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school today. So I . . . got worried, of course.’
    Detective Mathis turned back to Caitlin. ‘All right. I need to know exactly what happened. You drove him here today?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Where was his father?’
    ‘He . . . Noah . . . is an attorney. He had court this morning.’
    ‘So you drove him from your home directly to school?’
    ‘Yes. I mean, no. We stopped . . . along the way . . .’
    ‘Stopped for what?’
    ‘To pet some horses. He likes to do that. Then we came to the school.’
    ‘And you took him inside?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You physically took him in. By the hand?’
    ‘Well, no. I mean, he was excited about the festival. But I saw him go in. He ran ahead. But I watched him go inside.’
    ‘You didn’t go with him?’
    ‘I was behind him. Just a little bit behind him,’ said Caitlin.
    Detective Mathis had cool, gray eyes which were unreadable. ‘This front door here?’ he asked.
    ‘No,’ Caitlin admitted, her face flaming. ‘There’s a door down by the auditorium that was open this morning, for the Fall Festival. People were going in to look at the projects.
    ‘What is that?’ Detective Mathis demanded of Mrs Hunt.
    ‘Well, we have it every year,’ said Mrs Hunt. ‘The kids do autumn-related projects, and it’s all set up in the auditorium. The families can come in and look at them before school. Everything’s set up in there.’
    ‘You went in to look at the projects?’ he asked Caitlin.
    ‘Yes,’ she said.
    ‘Did you see anyone else as he went in? Did anyone pass him coming out?’
    ‘There were lots of people,’ said Caitlin miserably. ‘Coming and going.’
    Detective Mathis looked at the principal.
    ‘I’m afraid that’s true,’ Mrs Hunt agreed.
    ‘Anyone you recognized?’
    Caitlin thought for a second. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes. His aunt. She was there to see her son’s project. He goes to the school.’
    ‘I’ll need those names,’ said Detective Mathis.
    ‘Naomi. Naomi Pelletier. And Travis.’
    ‘Who else?’
    Caitlin grimaced. ‘I talked to his teacher. Mr Needleman.’
    While she was talking to the detective, Caitlin saw the front door open. Noah stood in the doorway, stopped cold by the sight of all those police uniforms.
    ‘That’s my husband,’ she said. ‘Can I . . .’
    ‘Stay right here,’ said the detective.
    Noah saw her in the office and rushed in. ‘What’s going on?’ he cried. ‘Where is Geordie?’
    Caitlin burst into tears. ‘I don’t know. They can’t find him.’
    Noah steepled his hands over his nose and mouth as if to muffle a scream.
    Detective Mathis gazed at Noah, recognition dawning in his eyes. ‘You’re the boy’s father?’ he asked.
    Noah lowered his hands. He nodded.
    ‘We’ve met before. I . . . my team investigated the hit-and-run when your wife was killed.’
    ‘I remember,’ said Noah with a trace of bitterness. ‘You never got the guy.’
    ‘I’m sorry to be meeting you again under these circumstances,’ said Detective Mathis.
    Noah’s face was cold and white, like marble. ‘Where is my son?’ he asked.
    ‘That’s what we’re trying to determine,’ said Detective Mathis brusquely. ‘Does Geordie have a cell phone?’
    Noah shook his head. ‘No, he’s only six.’
    ‘Lots of kids that age have cell phones,’ said Detective Mathis.
    ‘Well, not Geordie,’ said Noah.
    Detective Mathis nodded. ‘When was the last time you saw your son?’
    ‘This morning. At breakfast. He . . .’ Noah pressed his lips together.
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘He complained he didn’t feel well. He wanted to stay home. I had to be in court,’ he said apologetically.
    Detective Mathis looked thoughtful. ‘Is there anyone he might go to if he wasn’t feeling well and decided to leave school?’
    Noah shook his head. ‘I don’t know. My mother. My in-laws,’ Noah said miserably. ‘His grandparents. He would have had to ask someone to call them. Another kid, maybe. He knows their phone numbers