Killing Mr. Griffin (12 page)

David’s mother commented at breakfast. “Are you upset about something,

David? You and your friend didn’t have a fuss last night, did you?”

“No,” David said. “We met up with some friends and went out with them for food around eleven. My stomach’s still full from that.” “You were out awfully late for a school night,” his mother said. “I hope this isn’t going to become a regular thing. You know I need my sleep, and there’s no way I’m going to get it if I’m worrying about you out driving around till all hours.” “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

To please her, he picked up a slice of toast and took a bite out of it.

The bread was hard and dry and crumbly, and the butter felt slimy on his tongue. He was afraid he couldn’t swallow it. He picked up his glass of milk and took a gulp, willing the mouthful down. “I can’t believe it—our little Davy dating.” His grandmother regarded him fondly from her place at the end of the kitchen table, her gray hair still uncombed, her flowered robe hanging open to reveal the pink cotton nightgown her daughter-in-law had given her for Christmas.

“Young people grow up so fast these days. Why, on that game show with the newlyweds, you’d swear there wasn’t a one of them any older than sixteen.” “I’m seventeen,” David reminded her automatically. “Yes, I know, dear. You told me that yesterday. Or was it yesterday? One does lose track of time when one gets old. Yesterday was the day you went out with that boy with the funny eyes and rode around with him and his friends and never came home till dinner.” “It was not!” David set his glass down so hard that the milk splashed over onto the table top.

“I came straight home from school yesterday. I got you a Jell-O, and

you and I sat all afternoon and watched television. You do remember that, don’t you, Gram? That was yesterday.” “It was?” The old woman reached up a wrinkled hand to shove a strand of hair back from her forehead. “I get confused. One day gets to be the same size as the next when you’re my age.” “You’re not that old; you can remember.” David’s voice rose sharply.

“Yesterday was Thursday, right? It was Wednesday I went out with Mark and the other kids for a while. Yesterday—Thursday—I came right home from school and got you the green Jell-O I’d made that morning for you, and you ate it, and I turned the television on, and we sat there together all afternoon long. I was right in the room with you all afternoon.” “David, for goodness sake,” his mother said. “You don’t have to shout at Gram that way.” “I want her to remember!” “I remember—I remember.” Old Mrs. Ruggles nodded agreeably. “I remember the green Jell-O, after all those weeks with the yellow stuff.

Where’s the rest of it, Davy? I want some for breakfast.” “There isn’t any more,” David said. “You finished it.” “A whole package?

She couldn’t have,” his mother exclaimed. “That makes four bowls.”

“Well, I ate some of them.” “You didn’t,” his grandmother contradicted. “I do remember now. You didn’t eat any of it. I asked you if you were going to eat something, and you said no, you weren’t hungry. Maybe you dumped the rest of the Jell-O out because it tasted funny.” “Why would it taste funny?” David’s mother asked. “Jell-O is

Jell-O. It’s all the same. That’s the same powder in every box.”

“It tasted great,” David said. “That’s why I ate all the rest of it.

I just got started and I couldn’t stop, and I ate it all, and I washed out the bowls and dried them and put them away. Is that a crime, being hungry after school?” “You didn’t eat them,” his grandmother said stubbornly. “I would have seen you do it.” “You were asleepl You fell asleep almost as soon as I turned the TV on. Admit it, now, you don’t remember anything at all about the shows, now do you? What were the questions they asked the newlyweds? Can you tell me?” “They asked about—about—” The old woman closed her eyes and wrinkled her forehead. “Goodness, I don’t recall at all. Did I really sleep? I never sleep in the daytime. But, you’re right, I ate that Jell-O and I just went right to sleep like Snow White did when the queen gave her the poison apple. You didn’t give me a poison Jell-O, did you, Davy?”

She opened her eyes and laughed delightedly at her witticism. “I told you, I ate all the rest of it. If there had been something in the Jell-O, I’d have gone to sleep too, wouldn’t I?” He seemed suddenly to have no control over his voice. It was rising higher and higher. His mother was staring at him in bewilderment. “Please, dear, don’t yell!

