Never Look Away: A Thriller Read online

  She had another sip of wine.

  “So it got to be the day that we were supposed to go. I got my bag all packed. I picked out just what I was going to wear to the theater. A red dress and black shoes. And my father, he wasn’t doing anything to get ready. I told him to get moving, and he smiled, and he said, ‘There’s no trip. No bus ride. No hotel. No tickets for Grease. Never was. Disappointment’s a bitch, isn’t it? Now you know how it feels.’”

  I was speechless. Jan smiled and said, “Bet you think I caught a lucky break. You’d rather die than sit through Grease.”

  I found some words. “How’d you deal with that?”

  She said, “I went to another place.”

  “Where? Relatives?”

  “No, no, you don’t get it,” she said. Jan put her hand to her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  The next morning she refused to talk about it.

  She did tell me, over time, that she left home at seventeen and for nearly twenty years had had no contact with either of her parents. She had no brothers or sisters who might have let her know, whether she wanted to or not, what had happened to her mother and father.

  For all she knew, they were both dead.

  Except I knew they weren’t, because of the phone call I’d made.

  I’d never told Jan about what I’d found behind the baseboard. I didn’t want her to know I’d violated her privacy. I was troubled that she’d gone to such lengths to keep me from knowing about her background, but maybe she was right not to trust me. Finding the birth certificate was leading me to do the very thing she had always wanted to prevent.

  Driving back from Buffalo, I took a detour to the north and found the Lincoln Avenue home, and stared at its peeling paint and shutters askew, as if some meaning could be drawn from it all. I wondered whether one of the two second-story windows had been Jan’s bedroom, or if her room had been at the back of the house.

  I pictured her as a child, going in and out of that front door, perhaps playing in the front yard. Jumping rope on the sidewalk, playing hopscotch on her driveway. Maybe those images were too idyllic. Perhaps, growing up in a household where love was displaced by anger and resentment, such simple pleasures were elusive. Maybe for Jan, every time she came out that door was like being released from prison. I could picture her running to a friend’s house, returning home only when she had to.

  Staring at the house really didn’t tell me anything. I don’t know what I was expecting.

  Then her parents showed up.

  I had been parked across the street and two houses down, so I didn’t attract the attention of Horace and Gretchen Richler as they got out of their twenty-year-old Oldsmobile.

  Horace opened his door slowly and put his foot on the ground. It took some effort for him to turn in his seat and bring himself out. He was slowed by arthritis or something similarly disabling. He was in his late sixties or early seventies, a few wisps of hair, a couple of liver spots. He was short and stocky, but not fat. Even at this age, it looked like you’d have to take a good run at him to knock him over.

  He didn’t look like a monster. But then, monsters often don’t.

  Horace was going around to the trunk as Gretchen got out. She moved slowly, too, although she wasn’t quite as creaky as her husband. Even though he was out of the car before her, she was to the trunk before him, and waited for him to fit the key into the lock and pop it.

  There wasn’t a lot to her. She was tiny, under five feet, probably no more than eighty or ninety pounds. Wiry. She reached into the trunk and looped her fingers through the handles of half a dozen plastic grocery bags, lifted them out and headed for the door. Her husband closed the trunk and followed, carrying nothing.

  They went into the house, and they were gone.

  They didn’t appear to have spoken a word between them. They’d run their errands, and they’d come home.

  Was there anything I could read into what I’d seen? No. And yet I was left with the impression that these were two people going through the motions, living out the rest of their lives a day at a time without purpose. While I picked up no hostile body language from Horace toward Gretchen, I did detect an overall sadness about them.

  I hope you’re sad, I thought. I hope you’re fucking miserable for what you did.

  When the Oldsmobile had pulled into the driveway, I’d initially had an impulse to get out, march over, and tear into Horace Richler. I wanted to tell him what a terrible man he was. I wanted to tell him that a man who would abuse his daughter—even if that abuse was limited to emotional—didn’t deserve to be called a father. I wanted to tell him that his daughter had turned out well despite his attempts to sabotage her. I wanted to tell him that he had a wonderful grandson, but because he’d been such a miserable bastard he was never going to meet him.

  But I didn’t tell him anything.

  I watched Horace Richler go into the house with his wife, Gretchen. I watched the door close behind them.

  Then I drove home, and never told Jan about the stop I had made along the way.

  FOURTEEN

  I thought about my visit to the Richler home on the way back from the bridge with Dad.

  What if Jan had been wanting, for years, to say to her parents what I’d wanted to say when I’d parked out front of their home? What if the way her father had treated her had been eating her up for years, in ways she’d never let on? Revealing how much her father’s actions still hurt her might have made her feel vulnerable. And yet, Jan had told me over the past two weeks how fragile, how potentially self-destructive she had been feeling.

  I just didn’t know anything anymore.

  I tried to put myself in Jan’s position. I’m in a bad place, thinking about taking my own life. Before I do such a thing, do I want to confront my father, tell him what I think of him? Tell my mother she should have stood up for me? Tell both of them how they ruined my life before I end it?

  I shuddered.

