Time of Death

Louis Parry was last seen at 4.30 p.m.

on June 20th, 1981

on Main Street in Catskill, New York.

He was 10 years old, 4' 5'' and dressed in red shorts and a yellow T-shirt.

If you have any information regarding this case,please contact

New York State Crimestoppers …

The card featured in hundreds of cold-case decks that had been handed out three weeks earlier in Rikers Island in New York, in the hope that an inmate would recognize a victim, see something or hear something during a game of cards and call the confidential number.

During a game of cards.

Her cell phone rang.

She hit Answer. ‘Hi, Mom.’ There was silence at the other end. ‘Mom?’

Ren got up and went into the hallway. She pressed the phone to her ear. She heard a huge intake of breath and a desperate sob. ‘Oh, Ren. The police were just here. They’ve torn the house apart. It’s your brother, it’s—’

‘What? Matt?’

‘Beau,’ said her mom. ‘Beau.’

Ren’s stomach heaved. ‘Whoa, what? Beau? What the—’

‘It’s about Louis Parry. They think Beau had something to do with Louis Parry going missing.’

‘What? What are they talking about? Why?’

‘They mentioned something about cards being sent out to prisons – I didn’t understand any of that. All I know is that someone called some number—’

‘Mom, Mom,’ said Ren. ‘Calm down, OK? This is a mistake, that’s all. A very big mistake. The cards are cold-case playing cards. They’re handed out in prisons, to jog inmates’ memories while they’re playing poker or blackjack or whatever. The hope is that they might have heard someone talk about having committed one of the crimes. Then they can call Crimestoppers with the tip. All kinds of crazy people call Crimestoppers. For all kinds of reasons. A lot of times, the cops just have to follow up as a formality—’

‘You weren’t here. You haven’t seen what they’ve done. They are convinced Beau was involved. It’s like tearing his room apart was a formality.’

‘God, Mom. Beau didn’t do anything. We all know that.’

‘But Beau is dead, Ren. He’s dead. And I’m afraid they’re going to blame this on him for closure—’

‘They cannot do that,’ said Ren. ‘They need proof. And they will never find proof. They cannot find something that does not exist.’

‘I’m sick, Ren. I am physically sick. People are walking by … standing across the street. And what about the Parrys? What are they going to think? After all this time? Your father, your brothers and I were out looking for Louis—’

‘Mom, calm down or you will have a heart attack. The Parrys are good people—’

‘The Parrys are desperate people. These cards – whatever they are – are their last hope. Maybe a part of them wants to give up. Wants to take whatever means they can sleep at night.’

‘The Parrys are good people,’ Ren said again. ‘They really are. They wouldn’t—’

Her mother dropped the phone. Ren could hear it bounce across the floor.

‘Mom? Are you OK?’

‘I’m sorry. My hands are shaking. I’m a wreck …’

‘Where is Dad?’

‘At the gym.’

Ren rolled her eyes. ‘Did you call him?’

‘I got voicemail.’

‘Call someone, Mom, and get them to come over.’

Her mother let out a breath. ‘Is there anything you can do?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Ren. ‘You bet there is.’

Ren put the phone down. She could not move. She had reached a sub-setting of numb. For now, her mind was incapable of getting any further than Beau.

11 (#ulink_ab0ce38e-b496-5a36-9fe3-08b52aaf28ed)

Ren breathed deeply until she was calm enough to speak.

‘Robbie, could you do me a favor, please?’ she said. ‘Would you mind asking Summit County to send over the files on that Gavino Val Pando bar raid?’

‘Sure, no problem.’

She Googled the number for the Catskill Police Department and punched it into her phone as she got up from her desk. The receptionist came on the line as Ren was shutting herself into the conference room.

‘My name is Ren Bryce. I’m with the FBI. Could I speak with the lieutenant please?’ Ren sat down in the far corner of the room.

‘Putting you through to Lieutenant Stroud …’

Whoa. ‘I’m sorry – which Stroud?’ said Ren.

‘That would be Lieutenant Daryl Stroud, ma’am.’

Ren hung up.

Daryl Stroud. This cannot be the person I have to deal with here. Daryl Stroud had witnessed Ren’s first full-blown manic meltdown. He was the low she rode out of Catskill on. Ren had been nineteen years old when she raised her hand to Daryl Stroud – her boyfriend of one year – to slap him across the face for a reason she could never recall. He would have taken the slap, but he grabbed her wrist when he saw that Ren had turned the stone in her ring into her palm to increase the impact. As she stormed off, she had turned to throw a can of beer at him. It landed at his feet, burst open and sprayed all over him. Ren had hitched her way home and as the hours passed and the alcohol started to drain from her system, she began calling Daryl’s house, weeping, ready to beg forgiveness. It was his mother who answered, so Ren had hung up. She then walked to his house and threw stones at his window. He wasn’t home. When he did show up an hour later, Ren roared at him that he had cheated on her, which he hadn’t, and told him he was an asshole. His parents came out and his dad took Ren on a wordless journey home. Daryl and Ren got back together the next day after tears and vows of eternal love. A month later, Ren had kissed his best friend, the biggest asshole in town … while Daryl Stroud remained the sweetest, most genuine, loyal and honest guy you could meet.

She picked up the phone and dialed again.

The receptionist had already given Ren’s name and patched her straight through.