Chapter 95
It was all shadows now. Dusk had waned into early evening, but come winter, dusk would hardly register at all. Come winter, there would be only light and dark.
Sabine Drew and I were seated in the living room of Mallory Norton’s home.
Mallory’s parents sat opposite us, with an empty space between them on the couch.
It could have been left for their missing child, in the hope that she might yet return home, but it also represented the growing distance between husband and wife.
Their daughter’s absence was slowly sundering them, aggravating faults and fractures in their relationship that predated her disappearance.
Were Mallory to come back, the marriage might survive; if she did not—when she did not, by Sabine’s reckoning—the chances were that it would fall apart.
And meanwhile, a name echoed in my mind:
Brightwell, Brightwell.
Sabine had introduced me as someone who wanted to help. Both parents were wary but not hostile. Their clothes were crumpled, their manner resigned. They were losing hope and preparing for the worst.
“We were warned people might come,” said T. K. Norton. “You know, looking for money in return for finding our daughter.”
“We’ve had calls,” said his wife. “Emails too.”
T. K. Norton continued as though she had not spoken.
“Some of them, the police said, wouldn’t even ask for money. They’d want to get involved because it made them feel important. But whoever took Mallory might be among them, so we’re obliged to report every contact.”
He grimaced at Sabine.
“A detective named McKibben vouched for you after your last visit. He said that while he couldn’t accept you are what you claim to be, he couldn’t explain you any other way.
He told us you’d located missing persons in the past, and even if you couldn’t help, you wouldn’t do us any harm. We just shouldn’t get our hopes up.”
His eyes flicked to me.
“What about you, Mr Parker?”
“I don’t want your money,” I said. “As for harm, the worst has already been done to you.”
“Not quite,” he said. “God willing, it won’t be.”
Anita Norton made a small noise, like an animal whimpering in its sleep. Without looking, her husband searched for her hand, found it, and held it. They stayed that way for a few seconds before Anita slipped her fingers from his. The gap between them widened.
“Tell me about your daughter,” I said. “What’s she like?”
Again, not ‘was,’ but ‘is’; present, not past, until the facts proved otherwise.
I did not need to add to their pain through carelessness.
And between them, they told me of her, growing more voluble as they went on, even smiling.
Childhood, school, work; friends and boyfriends, but few of either, and no real enemies they could point to; a girl content in her own company; reticent, verging on secretive, but not to the point of alienation, not even close.
Loving—and loved; they hoped she knew that.
“Could she have been seeing someone without your knowledge?”
“She worked evenings at Colburn’s,” said Anita. “A couple of times, it was after midnight when she got home, and she said she’d been hanging out with people from the restaurant. They might have had a beer or two. I didn’t ask. I know she’s still underage, but I was happy for her to socialize.”
Which contradicted what the Colburns had told me. I might have to call Mallory’s coworkers after all.
“Did she ever bring home food?”
“From Colburn’s?” Anita looked at her husband. “I don’t recall her doing that. Do you?”
“Once, maybe,” said T.K. “I wish she’d done it more often. Those are good ribs.”
“I’ve always wished Mallory had more friends,” said Anita, “but a lot of the kids she knew from school have left. They went to college, or found jobs elsewhere.”
“Why didn’t Mallory go to college?” I asked.
“She had an offer from the University of Southern Maine, but wasn’t ready to go straight from school,” said T.K.
“She wanted time to think. We’d have preferred her not to delay, but it wasn’t like she was sitting around the house doing nothing.
She worked hard, and was saving money for when she did decide to take up an offer. ”
“Did you meet any of her workmates?”
“Not from Colburn’s,” said Anita. “They didn’t come to the house. I wouldn’t have expected Mallory to have brought them home. She’s shy like that.”
Gently, I asked: “Did you ever doubt that she really was going out with them?”
“I thought she might be seeing one of them, but wasn’t saying.”
“Why?”
“It was just a change in her manner. She was anxious, but not unhappy, if that makes sense. Excited. Also, small things, but important small things: She chose her clothes more carefully, wore a little more makeup, changed her hair.”
“I didn’t see all that,” said her husband.
“You saw some of it,” said Anita.
“I just thought she was growing up.”
“She was.”
The dynamic between husband and wife was shifting, the latter now taking the lead, but I made sure to continue addressing them both, as I’d tried to do from the start.
“And you told the police this?”
“Not about the makeup and such, but sure, that she might have had a boyfriend we didn’t know about.”
“My understanding is that the staff at Colburn’s are mostly older women,” I said. “If Mallory was dating someone, it wasn’t one of them.”
“They looked into the Theriault boy,” said T.K, “but they found no proof it might be him.”
“How did you feel about their pursuing that line of inquiry?” I asked.
T.K. signaled to his wife that she should answer.
“Honestly?” said Anita. “I was glad when they found nothing. Things are bad enough as it is.”
With which nobody could argue, but it left Scott Theriault and Mallory Norton isolated in their respective frames instead of becoming part of the same picture. I asked the Nortons a few more questions and wrote down the answers, but only out of politeness.
“I’d like to take a look at Mallory’s room,” I said.
“The police have already been through it,” said T.K. “Ms Drew as well.”
“Fresh eyes,” I said. “Do you know if the police removed anything?”
“Nothing,” said Anita. “They went through her closets, but like most teenagers, she keeps everything that’s important on her phone.”
And the phone, like Mallory, remained missing.
“I’ll show you up,” said Anita.
“No,” said her husband. “I’ll go with him.”