Colter’s mother lived on the north side of town. I drove by the neighborhood on my way to the interstate, and from the highway I remembered seeing a few factories, some strip malls, and lots and lots of trailers and small homes, the kinds with debris scattered in their yards and blank-eyed occupants sitting on the stoops smoking and drinking soft drinks from plastic bottles.
“Looks like this is a pretty shitty neighborhood,” Buster said.
“That’s fitting.”
“I guess not too many professors live on this side of town.”
“I wouldn’t think so.”
Buster drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “You know, you called me Paul back there in the cemetery.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did. You looked me right in the eye back there, when you were holding me by the collar, and you called me Paul. Clear as day.”
We took an exit ramp and came to a stoplight. I opened the glove compartment and took out a map. While we sat at the light, I located the correct street among the red and blue lines and told Buster which way to go. He made the first couple of turns, then started talking again.
“You’ve led a pretty good life,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I pointed to the windshield. “I’m driving in the middle of the night to confront the man who kidnapped and raped my daughter. I’m a lucky man.”
“Your life has turned out better than a lot of people’s. You’ve got a good job, some money. Okay, your personal life is in the dumper now. Your marriage is on the rocks.”
“My daughter. .”
“Your daughter’s back,” he said. “Don’t forget that.”
He made the last turn. We were in a subdivision called Skyline Acres. Every street was named after a heavenly body-Venus, Saturn, Aurora. Colter’s mother lived on Neptune Way. I watched the house numbers and pointed. “There it is. Stop here.”
Buster braked, and we stopped three doors down from the Colter residence.
“Well?” he said.
“You’re telling me to appreciate all I have?” I asked.
“I guess so.”
“Tell me, did you feel like you belonged in our family? Did you believe there was a place for you?”
“I never thought about it,” he said.
“That’s right. You didn’t have to. There were the three of you, and then there was me. But that changed. That changed when Caitlin was born. I had someone like that. For me. I had a family. It was an even greater bond than anything I’d ever felt with Abby.” I fumbled around until I found the door lock.
“What are you doing?” Buster asked.
“I’m going to go look. Wait here.” I worked the door open. My shoes against the sidewalk sounded ridiculously loud in the quiet night. I’d taken two steps when I heard Buster’s door open behind me. I waved him back, but he kept coming. “Wait in the car,” I said.
He shook his head and kept coming. When he came abreast of me, I put my hand on his arm.
“Why won’t you wait?” I asked.
“I can’t let you go alone,” he said. “You don’t know what to do in a situation like this.”
“And you do?”
“More than you.”
We stood at the edge of the glow of a streetlight. Our heads were in the shadows.
“Back there at the cemetery, with the girl, were you telling me the truth?” I asked. “Did you just find her by chance?”
“What else could it have been?”
“Fuck if I know. I just don’t know.”
We moved on. It felt good to have him by my side. He was right. I’d never been in a fight. Never confronted a criminal. The whole endeavor felt crazy, so much so that my hands shook and my knees felt loose and jangly with every step I took.
When we reached the driveway, Buster pointed, so I followed him. Light spilled out the side of the house, casting a large rectangle on the cracked and crumbling blacktop. Buster moved alongside the lighted window. He held his hand out to stop me.
The window sat at eye level, so it didn’t take much effort for him to look in. He craned his neck and turned from side to side, scanning the room.
“What gives?” I asked.
“Nothing. It’s s dump. Just a TV and a bed.” He pulled his head back. “Shit.”
“What?”
“Some guy came in.”
“Did he see you?”
Buster shook his head. I grabbed his arm. Tight.
“Was it him?”
“I don’t know. I got out of the way.”
“Let me.”
I stepped past him and eased next to the window. I risked a look.
The overhead light was on, a bright wash over the entire room. The walls were painted a pale green. A small TV, a thirteen-inch black-and-white that looked to be about thirty years old, broadcast a fuzzy picture despite its rabbit ears. Crumpled clothes covered the floor, and the closet door was open, allowing more clothes to spill out.
