Alex Barclay - The Drowning Child

Last year, in your case.

Ren looked through the lens. ‘They’re very purty.’

‘They are.’

Ruddock looked too, but it was out of politeness.

All you’re thinking is that there is a child killer on the loose in your lovely little town.

‘Now,’ said Beckman, taking another slide, ‘this is the sample from Lake Verny.’ She took a look, then stepped back again. She shook her head. ‘It’s totally different.’ She turned to Ren. ‘You were right: Aaron Fuller drowned, but it wasn’t an accident, and it didn’t happen in Lake Verny.’

Jimmy Lyle was seven years old. His daddy was taking him to Rainbow Rapids, and they were going to stay in an inn nearby overnight. Jimmy had stood on the front porch in his shorts and T-shirt with his little suitcase packed, waiting for his daddy to get the house in order. He was going around each room, cleaning it, tidying it, making sure it was as neat as it could be for when they got back.

Jimmy knew his daddy had already cleaned the bathroom, so if he used the bathroom, his daddy would have to clean it all over again. Jimmy looked at his yellow plastic watch. If he went back in there, they would be late. They had to leave at exactly 9 a.m. He knew that much. Exactly that time. He shouldn’t have had more juice. Daddy told him that as he was standing at the bathroom door with the mop. He gave Jimmy the last-chance warning. Jimmy told him he didn’t need to go.

Jimmy listened as the vacuum cleaner moved back and forth across the hall carpet. His daddy was nearly done. Jimmy checked his watch. It was four minutes to nine. His chest filled with a surge of excitement. He forgot about everything else, he forgot to hold on tight. He ruined everything.

His daddy stripped him from the waist down right there on the porch. Jimmy remembered the smell of the rubber gloves, the feel of the breeze on his damp skin, the power in his daddy’s arm as he pulled his sneakers off, struggled with the slow, wet socks. He remembered looking over his daddy’s shoulder, drawn to the sound of bicycle pedals, then brakes, then feet hitting concrete. Then the kids’ laughter, so much laughter.

Then the front door slamming, the click of the locks, the clatter of the mop and bucket, the stench of bleach, the ice cold of the bathtub’s edge against his chest.

Jimmy’s cell phone started to ring, startling him back to reality. He glanced down at it. DEAD TO ME flashed on the screen. He was proud when he came up with that name. He pictured his daddy with the phone up to his ear, with the mournful expression of an abandoned hound, his wide-set eyes heavy-lidded, the right drooping lower than the left, his thick lips. Jimmy remembered his glasses and how they would steam up, the blood rising to the surface of his skin, the sweat on his upper lip, and how he would lick it, over and over.

DEAD TO ME left him a voicemail. Jimmy listened to it right away.

‘Jimmy, it’s your daddy. Please... please call me back when you get this.’ He paused. ‘I... I... need your help, son. I... I... need you. I—’

Jimmy felt a surge of rage. His hand shook. He ended the call. There was a choking knot of emotions inside him, ever since his mama left him with a broken daddy who would fall away from him, leaving him alone, then return, searching for common ground, reaching out to drag Jimmy on to it, when it was only the size of a pin-prick. And they would teeter there, clinging to each other for a balance that they could never achieve. Then, as their failure was once again revealed, Jimmy would watch as his father would reach for something else... for someone else.

Jimmy sucked in a breath.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

And the words, the words, always the same words:

Daddy loves you, Jimmy. Daddy—

Sometimes, his daddy was naked, on his knees beside him. He remembered the cold edge of the tub as it pressed against his chest. He remembered his daddy’s pale skin, the darkness of his armpits, the darkness between his legs. He remembered his words, the smell of him, his fingertips buried into his neck, his words.

You are nothing and I will return you to nothing. You are everything and I will restore you to everything. You are nothing and I will return you to nothing. You are everything and I will restore you. You are my everything. And I will restore you.

Jimmy listened to the voicemail again, listened to it all the way through this time. It ended with ‘You know Daddy loves you, don’t you? Daddy loves you, Jimmy.’

Jimmy deleted the message. He remembered a different version of that proclamation, a different ending.

Daddy loves you, Jimmy.

Daddy loves you to death.

And back again.

Ren and Ruddock arrived at The Crow Bar. The door was open, but there was no one inside.

They’re dead.

Jesus.

Ruddock called into the house. ‘Hello? Shannon?’

There was no answer. Ruddock went in behind the bar. Ren followed him into the living room.

Cozy, homey, traditional. Not what I expected. Poor Shannon, a single mom working so hard to give her boy a home, then losing him so young.

Shannon appeared from the darkness of a short hallway, carrying a stack of towels. She stopped, stared at Ren and Ruddock.

She doesn’t want to know.

But, still, she came toward them.

‘Why don’t we take a seat,’ said Ruddock.

Shannon had tears in her eyes before they even sat down. She fell apart when they told her what the autopsy had revealed.

You cannot fall apart with her.

‘We’re so sorry,’ said Ren.

‘I... can’t believe it,’ said Shannon. ‘I just... I can’t. Who would want to kill my baby?’

This is gut-wrenching.

‘A lot of things are going to happen that we need to prepare you for,’ said Ren. ‘Your home, the bar, the entire property will be searched – the grounds and the cabins. We’ll be accessing your phone records, Aaron’s, and Seth’s. We’ll be accessing your financial records.’

‘When will people start coming here?’ said Shannon.

‘The crime scene techs? Within the hour,’ said Ren. ‘And it’s likely that once the media get a hold of this—’

‘Well, they won’t be hearing a word from me,’ said Shannon. ‘Or Seth.’

‘We also need you to fill out this questionnaire,’ said Ruddock. ‘It’s standard practice. And we’ll need Aaron’s father to do the same...’

‘Aaron’s father left when Aaron was six months old,’ said Shannon. ‘He died three years later in a car accident.’

Poor kid.

‘Can we take you and Seth anywhere?’ said Ren. ‘To family? A friend’s house?’

‘No,’ said Shannon. ‘We’ll figure something out. Thank you, though. I appreciate it.’

Ren and Ruddock went back to Tate PD and filled the others in on the autopsy results. Ren drove to the Veirs.

‘What is it?’ said Teddy, when she opened the door.

‘I wanted to let you know before you might hear it from another source,’ said Ren, ‘that Aaron Fuller’s death is no longer being treated as an accident.’

‘Oh my God,’ said Teddy.

She brought Ren into the house, guided her into the living room. John came in, and sat beside Teddy, holding her hand. Ren talked them through the autopsy results. When she finished, John Veir stood up, ran for the bathroom. After a moment, they could hear him throw up.

‘I should go to him...’ said Teddy, sliding forward on the sofa.

Ren put a gentle hand on her forearm. ‘Please... he’ll be back.’ I can’t have you discussing this with each other.