The Drowning Child. Alex Barclay

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       13

      Teddy Veir shifted in her seat like a child at the principal’s office.

      ‘Teddy, did you monitor Caleb’s online activity?’ said Ren.

      ‘Yes,’ said Teddy.

      ‘And was he aware of the dangers of being online?’

      ‘We talked about it, yes,’ said Teddy. ‘Any time we brought it up, he made us feel stupid for thinking he would ever fall for any kind of weirdo who would try to meet up with him. Caleb knows that people aren’t necessarily who they say they are online.’

       Oh, how many times I’ve seen that change when the right fake messages or the right fake photographs are sent.

      ‘Did you find something?’ said Teddy.

      ‘There were no interactions with anyone that we feel have a bearing on the case,’ said Ren. ‘So, to go through a few more things … he was also looking at pornography.’

      Teddy’s face fell. ‘Oh, God. He’s only a baby.’

      ‘It certainly wasn’t at worrying levels, and it was nothing extreme,’ said Ren. Like that will reassure you. ‘But I have to ask if he had a girlfriend or if there were girls around at the house or if you got any sense that this was more than just …’ I can’t say the word fantasy about a twelve-year-old boy.

      ‘He didn’t have a girlfriend,’ said Teddy. ‘He was kind of awkward around girls. He just wasn’t advanced in that way. Not at all.’

      ‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘Have you noticed anything missing of Caleb’s? Any bag or clothing or something he was particularly fond of, something he didn’t usually leave behind?’

      ‘Apart from his phone?’ said Teddy. ‘The only other thing – which I don’t think is very meaningful, especially because I haven’t seen it in a while, anyway – is a suitcase. Well, it’s kind of a tin box – an old military one that John got for him – it’s green and battered, with a brown leather handle. It’s about twice the size of a shoebox. He used to keep it on the floor under the window, but then he moved it into the wardrobe, put it on the shelf at the top. But I can’t really imagine him bringing it anywhere …’

       Unless he was running away.

      ‘Do you know what he kept in it?’ said Ren.

      ‘No,’ said Teddy. ‘His comic books, I figured. I don’t know.’

      ‘Can you remember the last time you looked in the wardrobe?’ said Ren.

      ‘No – Caleb tidied away his own clothes.’

      ‘So that suitcase could have been gone for some time,’ said Ren.

      ‘Yes,’ said Teddy.

       Could he have fought with his father, packed this suitcase and left, unwittingly drawing attention to himself: some creep driving by sees a kid on his own, maybe running away, maybe crying, carrying a suitcase? Vulnerable.

      ‘Does Caleb keep a diary?’ said Ren.

      ‘No,’ said Teddy. ‘He has no interest in anything like that. He’s like his father – might read a sports story or two, but won’t pick up a book, or write a word he isn’t forced to.’

      ‘If Caleb was in trouble,’ said Ren, ‘who do you think he might call?’

      ‘Well – me,’ said Teddy.

      ‘And what about his Aunt Alice?’ said Ren.

      Teddy frowned. ‘You mean, would he call her if he had a problem? Gosh, I wouldn’t think so. I mean, she’s family, and she’s always perfectly lovely to him, remembers his birthday, all those kind of things, but …’ She trailed off. ‘Was he in trouble? Do you know something? Why are you asking about Alice?’

      ‘Caleb called her on Monday morning at seven thirty a.m.,’ said Ren. ‘She was the last call he made on the morning he disappeared.’

      ‘We see Alice two or three times a year,’ said Teddy. ‘Caleb’s maybe been on the phone to say hello to her once or twice, but that’s about it.’

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