Page 91 of Callow

“Do you know someone at the police station I can talk to?”

“Of course,” Callow agreed.

“But… what if she comes home?” I asked, looking back to the ladder.

“I can have someone come wait here,” he said, already reaching for his phone. “Sully? Since Daph knows him?”

“Okay,” I agreed. “I’m just going to go get shoes,” I said, walking on numb legs back to the bedroom.

My whole system felt foreign right then. Like I wasn’t quite inside of my body, just watching myself go through the process of leaving my apartment… to go report my child missing.

I was pretty sure my voice was robotic the whole time I was talking to the police, giving them as much information as I had.

“She has a pink cast on her arm,” Callow was present enough to remind me.

“Right. Yeah. The cast,” I said, nodding at the detective taking down my information.

I couldn’t say how long we were at the police station, but I was thankful to be back in my car afterward, even if we seemedno closer to getting any information about the whereabouts of my kid.

“We could—it’s Junior,” he cut himself off when his phone started ringing. “Give me some good news, Junior,” Callow demanded as he answered. “Okay. Alright. Yeah, thanks,” he said. “Keep me updated if you come across anything,” he said even as he reversed out of the parking spot fast enough for my hands to shoot out, despite having my seatbelt on.

“Did he find her?”

“He found Tammy’s address,” Callow clarified. “Let’s hope Daph just went to hang out and the two of them passed out and lost track of time,” he said, but he had a lead foot the whole ride out of Navesink Bank to the apartment building that Tammy called home.

It was a decent enough place that didn’t immediately set me on edge as we drove through the never-ending parking lot, trying to find the right number amongst all the identical buildings.

By the time we made it to Tammy’s door, it was a reasonable enough hour in the morning. But the way I slammed my fist into her door wasn’t reasonable for any hour of the day. I half expected her neighbors to call the cops before, finally, the door slid open.

And there was Tammy.

A sleep mask was pushed up on her head, making her hair puff up at the top. She stared at us with bloodshot eyes for a long second before she seemed to place us.

“Hey, handsome,” she said, laying it on thick as her gaze slid over Callow.

I wasn’t sure what pissed me off more. That she had my underage daughter out all night, or that she was eye-banging my man.

“Where is Daphne?” I demanded as I stepped in front of Callow.

“Daphne?”

“Yeah. Black hair, hazel eyes, pink cast on her arm. Where the fuck is my daughter? Daphne?” I yelled, shouldering past Tammy and rushing into her apartment.

I ignored all of themanyvideo cameras set up just about everywhere—facing the living room couch, in the kitchen, facing the bed in Tammy’s surprisingly neat bedroom, and, yes, even in the bathroom—as I stormed through the space trying to find my daughter.

“She’s not here,” Tammy said, following me into her spare bedroom that was, essentially, a big closet for all of her clothes.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” I snarled, turning on her so fast that she went back a step.

“Shewas,” Tammy said, holding up her hands. “But she’s not now.”

“When was she here?”

“Last night for a few hours. She helped me dye my hair,” she said, gesturing toward it.

“Where is shenowthen?”

“Home? I dropped her off outside the building at, like, I don’t know… four, four-thirty?”

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