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chapter 16
alex
Bates returns within the hour to brief us.
‘The description Catherine Lord gave is of a white male, mid-forties, thin, average height, with dark receding hair,’ she says. ‘Sound like anyone you know?’
It sounds exactly like the man I saw talking to Lottie on the beach, and I say as much. Lorenz can’t quite look me in the eye, and suddenly they’re treating me with kid gloves again. But any vindication I might feel is swept away by a tsunami of guilt. I should have reported the incident when it happened. I should have kept Lottie close to me, knowing she might be at risk.
Should have. Could have.
If only.
Louder than the drumbeat of blame is the thud of terror in my heart. Before, the monster of my nightmares was blessedly vague: a dark, hazy shadow. Now, he has a face. As agonising as it is not knowing what’s happened to Lottie, the idea of her in this man’s hands is worse. A man who may be doing indescribable, unthinkable things to her as we stand here.
‘What else did Catherine say?’ I ask.
‘Alex, we don’t know for sure this is—’
‘Just tell me!’
The lieutenant looks me in the eye. ‘Ms Lord saw a man carrying a child between the side of the hotel and the staff apartments about twenty minutes after the wedding ceremony finished. She’d gone to the restroom to freshen up, and saw them through the window.’
‘Why didn’t she say anything before?’ Zealy demands.
‘The kid was wrapped in a beach towel,’ Bates says. ‘She didn’t connect it with Lottie because she didn’t see a pink dress. And the kid she saw had bare feet. Catherine remembers that, because the kid’s feet were dirty, like it’d been walking barefoot on the sidewalk. Lottie was wearing ballet slippers when she disappeared.’
‘She hates shoes,’ I say. ‘She’s always taking them off.’
Bates glances at Lorenz, who nods as if scribing a mental note.
Much as I want to know what’s happened to my little girl, I can’t bear for it to be this. ‘There must have been a lot of fathers carrying their kids back from the beach yesterday,’ I say desperately. ‘Why does she think this was Lottie?’
‘She says he didn’t look like a tourist,’ Bates says. ‘She thinks the kid was asleep – she can’t be sure if it was a boy or a girl. But she says he didn’t look comfortable carrying the child, like he wasn’t used to it. He had her scooped flat in his arms, instead of up against his shoulder, you know, like you do with older kids. Catherine said they just looked off.’
‘Jesus,’ Zealy says. ‘And she didn’t think it might’ve been useful to know this earlier?’
I don’t have the energy to spare for anger. ‘You really think this was Lottie?’
‘It’s too early to say. Either way, we need him to come forward.’
‘We have a sketch artist in with Ms Lord now,’ Lorenz adds.
‘A sketch artist? What about security cameras?’
‘They don’t got any alongside the hotel. The liquor store across the way has a couple cameras, but this guy, whoever he is, he’s been smart about dodging them.’ Lorenz shrugs. ‘Nothing from the parking lot, either. But we’re eliminating the vehicles there, matching them to hotel guests. No one saw the guy carrying a kid across the bridge, so he must have had a car parked somewhere. We’ll find him.’
Every time someone says that, it rings less true.
‘I understand how hard this is, Alex,’ Bates says. ‘But we got a great team working on this. We’ve had a lot of calls from the Amber alert. It’s just a question of time—’
Behind me, someone calls my name.
Even though I’m supposed to be the strong one, the moment I see Mum standing in the hotel lobby I run towards her and fling myself into her arms like a child.
Dad encircles us both and we cling together, drawing strength from our shared grief.
We’ve always been like this, a trio so close it can be hard to see the seams.