I’ve never seen you act like this, David. Gram was joking about the Jell-O, of course. And there’s nothing wrong with catching a little nap in the afternoons, Mother Ruggles. I’d do it myself if I were home and able to.” “But I missed my shows,” Irma Ruggles said mournfully. “I like that girl with the curly hair who won two days now. I wanted to

see her win again. Did she, Davy?”

“Yes,” David said desperately. “Yes, she won. They gave her an electric mixer.” “Only a mixer? The third time winning, they usually give them something really big like a new refrigerator.” “They offered her one, but she said she didn’t want it. She already had a refrigerator. She wanted a mixer.” “But if she’d taken the refrigerator she could have sold it and bought the mixer and had money left over. They ought to think of things like that, those young people, but they’re just not very sensible. It takes an older head to figure things out.” She paused and then asked, “Is there another package of that Jell-O you could make up for me?” “There certainly is,” David’s mother said. “I bought some yesterday. David will make it before he leaves for school, won’t you, dear, and it will be all ready by this afternoon.” “Sure, Gram,” David said, weak with relief at the turn the conversation had taken. “I’ll be glad to.” “That will be nice, dear.” His grandmother smiled at him benignly. “And this time, Davy, be very careful what you put in it, won’t you? That last stuff was awfully bitter.” “I want to talk to Detective James Baca.”

“Can you tell me what the problem is, ma’am?” the young man at the front desk asked pleasantly. “My husband’s missing,” Kathy Griffin told him. “I phoned here last night and talked to somebody—I’m not sure who—and he said to come in this morning and ask for Detective

Baca.” “Your name, please?” “Katherine Griffin.” “One moment, please.” The young man picked up his phone, dialed an extension, and spoke quietly into the receiver. Then he replaced it on the hook. “Go on down the hall, ma’am. Room one-oh-seven.” “Thank you.” Clutching her purse tightly against the front of her maternity blouse, Kathy walked down the hall, counting doorways, 103—105—107. The door stood partially open, and she gave it a push and stepped inside. The man seated in a captain’s chair behind the large, paper-covered desk was stocky and broad-shouldered, his black hair streaked with gray. He did not rise when she came in but glanced up, nodded, and gestured toward a chair beside his desk. “Sit down, Mrs. Griffin. I got the message about your call last night. Your husband still hasn’t turned up?”

“No,” Kathy said, sinking into the chair, her hands tightening convulsively around the purse. “There hasn’t been a word. I’m about out of my mind.” “How long has he been missing?” “He didn’t come home from work yesterday,” Kathy told him. “I called the principal last night—Brian’s a teacher at Del Norte—and he said Brian was there for all his classes. It’s as though in the few miles between the school and our house, he vanished into thin air.” “Okay. Let’s get some basic information down and then we can see where to go from there.”

The detective drew out a pad of letter-sized forms and picked up a pen.

“Your husband’s full name and address?” “Brian Joseph Griffin, Ten-twenty Ashwood, Northeast.” “His age and place of birth?”

“Brian’s forty-one. He was born here in Albuquerque.”

“Would you describe him for me, please?” “He’s—oh, about five foot ten or so, I guess. He’s slender. His hair’s dark, almost black, and he wears it short. He has blue eyes and wears glasses. He has a mustache.” “Do you know his Social Security number?” “No, not offhand. Is that important?” “Not necessarily, but it helps because it’s an identifying number. It might be the same as his service number. Was he in the service?” “No,” Kathy said. “He has a heart problem that kept him out.” “What sort of problem?” “Angina. It’s a circulatory thing; sometimes the muscles around the heart clutch up and not enough oxygen gets through. It’s painful, but it’s controllable, not like a real heart attack. All he has to do is take a pill.” “Does your husband get these attacks often?” “Usually they come when he’s tense and under pressure. He can feel one coming on, and if he takes a pill immediately he can prevent it. But it was enough of a problem to keep him out of the service.” “Where did Brian go to college, Mrs.

Griffin?” “Stanford University.” “Does he have any scars or marks, any tattoos—that sort of thing?” “No,” Kathy said. “And he’s been missing since yesterday afternoon. Is that correct?” “Yes. He was supposed to have a conference after school with one of his pupils.

Susan—McConnell, I think her name is. That would have made him a little later than usual. And then—oh, I forgot this, he was going to

stop at Skagg’s Pharmacy to pick up a prescription for his nitroglycerin pills. I don’t know if he ever did that. All I know is he didn’t come home.”

