she doesn’t seem the type to have done it.”

  “The last couple of weeks, though,” I said, “this change came over her.”

  Mom used her hand to wipe away a tear running down her cheek. “I know what your father is saying, though. I just didn’t see any signs.”

  “Before a couple of weeks ago, I hadn’t either,” I said. “But I’m guessing they must have been there and I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Tell me again what she said to you at the restaurant,” Mom said.

  I took a moment. It was hard to say these things out loud without getting choked up. “She said something along the lines of I’d be happy if she was gone. That Ethan and I would be better off. Why would she say something like that?”

  “She wasn’t in her right mind,” Dad said. “Any fool can tell that. For the life of me, I can’t figure what she’d be unhappy about. She’s got a good husband, a wonderful boy, you’ve got a nice house, you both got good jobs. What’s the problem? I’m telling you, I just don’t get it.”

  Mom sighed, looked at me. Her face said, Pay no attention to him. She turned to Dad and said, “Just because you’ve got a man and a roof over your head doesn’t mean your life is perfect.”

  He made a face. “What are you getting at?”

  Mom shook her head and looked at me. “I didn’t think he’d get that one.” It was her attempt to lighten the mood.

  “I was only making a point,” Dad said. He frowned, stared down at the table. It was then that I noticed his eyes were welling up with tears.

  “Dad,” I said, clutching his hand.

  He pulled it away, got up from the table, and walked out of the kitchen.

  “He doesn’t want to show how upset he is,” Mom said. “Any time you have problems, it tears him apart.”

  I wanted to get up and go after him, but Mom held on to my hand. “He’ll be back in a minute. Give him a second to pull himself together.”

  In the other room, I heard him say to Ethan, “Hey, kiddo. Did I show you the train catalogues I picked up?”

  Ethan said, “I’m watching TV.”

  “How much does Ethan know?” Mom asked me.

  “Not much. He knows his mother hasn’t come home, and he knows the police are looking for her. He thought that meant she’d robbed a bank or something, but I told him she hadn’t done anything like that.”

  Mom smiled in spite of everything, but only for a moment.

  Something had been niggling at me. “There’s somewhere I have to go,” I said.

  “What? Where?”

  “That bridge.”

  “Bridge?”

  “The one Jan talked about jumping from. I mentioned to the police that they should check bridges near the park, and I think they did, but the one she told me about, it’s up that road that goes to Miller’s Garden Center, west of town.”

  “I know the one.”

  “The police won’t have checked it. I never mentioned it specifically.”

  “David,” Mom said, “call the police and let them check.”

  “I don’t know how soon they’ll get to it. I have to do something now. You’ll watch Ethan?”

  “Of course. Take your father.”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “Take him,” she said. “It will make him feel like he’s doing something, too.”

  I nodded. “Hey, Dad,” I called into the living room. He came back, composed. “Take a ride with me.”

  “Where we goin’?”

  “I’ll explain on the way.”

  We took my car, which made Dad fidgety. He’d never been a good passenger. If he wasn’t behind the wheel, he figured there was a pretty good chance we were going to die.

  “You got a red up there,” he said.

  “I see it, Dad,” I said, taking my foot off the gas as we approached the light. It turned green before we got there, and I tromped on it.

  “You get bad mileage that way,” Dad said. “Hitting the accelerator hard, then hitting the brake instead of slowing down gradual. That’s what sucks up the gas.”

  “You’ve said.”

  He glanced over at me. “Sorry.”

  I gave him a smile. “It’s okay.”

  “How you holding up?”

  “Not so good,” I said.

  “You can’t give up hope,” he said. “It’s way too early for that.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “So you know just where this bridge is?”

  “Pretty sure,” I said. We were out of Promise Falls now, heading west. Only a couple of miles out I found the county road I was looking for. Two-lane, paved. The road went through a variety of topography. There was wide-open farmland, then dense woods, followed by more farmland. The bridge spanned a creek that flowed through a heavily treed area.

  “Up ahead,” I said.

