Her thumb hovered over the Send button, but she erased the text, muttering, “God,” under her breath. Then she wrote it again, erased it again. He wasn’t looking for someone to be his kid’s mother; he’d said as much. But wasn’t that the default position for her? Regardless of what Connor said, how else did it work? She became Jolyon’s friend? What about discipline? How did that get sorted? She practically choked on the irony: Here she was, a caseworker trying help children and their parents, and she felt like she didn’t know anything.
Her father always told her that her mind went too far ahead – but jumping in with both feet, that was the bold advice for people when there were no kids involved.
It was her work that was making her cynical, afraid. Had to be. Worried about mistakes she hadn’t even made. No one was expecting her to be stepmother of the year, right? It was just people. Just life. You had to take it one day at a time.
She sent:
I’d like to hang out with you.
She waited some more, bit at her fingernails, realized she was doing it, and stopped. The other person in the room flushed. The jukebox song changed to a country tune, blaring through the thin walls.
His reply came back:
So come to JJ’s.
Another flip of her heart. He was receptive. That was progress.
Bobbi stepped aside so the other woman could use the sink. She’d have to ditch Rachel, though. Maybe Rachel was okay now and would understand – Bobbi was on the rocks with this guy, needed some time alone with him. Of course, Connor could still have his co-worker with him. Maybe bringing Rachel, if she wanted to come – and Bobbi figured she would – would be the right move. Rachel was between men. Bobbi didn’t know much about Connor’s co-worker, just that he seemed shy. Rachel loved shy, then she could dominate.
Resolved, Bobbi walked out of the bathroom. The music was louder than ever, foot-stomping bass with twangy lyrics. Rachel was in the same place and it looked like one of the guys mooning over her had bought a fresh round of drinks. Bobbi made it halfway across the bar when someone else came into the place.
She stopped, cold, in the middle of the room, and stared.
The door swung shut behind him, and Jamie just stood there.
Twenty-Six
He’d borrowed a clean white shirt from one of the Lake Haven PD guys and was buttoning up when Lena said, “I did a search for Saratoga High School Class of 2012. The first hit was for a list of graduates in the Mercury News. No pictures, just names.” She peered at him from her desk. “Trevor Garris is one.”
“He’s two people,” Mike reminded, “if he’s John Durie pre-adoption and Trevor Garris afterwards. I mean – the father got sent up for meth distribution, killed himself in jail. Not a great legacy. So, maybe he changes his name to fully individuate. Maybe his adoptive parents encourage it. And I was just thinking – Garris, as an IT guy, could have access to the records room. Remember the server was down there.”
He waited, wondering if Lena was going to keep pushing back. But she said, “And there was a camera; we could see if there’s any footage of him looking through old files, like we were, finding out the people involved with his case from when he was ten.”
“Exactly.” He felt relieved.
“So then this guy would have two IDs or what?”
“All he needs is the one. He could’ve used his adoptive parents’ names – those adoption papers are a perfectly valid state document – and get a driver’s license, and from there a Social Security number. And he’s officially Trevor Garris. And yeah, I’m thinking he’s down there in the records room, learns that Lavoie transferred out, picks up her trail in Watertown. He’s been with DSS for how long?”
“Went to work for them just about a year ago,” Lena said, looking at her screen. “So there’s time, yeah, for him to find out about her, go after her. She’s kind of a loner, so she makes an easier first target. Harriet is tougher because she’s married and she works in the same place Trevor does.”
Mike felt wired. It was falling into place: Trevor Garris locates Lavoie, learns her routine, makes sure he bumps into her one night at the movies. He explains who he is, but he’d have to make it nice then somehow persuade her to go with him. Or he knocks her out, or something, takes her right there. Then he brings her to Tupper Lake, dumps her in the bog. Why?
“Eddie Roth said there was a cemetery not far from Spring Pond Bog – Haymeadow,” Mike said. He thought of Neil Johnson again, and his devotion to his mother, no matter what she’d put him through. “Can we check where Melissa Clay’s body was laid to rest?”
“Yeah. We can do that. My guess though is that she was brought back home, buried in Tupper Lake. Probably Haymeadow.”
* * *
Jamie looked like shit; that was the first thing she noticed.
Bobbi kept a distance between them. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes were plaintive; he looked hurt or something, even sick. His hair was long, tucked up under a battered baseball cap, and he’d grown a beard. “I’m here to see you, B.”
Bobbi glanced at the table where Rachel was just getting up, laughing about something, an empty pitcher of beer in her hand. Her laughter faded and she slowed her approach as she observed Bobbi’s situation.
Bobbi forced a smile and held up a finger, indicating it was okay, she just needed a minute. If Jamie was dangerous, she didn’t want Rachel involved. Then she moved toward Jamie, took his arm, and led him toward the door.
Outside was a small bloc of smokers standing along the edge of the street; Bobbi walked a few yards away and Jamie followed. She turned around to face him. He took a step toward her but she held up her hand, keeping that distance.
“You look good, B,” he said. His voice was hoarse.
“Jamie, what are you doing?”
“Took me a while to find you. I been to three different bars. Been shouting over the noise, asking people if they’d seen you.”
“You’ve been out looking for me? Jamie, you’re acting like a stalker.”
He pouted, as if wounded. But she knew Jamie, his tricks. This was his lost-puppy routine to lure her back in. He said, “I figured you weren’t going to take my calls or anything, Bobbi. Why’d you get so cold? You were never like that when we were together. You were sweet.”
He pulled a pack of cigarettes out, bent his head, and lit one up. Squinted through the smoke at her. “Why’d you come all the way out here to live?”
“Because there was a job opening, Jamie. Because it’s a job in my field.”
“It wasn’t to get away from me? Because I think it was. I mean, you’re mad. I understand. Even though I apologized a million times.”
She watched as the group of smokers headed back inside. The music grew momentarily loud as they opened the door and went in, leaving Bobbi alone on the street with him. The main drag was just twenty yards away, a car going by every now and again, but the side street was dead. She was ready to go back in. But she was angry.
“Jamie, stop it.”
“Stop what? I can’t come see you? Jesus, Bobbi, you act like we weren’t together for four years.”
“Three and a half. And you act like you didn’t cheat on me, or push me around. You act like you’re not a completely… This is all about you, Jamie. Not me. This is because you feel rejected, and it hurts your ego.”
He opened his mouth to argue but she was on a roll. “Let’s say we get back together. Huh? Yeah, baby, let’s do it. I miss you so much. Your ego gets repaired and then you’re off and running, off with another woman, off doing whatever you feel like, just the same.”
She took a step closer, feeling a twist of adrenaline. “Were you outside my house the other night? Did you come into the building?”
He smoked, and squinted at her, but didn’t answer.
“I called the cops, Jamie. And I told them I thought it was you. They’ve been looking for you.”
“I keep a low profile,” he said, the smugness dripping. “I’m not worried about any cops. I know how to handle all that shit.”
“Whatever you’re doing, whatever you think this is, you have to stop. I’m calling the police, right now. And I’m going to get a restraining order against you. No calls, no texts, no physical proximity.”
He spat to the side then took a step closer. “Oh yeah? That what you’re gonna do? You gonna beat me up with your karate?”
“Don’t come any closer.”
“Come on. Just come with me. I’ve got something to show you.”