I do not have to stay in the room. I excuse myself, leave the building, and return to the Landing. The police are still there, loitering around the boathouse, keeping people away from the men’s restroom. I speak to them and express my gratitude; they are sympathetic. Partner arrives, says my mother has had two martinis and is somewhat subdued. He and I split up and roam the walkways of the park. The sun is setting; the shadows are getting longer. Partner brings me a flashlight, and we continue our search well into the night.

At 8:00 p.m. I call Judith to see how she’s holding up. She’s at home, with her parents, waiting by the phone. I offer to come over and sit, but she says no thanks. She has friends over and I wouldn’t fit. I’m sure she’s right about that.

I roam through the park for hours, shining my light at every bridge, culvert, tree, and pile of rocks. This is the worst day of my life, and when it ends, I sit on a bench at midnight and finally weep.

19.

Aided by whiskey and a pill, I manage to sleep for three hours on the sofa before waking in a pool of sweat. Wide awake now, and the nightmare only continues. I shower to kill time and check on my mother. She’s had some pills and seems to be in a coma. At dawn Partner and I return to the park. There’s nowhere else to go, really. What else am I supposed to do? Sit by the phone? It’s in my pocket and it buzzes at 7:03. Lynn Colfax checks in to see how I’m doing. I tell him I’m at the park, still searching. He says they’ve had a few tips but nothing useful. Just some crackpots interested in the reward money. He asks if I’ve seen the Sunday morning newspaper. Yes, I have. Front page.

Partner brings some muffins and coffee, and we eat on a picnic table overlooking a pond that’s used for skating in the winter. He asks, “Have you thought about Link?”

“Yes, I have, but I don’t think it’s him.”

“Why not?”

“Not his kind of crime.”

“You’re probably right.”

We return to the silence that defines our relationship, a quiet I have always appreciated. Now, though, I need someone to talk to. We finish eating and split up again. I cover the same paths and trails, look under the same footbridges, walk along the same creeks. I call Judith mid-morning, and her mother answers her cell phone. Judith is resting, and, no, they’ve heard nothing. Back at the Landing, the police have removed the crime scene tape and things have returned to normal. The place is bustling with people again, all apparently oblivious to yesterday’s horror. I watch some boys race their boats around the pond. I stand where I stood yesterday when I saw Starcher for the last time. A dull pain rips through my gut and I’m forced to walk away.

At the rate I’m going, Starcher is the only child I’ll ever produce. He was an accident, an unwanted child born in the midst of a raging war between his parents, but in spite of that he has blossomed into a beautiful boy. I haven’t been much of a father, but then I’ve been shut out of his life. I never dreamed I could miss another human so much. But then, what parent can imagine a child being abducted?

Hours pass as I roam the park. I jump out of my skin when my phone rings, but it’s only an acquaintance wanting to help. Late in the day, I sit on a park bench near a jogging trail. From out of nowhere, Detective Landy Reardon appears and sits beside me. He’s wearing a suit under the standard black trench coat.

“What brings you here?” I ask, startled.

“I’m just the messenger, Rudd. Nothing more. Not involved, really. But your kid is okay.”

I take a deep breath and lean forward, elbows on knees, thoroughly confused. I manage to grunt, “What?”

He stares straight ahead as if I’m not here. “Your kid’s okay. What they want is an exchange.”

“An exchange?”

“You got it. You tell me; I tell them. You tell me where the girl is buried, you get your kid back after they find her.”

I don’t know what to think or say. Praise God my kid is safe, but he’s safe because the cops have snatched him and are holding him as bait! I tell myself I should be angry, furious, volcanic, but I am nothing but relieved. Starcher is okay!

“They? Them? You’re talking about some of your own people, right?”

“Sort of. Look, Rudd, you gotta understand that Roy Kemp has pretty much checked out. They’ve put him on administrative leave for a month or so, but no one knows it. He’s a mess, and he’s out there acting on his own.”

“But he has a lot of friends, right?”

“Oh yes. Kemp is highly regarded. He’s a thirty-year man, you know, with a lot of contacts, a lot of pull.”

“So this is an inside job. I don’t believe it. And they’ve sent you to negotiate.”

“I don’t know where the kid is, I swear. And I don’t like being where I am right now.”

“That makes at least two of us. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. In fact, I should’ve known the cops were not above snatching kids.”

“Back off, Rudd. You got a big mouth, you know that? Deal or no deal?”

“I’m supposed to tell you what Arch Swanger told me about the girl, right? Where she’s buried. And let’s say Swanger is telling the truth, you find the body, he gets busted for capital murder, and my career as a lawyer is over. My son is returned safely to his mother, and I get to spend a lot more time with him. In fact, I’ll be a full-time dad.”

“You’re on the right track.”

“And if I say no, what will happen to my kid? Am I supposed to believe that an assistant chief of police and his thugs will actually hurt a child as revenge?”

“I guess you gotta roll the dice, Rudd.”

PART FIVE U-HAUL LAW

1.

I fight the panic. I tell myself my son is safe, and I believe this. But the situation is so urgent that it is impossible to think rationally. Partner and I go to a coffee joint where we huddle in a corner. I walk through the various scenarios as he listens.

There is really no choice. The only important thing here is the safety and deliverance of my son; everything else fades in comparison. If I divulge the secret and lose my license to practice law, I’ll survive. Hell, I might even prosper somewhere else, and I certainly won’t be dealing with the likes of Arch Swanger again. This could be my ticket out of the profession, my one beautiful opportunity to walk away from the law and to search for real happiness.

I want that little boy in my arms.

Partner and I debate whether I should call Judith and bring her up to date. I decide not to, not now anyway. She will add nothing but stress and complications. And, much more important, she might let it slip to someone else that Kemp and associates have pulled an inside job. Reardon warned me to keep it quiet.

I call Judith anyway, just to check on her. Ava answers the phone and says Judith is in bed, medicated, and not doing well. The FBI just left the house. There is a swarm of reporters out in the street. Things are just awful. As if I don’t know.

At 7:00 p.m. Sunday, I call Reardon and say we have a deal.

It takes an hour to get a search warrant. Obviously, the police have a friendly judge on standby. At 8:30, Partner and I leave the City, with one unmarked car in front of us and one behind, which is nothing unusual. By the time we get to Dr. Woo’s sign, the police are there in force. Spotlights, two backhoes, at least two dozen men with shovels and sticks, and a canine squad of dogs in crates. I’ve told them everything I know, and they’re examining the ground next to the rows of corn. State troopers guard the shoulder of the interstate, waving off any driver who might get curious.