  It wasn’t much of a bridge. Maybe fifty or sixty feet across, asphalt over cement, with three-foot-high concrete railings along the sides. I pulled the car as far onto the shoulder as I could this side of the bridge and killed the ignition.

  It was quiet out there except for the sound of the water running under the bridge. We got out of the car and walked to the center of it, Dad staying close to me.

  I went to the west side first and looked down. It wasn’t more than twenty feet down, not much of a drop, really. The creek was shallow here, rocks cropping up above the surface. It probably wasn’t much more than a foot deep any place under the bridge. A summer or two back, when we hadn’t had any rain for weeks, this creek bed was dry for a spell.

  I looked at the water, hypnotized almost as it coursed around the rocks. Everything was serene.

  “Best check out the other side, huh?” Dad said, touching my arm. We crossed the road and leaned up against the opposite railing.

  There wasn’t a body in the creek. And if someone did jump off this bridge, there wasn’t enough depth, or force, to move one farther downstream. If someone took his life jumping off this bridge, he’d be found.

  “I just want to get a good look underneath,” I said. It wasn’t possible to see everything that was under the bridge while standing on it.

  “You want me to come?” Dad asked.

  “Just stay here.”

  I ran to the end, then cut around and worked my way down the embankment. It didn’t take more than a moment, and once there all I found were a few empty beer cans and some McDonald’s wrappers.

  Anything?” Dad shouted.

  “No,” I said, and climbed back up to the road.

  The thing was, a person would probably survive a jump off this bridge, unless they plunged headfirst.

  “This is a good thing, right?” said Dad. “Isn’t it?”

  I said nothing.

  “You know what else I was thinking?” Dad said. “She didn’t leave any note. If she was going to do something to herself, she’d have left a note, don’t you think?”

  I didn’t know what to think.

  “If I was gonna kill myself, I’d leave a note,” he said. “That’s what people do. They want to say goodbye somehow.”

  “I don’t think people always do that,” I said. “Only in the movies.”

  Dad shrugged. “Maybe there were some other people she wanted to see before she did anything too rash.”

  “Like who?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Like, maybe her own fa
mily.”

  “She doesn’t have any family. At least not any that she talks to anymore.”

  Dad knew Jan was estranged from her parents, but it must have slipped his mind. If he’d thought about it a moment, he would’ve recalled that it was never an issue whose folks we spent every Christmas with.

  “Maybe that’s where she went,” Dad said. “Could be she felt she needed to look them up after all these years and make some sort of peace with them. Tell them what she thinks of them, something like that.”

  I stood on the bridge, looking off into the woods.

  “Say that again?” I said.

  “She could be trying to find her family. You know, after all these years, she wants to clear the air or something. Give them a piece of her mind.”

  I walked over and surprised him with a pat on the shoulder. “That’s not a bad idea,” I said.

  “I’m not just good-looking,” Dad said.

  TWELVE

  Ernie Bertram was sitting on the front porch of his Stonywood Drive home, nursing a long-necked bottle of beer, when the black car pulled up at the curb. The owner of Bertram’s Heating and Cooling knew an unmarked police cruiser when he saw one. The tiny hubcaps, the absence of chrome. An overweight man in a white business shirt with tie askew got out of the cruiser. He stood, then reached back into the car for his jacket, which he pulled on as he walked up the driveway. The man glanced at Bertram’s van, then looked up to the porch.

  “Mr. Bertram?” he said.

  Bertram stood up and set his beer on the wide railing. “What can I do for you?” He was about to add “Officer,” but considering that this man wasn’t wearing a uniform, he wasn’t sure that was appropriate.

  “Detective Duckworth, Promise Falls police,” he said, mounting the steps. “Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  Bertram pointed to a wicker chair. “Just finished dinner. Have a seat.”

  Duckworth did. “Get ya a beer?” Bertram asked, grabbing his own from the railing and sitting back down. Duckworth noticed that the man had unbuttoned the top of his pants and let his zipper down an inch. A little post-dinner pressure release.