Last Seen. Rick Mofina

      “How can you be sure?”

      “He goes on chat forums, but he only talks to people he knows. Gage is very responsible, and we’ve got controls on his computer games—we monitor things. He doesn’t even have his own phone.”

      “Could he have wandered off?”

      “It’s not like him. He’s a smart kid—he’s responsible.”

      “Has he ever run off before?”

      “No.”

      “Could he have been threatened, or bullied?”

      “Not that we know of.”

      “Is there a reward?”

      “We haven’t reached that stage yet.”

      “Isn’t he a little young for that attraction? Maybe he got frightened and ran off?”

      “Maybe, but not likely. Gage wanted to come to the fair. He wanted to go into the Chambers of Dread as part of a harmless dare with his friends, to prove he wasn’t afraid. And he wasn’t. In fact, he’d refused to let his mother hold his hand.”

      Cal noticed Officers Berg and Ripkowski were among people at the periphery of the news pack to observe the conference. Ripkowski was on his phone feeding information to someone on the other end.

      Standing with them was a black man, over six feet tall, wearing dark glasses, a jacket and matching slacks. Next to him was a white woman, in her late thirties, wearing a blazer and jeans. The woman’s arms were crossed but she held an open notebook and pen, paused from writing things down. Her dark hair was pulled back in a taut ponytail. Her eyes were like black pearls locked on Cal and Faith, examining them, as the press continued with questions.

      “Cal, most of us know that you’re a reporter with the Chicago Star-News. Mrs. Hudson, do you work outside the home?”

      Faith shot a glance to Cal, who nodded.

      “I’m a public relations manager,” she responded.

      “Who do you work for?”

      “Parker Hayes and Robinson in downtown Chicago, the Sears—I mean, Willis—Tower.”

      “Cal, back to you—given that you’re a crime reporter, could your son’s disappearance have any possible link to one of your stories?”

      “What? Like someone out to get me?”

      “Yes.”

      “I think that’s a huge leap.”

      “Thank you.” DeSanto held up his palms. “One more, then we’ll wrap it up.” He pointed to Lori Kowski, from Cal’s paper, the Chicago Star-News. “Go ahead, last question.”

      Cal saw Franco Ginnetti clench his eye behind his camera, taking aim at him and Faith. Lori and Franco knew them. He’d worked with both of them, and Faith had met them at several Star-News social gatherings. Gage had played with their kids at the paper’s Christmas party. The moment was unreal as Cal braced for Lori’s question.

      “Faith,” Lori started as Franco fired off a few frames. “As a mother I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now and my heart goes out to you. Is there anything you want to say to your son, or people who’ll be following this story?”

      Faith brushed back the hair that had curtained in front of her face.

      “We just want to find Gage. Please, if anyone has any information, no matter how seemingly trivial, please help us. Gage, always remember Mommy loves you. You have to be strong and remember that no matter what happens I love you, sweetheart, and we’re going to find you!”

      Faith brushed back her hair again, scanning the media group and the people who’d gathered at the edges.

      That’s when she saw him.

      He was wearing a ball cap pulled down low, but Faith would recognize him anywhere. What was he doing here? What if Cal saw him?

      Subtly she made brief, intense eye contact, giving him a nearly imperceptible shake of her head, as if to say, Leave—now.

       8

      Faith stared at a glass bead rosary on a silver chain.

      Her friend, Pam Huppkey, had pressed it into her hand when the news conference ended. Pam was active at Saint Bartholomew’s where her son, Colton, went to school with Gage and their other friends.

      “I called Phyllis with the school association at Saint Bart’s.” Pam blinked back tears. “They’re making up color fliers with Gage’s picture and putting a group together to go door-to-door around the park right now.” Pam hugged her with a tiny clinking sound. Pam was partial to hoop earrings and bracelets. “We’re going to find him. Okay?”

      Faith nodded, still staring at the rosary’s Madonna and Child while running her fingertips over the crucifix. “Thank you, Pam.”

      Michelle Thompson, Faith’s ever-poised Realtor friend and Marshall’s mom, hugged her. She gestured to her husband, Jack, the other half of “the Terrific Thompson Realty Team,” according to the ads on many of River Ridge’s bus stop benches. He was several yards away talking with Cal and making calls on his phone.

      “Jack’s getting the community association and ball team parents involved in the search. We’re here for you, honey. We’ve got your back. We’re gonna find him.” Michelle glanced at the newspeople lingering near the exit chutes. “Come on, let’s talk over there.”

      Faith’s friends took her away from the press to a quiet corner under the search center canopies where they continued comforting her.

      “Tell us, what do you think happened?” Michelle asked.

      “I don’t know, I swear I just don’t know. We were in the spinner part, the last section. Gage was with us. There was loud music, flashing lights. The floor spins in a circle and this guy with a chain saw is chasing you. It’s chaotic and confusing. I glimpsed Gage with Cal before I got on a slide to leave. Oh God, where is he?”

      “He just can’t disappear like that.” Michelle threw a look toward the chutes, then to Cal in the distance. Faith and Pam followed it to see Cal with Michelle’s husband. Now the men were talking to police and security staff.

      For her part, Pam looked long and hard at Cal, bit her bottom lip, then took quick inventory of their immediate area. She drew in close to the other women, dropped her voice.

      “I thought I saw someone, but I’m—” Pam stopped, as if catching herself thinking out loud. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure.”

      “What are you talking about?” Faith stared at her.

      “I thought I saw someone in the crowd at the press conference.”

      “Who?” Faith shot at her. “Someone from where? From what?”

      Pam caught her breath and swallowed hard, shaking her head.

      “I’m sorry, I’m not sure.”

      “Who do you think you saw?”

      “I’m confused.”

      “For God’s sake, Pam!” Faith chastised her. “If you saw something important, it could be a lead! So march over there and tell the damn police who or what you think you saw right now.”

      Pam waved her hands in front of her. “No, no, I’m sorry! I’m confused! I didn’t see anything!”

      “So you didn’t see anyone?”

      “I didn’t. I’m so sorry.”

      “It was either real, or it wasn’t, Pam—one or the other.”

      “It