He took a long slow drink of the cold beer.
How long did it take for guilt to kill a man? How long could you live with the stink of your failings until the bitterness ate away your soul?
Cliff Parker had sexually abused his step-daughter Emma. Neil knew it and couldn’t stop it and then couldn’t stop himself from leaving when it got to be too much.
Just go, Emma had told him.
And I did, Neil said.
Louis took another drink of beer. It had taken the entire drive back to Fort Myers for the stuff inside him to finally ooze its way to the surface. Maybe if the drive hadn’t been so long or if Neil Fielding hadn’t been so pathetic, he himself wouldn’t be sitting here now holding a baby’s skull and thinking about that gray February afternoon eight years ago when Kyla had appeared at his dorm door.
He closed his eyes. It used to be easy. Easier. It used to be easier. Easier to keep the lid on the box where he hid these things. The box had been there inside him for as long as he could remember, since he was little. He could even see it sometimes, a hard black metal thing with a rusty hinge and bolt. He could even feel it sometimes, a cold lump wedged somewhere up high in his ribs, so high that it made breathing hard. The box hurt but it worked. It held fast.
Until now. Now things were breaking out, getting loose and flying around inside him. Screaming in his ear, making him sweat at night, the loudest voice screaming, You should have done better, you should have been better.
He opened his eyes and looked down at the skull.
Isabella Maria Carreira de los Reyes. He had memorized the name, even looked it up in a Spanish dictionary. It meant “of the kings.” Such a grand name for such a short life. Somebody’s daughter. Vios con Dios, preciosa angelita. Go with God, precious little angel.
Car lights swept the south end of the porch and Louis drew his feet off the table. He set the skull down and moved to the screen. He was surprised to see a Fort Myers police cruiser pulling in.
The headlights went out and a tall thin man got out of the passenger side. Louis knew immediately it was Mel Landeta from his arrogant walk. The second man emerged and Louis recognized the young deputy who had helped him with the skull the day after the storm.
“Wait in the car, Strickland.”
Louis watched as the young cop stopped, let out a sigh, and got back in the cruiser. Shit, now what? Had Landeta commandeered his own personal chauffeur?
“Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Landeta asked, coming onto the screened porch.
“I went down the road to eat,” Louis said.
Landeta was looking through the open door to the living room. His eyes swept across the porch and back up to Louis. He ignored the skull on the table.
“You get down to see Fielding yet?”
“Yeah, come on in.”
Landeta paused just inside the door. He was taking in the worn rattan furniture, the small kitchen, the bookcase. He focused finally on the two old prints of the cockatoos that hung over the sofa.
Louis moved past him and put the skull back on the shelf amid the mementoes. “You want something to drink?”
“You got a Diet Coke?”
“Dr Pepper.”
“Water. No ice.”
Louis went to get a glass. When he came back out, Landeta was sorting through the books that Louis had left out on the table. They were the books on runaways he had checked out of the library that first day he had met Frank Woods. After leaving Neil Fielding’s place earlier today, Louis had started skimming through them, trying to find some insights into the girls’ psyches.
“Here,” Louis said.
Landeta took the water. “I went to get some files today,” he said. “Wanted to take a look at the reports on the other missing girls. Funny thing was the records clerk said you already went through them. I told you I would take care of that.”
“You didn’t seem anxious to do it,” Louis said.
“I don’t like people going over my head, Rocky.”
“I don’t like to be kept waiting outside your door.”
Landeta stared at him then took a drink of water. “I ran some background checks on them. All of them, including Emma Fielding.”
“And?”
“They no longer exist,” Landeta said. “Not one has filed a tax return, used her Social Security card for a job, applied for a credit card, or even gotten married. There’s not even a driver’s license renewal for any of them.”
Gone. Just vanished. Louis thought about what Rosa in Immokalee had told Angela, that she should go and never come back.
Landeta wiped his brow. “Fuck, it’s hot in here. Don’t you have air in this place?”
“Welcome to paradise, as you called it,” Louis said. He went over and switched on the wall unit. It clattered and wheezed and finally sent out a weak stream of cool air. Landeta took his glass of water to the sofa.