“Has he ever done anything like this before?” Detective Baca asked her. “Gone away for a period of time without telling you?”

“Never. Brian’s always called me if he was going to be even a little late.”

“Has he been worried about anything lately? Has he seemed preoccupied with his work or anything else?”

“No more than usual. Brian’s very serious about his teaching, and he worries a lot over lesson plans and criticizing assignments, but—no—actually I think he’s been more lighthearted than usual. He’s excited about the baby.”

“Is this your first child?” Detective Baca asked her.

“Yes, it is. We got married later than lots of people, and then Brian wanted to wait to start a family until he knew his teaching was going to work out. He used to be a college professor, and he switched over into high-school teaching, and he wanted to be sure he could handle it.” Her voice broke. “Brian’s always so precise about everything. I can’t believe he would do this. Something terrible must have happened to him.”

“There may be a perfectly logical answer,” the detective said. “Let me ask you a couple more questions. Is there anyone, a close relative or friend, whom your husband might contact if he should be in any kind of difficulty?”

“I can’t think who,” Kathy said. “His parents are dead and he doesn’t have brothers or sisters. Brian is a very self-contained man. Since he stopped teaching at the university he’s more or less lost touch with people there. You know how the college social structure goes; it’s awfully groupy.”

“You don’t do any socializing together?”

“Oh, we sometimes have my old friends from work over with their husbands, or maybe some of the neighborhood couples, but it’s very casual, just bridge once in a while or something like that. And they’re more my friends than Brian’s. The most important people in Brian’s life, besides me, are his students.” Detective Baca set down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “That’s it for formal questions.

Now, tell me, where do you think your husband might be, Mrs. Griffin.

Do you have any ideas?” Kathy shook her head miserably. “I’ve racked my brain trying to come up with a logical explanation. The first thing I did, of course, was phone the hospitals in case there had been an accident, but nobody of Brian’s description had been brought in.”

“Does Brian drink?” “Never. In fact, he’s allergic to alcohol.”

“Does he have any enemies? Has he ever been involved in anything unlawful?” “No. No.” “How are things between the two of you?” Baca asked her. “It’s not unusual for a first pregnancy to cause waves in a marriage. It means a whole new way of living. The honeymoon’s over; the escape hatch is no longer open, even a crack. Some pretty good men have been known to go into panic during that period of life, and your husband has gone forty-one years before being hit with fatherhood.”

“You’re implying Brian may just have run away?” Kathy shook her head violently. “That’s impossible.” “I don’t mean to offend you,” the man across from her said quietly. “It’s just that we’ve had three husbands reported missing in the past month, and in every case the wife’s been

pregnant. One man got as far as his mother’s place in Arizona, had second thoughts, and turned around and came back. “The second guy is still gone, but his wife got a postcard from him from California. He wants her to file for divorce. But, they’d had a number of problems with their marriage to start with. It does happen, Mrs. Griffin.”

“Not with Brian.” “One final question. What was the last thing your husband said to you before he left for work yesterday? Do you remember?” “He said, “I love you.”” There was a note of hard pride in Kathy’s voice. “Brian did not run out on me, Mr. Baca. He’s not that sort of person. It just is not possible.” “Then there has to be another answer,” the big man said gently. “People don’t disappear ‘into thin air,” as you put it. Your husband is somewhere, and we’ll do everything we can to locate him. “To start things off, I’d like to talk with that student at the high school, the one who may have been the last person to see him yesterday.”

Susan McConnell—come to the office, please!” The loudspeaker in the ceiling over the door blared the words throughout the room, and Susan, sitting hunched over her history notebook, felt her heart drop into her stomach with a sickening thud. It was the moment she had been anticipating ever since she had arrived at school that morning to see Dolly Luna, bright faced and cheerful, perched on the corner of Mr.

Griffin’s desk. “Mr. Griffin isn’t here this morning,” she had explained. “So I’m subbing for him. I haven’t been able to find his notes for today’s class, so we’ll just have to play it by ear, I guess.

You’ll have to tell me where you are in the book, and maybe we can read aloud or something.” She had smiled brightly. “My name’s Miss Luna, but if you promise not to tell anybody, I’ll let you call me Dolly.”