Instead, I walked through the back door hoping the police were parked out front for any reason other than the one I feared. Maybe they’d found out I had played hooky from school.

“I’m home,” I said as I entered. I headed straight for the darkened corridor that led to my bedroom.

“Eric,” my mother called from the living room.

I stopped. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it.

“Come here, please.”

My father sat in his La-Z-Boy and my mother sat next to him in a chair she’d pulled in from the kitchen. Two police officers sat across from them on the couch. Everyone was looking at me.

One of the officers was young and tall with yellow hair, the other older, balding, rotund, and as short as my mother. Their guns and holsters looked remarkably out of place in our living room. My father looked angry and my mother just looked tense.

“Yes?” I tried to keep my voice from cracking.

The older officer spoke first. “Eric, I’m Officer Steele of the Salt Lake County Sheriff’s Office and this is Officer Buttars. Do you know this young woman?” He lifted a copy of the poster of Grace I had seen at the Queen and a dozen other places.

My throat suddenly felt impossibly dry. I swallowed.

“Eric,” my father prodded. “Answer them.”

“Sure. Everyone does. She’s the girl from my school.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“No.” I looked past them to a family portrait on the wall.

“We’ve been told by a witness that you’ve been seen with her,” the young policeman said.

“Who told you that?” I asked.

“That’s not important.”

How was that not important? “I don’t know where she is,” I said.

“Have you seen her in the last week?” he asked.

I shouted, “I said I don’t know!”

My explosion caught everyone off guard including myself. No one spoke for a moment. Then Officer Steele said, “Young man, this is a very serious matter. Taking someone against their will is kidnapping. It’s a crime that carries a long prison term.”

“I didn’t kidnap her.”

“Eric,” my mother said. “Where is Madeline?”

I glanced between them, feeling as transparent as Scotch tape. I was bad at this. I could tell that they knew that I knew. Dread grew heavy in my stomach like a cannon ball. I wanted to go to bed. “Can I go now?”

“Eric,” my mother repeated firmly, “do you know where Madeline Webb is?”

After a few minutes I took a deep breath then slowly exhaled. “I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” the young policeman said.

My mother said gently, “Eric. If you know where she is you need to tell us.”

“I can’t.”

Officer Steele started, “Young man, if—”

My mother interrupted him. Her voice was still calm. “Why can’t you tell us, Eric?”