Andrew let out a whistle. “Alex, you didn’t tell me you were marrying a ringer!”
As Laurie hopped into the passenger seat of the golf cart, Alex gave her a satisfied smile. “You’re a natural. We should play more often.”
She had made some lucky shots around the green, but for her long game, she had taken to placing her errant fairway shots next to Alex’s lest she back up the entire course trying to move her ball along.
As they were hopping out of the cart to putt, her cell phone rang. It was Leo.
“Hey Dad.” She did her best to keep her voice down.
“Am I missing all the fun?” Leo asked.
“You’re missing all the golf.”
“Sorry, I thought I was calling my daughter. Laurie Moran, about five-six, light brown hair, hazel eyes?”
Laurie smiled. “How was your meeting?”
In addition to being Laurie’s father, Leo Farley was also a former first deputy commissioner of the NYPD. Though he had accepted an invitation last year to return to the department’s anti-terrorism task force on a part-time basis, his meeting in the city today was not part of a current investigation.
It was about an old murder conviction against Darren Gunther, a then twenty-one-year-old Vassar College student who stabbed a beloved bar owner who tried to break up a fight between Gunther and another bar patron. Gunther confessed the crime to Leo, but then claimed at trial that Leo fabricated the entire conversation. According to Gunther’s new version, a third party had intervened in the bar fight and ended up stabbing the owner. The jury didn’t buy it, and the judge handed Gunther a life sentence.
“Let’s just say that the traffic on the LIE is heaven in comparison.”
“Was it that bad?” Laurie asked.
His meeting had been with the District Attorney’s Office, whose Conviction Integrity Unit was taking a second look at Gunther’s conviction. Her father was used to defendants claiming to be innocent years after the fact, but this case had gotten under his skin. Gunther had always been charismatic, but now at forty years old, he had gone on to publish a collection of essays about prison life, earning him a group of loyal—and in Leo’s opinion, naive—supporters. In Leo’s mind, Gunther was using his newfound celebrity to ride a recent wave of exoneration cases and get another bite at the apple.
“They’re saying another guy’s DNA is on the knife handle. An ex-con with a long history of violence. It doesn’t change a thing, though. The confession’s the confession. I was in that room. But these young DAs don’t know me from Adam.”
And that was the real reason this case had struck a nerve with Leo: Gunther was calling Leo Farley a liar, and Leo wasn’t going to let the accusation stand.
“My faith in you is one hundred percent, Dad.”
“I appreciate that. I need someone to take my side. I mean it: maybe you can take a look at this one for your show.”
Alex was waving a putter in Laurie’s direction.
To “investigate” a matter involving her father would be an obvious conflict of interest. But after Greg was murdered, Leo had retired early to help her care for Timmy. He had put himself on the line over and over again for her and her son, and never asked anything in return. And she did need to find a new case in a hurry.
“Anyway, get back to your game before the marshal kicks you off the course for gabbing on the phone.”
Her mind elsewhere, she missed her easy putt.
* * *
Three holes later, they were on the green when Laurie’s phone buzzed again. “Hi Kara,” she said, barely whispering.
“It’s Kara?” Marcy asked. “What’s wrong?”
Laurie could see the alarm cross Marcy’s face. “I’m sure it’s fine. She knows I appreciate regular updates.”
Laurie could barely hear Kara over the sound of the ocean wind around her. “I’m so sorry, but you need to come back here.”
“Okay, calm down. What happened?”
“I don’t know. But I can’t find Johnny. He’s missing, Laurie. Johnny’s missing.”
Marcy must have seen something in Laurie’s face, because she reached for her husband, her eyes wide with dread.
How am I going to tell her? Laurie asked herself.
Chapter 5
In seven years, Johnny Buckley had only been lost one other time, and Marcy could remember every millisecond of the resulting fear. He was five years old then, and Andrew wanted to take the children to see the fireworks show now that the twins were old enough not to be afraid. They knew better than to take three kids into the crowds at the National Mall, so they opted for a picnic blanket and chairs at Meridian Hill Park instead.
Unfortunately, taking in the show wasn’t the only thing the girls were old enough to do as toddlers. In an early demonstration of their curious tendencies, the twins kept marching away from their picnic blanket toward every nearby gathering that seemed remotely interesting. The young couple with the two dogs. The big family with all the cousins. The teenagers playing Frisbee. It seemed Chloe and Emily wanted to be everywhere except where they were supposed to be.
Andrew and Marcy were focused so closely on Chloe and Emily that they scarcely noticed the fireworks blasting into the sky—or that Johnny was no longer perched in his little folding Nationals chair. It wasn’t like Johnny to wander off. If anything, he could be a bit clingy. Andrew hurried off to look for him while Marcy stayed put with the girls. Marcy counted the seconds, holding the twins on either side of her to keep them still. Not wanting to alarm the girls, she forced herself to breathe normally. Even beneath the booming sounds above her, she could feel her blood rushing through her veins.
She had reached a count of 411 when she spotted Johnny moving toward her, his gaze bouncing between the colors on the horizon and the groups of park-goers he carefully navigated his way around. She grabbed him into the tightest hug possible. “Where were you?!”
He had found his way to the restrooms and back all by himself, he declared proudly. “I had to go, and you and Daddy were chasing the twins.”
That was more than two years ago. She had made him promise never to wander off again without telling them, but had she reminded him enough in the interim? Did he think the rules were different when he was with a babysitter on vacation?
She flinched when she felt the touch of a hand on her shoulder. It was Andrew.
“He’s going to be okay,” he said. “Remember that Fourth of July?”
She wanted to scream. That was only 411 seconds. They had now been looking for him for almost twenty minutes, and that was after the fifteen-minute drive from the golf course. They had checked all the obvious places: the hotel lobby, swimming pool, gift shop, surf store—everywhere. So far, they had found a few people who remembered seeing Johnny with Kara and his sisters, as well as in the water with his skim board, but that would have been before he went to get ice cream at the beach shack.
“I can’t believe Johnny was with some girl none of us had ever met before. What was she so busy doing that she couldn’t keep an eye on our son?”
“Kara and Ashley both feel terrible.”
“Good!”
Her tone was bitter, but in truth, the person she was angry at was herself. She never should have left the hotel.