years ago in Senegal, and even back then, home-schooled and left to his own entertainment in the village, his intelligence and curiosity had shone through. At the age of eight, Phil had put him to work tutoring the village children in basic reading. She remembered Phil’s face, shining with pride and love.
“Phil and he always were close,” she said.
Sheri’s smile faded. “That was before. But Phil knew he’s been neglecting Tyler this past year, and he felt bad about that. Tyler’s been hurt and angry. That’s why Phil was taking him along on this trip with you. Hoping to rebuild.”
Amanda was saved from further comment by the opening of the front door. Jason’s face gave away nothing about the argument or its resolution. How like a cop, Amanda thought. But Sheri’s face was a different story. Hope, apprehension, and guilt collided in one flushed glance. Before she could ask, he shook his head.
“Chris Tymko’s heard nothing. Knows nothing. Last he heard from Phil was a few weeks ago.”
“What does he think —?”
“Like I said, nothing. He’s as surprised as we are.”
“I’m not surprised, Jason,” Sheri snapped back. Her colour was rising and her jaw was set. Amanda had seen that look before, when militia diverted some supplies needed for the local villagers. Sheri had berated them like an outraged schoolmarm. “I’ve seen this coming. I just didn’t …” Her voice shook. “Well, you know.”
“This isn’t your fault, Sheri.” He walked over and stood by her. Close and protective, yet dominant as well. Sensing a mixed message of support and warning, Amanda’s intuition stirred.
Sheri stepped away from him. “What is Chris planning to do?”
Jason shrugged. “Tymko marches to his own drum. If he has any ideas, he didn’t tell me, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a hunch. He might head off on his own private search.”
“Then he’s taking this seriously?”
Jason smiled. “Well, I guess there’s not much action out his way. We’ll find them, Sheri. One way or another, the whole island has their eyes peeled.”
“Thank you, Jason. Corporal Maloney.” Sheri headed for the front door, her face rigidly polite. For a moment Jason hovered on the threshold, his gaze lingering on hers, before with a quick nod, he was gone. Sheri stood in the open doorway, gazing out into the violet dusk.
“So,” Amanda said, “does Phil know?”
Sheri pressed her lips tight. Every ounce of her quivered for calm. Amanda had expected surprise, bewilderment, or denial, but after a long minute of tense silence, Sheri shook her head. “Not about Jason. Just that there was someone.”
“One of his friends. That would be a blow.”
Sheri slammed the front door. “That’s why I didn’t tell him! How cruel do you think I am?”
“I don’t think you’re cruel, Sheri. But husbands can sense these things. Even I sensed it after less than half an hour!”
“I lied. I told him it was someone I met at a teacher’s conference in St. John’s.”
“But does Tyler know? Did he ever witness anything?”
“Around him, we were always just friends — Jason and his son, and me and Tyler. The boys brought us together, in fact. There was never anything for anyone to see.”
I wouldn’t count on it, Amanda thought. Small town, handsome local cop, vulnerable mother … denial would be no match for such a luscious brew. She suspected this Chris Tymko might be way ahead of any of them.
Two hours later, pink and languid from a hot bath, Amanda curled up beneath the handmade country quilt and stuffed a couple of pink ruffled pillows behind her back. The outrageous extravagance of the Victorian B&B was well beyond her camping budget, but after three days straddling Shadow, and facing the prospect of sleeping on a two-inch strip of foam in a tent, she decided to toss her budget out the window.
After Jason left, Amanda had picked up fish and chips for them from the local diner, and although Sheri had extended an offer of lodgings for the night, Amanda sensed her reluctance and declined. She had her own plans for the night. Tucked into her backpack were Phil’s laptop and cellphone, neither of which Jason Maloney, as the cop on the case, had asked to see. All through the desultory dinner, during which Sheri kept one eye on the phone and the other on Tyler’s empty kitchen chair, the devices had beckoned to her. Now, propped on the bed with Kaylee happily stretched out on the crocheted throw at her feet, she was finally free to open Phil’s computer.
As the computer came to life, the cursor blinked stubbornly in the password box. Amanda tried the usual suspects — Password, his son’s name, his wife’s name, even her own — before typing in Nigeria. Nothing. Passwords were supposed to be memorable and unique. What could be more so than Nigeria? She cast about, mystified. Typed in the name of the village, and finally Alaji, the name of the boy who had died in his arms that last night.
Bingo. An array of icons opened up before her. She clicked on his email account and watched the messages flash across the screen as they downloaded. Dozens of emails from charities and businesses, Facebook and Twitter updates, the usual clutter of banal correspondence from cyberspace. She scrolled through the trivia in search of gems. There were emails from herself, of course, and from the RCMP cop Chris Tymko, whom Jason had spoken to. None of the messages in the past two days had been answered, or even opened.
Among the emails were replies from several campgrounds and one boat tour, but these were over a week old. She spread out her map on the quilt beside her to check locations. Phil had apparently been exploring options as far away as the Avalon Peninsula to the east and the Great Northern Peninsula to the west. No bookings had been yet made, but at least as of a week ago, Phil had still been planning their camping trip.
Frustrated, she checked his Internet search history and was surprised to discover it had been cleared. She knew people who cleared their search history every hour, but they were paranoid people living in dangerous places, exploring information that could get them killed. Had Phil brought his paranoia home with him, which was entirely possible, or had he wanted to erase his trail for a reason?
She knew that cyber detectives could still find the footprints he was trying to erase, but she had no such skill. Her vision blurred with fatigue and her eyelids threatened to close. Pouring herself another glass of wine, she set aside the laptop in favour of Phil’s cellphone.
This time the password was easy to crack — the same boy, who even after a year obviously loomed larger in Phil’s thoughts than his own family. Phil had never talked about him. He had simply thrust his body aside and raced to the children who were still waiting. Cowering. Hoping. It had been a long night.
The cellphone was synced to the laptop, so she ignored the emails and went directly to the history of his phone calls. Besides the calls and texts from herself and from Sheri, three texts stood out. Two received, one sent. All dated three days ago, just before she’d stopped hearing from him.
All to or from Jason Maloney.
She read the first, which was an invitation from Jason to get together for a beer. The next was from Phil asking when and where. The third named the place, a bar that Amanda remembered passing on the way into Grand Falls. Seven
