The Missing

When the car pulled over, she opened her eyes and saw that they were parked in a breakdown lane on a highway. Coop reached into the backseat and came back with a small cooler. Inside, packed on top of ice, were two glasses and a bottle of Bushmills Irish whiskey.

‘I thought you could use it,’ Coop said.

Darby filled the glasses with ice and poured the whiskey. She had nearly drained her second drink by the time they reached the state border.

‘Much better,’ Darby said.

‘I was tempted to call Leland, but I thought you might want to tell him yourself, in person.’

‘You would be correct.’

‘I’d like to tag along with my camera. I want to capture the moment on film.’

‘There’s something I want to tell you,’ Darby said, and told Coop about Melanie and Stacey. It was the second time she told the story. This time, she wanted to tell it slowly. She wanted to tell Coop all the things she had felt.

‘I told Mel I didn’t want to be friends with Stacey, and Mel just couldn’t let it go,’ Darby said. ‘She had to keep pushing. She wanted everything to go back to the way it was. She had to be the peacemaker. When I saw her downstairs, I wanted –’ Darby caught herself.

Coop didn’t push. Darby felt the sting of tears and tried to breathe it back.

Then it welled up inside her, ugly and razor sharp, the truth she had been dragging around all these years. When the tears came, Darby didn’t fight it, was tired of fighting.

‘Mel was screaming. Grady had a knife, and he was using it on Mel and she was screaming for him to stop. She begged me to come back down and help her. I didn’t… I didn’t ask Mel to come over or to bring Stacey – Mel made that decision. She was the one who made the decision to come over, not me, and a part of me… Every time I saw Mel’s mother, the way she looked at me as though I was the one who made Mel disappear, I wanted to tell her the truth. I wanted to scream it at her until I knocked that goddamn look out of her eyes.’

‘Why didn’t you tell her?’

Darby didn’t have an answer. How could she explain how a part of her hated Mel for coming over that night – and for bringing Stacey? How could she explain the guilt she felt for not only what had happened but for how she felt afterward, forced to carry not only the guilt but the anger?

She closed her eyes, wanting to go back in time to that moment at the school lockers when Mel asked if they could go back to being friends. Darbywondered what would have happened if she had said yes. Would she still be alive? Or would she be buried out in the woods where no one would ever find her?

Coop wrapped his big arm around her shoulder. Darby leaned against him.

‘Darby?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Leaving Melanie… It was the right thing to do.’

Darby didn’t speak again until they were on Route 1. She could see the tall buildings in Boston lit up in the distance.

‘I keep thinking about that day Evan came to the beach and told me about Victor Grady and Melanie Cruz. That was over twenty years ago. Twenty years. It hasn’t fully sunk in yet.’

‘But at some point it will.’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Whenever you need to talk about it, I’m here,’ Coop said. ‘You know that, right?’

‘I do.’

‘Good.’ Coop kissed the top of her head. He didn’t let go. She didn’t want him to let go.

Dawn was breaking by the time they arrived in Belham. Darby showed Coop to the guest bedroom and then headed to the shower.

Dressed in a clean pair of clothes and fresh bandages, she went to check on her mother. Sheila was fast asleep.

Tell me where you buried Melanie.

Ask… your… mother.

Darby crawled into bed and pressed herself up against her mother’s back, hugging her close. She had a memory of her parents sitting in the front seat of the old Buick station wagon with the wood paneling, Big Red tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel to a Frank Sinatra song and Sheila sitting next to him, smiling, the two of them still young, strong and healthy. Darby listened to her mother’s soft breathing rise and fall, rise and fall, wanting it to last forever.

III Little Girl Found

Chapter 71

Darby’s eyes blinked open to bright lines of sunlight glowing around the drawn shades.

Her mother wasn’t in the room. Seeing the empty side of the bed caused a flutter of panic. Darby threw back the sheets, dressed quickly and headed downstairs. It was three in the afternoon.

Coop was sitting at the island counter, drinking coffee and watching the small TV. He caught the expression on her face and knew at once what she was thinking.

‘Your mother wanted some fresh air, so the nurse put her in the wheelchair and took her around the block,’ Coop said. ‘Can I get you something to eat? I make a mean bowl of cereal.’

‘I’ll just stick to coffee, thanks. What are they saying on the news?’

‘NECN is about to do another report after the commercials. Grab a seat and I’ll get you some coffee.’

The Boston media had jumped on the story hard and fast. During the ten hours she had slept, reporters had uncovered the co

Evan Ma

Seven years later, when Richard was twelve, his father was ru

Richard’s aunt, Ophelia Boyle, took in the young, bright orphan and moved him to her daughter’s newly built home in Glen, New Hampshire. Ophelia’s daughter, Cassandra, was expecting her first child. Cassandra was twenty-three and unmarried. She had refused to give the baby up for adoption.

In 1963, single, unwed mothers were scandalous affairs that could ruin a family’s reputation – especially in the affluent social and business circles in which Ophelia and her husband, Augustus, frequently traveled. They moved Cassandra, their only child, to Glen, New Hampshire, far away from Belham, and provided her with a sizable monthly allowance to raise her child, a boy she named Daniel. The boy’s father, Cassandra told friends and neighbors, had died in a car accident.

Interviews with former neighbors, many of whom were still living in the area, described Daniel as the classic loner – moody and withdrawn. They had a difficult time understanding the close relationship between Daniel and his good-looking, charismatic older cousin, Richard.

Alicia Cross lived less than two miles away from the Boyle home. She was twelve years old when she vanished during the summer of 1978. By this time, Richard Fowler had changed his name to Evan Ma

Evan, a recent graduate of Harvard Law School, was living in Virginia when Alicia Cross disappeared. He had been accepted into the FBI’s training program. Daniel Boyle was fifteen and living at home. The girl’s body was never found, and police never caught her killer.

Two years later, after graduating from an exclusive military school in Vermont, Daniel Boyle joined the army and became a trained marksman. His goal was to become a Green Beret. He was discharged from the army, at age twenty-two, for aggravated assault. A local society woman claimed Boyle had tried to strangle her.