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CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

THE GOFFMANS

Alice sits beneath the beautiful painted ceiling of the campus church, staring up at the statue of St. Clare of Assisi, flanked on either side by Mary and Joseph. Services ended hours ago and she’s the only one in the small mission.

She prays for her Felix to return safely. For all the kids to come home.

She hasn’t been able to sleep.

She needs to talk to a priest. Needs guidance.

Needs to confess.

A smartly dressed young man appears in the church. He wears dark-framed glasses, offers a compassionate smile.

She closes her eyes, continues to pray for Felix’s safe return, for a sign of what she’s supposed to do.

“Ms. Goffman?”

Her eyes pop open, surprised.

The man with the glasses is sitting in one of the creaky wooden chairs near her.

“I’m Shay Zable. I’m with the San Francisco Daily .”

“I’m sorry, I have no comment.” There’s been a throng of reporters outside her apartment building. Knocking on her door. Calling her cell phone. A woman who said she hosts a podcast also stopped Alice on the street. The CSS has tried to keep them all away from campus at least, set up a designated area for the press, warned that trespassers would be prosecuted. But apparently the warning wasn’t enough for this young journalist.

“I understand your reluctance to talk to the press,” he says. “But this is your opportunity to set things straight. Rumors are flying. I don’t know if you use social media, but there’s a lot of speculation and allegations about your son.”

Alice feels tears welling. She didn’t think she had any left.

“And I’m sorry to approach you here.” He looks around the church. “Honestly, I didn’t want to. My boss… It’s my first real job after graduating. My mom worked hard to put me through school. It was just the two of us and I need to do well.”

Alice is sympathetic, but the police have advised the parents not to speak to reporters or internet people, explained that it can end up hurting an investigation more than helping.

“My story isn’t going to be about the disappearances,” he continues, still trying to convince her. “Directly, anyway. It’s about the misinformation. How social-media sleuths are impeding the investigation. For instance, there are rumors Felix was stalking one of the missing students. That maybe he—”

“Felix would never. They’re his friends.”

“That’s exactly the kind of thing I would report. Set the record straight.”

Alice feels her panic returning, like she can’t get enough air.

“There are rumors that he had problems in high school. That he was bullied.”

She’s definitely not out of tears because more start pouring now. “He’s always been a sweet boy, and the universe isn’t always kind to sweet boys.”

“Do you think he did something? That maybe the others knew, so he had to…”

“Never,” Alice says. But her mind flashes to the sweatshirt. Covered in red. “He’s never hurt anyone. When he was a little boy he’d carry bugs outside rather than kill them.”

“They’re saying he’s responsible. You can clear things up, tell them about the real Felix.”

“I’m sorry…” She squeezes her eyes shut, hopes when she opens them the reporter will be gone. That she’ll get a sign on what she should do.

“Listen,” the reporter says, his tone not so friendly now. “If you don’t talk to me. I’m gonna have to report that your son is a murderer.”

Alice’s chest shudders, she keeps her eyes closed. She begins to hyperventilate.

And then she receives the sign she’s been looking for. A woman’s voice:

“And I’ll have to report that you’re an unethical journalist committing libel.”

Alice opens her eyes. It’s the FBI agent, and she’s thrust her badge in the reporter’s face.

“Not to mention obstructing a federal investigation.”

The reporter swallows hard and scurries out.

Alice now knows what she has to do.