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Ali had asked the same thing, and in my mind, suddenly Jannie and Ali were right there, together, both six, and both looking at me for a response. I squatted down to them and pulled them in close to me, rejoicing in their smell and their innocence.
“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you,” I said. “And I love you. That’s all you need to know.”
“Love you more,” Jannie said.
“Love you more,” Ali said.
“Love you more and more,” I whispered. “Love you—”
A woman said, “Dr. Cross?”
CHAPTER
10
STARTLED OUT OF THAT perfect vision of my life before Thierry Mulch, I was shocked to find myself at the fence around the Sojourner Truth playground. It was deserted. I thought I heard the school bell sound for recess. But where was the laughter of my children?
“Dr. Cross?”
Blinking, I turned my head to see a tall, pretty African American woman in a blue pantsuit standing beside me on the sidewalk, her face painted in concern.
“Yes,” I said, almost recognizing her, feeling irritated and not quite knowing why.
She looked at me closely, said, “You don’t look well.”
“I’m just … where are the kids? The bell rang. It’s recess time.”
“It’s Easter vacation,” she said.
I looked at her like she was a stranger in a dream.
“Dr. Cross,” she said. “Do you know who I am?”
I did suddenly and felt myself grow irrationally angry. “You’re Dawson. The principal. You’re the one who let Mulch in. Where have you been? We’ve been trying to find you.”
My expression and tone must have frightened her, because she took a step back. “I’m sorry. I was on vacation, I don’t—”
“Thierry Mulch,” I shouted. “You let that sick fuck into Ali’s school. You let him near all those children!”
“What?” she said, her hand going to her lips. “What’s he done?”
“He kidnapped my family,” I said. “He may have killed my wife. He may be getting ready to kill Ali.”
The principal was horrified. “My God, no!”
I saw how strongly she reacted, and it shook me out of the fugue state where I’d been wandering.
“We left messages for you all week here at the school,” I said. “The FBI. The police.”
“I’m so sorry,” Dawson said, her voice quivering. “I was in Jamaica, visiting my cousins, and I only just got back. I was going to my office to get ready for next week when I saw you standing here. How can I help? Anything.”
“Tell me about Thierry Mulch. Everything you know.”
Dawson said that Mulch had contacted her out of the blue, first by e-mail, and then by phone. He said he was a web entrepreneur who had had several successful ventures but was looking for a different demographic and a bigger audience. His idea was to create a social-media platform for the six- to twelve-year-old crowd that could be accessed only by verified members of that crowd.
“To keep out the perverts?”
“That’s right.”
