Cemetery Girl

“Can you get the news on there?” I asked. “Are they showing the press conference?”

“Not live,” he said. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

“Can’t I just go back? I know the way-”

“Sir, you have to wait.”

“Why aren’t they showing it?”

But the cop ignored me. I looked back at the TV. The host of the show threw a bunch of money up in the air, and it fluttered to the ground while contestants grabbed handfuls. The phone on the cop’s desk rang. He listened, then nodded, looking up at me.

“Okay,” he said into the phone and hung up.

“Was that about me?”

“Someone’s coming to take you back now.”

“You said that already.”

“Sir. .”

The heavy steel door to the side of the desk opened. A uniformed female officer held the door for me and jerked her head down the hallway, indicating I should step through.

“Thanks,” I said.

“They’re wrapping up,” she said.

The door shut behind us as we walked down the hall. Fluorescents glowed overhead and watery blue paint covered the walls.

“Wrapping up? I missed it?”

“We can’t go walk in right in the middle,” she said.

I knew the way and walked ahead of the cop. I turned right and then right again and saw the conference room door. A uniformed officer stood outside, a cell phone to his ear.

“I’ll just slip in,” I said to no one in particular, but the cop with the phone held up his hand like he was directing traffic. I felt another hand on my arm.

“Just wait here,” the female officer said. To make sure I did, she kept her hand in place, and we stood there, waiting for what seemed like another eternity.

Finally the door of the conference room opened. A few people began filing out. I didn’t recognize anyone, and I tried to look over their heads and into the room.

“Can you let go now?” I asked the cop, and she did.

Just a few more people came out, and they stepped aside as I entered the room. I saw Ryan, and he saw me. He looked surprised and-maybe-a little disappointed.

I expected more. A lot of cameras, a lot of people. But I saw only one film crew and a handful of people who looked like reporters.

Someone said my name.

“Mr. Stuart? What did you think of the press conference today?”

I thought I recognized the woman. Did she work for the Daily News?

“I missed it,” I said. “I didn’t know-”

“Are you encouraged by this lead?”

“Of course.”

“How have you managed to keep your spirits up during this ordeal?”

A few more people gathered around. I hoped they were all reporters. I saw Ryan come closer, his big head and body standing out in the crowd. He looked nervous, concerned. I remembered what I looked like. Unshaven. Unshowered.

But the questions kept coming.

“How is your wife holding up?”

“She’s fine.”

“Why didn’t she come today?”

“She’s. . I don’t know. I guess she’s moved on.”

“Moved on? How so?”

“She doesn’t really think Caitlin’s coming home.”

A TV light came on, and, beneath it, a glowing red dot. They were filming. I started to sweat again. Ryan said something, but the light kept me from seeing him.

“Mr. Stuart’s had a long morning,” he said. “And I need to brief him.”

“Do you think your daughter is still alive? Do you think you’ll see her again?”

I couldn’t see who’d asked the question. The room swirled a little bit.

“Yes, I do.”

Camera shutters clicked and whirred. A flash went off. No one said anything, no more questions, so I kept going.

“In fact, I have seen her. Just this morning, I saw her in the park.”

The cameras clicked more rapidly. There were more flashes.

I felt hotter, more nervous, my clothes too tight and constraining.

“You saw her?”

“Your daughter?”

“Really?”

I felt a hand on my arm, a strong grip. Ryan. He started to lead me away.

I wanted to explain.

“I saw her-I saw a girl-in the park by the cemetery. I don’t really know if it was Caitlin-”

Ryan pulled me out of the room and down the hallway, leaving the reporters behind. He ushered me into another office, a small room with two empty desks and a filing cabinet.

“That was not a smart thing you just did back there,” he said.

“Why didn’t you tell me this was happening?”

He sighed. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Look, Tom. This came together quickly. I had to get that sketch out to the newspapers. Isn’t that what you wanted? And, yes, we do like to have the families at these things, but given the strain you’ve been under and the strain in your marriage, we-I-thought it might be best to talk about this on my own.”

“I can talk about my daughter if I want. I have the right.”

“You repeated a ghost story. Now anything good that would have come from the sketch could be overshadowed by what you said in there.” He turned toward the door and opened it. He stuck his head into the hallway and looked both ways. “Get out of here. Go out to your car and get out of here. And don’t talk to any reporters. I’ll try to make this right.” He gave me the once-over. “I think they’ll believe you’re under a great deal of stress and don’t know what you’re saying.” He remained in the door, holding it open for me.

But I wasn’t ready to go.

“Ryan, can I ask you something?”