  “You okay there?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “It’s a good thing,” he said. “That we didn’t find her there. Under that bridge. That’s a good thing. Because if that’s the place she was talking about doing herself in, well, stands to reason that she didn’t.”

  Dad was trying really hard. Driving out to that bridge, it had been a long shot at best. The fact that Jan wasn’t there just meant that Jan wasn’t there. The fact was, we didn’t know where she was. But I didn’t want to make my father feel bad by dismissing his hunt for a silver lining.

  “I suppose,” I said. “I suppose.” Jan had also mentioned the much taller bridge in downtown Promise Falls, but if she’d tried something there, I told myself, there would have been witnesses. The police would have heard almost immediately.

  Dad pointed up ahead. “You see that? Guy didn’t signal. How hard is it to put your blinker on? Christ almighty.”

  Not long after that, we were riding behind a driver who moved into the oncoming lane in preparation for a left turn into a driveway, allowing us to scoot past.

  “What the hell is that?” Dad said. “People in the country pull that stunt all the time. What if someone was passing us, or someone suddenly showed up in the oncoming lane? I swear to God, how do these people get their licenses?”

  When I didn’t respond to either of these observations, Dad decided to dial it down a bit. Finally, he said, “So, you been thinking about my idea? About Jan looking up her parents?”

  “Yeah, I have.”

  “You got any way to get in touch with them? Your mother’s told me Jan doesn’t talk about them, that she’s never even told you who they are or where they live.”

  “I think I could find them,” I said.

  “Yeah? How would you go about that?”

  “They live in Rochester,” I said. “I know the address.”

  “So she did tell you?”

  “Not exactly,” I said.

  “Well, if I was you, I’d call them up, see
if she’s been in touch. If they’re in Rochester, Jan would have had plenty of time to drive there by now.”

  In what? I was in my car, and Jan’s was at home.

  “How long a drive is it? Three, four hours?”

  “Under three,” I said.

  “So when we get back, we’ll give them a call. It’s long distance but I don’t care about that.”

  That was a major concession on Dad’s part. He hated long-distance calls being made on his phone.

  I glanced over and smiled. “Thanks, Dad. But I’m afraid the moment I say Jan’s name, they’ll hang up on me.”

  He shook his head at the thought of it. “How can parents be like that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I mean, you didn’t always do what we wanted but we never disowned you,” Dad said, forcing a smile. “You could be a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “You have to let your kids make their own decisions in life, good or bad.”

  “Is that why you’re so reluctant to offer advice?” I asked.

  Dad shot me a look. “Smart-ass.”

  We were getting back into Promise Falls, only a few blocks from my parents’ house. It was nearly dark, and the streetlights had come on. I felt a sense of imminent doom as we rounded the corner, expecting to see one or more police cars parked out front. But there were no unfamiliar cars parked at the curb.

  My mother was standing at the door. She opened it and came out as we pulled into the driveway. She had a hopeful, expectant look on her face, but I shook my head.

  “Nothing,” I said. “We didn’t find Jan.”

  “So she wasn’t—she didn’t—”

  “No,” I said. “Any news here? Anything from the police?”

  She shook her head. We all went into the house, where I saw Ethan on the third step of the stairs, preparing to jump.

  “Ethan, don’t—”

  He leapt down to the main floor, hitting it with a thump. “Watch!” he said, ran up to the third step, and did it again.

  “He’s been a madman,” Mom said. “I let him have half a glass of Coke with his macaroni.”

  Mom always liked to blame Ethan’s rowdiness on something he’d had to eat or drink. It had been my experience that it didn’t much matter.

  I gave her a kiss and went into the kitchen to use the phone. I had Detective Duckworth’s card in my hand and dialed his cell.

  “Duckworth.”

  “It’s David Harwood,” I said. “I know you’d probably have called if you knew anything, but I wanted to check in.”

  “I don’t have any news,” Duckworth said. His voice sounded guarded.

  “You still have people searching?”

  “We do, Mr. Harwood.” He paused. “I think, if there are no developments overnight, if Mrs. Harwood doesn’t come home, we should put out a release in the morning.”

  I pictured her coming through the door here, into my parents’ house. There was a loud thunk from the other room as Ethan hit the floor again.

  “Okay, good,” I said. “How about a news conference?”

  “I don’t know that we’re at that stage,” he said. “I think a picture and a description of your wife and the circumstances of her disappearance will do for now.”

  “I think we need a news conference,” I said.

  “Let’s see where we are in the morning,” he said. There was something in his voice. It sounded controlled, held back.

  “I might not be here in the morning,” I said.

  “Where are you going to be?”

  “Jan’s parents are in Rochester.”

  Mom’s eyes widened when I said it. I’d never told her about the trip I’d made to see Jan’s childhood home.

  With Duckworth, I continued, “She hasn’t had any contact with them in probably twenty years. They didn’t come to our wedding, they’ve never met their grandson. But I’m thinking, what if Jan decided to go see them? What if, after all this time, she had some reason to get in touch that she didn’t share with me? Maybe she just wanted to finally tell them what she thinks of them.”

