Darkness peering (37 page)

"Working," he said. "I'm a carpenter who lives on Carpenter Street."
He snorted laughter, then dissolved back into his watery grief. "I was
doing some work for the Pooles. You know the Pooles of Hanover Road?
They're renovating their kitchen."

She set her notebook down. "Do you know who might have done this to
your son? Who might have wished him harm?"

His eyes welled with a magisterial sadness as he plucked several
tissues out of the box and pressed them to the sweaty veins of his
temples. "No, I don't. Everybody loved that kid. He's as good as
they come."

"Do you think--"

"You wanna know what I think? You really wanna know what I think?" He
glared at her. "I think there's a serial killer loose, that's what I
think."

"We don't know that for sure," she said calmly, carefully.

"Yes you do." He pointed a large soggy index finger at her. "You
know. We've got a serial killer in Flowering Dogwood and he's killing
innocent kids."

"Mr. Tedesco ... Roger ..."

"And if you goddamn cops were out there doing your job, you and me
wouldn't be sitting here talking right now. I told his mother not to
let him stay out all hours of the night, but she's so goddamn lenient.
Everybody's too goddamn lenient nowadays. Everybody acts like life's
just one big bowl of Jell-O. Well, I've got news for you, baby. I've
got news for you. This world ain't one stitch safer than it was a
thousand years ago when people were getting gobbled up like pretzels by
great big hairy things."

The living room was drafty, warmth from the heater dissipating almost
instantly into the chilly night air. Rachel drew her coat, now draped
over her chair seat, back around her shoulders. It was raining again.
Rain spattered the rattling windowpanes.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Tedesco," she said as sincerely as she
could, "but trust me, down at the station, we've been working
sixteen-hour days. Support staff, detectives, state police. There's a
task force working around the clock. There's a $20,000 reward. There's
a twenty-four-hour hotline. We've scoured the neighborhoods,
interviewed friends, acquaintances, known criminals. We've eliminated
all of them, either through polygraph examinations or alibis. None of
us sleeps, none of us eats. Trust me, we did everything we could to
find your son, and we feel terrible that we failed. We take it to
heart, Mr. Tedesco. So please don't tell me we aren't doing our
job."

He watched her a dull beat, eyes mellowing. "You know," he said, "I
appreciate that, Officer."

"It's okay."

"I really do. I appreciate that. You know, it gets pretty isolated in
these parts. I could count my nearest neighbors on one finger. Nobody
drops by. Dinger used to drop by." His voice broke off and his jaw
muscles stiffened. "I always suspected there was something darker
going on in this town. Something evil. You know what I'm talking
about, Officer?"

"Not exactly."

"Drug activity. Marijuana, methamphetamine labs. Stuff like that."

She sat forward. "Did Dinger take drugs?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Just maybe."

"Have you come across any drugs in his possession?"

"I smelled marijuana on him a coupla times."

"Do you think this crime might be drug-related?"

"Hell, yeah." He ran his fingers through his peppery gray hair. "Hell,
yeah. Drugs. It's definitely drug-related."

She decided to approach it from a different angle. "Did he have any
enemies, Mr. Tedesco?"

His voice was indignant. "Dinger have enemies?"

"Well, did he?"

He snorted laughter. "Enemies? Who the hell has enemies besides
politicians and gang-bangers?"

"If he was smoking marijuana, he must have bought it from someone.
Drug dealers make fearsome enemies ..."

"Absolutely not. No enemies. Dinger was a good kid. He was a bright
kid. You see his smile?" He showed her the picture clenched in his
fist, a Polaroid in a cheap plastic frame. "This kid was going places.
He was on a straight trajectory. He's my pride and joy, this kid."
His shoulders heaved, and he was sobbing again, massive arms and legs
shaking as he tried to shrug off his world-sized grief. She waited
until he'd composed himself.

"Did he ever mention a man named Fred Lake?"

"Fred who?"

"Lake."

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"What about Buck Folette?"

"Nope."

She hesitated. "Billy? Does he know any Billys?"

He squinted at her. "He just might know a Billy. I can't
recollect."

"Any kids he didn't get along with at school? A teacher he disliked? A
run-in with some adult? Did you and he fight?"

