A Son's Tale

“There’s no way to control the emotions that attack you when a child goes missing.” Cal’s voice was soft. Calm. “And no way to predict them, either.”

“I know it’s not her fault,” Morgan said, still staring outside. She felt closer to Sammie when she was looking out the window. He was out there. Somewhere. “She’s the office administrator at the school. Watching the kids isn’t her job.”

But there was a screen in the principal’s office. A monitor showing the halls and bathrooms—identical to the one in the office of the school security guard.

Julie could see the principal’s monitor.

“That doesn’t stop someone from feeling like there’s something he or she could have done.”

Maybe that’s why Cal’s presence was such a godsend. When it came to missing kids he seemed to know so much.

And the comfort she took from his presence stemmed from more than just his knowledge. The detectives could have given her statistics.

Cal gave her something far more personal—something she had no business taking from him because he had no idea she was taking it.

“I think it’s more than that.” She couldn’t believe she was saying this. That she was allowing herself to think it about her friend. “I don’t blame her, but I can’t help wondering what would have happened if she’d been watching when Sammie went to the bathroom. If she’d seen him walking down the hall, she’d have noticed when he didn’t come back. And then we’d have known to look for him before he had a chance to get away.”

“The what-ifs are unavoidable, Morgan. They’re a natural human response.”

She hoped so and turned to tell him so. He was unshaven. Unwashed. His shirt and slacks were wrinkled and his eyes were red-rimmed. And he looked so…right. So strong and capable and reliable.

“I—”

The phone rang. Detective Martin’s line, not hers. Morgan froze for a split second.

And then she ran.

* * *

CAL STOOD IN THE ARCHWAY between the living room and the dining area just behind Morgan.

“Okay,” the redheaded detective, dressed in brown slacks, a blouse and matching tweed jacket, said for the fourth time. And then, “You’re sure?”

There was no expression on her face and, taking that to be a bad thing, Cal moved a little closer to Morgan, pulled out a chair and helped her to sit.

Martin hung up the phone.

“They got him,” she said, looking Morgan straight in the eye.

“And?” His student’s voice held none of the life he heard in his classroom. Her question was anticipatory, but her tone was deadpan. He hardly recognized it.

“Derek Gunder was in the hotel room, just as suspected. There was no sign of Sammie.”

“So maybe he wasn’t the one. Obviously Daddy’s men were wrong.”

The detective was shaking her head even before Morgan finished. “Gunder admitted to making the phone calls. He had identification on him. And he was on the list of people who could be out to get your father that your mother provided. Gunder’s wife was fired from one of your father’s investment companies—a data collection company where she was an office supervisor—for excessive absence.”

The older woman’s voice was even, her facial features straight and unchanging. “Turns out she was terminally ill but hadn’t said so, because she was afraid that if the company knew she was dying she’d lose her job, and her husband was out of work. She hadn’t figured on being fired, but when she was, she lost her insurance and didn’t qualify for a new treatment that might have saved her life. Gunder sued your dad, but lost the lawsuit because his wife had not been honest about her illness. The guy swears he never had Sammie. He only found out Sammie was missing when he saw the Amber Alert. That’s when he started making the calls. They were strictly to get back at your father for, what he considers, killing his wife.”

“He’s lying. He has to have Sammie. Why would he admit to kidnapping if no one can prove anything yet?” Morgan’s tone was tremulous now. And angry. The second stage of grief, or so several of the many counselors Cal had contacted on behalf of his father had told him. Anger followed denial.

Detective Martin covered Morgan’s fidgeting hand on the table. “They’re still investigating, Morgan, but it looks like this guy is telling the truth. He was at work yesterday when Sammie was kidnapped. He worked all day and then was seen in a restaurant, eating dinner. A gas station attendant saw him after midnight, on a southbound exit, and he was traveling alone.”

“Sammie could have been in the trunk or—”

“They checked his car and there was no sign of your son. Or of any kind of struggle. No body fluids. The crime lab’s going for the car, checking for fingerprints, among other things, but it’s only a formality at this point. It’s pretty clear this is not our guy.”

“Then…” Cal felt his throat tighten as Morgan’s sentence fell off and her shoulders started to shake. She couldn’t take much more of this.