Thread of Truth, стр. 4
“Olivia was part of our family,” Alice said. “She is part of our family.”
I just listened.
“When he told us she was pregnant, I immediately thought the worst,” Tom said, rubbing at his chin. “He was making mistakes again. He wasn't sticking to the plan. I was...not kind.” He winced, the memory of his words and his actions clearly painful. “And I ended up having to apologize because he made it very clear he was ready to be a father. In every way. He was sticking to the old plan and creating a new one. His grades stayed up. He was working more hours. He went to every appointment with Olivia. He was entirely focused on her and that child.” He smiled and shook his head. “I think he was more responsible than I was when Alice was pregnant with him.”
“And the girl?” I asked. “Olivia?”
“According to Desmond, she was a little reluctant at first,” Tom said. “Which was understandable. But I think Desmond won her over. They were planning on getting married.” He eyed me. “I know what you're thinking, Mr. Tyler. All of this sounds a little too good to be true. I certainly understand that, and I would probably share your skepticism if I were in your place. But our son was committed to Olivia and their son. He was excited.” He glanced at his wife. “That's why we don't believe he's run away. It's the exact opposite thing we would expect from him right now.”
Tom Locker was right. I was skeptical. Not of what they thought was the truth, but of what the actual truth was. I was having a difficult time believing that an eighteen-year-old kid, who'd already been through a lot, had grown up that fast and had had such a remarkable turnaround. I didn't doubt they thought it was the truth, but I also knew that teenagers were very good at keeping secrets.
“Thomas,” Alice said. She was saying her husband’s name but looking at me.
“I'm sorry?” I said.
“They named the boy Thomas,” she said. “He was born two days after Desmond disappeared. They named him after Tom.”
Tom bit his lip and looked down at his lap.
“Everyone's healthy?” I asked. “The baby and Olivia?”
Alice nodded. “Yes. The only thing wrong is that Desmond is missing.” She paused. “So we're hoping you'll help us.”
I leaned back in the sofa. “So where do you think he is, assuming he hasn't run away? And I'm not saying he has. But let's go with your beliefs. If he hadn't run away, where would he be?”
“We honestly have no idea.” Tom’s forehead wrinkled with concern. “I didn't think anything would keep him from seeing that baby born.” He glanced nervously at his wife. “If I'm being honest, I think we're afraid that something has happened to him.”
“When you say that, do you mean with drugs again?”
Tom hesitated then shook his head. “No.”
We sat in silence for a moment. My eyes drifted once again to the family portrait. The arms around each other, the happy smiles Tom and Alice wore, the goofy one stretching across Desmond’s cheeks.
“So you believe that whatever has happened, it wasn't Desmond's choosing,” I said. “You think there's something keeping him away, against his will.”
Tom nodded slowly. “I do. We do.” He chewed on his lip again for a just a second. “Look, I can see what's going through your mind and, like I said earlier, I don't blame you. I don’t know that I would believe any of this if I were in your shoes.”
I gave a slight nod.
He cleared his throat. “I don’t need for you to believe me. I’m just asking you to see if you can find him.” His jaw tightened and he dropped his gaze. When he spoke again, his voice was low. Raw. “Wherever he is, whatever's happened, we need to know. We want him home. We've tried going through the police and we didn't get the help we wanted.” He paused. “So now we're asking for your help.”
His pain and worry—his wife’s, too—permeated the room. They were desperate to find their son. And they were desperate to believe that he was a changed person, the son he’d been before the drugs and alcohol.
I wasn’t convinced. Desmond’s history suggested it had been his choice to disappear, and if my instincts were correct, he wouldn’t be too happy about being found.
Because I would find him.
“He's eighteen,” I reminded them, as gently as I could. “If I find him, I can't force him to return home. He's considered an adult and can, in theory, make his own decisions.”
“We understand that,” Tom said quickly. “We do. So maybe rather than make it sound like we're asking you to bring him home, maybe I should clarify and say we'd just like for you to locate him.”
I knew he was changing the vocabulary more for my sake than for theirs. I had no doubt that if I found their son, they would do their best to drag him home.
I wasn't sure I wanted to be a party to that.
But I needed to work, and they'd called me and hadn't batted an eye when I'd mentioned my fees.
“Okay,” I said, looking at each of them. “I'll see if I can find him.”
FOUR
The Lockers had anticipated hiring me and put together what looked to me like a pretty complete file on their son. Names of his friends with contact information. His employer. His school schedule. Nearly anything that applied to Desmond Locker, they’d typed up, printed out, and stuck in a 3-ring binder. I assumed it was a way to keep themselves busy as they wondered where he was. They assured me that they would run down any other information