"What?" She could see his eye-whites. "Me and Dinger?"

"It's a standard question."

"Yeah, sure. Yeah, sure, we fought once in a while. What father
doesn't fight with his offspring once in a while?"

"None that I know of." She smiled. "What were the arguments about?"

"Oh, you know ... self-reliance."

"Excuse me?"

"Self-reliance. That's the biggest lesson a kid can learn. Taking on
responsibility. Becoming self-reliant. That's how a boy becomes a
man, I told him. I have this story." He wiped his nose with a fresh
wad of tissues. "It's about this blind guy, see. His name's Henry,
And Henry grew up in this small town way up the coast of Maine, near
Bar Harbor. And Henry was a gearhead. You know what a gearhead is?
He works on cars all the time. He knows cars front wards and
backwards. He eats, lives, breathes and shits motor oil, pardon my
language. And most strangers never suspected he was blind."

Outside, the wind picked up, shivering through the rafters.

"So one day, it's spring, see ... he goes into the woods to pick
blackberries. Deep into the woods. He knows where the best
blackberries are. But when he doesn't come home for supper, his folks
get kind of worried. So they report him missing, 'cause he's blind,
see.

"And the police go to find Henry, see, who they think is lost. And a
cop bumps into Henry in the woods. And Henry asks him, what's up? And
the cop tells him somebody's lost in the woods. So Henry offers to
help out. "What's this guy look like?" he asks. And the cop says,
"All I know is, he's blind." And suddenly, Henry realizes that he's
looking for himself." Roger squinted at her. "Now how do you suppose
a blind man finds his way through the woods?"

"I don't know," she said.

"He carves notches in trees."

Rachel was struck dumb by the story, blood pounding in her skull as she
recalled the three holes she'd found in the bark of the birch tree in
the woods where Claire Castillo had been found. Three indentations,
like the holes in a bowling ball, long overgrown. Notches carved into
the bark of a birch tree many years ago. Of course, she thought, of
course ... She knew who the UN SUB was.

RACHEL SPED OVER TO CLAIRE'S APARTMENT BUILDING AND

scaled three flights of stairs, since the elevators were broken.
Winded, heart thrumming in her ears, she unlocked the door of Apartment
402 and ducked under the yellow police tape.

The place was like a photograph, trapped in time, just the way Claire
had left it the morning of the day she disappeared. Rachel felt like
an intruder as she walked through room after room, flipping on lights.
Traces of fingerprint powder covered every surface, and her shoes
clacked on the hardwood floors, indecently loud.

All that remained of Claire in a physical sense--the vibrant mess
inside her apartment, the shimmering clutter of it-brought the victim
momentarily back to life. Books scattered across every surface
reflected her interest in art and architecture, theater and literary
fiction. Her coquettish, perhaps insecure side was revealed by the
number of Cosmos and Glamours scattered about. Bags of exotic pastas
alongside carefully selected bottles of wine were reminders of her
sophisticated culinary tastes. She was something of a paradox--sloppy
at home with her personal items, organized at school with teaching
schedules and grade books, her appointments and Day-Timer.

In the bedroom, Rachel flung open the closet door and whipped out the
dry cleaning bag with the white blouse inside. She tore off the
receipt and studied it. There it was. How could they have been so
shortsighted?

Hastily scribbled on the receipt was "One white linen blouse, one blue
silk blouse." The pickup date was Monday the 12th, the

Monday before Claire had disappeared. Rachel searched the closet for
a blue silk blouse. She pocketed the receipt and rummaged through
Claire's bureau drawers. She ducked in the bathroom, ransacked the
clothes hamper. There were no blue silk blouses anywhere inside the
apartment.

Claire had been wearing a pink silk blouse the night she disappeared.
The blue silk blouse was back at the dry cleaners.

Now Rachel's cell phone rang. "Hello?" she said, breathless with
discovery.

"Rachel? It's Phil." Phillip Reingold, the dispatcher down at the
station. "You just got a package. Hand-delivered."

"Be right there."

