“The first time?” There was surprise in the man’s voice.
Her eyes latched onto his. Careful. Don’t screw this up.
“I went to check on Sam when I first woke up. He was sleeping, but the window was open. So I closed it. Then I went downstairs for a drink. When I came back upstairs, I heard a thump. I thought Sam had fallen out of bed. When I opened the door…” She caught her breath. Steady. “He was gone.”
“The time doesn’t add up.”
“What?” She gave him a blank stare.
“You called 911 at one eighteen.” He studied his notes. “How long were you downstairs getting your… drink?”
“I don’t know.” Timeline, you idiot! “Maybe half an hour. I-I tidied up the kitchen too.”
Jay leaned forward. “What exactly were you drinking?”
It took her a moment to realize what he was suggesting.
“Orange juice,” she said evenly. “I don’t drink alcohol. I’m an alcoholic.” When the detective raised a brow, her lips thinned. “I’ve been sober almost seven years.”
“Is there anyone you know of who would want to hurt you or your family?” he asked, writing something in the notebook.
“No, but some kids threw a rock at Sam’s window the other night.”
“Did you report it?”
“Philip did,” she said, massaging her forehead. “Look, Sam’s kidnapping isn’t… personal. It was The Fog.”
Jay looked up. “You saw him?”
She drew in a deep breath, mentally kicking herself. “Who else kidnaps children in the middle of the night?”
Patterson stepped into the room. “We need Ms. O’Connell to identify something. Do you recognize this? We found it under your son’s bed.” He held up a plastic bag marked EVIDENCE.
“Oh my God,” Sadie moaned, reaching for it.
The bag contained one object. Clancy the Clown’s red shoe.
When she flipped it over, a sparkle caught her eye. A silver thumbtack was stuck in the heel.
Tick, tick, tick.
“We hired a clown for Sam’s birthday,” she said in a hoarse voice. “Clancy. But of course that’s not his real name.”
“We’ll get him, Ma’am,” Patterson said.
“I’ll need the name of the company you hired him from,” Jay said. “And the phone number.”
She stared at the shoe in the bag. “Philip has all that. Hiring the clown was the one thing I asked him to do.” She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting a wave of nausea.
It was her fault. She had let The Fog into her house. She had talked to him, paid him three hundred and forty dollars to entertain a room full of innocent children. She had watched him play with her son, and obviously he had never left since the alarm hadn’t gone off.
“Clancy must have hidden somewhere,” she said.
“Where?”
The answer came to her in a flash. “Sam’s closet. Oh God. I let The Fog into my house.”
“I don’t think it was him,” Jay said, taking the bag from her.
“W-what do you mean? Of course it was—”
He shook his head. “No. The M.O.’s different. The Fog never leaves behind evidence. He’s too smart for that. It could be a copycat.”
That didn’t make sense to Sadie. Not one bit. She had been inches from the man. She’d seen him flinch when she mentioned The Fog. But she couldn’t tell Jay that.
“Couldn’t he have changed his M.O.?”
“Trust me, Ms. O’Connell. We’ll be looking into every possibility.” He jerked his head toward the doorway. “What about your husband?”
“What about him?”
“He’s a lawyer, right?”
She nodded. “Corporate law.”
“Perhaps someone is trying to get at him.”
“No,” she argued. “It was him. The Fog.”
Jay’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”
“I just do.”
Philip chose that moment to be a gentleman. He entered the room, a steaming mug in his hand. “Here, Sadie. I thought you could use some coffee.”
She gaped at the mug, turning it in front of her eyes. It was the one Sam had given her last Mother’s Day, the one Leah had helped him pick out. On it was a cartoon alien boy with his mother in a spaceship. To the best Mom in the Universe.
She stifled a sob as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Oh shit,” Philip muttered. “I’m sorry, Sadie. I—”
“Mr. Tymchuk,” Jay interjected. “I need to know where you were tonight. Between midnight and one twenty this morning.”
“Yeah, Philip,” Sadie scoffed. “Please, tell us where you were. And who you were with. We’d all like to know.”
Philip’s face reddened. “I was at the office, working late.”
“And where is that exactly,” Jay asked.
“Fleming Warner Law Offices, downtown on Jasper.”
“Were you alone?”
Philip’s eyes shifted toward Sadie. “No. I was with Brigitte Moreau.” He paused. “She works there too.”
Jay cleared his throat. “And what exactly is the nature of your relationship with Ms. Moreau?”
Sadie crossed her arms. “What the officer is so politely asking you, Philip, is whether you’re discussing oil spills with her or screwing her.” To the detective, she said, “I’ve been asking him that same question for months.”
“What’s my relationship with Brigitte got to do with my son being kidnapped?” Philip demanded.
“Just answer the question, please,” Jay said.
“Brigitte and I are associates.” Philip slumped down on the bed beside Sadie. “And… lovers.”
There. It had finally been said. The answer to a question that had been eating her up inside for months. An answer that would have ripped her apart yesterday, maybe even hours ago. Strangely enough, she didn’t care now.
A snicker escaped.
“What’s so funny?” Philip asked, eyeing her.
She stared at her husband, the man who had belittled her for years, who had neglected her. The man who had screwed around on her.
“I don’t care, Philip.”
“That I slept with Brigitte?” he asked, confused.
She smiled at him as if he were a stupid child. “No. I don’t care about you, period. I don’t care what you do, or who you do. As long as it isn’t me. The only one I care about is Sam. He is important.” She jabbed a finger against his chest. “Not you. You’re nothing but a—”
“Ms. O’Connell,” Jay cut in. “How did you find Clancy?”
Sadie glanced at Philip. “My husband hired him. From some party company downtown.”
Philip scowled. “What, are you saying this is my fault? You’re the one who wanted the damned clown in the first place.”
“Well, you should have checked him out more carefully.”
Philip jumped to his feet. “Don’t you dare blame me, Sadie!”
“Mr. Tymchuk,” Jay said calmly. “This isn’t about blame right now. It’s about finding your son. Every second we waste means it will be that much harder to find him. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Philip sagged back onto the bed. “I understand. I’m sorry.”
“Okay. Tell me about the clown.”
“A few weeks ago, when I got to my office, there was a flier for the clown company on my desk. So I booked him.”
“Do you still have it?”
“I think so.”
Philip disappeared. A moment later, he returned with the flier and handed it to Jay. The detective scanned it, then dialed a number on his cell phone. He spoke to someone in a low voice. A few seconds later, he hung up.
“It’s a cell phone. And it’s not in service.”
“Can’t you trace the GPS?” Philip demanded.