Cheryl Tardif - Children of the Fog

“We’ll get him, Ma’am,” Patterson said.

“I’ll need the name of the company you hired him from,” Jay said. “And the phone number.”

She stared at the shoe in the bag. “Philip has all that. Hiring the clown was the one thing I asked him to do.” She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting a wave of nausea.

It was her fault. She had let The Fog into her house. She had talked to him, paid him three hundred and forty dollars to entertain a room full of innocent children. She had watched him play with her son, and obviously he had never left since the alarm hadn’t gone off.

“Clancy must have hidden somewhere,” she said.

“Where?”

The answer came to her in a flash. “Sam’s closet. Oh God. I let The Fog into my house.”

“I don’t think it was him,” Jay said, taking the bag from her.

“W-what do you mean? Of course it was—”

He shook his head. “No. The M.O.’s different. The Fog never leaves behind evidence. He’s too smart for that. It could be a copycat.”

That didn’t make sense to Sadie. Not one bit. She had been inches from the man. She’d seen him flinch when she mentioned The Fog . But she couldn’t tell Jay that.

“Couldn’t he have changed his M.O.?”

“Trust me, Ms. O’Connell. We’ll be looking into every possibility.” He jerked his head toward the doorway. “What about your husband?”

“What about him?”

“He’s a lawyer, right?”

She nodded. “Corporate law.”

“Perhaps someone is trying to get at him.”

“No,” she argued. “It was him . The Fog.”

Jay’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”

“I just do.”

Philip chose that moment to be a gentleman. He entered the room, a steaming mug in his hand. “Here, Sadie. I thought you could use some coffee.”

She gaped at the mug, turning it in front of her eyes. It was the one Sam had given her last Mother’s Day, the one Leah had helped him pick out. On it was a cartoon alien boy with his mother in a spaceship. To the best Mom in the Universe.

She stifled a sob as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Oh shit,” Philip muttered. “I’m sorry, Sadie. I—”

“Mr. Tymchuk,” Jay interjected. “I need to know where you were tonight. Between midnight and one twenty this morning.”

“Yeah, Philip,” Sadie scoffed. “Please, tell us where you were. And who you were with. We’d all like to know.”

Philip’s face reddened. “I was at the office, working late.”

“And where is that exactly,” Jay asked.

“Fleming Warner Law Offices, downtown on Jasper.”

“Were you alone?”

Philip’s eyes shifted toward Sadie. “No. I was with Brigitte Moreau.” He paused. “She works there too.”

Jay cleared his throat. “And what exactly is the nature of your relationship with Ms. Moreau?”

Sadie crossed her arms. “What the officer is so politely asking you, Philip, is whether you’re discussing oil spills with her or screwing her.” To the detective, she said, “I’ve been asking him that same question for months.”

“What’s my relationship with Brigitte got to do with my son being kidnapped?” Philip demanded.

“Just answer the question, please,” Jay said.

“Brigitte and I are associates.” Philip slumped down on the bed beside Sadie. “And… lovers.”

There. It had finally been said. The answer to a question that had been eating her up inside for months. An answer that would have ripped her apart yesterday, maybe even hours ago. Strangely enough, she didn’t care now.

A snicker escaped.

“What’s so funny?” Philip asked, eyeing her.

She stared at her husband, the man who had belittled her for years, who had neglected her. The man who had screwed around on her.

“I don’t care, Philip.”

“That I slept with Brigitte?” he asked, confused.

She smiled at him as if he were a stupid child. “No. I don’t care about you, period. I don’t care what you do, or who you do. As long as it isn’t me. The only one I care about is Sam. He is important.” She jabbed a finger against his chest. “Not you. You’re nothing but a—”

“Ms. O’Connell,” Jay cut in. “How did you find Clancy?”

Sadie glanced at Philip. “My husband hired him. From some party company downtown.”

Philip scowled. “What, are you saying this is my fault? You’re the one who wanted the damned clown in the first place.”

“Well, you should have checked him out more carefully.”

Philip jumped to his feet. “Don’t you dare blame me, Sadie!”

“Mr. Tymchuk,” Jay said calmly. “This isn’t about blame right now. It’s about finding your son. Every second we waste means it will be that much harder to find him. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Philip sagged back onto the bed. “I understand. I’m sorry.”

“Okay. Tell me about the clown.”

“A few weeks ago, when I got to my office, there was a flier for the clown company on my desk. So I booked him.”

“Do you still have it?”

“I think so.”

Philip disappeared. A moment later, he returned with the flier and handed it to Jay. The detective scanned it, then dialed a number on his cell phone. He spoke to someone in a low voice. A few seconds later, he hung up.

“It’s a cell phone. And it’s not in service.”

“Can’t you trace the GPS?” Philip demanded.

Jay nodded. “We will, but he’s more than likely tossed it already. He’s well organized.”

“So he set us up?” Sadie asked in disbelief.

The detective nodded. “He’s had this planned for a while. He knew where you worked, your routines, and he knew that Sam had a birthday coming up.”

He opened a plastic bag and indicated to Philip. “Slide the flier in here. I’ll get it tested for fingerprints. You’re the only one who’s touched it, right?”

Philip nodded. “Me and whoever put it on my desk.”

“Here’s the number for Victim Services.” Jay thrust a card toward Sadie. “You can contact them any time if you need to talk or… anything.”

“We don’t need to talk to strangers,” Philip said.

“That’s your choice. But the service is there if you need it.”

“He doesn’t like talking about our problems,” Sadie scoffed. “Do you, Philip? You’d much rather have everyone believe that we’re the perfect family and you’re the perfect husband. Well, you’re son’s missing, Philip. Sam is gone!”

Philip stood up and moved toward the door, but not before she saw the tears in his eyes.

“I’ll be downstairs,” he said without looking back.

When he was gone, she stared after him, feeling bereft and slightly ashamed of the spiteful words that were spewing from her mouth. Regardless of anything he had done in the past, he was still her husband… and they had a child together. A child who needed them.

“I think it’s best if we question you separately at the station,” Jay said quietly. “I-I’m sorry I had to ask him about Brigitte.”

“Don’t be. Before, I only suspected my husband was messing around. Now I know.” She took a deep breath. “What are the chances of finding Sam?”

The detective shifted uncomfortably. “The truth?”

She nodded.

“Every hour that passes narrows his chances. But you have to stay positive, believe he’s coming home and hold onto hope.”

“Hope is all I’ve got.”

“In the meantime, we’ll check into Ms. Moreau.”

“She didn’t have anything to do with Sam’s disappearance.”

“Jealous lovers have been known to do almost anything,” the detective said as he moved toward the door. “But don’t worry, Ms. O’Connell. The truth always comes out in the end.”