THE POLICE STATION WAS UNUSUALLY QUIET FOR THIS TIME OE

night. Rachel picked up the package and went upstairs to her office.
An enclosed note summarized what she was about to discover: "Dear
Detective Storrow, Please bear in mind that the enclosed spans my
entire 30-year career as an ER surgeon, and that most of the 16 charges
filed against me were dismissed by the tribunal. Only three reached
the settlement stage. I hope this proves useful to you. Sincerely,
Yale Castillo."

It was happening so fast, the puzzle pieces falling too conveniently
into place. She couldn't prevent her hands from shaking as she riffled
through the files, searching for his name: Vaughn Kellum. Born 1963.
One year older than Billy. She opened the file folder and a snapshot
of a young boy fell out, plaintive green eyes staring out of a sad
little face. She began to read:

FORMAL REPORT OF VAUGHN KELLUM

CAPTION: Vaughn Kellum vs. KCGH, Inc.

FILE NO: 33-288-000

LOSS DATE: April 3, 1971

1. CLAIMANT DATA
   

Vaughn Kellum was born on March 1, 1963. His mother, Mary Kellum, is a
housewife. His father, Tito Kellum, owns a dry cleaning establishment.
Vaughn has no brothers or sisters and medical records indicate Mary
Kellum has had three miscarriages since his birth.

1. STATUS OF CLAIM
   

Active. We have received both a request for medical records and a
letter of representation from an attorney at Blum, Tysdale and Papish.
The attorney's name is William Papish, Esq.

1. DESCRIPTION OF FACTS
   

Vaughn Kellum had twenty-one office visits and nine emergency room
visits during his first eight years of life. The only illnesses were
diaper rash, colic, flu, mumps, and the like. Emergency room visits
were mostly for sprains, contusions or abrasions attributed to the
child's clumsiness.

One month after Vaughn turned eight, his mother noticed flu like
symptoms." She administered baby aspirin and fluids and put the child
to bed, hoping he would feel better in the morning.

The next day, April 2, 1971, the child vomited and was lethargic and
feverish. At approximately 11:00 a.m." the mother brought the child
into the emergency room at KCGH where the patient was treated by Dr.
Yale Castillo. Dr. Castillo examined patient and attributed the fever
to a benign viral

infection. He prescribed baby aspirin, recommended bed rest, and
advised the mother to bring the child back if the fever persisted.

On April 3, 1971, at approximately 10:00 a.m." parents called Dr.
Castillo and told him that although the child had initially improved,
he was now having trouble breathing. Dr. Castillo instructed them to
let the child rest and see how he fared.

On April 3, 1971, at approximately 12:00 p.m." the parents called Dr.
Castillo and told him that the child was having shallow respirations.
The mother was troubled that the child's eyes appeared to be "sinking
in."

Dr. Castillo instructed them to bring the child in promptly. They did
so, and Dr. Castillo noted that the child had developed chills, was
lethargic, and had sluggish capillary refill. The mother insisted that
the child "looks terrible, doesn't look like himself." Dr. Castillo
performed a blood test and diagnosed a gastrointestinal ailment, gave
the child Pedialyte, an electrolyte solution to prevent dehydration,
then ordered a tepid bath and a chest X ray. The emergency room was
busy and Dr. Castillo probably saw ten to twenty patients during the
time the child was there. Family asked for "some kind of intravenous
or something." Dr. Castillo explained that the child's tongue was
wet, so he was no longer dehydrated.

It was at this point that the child had his first seizure. Dr.
Castillo administered an antiseizure medication, Dilantin. The dosage
used was 50 mg per kg of body weight per day with plasma levels of
approximately 70 micrograms per ml.

After four hours in the emergency room, at the parents' insistence, the
child was placed in-patient for observation and to stabilize his
medications. Dr. Castillo attended to the child in consultation with
Dr. Selby. The child's parents noted that the child appeared not to
respond immediately when spoken to, and also that he no longer looked
at them directly. After examination.

Dr. Selby discovered that the child had marked nuchal rigidity '

and could not completely extend his leg from a position of 90 flexion
at the hip when supine. His oral temperature was 103.6F.

Based on the presenting symptoms, Dr. Selby suspected meningitis. ;

At 4:30 p.m." the patient was placed in an isolation room with staff
observing proper precautions: gown, gloves, and mask. A lumbar
puncture was performed and Dr. Selby's suspicions were confirmed,
meningococcal meningitis.