Then I saw the man sitting in a sagging chair. He stared at the TV, his head drooping.
I studied his face in profile. The prominent nose, the pockmarked cheeks. The stringy hair was cut but still streaked with gray. He wore a dirty gray sweatshirt and sweatpants. His feet were in house slippers.
It was him. Colter.
He didn’t know he was being watched. His elbows rested on the arms of the beat-up chair, and his hands joined together before his chest, holding a steaming mug. While I watched, he lifted the mug to his face and blew gently on the hot liquid, then took a tentative sip and pursed his lips. I watched, waiting, but that was all he did.
Buster moved in next to me. He nodded toward the window, his face asking the question: Is that the guy?
I nodded, and while my head moved, something welled up within me. Colter looked pathetic, utterly defenseless and harmless, and it still didn’t stop the rage bubbling within me.
Without thinking, I raised my fist and pounded it against the window.
“Colter! Hey, Colter!”
Buster made a grab for my arm, but it was too late.
Colter jumped when I hit the window, spilling the contents of the mug down the front of his shirt. I jerked free of Buster and hit the window again and again. The pane rattled in the frame, and for a moment my fist moved independently of my mind. I kept hitting the glass, wishing I could break it and smash through and grab the man who had taken my daughter.
Finally, Buster grabbed me from behind and stopped me.
“Easy,” he said. “Easy. You’ll cut your hand off.”
“I don’t care.”
“Look, look-”
Colter was on his feet, peering at the window. Because of the interior light, he couldn’t get a good look at the two of us, and from where he stood, we must have been indistinct ghostly shapes. Two pale, oval forms hovering in the night. He reached and flipped the light off, leaving only the glow of the television. He moved closer, his ugly face uncertain.
I expected him to reach for the phone. Or a weapon. Instead, he took two quick steps across the room and slid the window up.
“What is this?” he asked.
He didn’t sound angry or agitated, just weary and defensive, like a man growing tired of answering questions.
I didn’t answer. I was face-to-face with the man. I grabbed for his neck, but he was too quick. He ducked back out of the way with the skill of a boxer. I stumbled forward and caught myself against the window ledge.
Colter’s eyes were alert now, like a threatened animal. He stared back and spoke in a low voice.
“Get out of here, you assholes. I thought you were reporters. .”
His voice trailed off. He kept his eyes locked on me. Studying me. Examining me.
“Oh,” he said. “I get it.”
“What do you get, shitwipe?” Buster asked.
Colter looked toward him and squinted before turning back to me. He raised his finger in the air as though just remembering something.
“What’s your name?” he asked me.
“You think you know him?” Buster asked. “You know his daughter, don’t you? This is Tom Stuart. Stuart. Caitlin’s father. The father of the little girl you snatched. My niece.”
Colter didn’t look surprised. He didn’t blink or nod, but I saw the recognition on his face.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” I asked.
“Please. My mother is asleep.”
“Fuck her. I ought to-”
“Be quiet,” Colter said. “Jesus.” He held out his hands. They were surprisingly small, the fingers long and thin. “The cops said they’d be keeping an eye on me, but I haven’t seen a single car since they let me out. For all I know, some nutjob will want to come around and take a shot at me. All those lies in the papers.”
“Boo-hoo for you,” Buster said.
“Come around to the back,” Colter said. “Quietly.”
I started to move, then noticed Buster wasn’t coming with me. I waved at him.
He shook his head. “I think you should go alone.”
“What? You brought me here.”
“I know,” he said. “You have to do this alone. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
I took a step back. “What if he has a gun or something?”
Buster shook his head. “You heard that stuff at the cemetery. You have something he wants. So go.”
I went toward the back of the house, leaving Buster behind.
When I reached the back of the house, no one was there. The wooden door, its paint cracked and blistering, stood closed, the single bulb above it dark. The door led into the kitchen, but the lights were off inside.
