The Deep End of the Ocean by Jacquelyn Mitchard Read Free Book Online Page A

told the officer about Ben’s language skills and his fears (windstorms, all bodies of water, blood) and his habit of hiding in small places (once, horrifyingly, but just for a moment, the dryer). In detail, she described Ben’s birthmark, the mark in the shape of a nearly perfect carat—an ashy-colored inverted V that sat just above his left hip. The birthmark had been something Beth considered having removed, she told the officer, but the dermatologist said it was nothing, just an excess of pigment, and so she left it alone. Sensing the officer’s restlessness, Beth next talked about Vincent—who had awakened and gone off with Ellen to get a sandwich. He was a difficult kid, but he loved Ben and was protective of him.
    “Kerry’s named after me,” said Beth. “I mean, not Beth, but that’s my last name, Kerry. Before I got married. We were going to name Ben that, Kerry…at least I wanted to, but Pat—that’s my husband—he said, ‘Why not just name him Fairy?’ So we named the girl that instead. Ben’s named after my brother….” She babbled; the lobby was filling up again, with police officers Beth hadn’t seen before.
    As Beth watched, two of them set up a folding table in a small room off the lobby that probably was used to hold coats with a number of cellular phones and a compact radio that squawked and crackled.
    “What are they doing?” Beth asked.
    “They’re setting up a command center,” a young female officer whose name tag read G. Clemons told her.
    “What for?”
    “Well, to stay in touch with the station, and to take any calls that might come in from the state police or other departments.”
    “Other departments?”
    “Yes. Or tips from people. Or any kind of calls. I mean, if we knew for sure that anybody else had been involved in this, it’d probably be a larger operation already. But the kind of tips we’re going to be getting might—”
    “Tips? But how would anyone know where to call?” Beth asked, and then what G. Clemons had alluded to jabbed her. One person might.
    “Just a minute, Mrs. Cappadora.” Tucking stray ends into the careful roll at the back of her head, Officer Clemons spoke briefly with Detective Taylor. He took the sheet of paper she’d been using, made a few jottings on it himself, and took off for the phone.
    “We’re putting out an ISPEN, Mrs. Cappadora. That’s ‘Illinois State Police Emergency Network.’ Alphabet soup, huh?” The bun bobbed in concern. Beth thought, she’s still trying not to scare me. “That frequency is monitored by all departments statewide. For example, this is District Three, near Chicago, but we pick up way into the western and northern suburbs….”
    “You have a lot of police officers for such a little city.”
    “Oh, these aren’t all Parkside police, Mrs. Cappadora,” said Officer Clemons. “They’re from Chester and Barkley and Rosewell, too.”
    Beth stared at her. “So you’re worried.”
    “We have to take the disappearance of a child this small, after this length of time, very, very seriously, Mrs. Cappadora.”
    It was three p.m. Ben had been missing for two hours.
    There were two cops at each of the exits Beth could see, and the slice of the circle drive that lay inside her vision was filling with blue-and-white cars, like a puzzle with pieces sliding into place. Jimmy Daugherty crossed in front of the revolving door. Beth excused herself and wobbled, thickly, to his side. She asked Jimmy for a Marlboro. He lit it.
    “Bethie,” he said. “Pat will be here soon, right?”
    Beth was startled. “I didn’t call him.”
    Jimmy ground out his own cigarette with a vicious twist of thumb and forefinger. “You didn’t call Pat?”
    “I thought we’d find him right away, and Pat had to work.” She sounded like the kind of light-witted ninny who would soon begin to complain that she was missing her favorite soap. She tried again: “No one told me to call Pat!” That was worse. In the valley of the