year and do something special for him, just the two of us.' She sighed. 'Twice a year, I'd get called on a three-week course, which was usually hundreds of miles from where we lived. I was consumed, nonstop. I'd talk to Jack on the phone most nights, when I had a chance, if he was awake. But what good is a voice on the end of a phone hundreds of miles away to a child? They want someone there with them, to tuck them in, to read them a bed-time story, to tell them that everything is going to be OK when they wake up in the dark frightened and alone. I wasn't there for any of it.' Her voice closed into a tearful whisper.
Elwood shuffled in his seat and stretched his legs as much as he could.
'He won't remember any of that, Marilyn. It’s now that counts. It's when you find him and take him home, and show him that everything's all right. That's what he needs. That's what he will remember.'
She compromised with her silence, pulling the sleeves of her coat into her hands. 'I remember when Jack was five,' she continued effortlessly. 'And he had a sleep over, two of his friends stayed. I stayed up with them all night, we all talked and made up ghost stories, played hide and seek.'
She cried, she let it all go for a moment, she didn't wipe the tears away, these were not drops of sadness. They were the after-effects of happy times, once past and gone. She needed to feel them on her skin, she let happiness trickle into her pores and into her mouth, swallowing the salty, content taste.
'We made a den in the living room out of our old cushions and blankets, we even made a sign to hang up outside, “No grownups allowed”. Apart from me, that was. I was the exception to the rule. Jack fell asleep in my arms, and I watched him sleep for hours. He was so innocent and peaceful, like an angel. I never wanted to let him go. In the morning, he told me how happy it made him that I was home from work, that I had a chance to play and spend time with him. I've missed some of the most important parts of his childhood, but I was there for that one night, and it meant so much to him.'
'Does Jack have any brothers or sisters?' asked Elwood.
'No. After Jack was born, there wasn't enough time in the day to think about that. Howard and I had talked about it a few times, you know, in passing, but we both knew it was never really the right time in our lives.'
This time she cleared the tears from her face.
'What about you, do you have any other children?'
'No, but that's not through lack of trying, mind you. June always wanted a little girl, I suppose most women do, it just never happened for us. We were blessed with Robert, and I'm thankful for that.'
Marilyn sank in her seat, the fleeting smile passing from her lips.
'Do you think we'll find him, Elwood?'
'Of course we will.'
TWENTY-FIVE
Rupert John Russell threw the remnants of the cold coffee and congealed sugary gloop down the back of his throat, swirled it around his mouth and swallowed. He thumbed the blind open and watched, just like he did thirty seconds ago, and thirty seconds before that. 'Come on, you bastard, where are you?'
He bent down under his desk and dragged out one of many cardboard boxes, full of office decorations that he had been too lazy to set up. He foraged through, pulling out a hand-carved crucifix that he had picked up on one of his summer vacations.
'Boss?'
'Jesus Christ, Davies. Don't you know how to knock?'
'Sorry, boss, just I've got some news, that's all.'
R.J. Looked at Davies impatiently, waiting.
'Well. Spit it out, what is it?'
'Oh, umm. Yeah, sorry, boss.'
He cleared his dry throat with a gargle and splutter.
'I've got hold of Peters and Torrance, they're gonna keep an eye out.'
'Good. Good work, Davies. What did you tell them?'
'I didn't give much away, Sheriff. Just made up some bullshit like you said, boss,' he said, proudly.
'Good, what about Brewer and Langston, you get a hold of them, too?'
'Sure did. They weren't impressed.
Elwood shuffled in his seat and stretched his legs as much as he could.
'He won't remember any of that, Marilyn. It’s now that counts. It's when you find him and take him home, and show him that everything's all right. That's what he needs. That's what he will remember.'
She compromised with her silence, pulling the sleeves of her coat into her hands. 'I remember when Jack was five,' she continued effortlessly. 'And he had a sleep over, two of his friends stayed. I stayed up with them all night, we all talked and made up ghost stories, played hide and seek.'
She cried, she let it all go for a moment, she didn't wipe the tears away, these were not drops of sadness. They were the after-effects of happy times, once past and gone. She needed to feel them on her skin, she let happiness trickle into her pores and into her mouth, swallowing the salty, content taste.
'We made a den in the living room out of our old cushions and blankets, we even made a sign to hang up outside, “No grownups allowed”. Apart from me, that was. I was the exception to the rule. Jack fell asleep in my arms, and I watched him sleep for hours. He was so innocent and peaceful, like an angel. I never wanted to let him go. In the morning, he told me how happy it made him that I was home from work, that I had a chance to play and spend time with him. I've missed some of the most important parts of his childhood, but I was there for that one night, and it meant so much to him.'
'Does Jack have any brothers or sisters?' asked Elwood.
'No. After Jack was born, there wasn't enough time in the day to think about that. Howard and I had talked about it a few times, you know, in passing, but we both knew it was never really the right time in our lives.'
This time she cleared the tears from her face.
'What about you, do you have any other children?'
'No, but that's not through lack of trying, mind you. June always wanted a little girl, I suppose most women do, it just never happened for us. We were blessed with Robert, and I'm thankful for that.'
Marilyn sank in her seat, the fleeting smile passing from her lips.
'Do you think we'll find him, Elwood?'
'Of course we will.'
TWENTY-FIVE
Rupert John Russell threw the remnants of the cold coffee and congealed sugary gloop down the back of his throat, swirled it around his mouth and swallowed. He thumbed the blind open and watched, just like he did thirty seconds ago, and thirty seconds before that. 'Come on, you bastard, where are you?'
He bent down under his desk and dragged out one of many cardboard boxes, full of office decorations that he had been too lazy to set up. He foraged through, pulling out a hand-carved crucifix that he had picked up on one of his summer vacations.
'Boss?'
'Jesus Christ, Davies. Don't you know how to knock?'
'Sorry, boss, just I've got some news, that's all.'
R.J. Looked at Davies impatiently, waiting.
'Well. Spit it out, what is it?'
'Oh, umm. Yeah, sorry, boss.'
He cleared his dry throat with a gargle and splutter.
'I've got hold of Peters and Torrance, they're gonna keep an eye out.'
'Good. Good work, Davies. What did you tell them?'
'I didn't give much away, Sheriff. Just made up some bullshit like you said, boss,' he said, proudly.
'Good, what about Brewer and Langston, you get a hold of them, too?'
'Sure did. They weren't impressed.
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