After the Call (Norman's POV)
Norman resisted the urge to immediately call back or send more messages. He had already pushed too hard by demanding answers.
And he needed to compose himself.
How did Harry have this number?
Norman opened his contact list.
Jameson and Menken were the starred contacts at the top of the list. He half considered calling Jameson right now.
He scrolled down the list of names. Someone in the list was involved. Either they had taken Harry or they conspired with the stranger on the phone.
What motives could they have for faking it? Aside from their own sick amusement. They might be trying to create a distraction or throw him off balance. They may be planning to take advantage of his emotional distress. This could be a set-up, they're just laying the groundwork for a larger con.
Norman needed to clear his head. He wasn't thinking rationally. While he was on the phone, talking to that boy, he felt wholly convinced that this was Harry, his Harry.
But Norman didn't want to believe that his son would ever give up on coming home. Harry would never abandon him.
Norman needed to clear his head.
He hit the gym.
He broke his punching bag.
He opened his schedule and canceled all non-essential appointments for the rest of the week.
Norman went back to his contact list again and chose the only one he could trust 100%.
“Jonah.”
“Norman?” Jameson's voice was gruff and confused, sounding like he just woke up, but Norman could hear a tv on in the background for a few seconds before it clicked off. “Norman, it's the middle of the night...” Jameson was more concerned than annoyed. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing newsworthy.”
“Then can it wait for... oh, at least another four hours?”
“It's about Harry.”
Jameson was simultaneously more awake and even more tired when he asked, “should I put the coffee on?”
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.”
“I shouldn't be sleeping on the couch. Wouldn't have had my phone on me if I'd gone to bed.” This was a courtesy. Normally Jameson was the type to get straight to the point, but he was giving Norman time and space to get comfortable. It was never easy for Norman to talk about his son, even before the boy went missing, and that increased a hundredfold when he was gone.
But the courtesy couldn't last forever. “Is there new information?”
“Possibly. Maybe a new lead.”
“Do you want me to put one of my guys on it? Or I can knock down the doors of all the agencies. Release the hounds.”
“I've already called one of my guys. I don't know if it's him. I think someone might be trying to play me.”
“Do you know what they might be after?”
“Not yet. He didn't ask for money. He doesn't even want to meet with me.”
Jameson found that puzzling. “Then what does he want?”
“I don't know,” Norman's angst bled into his voice. “I'm half tempted to send you a copy of the conversation, just to see if you can make sense of it.”
“But you didn't call in the middle of the night just to tell me that you don't need my help.”
“No. That's not why I called.” But Norman wasn't ready to admit that he called just to hear comforting words from a friend. He didn't want to be alone, and it didn't feel right to go sit in Harry's room.
Since Norman had gone quiet, Jameson took it upon himself to continue the conversation. “This potential lead... do you know what it's leading to?” Jameson was being kind by leaving the real question unspoken. Was it leading towards a corpse?
“He's alive,” Norman said, “or at least he claims to be.”
“He claims to be? Harry reached out? Not an intermediary? It was really him , not the kidnapper or an informant?”
“I don't know if it was really him or just someone claiming to be him. I need proof, but he refused.”
“How did he reach out?”
“He called me. He called my private, unlisted phone number. When I asked how he got that number, he panicked and hung up.”
“Well, that's suspicious.”
“Do you know anyone in our social circle that would do this?”
“Any that would kidnap Harry or any that would hire someone to impersonate him?”
“Either or both.”
“If you want me to run down the list of names right now, then I will need coffee.”
“No, I'm sorry. It can wait until you've had some sleep.”
“Fat chance of that happening,” Jameson huffed as he headed for his kitchen. "How are you holding up? Have you gotten any sleep?"
“No,” Norman said, “He called and left a message at 7, I didn't check my messages until 10 and I've been a mess ever since.” He paused. “If you're awake anyhow, then I think I will forward the messages. Just. Don't share them with anyone.”
The only message Norman couldn't forward was the one he'd left on Harry's voicemail. He recorded the entirety of their phone call.
Jameson took an hour to digest all of it, along with a mug of coffee and a day-old pastry. Then he called Norman back.