A light came on above the stove, and I saw Colter’s bulky form moving toward the door. The light above the door came on as well, and a few late-season moths and gnats appeared instantly, drawn to the light and warmth. I heard locks untumbling, then a chain, and with some effort he yanked the door open.
His body filled the doorway, lit by the faint light behind. He didn’t come out, but stood there on the step, his arms at his side.
“Does she ask about me?” he asked.
I still felt shaky. Something hot roiled in my chest. “You’re a pig,” I said.
He took two steps down so that we were on the same level. He was shorter than me, stockier, with a wrestler’s body gone to middle-aged fat. “What are you here for?” he asked. “Are you here to shoot me or beat me? Do you want to kill me?”
I moved forward. My mouth was dry, but I worked my tongue around. When I thought I was close enough to him, I spit. It wasn’t an impressive job, but some of it hit him in the face, making his head jerk back.
He kept his eyes on me while he brought his arm up and wiped his face.
“Okay,” he said. “Is that out of the way?”
My heart pumped like an overworked engine, but I also felt foolish, my anger abating. A grown man spitting on another grown man.
He went on. “Because I don’t think that’s what you really came here for, is it?”
“You called me back here.”
“And you showed up at my window. With reinforcements. So. .” He spread his arms wide. “How’s she doing?”
“No, no. You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get to know anything about her.”
“I know one thing about her. She won’t testify against me.”
“Give it time.”
He shook his head. “I love her. And more importantly, she loves me. That’s why she’ll never testify. Ever.”
“Is that what Tracy Fairlawn thought about you?”
He made a quiet snorting noise, a form of a laugh. “I see she’s been running her mouth. She never did understand the value of keeping quiet.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know. Probably run off. Partying somewhere.”
“If you love my daughter so much, why did you make her leave?”
He hesitated a moment, looking at the ground. Light from the bulb above the door spilled over his feet. He still wore the slippers. “I see you met little Jasmine. I guess that’s how you all ended up out here tonight.”
“Why did you send Caitlin away?”
“And what do I get out of talking to you?” he asked. “Are you going to forgive me? Grant me a pardon?”
“You. . owe me.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” I said. “I. . gave her to you. I let her walk the dog in the park. I let her out of my sight for too long. Let me guess-you went up to her in the park. You’d seen her walking there. And you went up to her and you asked her something about the fucking dog, right? Something inane and stupid. Maybe something that made her laugh or giggle. . and you had her. You had what you wanted. And I didn’t.”
I stopped. My hands shook and were cold, so I rubbed them together.
“I really shouldn’t be talking to you,” he said. “For all I know, this could all be a setup. You could be wearing a wire.”
“I’m not,” I said. “I don’t care about any of that. I really don’t. I want to know why she came back to us. Why?”
He considered me. I thought I saw real concern, real pity in his eyes. He shrugged. “I don’t really care if you are wearing a wire, I guess. It wouldn’t stand up in court, and I don’t really plan on sticking around to see the judge.” He kicked at a pebble on the ground. “At the time, I thought Caitlin needed to go. That stuff showed up in the paper, that stuff Tracy was saying. The sketch of me. I thought about just hightailing it out of here, packing the car and starting over somewhere else. But I didn’t want to be on the run all the time. People wouldn’t understand the two of us. We could pass ourselves off as father and daughter for a while. Caitlin was getting older, too. I thought maybe she needed a better life than the one I could give her. It was just me and her. I couldn’t teach her about being a woman. Not everything anyway. I could always start over with a new girl, a younger one. Jasmine maybe.”
“Did Caitlin want to come back home?” Just asking the question made me feel weak, like I was a beggar. But I couldn’t not ask. I needed to know.
“No, she didn’t.”
Don’t send me away. Don’t send me away.
“How did you get her to go?”
“I told her I’d turn myself in. I’d call the police if she didn’t leave. I forced her hand. I remember that night. .” He paused again and stared past me, off into the darkness. “You know what it’s like to have a parting of the ways with someone you love. There were tears. It almost broke my heart-it really did. Before she left, she swore to me she’d never tell what we did together. I guess she hasn’t, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“What happened between you?”
