David Silva - The Disappeared

“I’m gonna hold you to it,” Aaron said.

Walt grinned.

“I am.”

“All right. All right. I’ll give you a call, I promise.”

“Good,” Aaron said, picking up the fingerprint cards again. He tapped them against the counter. “I’ll do my best on these.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Now let me get back to work.”

Teri had outsmarted herself.

She was standing at the front door of the Evergreen Dental Clinic, a small business space located at the back corner of the West Valley Shopping Center. This was where Dr. Harding had maintained his practice for as long as she could remember knowing him. But he wasn’t here now.

Taped to the inside of the glass door was a sign that read:

Teri’s hand fell away from the door handle. She had thought about calling first, but had decided against it, believing the doctor would be more likely to see them at the last minute if they were already in his office. Not the smartest thing she had ever done.

“What now?” the boy asked.

“Guess I better call Dr. Chittenden.”

Aaron Jefferson finished the tracing, re-photographed the print and scanned it into the computer. He set the cross hair references on the core and the axis and the computer began to run through its routine. It was as much of an opportunity to grab a bite as he was going to get today.

He fished his lunch bag out of the bottom drawer of his desk. Tuna fish. Not his favorite. His mother had turned him against tuna when he was a boy. She had always added egg and the combination had never sat right with Aaron. While there was no egg in this particular tuna fish, it didn’t matter. The taste of egg had long ago become part of his permanent association.

He dropped the sandwich back into the bag, took out a couple of oat meal cookies, and poured himself a cup of hot coffee. The photographic blowups of the prints Walt had brought in were sitting on the corner of the desk. They had come back nearly half-an-hour ago. Aaron had put them aside until he’d had a chance to look at them.

There wasn’t going to be a better chance.

Not today.

He picked up the stack and studied the first print.

Walt had taken the non-suspect latents from the back of a shoe. This set was smudged. They probably shouldn’t have even bothered with the blowup. He buried it at the bottom of the stack.

The next photo was also from the shoe. It was a good print, a plain whorl. Probably a thumb print. The big question, though, was did it belong to…

Aaron flipped to the next latent.

…to this Teri Knight or her boy.

You’re gonna owe me for this one, my friend.

He tossed the stack aside, took a bite out of one of the oatmeal cookies, and wondered if he should call Tina and let her know that he was going to be late getting home tonight. It wouldn’t be the first time, of course. At least this time, it was for Walt.

“No, I don’t have an appointment,” Teri said. She leaned against the glass wall of the phone booth and closed her eyes. “My name is Teri Knight. My son’s name is Gabriel. Dr. Harding is our regular dentist, but he’s out of town.”

“Is this an emergency?” the receptionist asked. “Did your son crack a tooth or something of that nature? Dr. Chittenden is only seeing Dr. Harding’s patients in the case of an emergency.”

“All I need is for the doctor to take a look at Gabe’s teeth and compare them to his charts.”

“I’m sorry. Dr. Chittenden doesn’t have access to any patient records. By that, I mean any of Dr. Harding’s patient records.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“What if my son did happen to break a tooth?”

“Then Dr. Chittenden would be happy to see him.”

“But he doesn’t have Gabe’s charts?”

“I don’t believe the doctor would need them in that situation.”

No, he probably wouldn’t now that Terry thought about it. This conversation wasn’t going anywhere. There wasn’t much sense in stretching it out. She said a polite thanks , hung up, and returned to the car, where the boy was reading a comic book called The Swamp Thing . In the bright sunlight, she could barely see the wisp of gray in his hair.

“Any luck?” he asked.

“Nope. Looks like you’ve got a reprieve,” Teri said. “No dentist today.”

“Mr. Travis isn’t going to like that.”

“No, I don’t suppose he will.”

She slipped the key into the ignition, and entertained the thought of swinging by the house. If you had asked her why, she wouldn’t have been able to provide you with a reason. Maybe it was just curiosity. Maybe it was still a sense of disbelief. Either way, she supposed, it would be one more thing that Mr. Travis wouldn’t much care for.

“What now?”

“I’m not sure,” Teri said. “You hungry?”

He shook his head. They had eaten several hours ago at a drive-through called the Pac Out. The boy had ordered a hamburger, fries, and a chocolate shake. He had left a third of his hamburger and most of his fries. They were still in a bag in the back seat.

She started up the car, grinding the starter a bit, then looked across the seat and wondered what was going on inside him. Though he hadn’t used it much, he had kept the walking cane at his side most of the morning. It seemed to her that it was something to fall back on when he felt the need. He looked up from his magazine, his blue-green eyes surprising her as they always did.

“How about the park?” Teri said. “I’ll race you from the pool to the swings.”

“Mom…”

“Too fast for you?”

“Mr. Rogers is too fast for me.”

“Who is Mr. Rogers?”

“You know – that guy on television. It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood …”

She laughed. “You’ll get stronger. Don’t worry. It’ll just take some time, that’s all.”

He nodded, not seeming to mind much. “That’s what Miss Churchill always said.”

Teri pulled out of the lot.

On the way to the park, she caught herself singing a few lines from McCarther’s Park , an early 70’s hit with lyrics that didn’t seem to make any sense. It was a song she used to sing with Gabe, and just like Gabe, the boy gradually joined in, singing about a cake left out in the rain, and a recipe they’d never have again.

If Walt could see this, Teri thought. Then he’d know.

This had to be Gabe.

It had to be.

“So no luck with the dentist, huh?”

Teri took a sip of coffee and shook her head. “No. He’s out of town on vacation. Won’t be back for another week.”

“That doesn’t help much.” Walt cleared the dinner plates from the table, dumped them in the sink and turned on the water.

On the other side of the wall, coming from the living room, Teri could hear the rise and fall of laughter from a sitcom laugh track. The boy was in there. He had picked at his meal again, a couple of bites from his garlic bread, maybe half of his spaghetti. She recalled a neighbor’s mother once lamenting that “You can’t make a picky kid eat if he isn’t hungry.” The trouble was – Gabe had never been a picky eater.

“Sorry,” Teri said, back to the subject of the dentist. “There’s not much we can do about it now.”

“I know. But it would have been nice to have put the issue behind us.”

The issue .

She had resigned herself to the fact that he wasn’t going to give up the issue . At least not until he had some hard evidence. And while that annoyed her a bit, it was also something that she greatly admired about him. Walt was a man who sought the truth. Whatever the consequences, good or bad, painful or joyous, the truth was his footing. When it came to the boy, that footing was still anchored on shaky ground. They both knew that. Teri just wasn’t as quick to concede it.