“It isn’t,” he said, shaking his head firmly. “My associates wouldn’t take him. They would’ve taken me for a ride instead, maybe slashed my tires as a warning. There’s no way they took Sam.” He sounded as if he were trying to convince himself of this.
“I believe you, Philip. But we don’t need the police wasting time on your associates when they should be out looking for The Fog. That’s who took Sam. I’m certain of it.” She frowned. “Wait! How did you know about the investigation? The police said it was an undercover operation.”
Philip massaged his temple. “I got a call from one of the investors. He has some connections in the police department and found out that Morris and I were being investigated. He threatened to kill me if I said anything about his business transactions. And believe me, he’d do that way before he snatched a kid.”
“Who are these people you stole from?”
He shrugged. “Drug dealers mostly.”
She gritted her teeth, resisting the temptation to reach across the desk and slap him. “Jesus, Philip! Did you honestly think they’d let you steal their money?”
“I was desperate. We’ve got a heavy mortgage, bills that just keep adding up and you always need money for—”
“Don’t make excuses,” she snapped, jumping to her feet. “And don’t you dare lay this on me. You stole the money. You messed with the wrong people.”
A million questions filled the prolonged silence.
Then Philip said, “What do you want from me? Blood?”
“I don’t want anything from you,” she said tightly, before stalking out of the room.
Finally, she had the last word.
The next day there was still no sign of Sam.
Frustrated by the police department’s lack of progress, she made up posters with Sam’s face on them. She was careful not to mention The Fog. She taped the posters on postal boxes, bank windows, grocery store bulletin boards and any other place she could think of. Then she delivered them to every house in a five-block radius, hoping that someone had seen something. A license plate, a car… Sam. Anything.
Twice, she picked up the phone to call Matthew Bornyk, the father of the latest missing girl. But what could she possibly say to him?
Hi, you don’t know me, but we have something in common. Both of our kids were taken by an insane maniac, and I saw him and spoke to him, but didn’t tell the police.
“Jesus, Sadie,” she muttered under her breath. “He’ll think you’re just as insane.”
A part of her yearned to talk to someone who knew exactly how she felt, someone who was just as scared, just as empty. Every time she saw Cortnie’s father on television or heard him on the radio, she could tell by his eyes and voice that he felt his daughter’s loss just as deeply as she felt Sam’s.
She secretly clipped every newspaper article about The Fog. She even went to the Sun and Journal and bought old papers. She kept everything in a plastic container in her closet, taking them out every few hours to sort through them and make notes. However, she refused to look at the other children in the photos.
Except Sam. She cried each time she saw his face.
Her brother and sister-in-law called from Halifax. Brad, a Master Seaman in the Canadian Armed Forces, was preparing to be deployed to Afghanistan. They apologized for not being able to drop everything, find a sitter for their two young kids and fly to Edmonton. Sadie told them not to worry, that by the time they got here, the police would have found Sam and brought him home.
She wanted so desperately to believe this.
Then her parents called. They wanted to fly up from Arizona where they’d been enjoying the snowbird life, but Sadie persuaded them not to. Their questions were already driving her half-crazy.
“There’s nothing you can do anyway,” she told them.
“But we want to be there for you,” her mother said tearfully.
“I know.”
And she did. Her mother always meant well, but Sadie just couldn’t deal with listening to her mother’s sobs each night.
“Call us if you hear anything,” her mother pleaded.
“I will. Thanks, Mom.”
“And honey, if you need anything—”
“I’ll call. Love you.”
When Philip returned home that night, he reeked of Jack Daniels and culpability. He sprawled on the sofa beside her.
“I think the investors did take Sam,” he slurred. “If I’d only known what they’d do, I’d never have taken their money. Not if I knew they’d take my boy.” He slumped to the floor in front of her and clung to her legs like a baby. “I screwed up, Sadie.”
“Yeah, you did,” she said stiffly.
“I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m locked away,” he moaned. “I’m not made for prison.”
She was disgusted. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
In that instant, her husband went from Godlike legal legend to a sniveling coward. She pushed him away, then stormed across the room. Pausing in the doorway, she was tempted to leave him drowning in his guilt.
“The Fog took Sam,” she said bitterly. “You had nothing to do with it. Neither did any of your clients.”
Philip’s head rose, a half-crazed expression in his eyes. “You think so?” He wiped his nose and staggered to his feet. “Yeah. You’re right, Sadie. It’s not my fault. It can’t be.”
She left him in the living room, talking to himself, and when she reached their bedroom, she closed the door and locked it.
Philip would get the message. If he made it up the stairs.
10
After Philip left for work the next morning, she turned on the television, hoping to catch news about Sam. But Philip’s face was plastered on the screen instead. Underneath, two words in bold print flashed in alarm. FRAUD INVESTIGATION!
A reporter brushed something off her tailored suit jacket, then gave a brief announcement stating that two employees at Fleming Warner Law Offices were being questioned about allegations of fraud. The woman named Philip and Morris Saunders as co-conspirators.
The next segment was on hockey, so Sadie turned off the TV. With nothing else to do, she drew up the courage to call Matthew Bornyk. He picked up on the first ring.
“Hello?” His voice was husky, whether naturally or from lack of sleep, she didn’t know.
She sucked in a breath. “Mr. Bornyk, this is Sadie O’Connell. You don’t know me but—”
“I know who you are.” His voice sounded wide awake all of a sudden. “Is there any news about your son?”
“No, nothing.” She paused, embarrassed. “I-I’m not sure why I called.”
“I’m glad you did. I was going to call you.”
“Really? It seems a bit… odd. Talking to someone I’ve never met, I mean.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t you meet me for coffee? You and your husband.”
The offer surprised her. She wasn’t sure what she had thought the call would accomplish, but she hadn’t expected to meet the man face-to-face.
“Name the place and the time,” she said.
“Borealis Café, downtown on Jasper Ave,” he said. “I can be there in an hour. Do you need directions?”
“No. I know exactly where it is.” She hung up.
Borealis Cafe was right across from Fleming Warner Law Offices. In addition, it showed up often on their VISA bill. Philip took Brigitte there quite often. For business lunches, he said.
Yeah, right!
Matthew Bornyk had aged ten years since the photo she had seen in the newspaper. Although there wasn’t a trace of gray in his sandy-blond hair, the lines under his gray-blue eyes and the pallor of his face spoke of sleepless nights and unbearable pain.