“Now that’s private, isn’t it?”
One corner of his mouth ticked up, and one eyebrow as well. It set me in motion. I charged forward, trying to bury my shoulder in his midsection and knock him to the ground. But he handled me expertly. I was quickly spun to the ground, his thick forearm locked around my neck. He didn’t apply full pressure to my throat. I could still breathe. But he applied enough to let me know he could do more if he wanted.
Buster came to the edge of the house and stopped. I heard his shoes against the driveway, but he remained in the dark.
“Easy now,” Colter said. I didn’t know if he’d meant it for me or Buster. He said it again. “Easy now, fella.” Colter was still on one knee. I saw Buster’s shape out of the corner of my eye. “Just stay there,” Colter said to Buster. “We’re calming down now, real easy like.”
“Let him go,” Buster said.
I tried to talk, but I couldn’t. I hoped Buster would stay back. I hoped he could see Colter held control of my airway. Apparently he did. He moved back a little, giving Colter some space. “You just go right on back where you were,” Colter said. “We have a few more things to talk about here.” He eased the pressure on my neck so I could speak.
“Go,” I said. “It’s fine.” My throat was raw, like I’d swallowed thumbtacks.
“You don’t look fine,” Buster said. “You look like you’re fucked-up.”
“Back off,” I said.
He did. He took slow steps backward until his form cleared the side of the building again. When he was gone, Colter released the pressure even more.
“Are you going to act right?” he asked.
I nodded like a fool.
He let go all the way and stood up. I fell to the ground, my face almost hitting the pavement. I reached for my throat and gulped air. It took a couple of minutes for me to feel right and push myself up. When I did, the night tilted a little like I might pass out. But I didn’t. My legs came back to me, and I cleared my throat, making sure I could speak.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fuck you.”
“I showed you mercy,” he said. “I could have crushed your throat.”
“You’d never see Caitlin again.”
“I can see her anytime I want. I can snap my fingers and she’d be here.” To emphasize his point, he snapped his fingers in the air. “You can’t even deny it. I’m showing you mercy. I’ll let you say good-bye to her, before she comes with me.”
“I’ll call the police. I’ll tell them what you said. You confessed.”
“Hearsay.” He laughed a little. “But I guess I did make a little mistake with Caitlin. She isn’t like the girls I typically date. Look at you-she comes from a good family. Good parents. You care. There are a lot of girls in the world without that. When they go away, no one notices. When they come back and go to the police, they get ignored. Still, this is all dependent on whether Caitlin wants to rat me out or not.”
He was right. There was little I could do unless Caitlin testified. “Why show me mercy then? Why do anything for me?”
Colter looked me up and down. “Because she’d want me to. She loves you, so I’ll do this favor.”
“Did she talk about me? Did she remember me-?”
A sound from the house cut my words off. The back door was pulled inward again, and the light revealed an older woman, close to seventy, wearing a kerchief on her head and a housecoat. Her face was long and thin, unlike her son’s, and the skin around her jawline hung loose.
“What’s going on out here, Johnny? Who is this man?”
“He’s a friend, Mom.”
“Is he a cop?”
“No.”
“I’m not a friend,” I said. “I’m Caitlin Stuart’s father.”
The woman raised her hand to her chest and gathered the loose folds of the housecoat tighter against her body. She looked stricken, almost ill. She’d put her house up to secure his bond, and if he left town before a trial. .
“What are you doing at our house?” she asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “Johnny isn’t. . He just can’t be seeing people, any people, right now.”
“Did you know about this, Mrs. Colter? Did you know about Caitlin?”
She moved back into the shadow of the doorframe. “Johnny, you come inside now. It’s late.”
Colter walked toward the house like an obedient child. Before he went inside, he looked back. “Remember what I offered, Mr. Stuart. A chance to say good-bye this time.”