“She could have gone somewhere for work, right?” I ask my dad, but he avoids eye contact. I turn back to Wilson. “My mom works all the time. She’s got meetings and calls at all hours. She’s a partner at a big law firm. Maybe it was an emergency, and she didn’t have time to call anyone.”
But even I’m not really buying it.
“I don’t think so, Cleo,” my dad says, motioning toward the kitchen, the broken glass on the floor, the blood—which is not as much as it seems, apparently, according to one of the techs. “You’d be surprised how much people can bleed from a non-life-threatening injury,” he’d said. “Like shocking amounts of blood.” This was supposed to make me feel better, I think.
“Something happened here. There’s no question about that,” the female detective adds, eyeing me firmly. “Now, that doesn’t mean we’re not going to find your mom, and that she won’t be fine. We’ve got some blood, not a dramatic amount, but enough. Signs of a struggle, burning food, and your mom isn’t in any of the area hospitals. You can’t reach her, and her phone is off. Her disappearance is suspicious—full stop. But let’s take this one step at a time. And the first step is for you two to stay calm and optimistic. I realize that’s not easy when you come home to broken glass and your house almost on fire.”
At last my dad looks up, forces a smile. “We can definitely stay calm and optimistic, right, Cleo?”
The detective is focused on my dad. The husband, it’s always the husband—that’s what she’s probably thinking. And he sounds stiff and awkward. He’s just uncomfortable, but it seems like he’s lying.Don’t waste your time,I want to tell her.They never even fight.
“What happens now?” I ask instead. “What are you all going to do?”
“Well, given the suspicious circumstances, this does qualify as an official missing person case, which is helpful because it means we can move forward immediately on all fronts and dedicate maximum resources. We’ll get Katrina’s description out there, send the relevant alerts, and we’re already canvassing the neighborhood. We’ll collect camera footage, run her credit cards. We found her laptop on her office floor, and I’ll send the techs back to do a forensic analysis on the desktop in there, too, though that might take a day or two. Computer Crimes has been backed up.” Then she seems to realize how that sounds, like my mom is an administrative problem. “We will do everything we can to find her as quickly as possible.”
She’s choosing her words carefully: We will do everything wecan,not wewillfind her. The blood on the floor, on her shoe—it’s sinking in. My mom’s blood.You’d be surprised how much people can bleed.I look away from the detective when my eyes start to burn.
“Is there something we can do to help?” my dad asks. His hand is shaking as he puts the mug down on the coffee table. He is more freaked-out than he’s letting on.
“You just came in on a flight, Mr. McHugh?” The detective is watching his shaking hand. Then she glances around the room. “No bags?”
He shakes his head. “Day trip to Boston. For work.”
“I see. What kind of work is it that you do?”
My dad looks up at her, his eyes kind of panicked. I want to nudge him and tell him to pull himself together, but the detective is looking right at us. “I’m a filmmaker. Documentaries.”
“What’s in Boston?”
My dad smiles sheepishly. “One of those fake sustainability companies,” he offers with a shrug. “Working to greenwash City Hall up there. I had a meeting with the mayor’s press secretary, Gail Stevens. You can check with her if you want.”
“Okay,” Detective Wilson says, seeming marginally satisfied by this answer. I can tell she doesn’t like my dad, though. He needs to be careful. He’s not used to not being liked.
“Honestly, I don’t think there’s even a story there. It was pretty much a waste of a day.”
“Uh-huh,” the detective says, looking over at the other officers, who have started to pack up. Detective Wilson chews her lip. The thought of her leaving floods me with unease.
“But—so what’s … what exactly is next?” I ask. She’s an exhausted New York City police detective. She sees some of the worst shit on the planet. This situation, my mom, it’s probably another box for her to check. But I need her to care. To really care. “She’s my mom.” It’s all I can think to say.
“I know she is.” Her face softens as she meets my eyes. “I know she is.”
The detective looks from me to my dad and back again, like she’s checking one last time to see if he will spill something incriminating.
“If either of you remember anything else, anything at all you think could be useful, call me immediately. Day or night.” She pulls a business card from her pocket and hands it to my dad. “That’s my personal cell. If I don’t answer, leave a message or send a text. Better yet, do both. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. And if Mrs. McHughdoesshow up or if you hear from heror otherwise learn she’s not missing,pleaselet me know. People forget—they’re so relieved the whole thing is over—and days later we’ll still be out there searching for someone who’s been found.”
“We’ll call you, for sure,” my dad says, rising to his feet. He seems glad to be getting the detective on her way.
He really is not good with stuff like this. My mom may be controlling and judgy as hell. But, man, is she good at handling shit. She doesn’t freak out at the first sign of trouble, but she doesn’t just sit back and wait for the other shoe to drop, either. In other words, she is the exact person you want in an emergency. Too bad she’s not here. My mom would be so good at finding herself.
“Wait!” I call after the detective as she approaches the front door. My voice is too loud; I’m practically shouting. “Can’t wedosomething? I mean, instead of waiting. Like, I don’t know, put up signs?”
My dad gives a little laugh. “She’s not a cat, honey.”
The detective shoots him a look. “Actually, signs aren’t a terrible idea, Cleo.” She turns back to me. “You can do that. But the absolute most important thing is to talk to anyone you can think of who might know something—friends, colleagues, tennis partners. People we might not come across in a neighborhood canvass but who might know something about some small thing that was going on in your mom’s life, some incidental detail. Maybe something or someone will stand out—a petty grievance, someone she was supposed to meet. To be clear, I don’t love families getting involved. Even with the best of intentions, it can be easy to corrupt an investigation. But the priority right now is to find your mom. So I’ll take all hands on deck.” Maybe this detective does care. “But the second, and I meanthesecond, you get any sense you’ve found something remotely relevant, you need to stop everything and call me. Period.” She eyes me and my dad. “Understood?”
“Understood,” we both say quietly.
Detective Wilson’s eyes narrow. “I’m serious. We could lose valuable time and critical leads if you guys are in there turning up dust. Oh, and do either of you have her passwords for social media? She was logged in to the computer already, so we’re okay there, but social media can be the mother lode.”