  Duckworth was quiet, saying only, “I suppose.”

  “I’d phone them, but I’m worried about doing this any way but face-to-face. I mean, they’ve never set eyes on me. What are they going to think, some guy phones them and says he’s their son-in-law and oh, by the way, their daughter’s missing and is there any chance she might have dropped by? And if Jan is there, and doesn’t want me to know, I’m worried that if I call, she’ll take off.”

  “Maybe,” Duckworth said with little conviction.

  From the other room, Mom shouted at Ethan, “Enough!”

  I said, “I’m probably going to hit the road in a couple of minutes, get a hotel in Rochester, and see Jan’s parents first thing in the morning.”

  Instead of addressing my plans, Duckworth said, “Tell me again about your wife and Leanne Kowalski.”

  The question threw me. “I told you. They work together. That’s about it.”

  “What time did you and your son get to Five Mountains, Mr. Harwood?”

  Why did he ask it that way? Why didn’t he ask when Ethan and I and Jan got to Five Mountains?

  “I guess it was about eleven, maybe a little after. Didn’t they have it right down to the minute, when they scanned our ticket at the gate?”

  “I think you’re right,” Duckworth said.

  “Is something going on?” I asked. “Please tell me if something’s going on.”

  “If I have any news, Mr. Harwood, I’ll be in touch. I have your cell number.”

  I hung up the phone. Mom and Dad were both standing there, watching me.

  “Jan told you about her parents?” Mom asked.

  “I figured it out.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Horace and Gretchen Richler,” I said.

  “Does Jan know you know?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to get into this. I leaned against the kitchen counter. I was exhausted.

  “You need to get some rest,” Mom said.

  “I’m going to Rochester,” I said.

  “In the morning?”

  “No, now.” I realized it was suddenly very quiet. “Where’s Ethan?”

  “He collapsed on the couch,” Mom said. “Thank God.”

  “Can he stay here for the night?”

  “You can’t drive anywhere now,” Mom protested. “You’ll drive off the road.”

  “Why don’t you make me a thermos of coffee to go while I say good night to Ethan,” I said.

  Without waiting for any further protest, I went into the living room, where Ethan was resting his head on the end of the couch. He’d pulled a throw around himself.

  “Gotta go, sport,” I said. “You’re staying here for the night.”

  No reaction. His eyes suddenly looked heavy. “I’ll bet Mommy’s at the mall.”

  “Maybe so,” I said.

  “Okay,” he said, and his eyelids drifted down like flower petals closing for the night.

  FIFTEEN

  Barry Duckworth closed the phone and said to Lyall Kowalski, “Sorry about that.”

  “Was that Jan’s husband?” he asked. He and the detective were sitting in his living room. Lyall was in a black T-shirt and dirty, knee-length shorts with pockets all over them. Duckworth wondered whether Lyall had gone prematurely bald at age thirty-five, or whether he shaved his head. Some guys, once they started losing some hair, decided to go the whole nine yards with it, make a fashion statement.

  Even before he saw the pit bull coming out of the kitchen, Duckworth knew there was a dog here. The house was permeated with the smell of pooch.

  “Yes, that was him,” Duckworth said.

  “Has he seen my wife?”

  “No,” Duckworth said, but thinking, At least he’s not saying he has. There were things about this case that were starting to bother him, even before he’d learned that Jan Harwood�
�s workmate was missing, too.

  “Tell me again what time your wife left the house,” Duckworth said.

  Lyall Kowalski was leaning forward on the couch, elbows on his knees. “Okay, so she was actually gone before I got up. I got in kind of late last night and was sleeping in.”

  “Where had you been?”

  “I was at the Trenton.” A local bar. “With some friends. We had a few, and Mick gave me a lift home.”

  “Mick?”

  “Mick Angus. We work together at Thackeray.”

  “What do you do at the college, Mr. Kowalski?”

  “We’re both in building maintenance.”

  “So you got home when?”

  Lyall scrunched up his face, trying to remember. “Three? Or maybe five.”

  “And your wife was here when you got home?”

  “As far as I know,” he said, nodding.

  “What do you mean, as far as you know?”

  “Well, there’s no reason to think that she wasn’t.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I didn’t actually talk to her. I didn’t make it as far as the bedroom. I camped out on the couch.”

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “Leanne gets kinda bitchy when I come home drunk. Actually, she’s kind of bitchy even when I’m sober. Plus, I kinda forgot I was supposed to take her out to dinner last night. So I didn’t want to have to deal with that, so I didn’t get into bed with her.”

  “Were you at the Trenton all night?”

  “I think so. Except after they closed, I had a couple of drinks in the parking lot with Mick.”

  “Who drove you home?” Duckworth said disapprovingly.

  Lyall waved his hands at Duckworth, like it was no big deal. “Mick can drink a lot and still drive better than most people sober.”

  “Where were you supposed to go for dinner?”

  “Kelly’s?” he said, like he was asking Duckworth for confirmation. “I know I said something on Thursday about taking her there for dinner but it slipped my mind.”

  “Did you talk to your wife at all last night, while you were at Trenton’s?”