‘I’m glad, Shadey. Thank you.’
‘Welcome.’
‘I need to borrow a phone. And I need to use your brother’s computer. Are we safe here for a while?’
‘Yeah. Less the realtor shows up to show the house.’ Shadey shrugged. ‘Doesn’t seem likely.’
Evan sweated through four rings.
‘Hello?’ A woman’s voice, worn from a lifetime of use.
‘Hello, may I speak to Mrs. Briggs?’
‘Whatever you’re selling, I sure as hell don’t want none.’
‘I’m not a salesman, ma’am. Please don’t hang up – you’re the only person who can help me.’
This appeal to elderly ego could not be resisted. ‘Who is this?’
‘My name is David Rendon.’ He decided at the last moment not to use his real name; old people were often news junkies, and he tossed out one of the false passport identities. ‘I’m a reporter for the Post. ’
She didn’t give a reaction to this, so Evan plunged ahead: ‘I’m calling to see if you remember the Smithson family.’
Silence for ten long seconds. ‘Who did you say you were?’
‘A reporter for the Post, ma’am. I was doing a search through the archives and saw a story about your neighbors having vanished over twenty years ago. I couldn’t find a follow-up and I was interested to know what happened to them, to you.’
‘Will you put my picture in the paper?’
‘I bet I can arrange a picture.’
‘Well’ – Mrs. Briggs lowered her voice to a practiced conspiratorial whisper – ‘no, the Smithsons never showed up again. I mean, that house was a dream, perfect for a new family, and they just up and walk away. Unbelievable. I’d gotten attached to that baby of theirs, and Julie, too. Arthur was a jerk. Didn’t like to talk.’ Reticence was clearly a crime to Mrs. Briggs.
‘But what happened to their house?’
‘Well, they defaulted on the mortgage, and the bank finally resold it through a local realtor.’
He wasn’t sure what to ask next. ‘Were they a happy family?’
‘Julie was so alone, you could see it in her face, in the way she talked. Scared girl like the world had gone up and left her behind. She told me she was pregnant and I remember wondering, “Why is there dread in this sweet girl’s face?” Happiest news you could get and she looked like the whole world crashed down on her.’
‘Did she ever tell you why?’
‘I considered that she wasn’t happy in her marriage to that cold fish. Child might have anchored her down.’
‘Did Mrs. Smithson ever suggest that she might want to run away, go live under a new name?’
‘Good Lord. No.’ Mrs. Briggs paused. ‘Is that what happened?’
He swallowed. ‘Did you ever hear them mention the name Casher?’
‘Not that I recall.’
He had spent his childhood in New Orleans while his father completed a master’s in computer science at Tulane. When Evan was seven, they moved to Austin. He thought he had been born in New Orleans. ‘Did they ever mention New Orleans to you?’
‘No. What have you found out about them?’
‘I’ve found pieces that don’t quite fit together.’ He blew out a sigh. ‘You wouldn’t happen to be a pack rat, would you, Mrs. Briggs?’
She gave a soft, warm laugh. ‘The polite term is collector.’
‘Did you keep a photo of the Smithsons? Since you and Julie Smithson were so close?’
Silence again. ‘You know, I did, but I gave it to the police.’
‘Did you ever get it back?’
‘No. They kept it, didn’t return it to me. I suppose it might still be in the case file. Assuming there is one.’
‘You didn’t keep another photo?’
‘I think I had a photo of them at Christmas that I kept, but I don’t know where it would be. They didn’t travel at Christmas. No family but each other. They met at an orphanage, you know.’
‘An orphanage?’
‘Positively Dickensian. Oliver Twist marrying Little Nell. I couldn’t get to my sister’s for Christmas one year because of a snowstorm, so I spent Christmas Eve with the Smithsons. Arthur drank. He didn’t want me around. It embarrassed Julie, I could see, but we still had a nice time once Arthur passed out.’ She shook her head. ‘I just don’t understand the pressure people inflict on themselves. It ages them. Me, I never worry.’
An indecisive mother, a drunken father. It didn’t sound like his parents. ‘Mrs. Briggs, if you have another photo of the Smithsons, I would be very obliged if I could get it from you.’
‘And I would be if you would tell me who you really are. I don’t think you’re a reporter, Mr. Rendon.’
Evan decided to play it straight. Trust her, because he needed the information. ‘I’m not. My name is Evan Casher. I’m sorry for the deception.’
‘Who are you, then?’
This was a huge risk. He could be wrong. But if he didn’t chance it, he was hitting a dead end. ‘I think I’m Robert Smithson.’
‘Oh, my God. Is this a joke?’
‘It’s not the name I grew up with, but I found a connection to my parents and the Smithsons.’ He paused. ‘Do you have Web access?’
‘I’m old, not old-fashioned.’
‘Go to cnn. com, please. Do a search on Evan Casher. I want you to tell me if you recognize any of the pictures.’
‘Hold on.’ He heard her set down the phone, heard a computer rouse from sleep. She clicked and typed. ‘I’m at CNN. C-A-S-H-E-R?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
He heard her clacking on a keyboard. Silence.
‘Look for a story about a homicide in Austin, Texas,’ he said.
‘I see it,’ Mrs. Briggs whispered. ‘Oh, dear.’
The last time he’d checked out the Web site, the update included a picture of his mother and of himself on the site. ‘Does Donna Casher look like Julie Smithson?’
‘Her hair is different. It’s been so many years… but, yes, I think that is Julie. Oh, my God, she’s dead.’ She sounded as grieved as she would if Julie were still her neighbor.
‘Oh, God.’ He steadied his voice. ‘Mrs. Briggs. I believe my parents were the Smithsons and they got into serious trouble all those years ago and had to take on new identities. Hide from their past.’
‘Is this you? The picture next to her?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘You look like your mother. You’re the spitting image of Julie.’
He let out a long sigh. ‘Thank you, Mrs. Briggs.’
‘This says you were kidnapped.’
‘I was. I’m okay. But I don’t want anyone to know where I am right now.’
‘I should call the police. Shouldn’t I?’ Her voice rose.
‘Please don’t call the police. I have no right to ask it of you, and you should do what you think is right… but I don’t want anyone to know where I am. Or that I know what my family’s names used to be. Whoever killed my mom might kill me.’
‘Robert.’ She sounded as if her heart were breaking. ‘This better not be a joke.’
‘No, ma’am. It’s not. But if Robert was my name, I’ve never known it.’
‘They both loved you very much,’ she said. Choking back tears.
Evan’s face went hot. ‘You said they met at an orphanage. Where?’
‘Ohio. Oh, dear, I don’t remember the town’s name.’
‘Ohio. Okay.’
‘Goinsville,’ she said with sudden assurance. ‘That’s the town. She joked about it, never going back to Goinsville. It was so sad that they were both orphans, I remember thinking that at Christmas. And that they were so happy to have you. Julie said she never wanted you to endure what they did.’
‘Thank you, Mrs. Briggs. Thank you.’
Now she cried softly. ‘Poor Julie.’
‘You’ve been a tremendous help to me, Mrs. Briggs.’ A terrible reluctance to hang up, to break this fragile link to his past, shook Evan. ‘Good-bye.’
‘Good-bye.’
He hung up. She might have caller ID. She might have seen the number and be calling the police right now. They might not believe her, but it would be a lead, and it would be followed.