Little Girls (28 page)

I
t was still dark when Ted awoke Friday morning. Moments ticked by before he realized he was back in his own bed in his own house in Hartford. He lay there for a while, smelling the familiar smells, while the room slowly brightened with the dawn. He was grounded enough to recognize that this might not be his bedroom for very long. This might not be his house.

He had spent the drive yesterday replaying not only the argument with Laurie, but the events in his life that had led to that argument. Not just the affair with Marney—how careless he had been in hindsight—but his overall approach to his relationship with Laurie. How many hours had be spent moody and despondent because of his floundering writing career? How many conversations had he dominated with his bellyaching? In hindsight, it was a wonder that she hadn’t left him sooner, and taken Susan with her.

Thinking of Susan made his face burn. Would Laurie really leave him? Would she take Susan and disappear?

What if she stayed in that house in Maryland? What if Laurie and Susan
never
came back?

He got up, pulled on his running gear, and was outside jogging along Tamarack Street just as the early morning sun threw reddish spears through the trees to the east. The street climbed toward a grade in the hillside. The houses there were grandiose—all brick fronts, marble porches, balconies atop the porticos—and it was still early enough in the morning to see people climbing into SUVs, BMWs, and Mercedes for their morning commutes. By the time he reached the park at the end of Tamarack, he was firmly back in the working middle-class neck of the neighborhood. The park itself was nothing but a weedy basketball court. On the next street over, a row of Ryder trucks stood in the parking lot of a rental facility. Beyond the facility, the spire of St. Mark’s rose up against a still-dark sky.

Back at the house, he showered for a good forty-five minutes. He made himself breakfast with whatever was still edible in the refrigerator—eggs, toast, grapefruit juice, a few grapes that had already started to wither and looked unappetizingly like some small mammal’s testicles. He was calm while he cooked and while coffee brewed in the gurgling stainless-steel machine. But when he sat down to eat, he found his calmness—along with his appetite—had deserted him. In his chest, his heart thudded furiously against his sternum. His pulse hadn’t slowed down since he’d come back from his run.
Heart attack?
That would be poetic—his first morning alone and he drops dead with no one around to call the paramedics. Brilliant.

He dumped the food down the garbage disposal, forced down the grapefruit juice, grimaced. On the refrigerator, Susan’s artwork made his heart hurt. At some point, he found himself holding the portable phone. He dialed Laurie’s cell number, placed the phone to his ear, listened to it ring. When it went to voice mail, he hung up.

Something didn’t feel right.

 

He arrived at Rao’s a half hour early for the meeting. There were tables outside and it was already promising to be a nice day, but he didn’t feel like waiting around to be seated. He went directly inside to the bar. There was an attractive girl in a man’s white shirt trolling back and forth behind the bar. A male bar-back with a bald pate and severe black eyes stacked soapy glasses on a spongy green mat beside a stainless-steel sink.

He ordered a Laphroaig from the bartender, then drummed his fingers restlessly on the bar top. The drink arrived and it smelled like a fire pit. He tossed it down, felt his intestines backfire like an old Plymouth, then ordered another. He had his cell phone out and was staring at it as if confused by its existence when the second drink arrived. Ultimately, he dialed Laurie’s cell phone number again. He had no speech prepared, didn’t know what to say. He simply felt awful about how he had left things with her. She had been hit with too much over the past forty-eight hours and she had been hanging on by a thread even before that. He shouldn’t have left them home alone.

The phone rang a few times and then went to voice mail. He disconnected, then hit redial. This time, it went straight to voice mail without ringing.

“Goddamn it.”

Steve Markham arrived a few minutes later and sat on the stool next to him. “Christ, you look nervous,” Markham said.

“Hey, Steve. Good to see you.” Ted checked his wristwatch.

“Relax, will you?” Markham said, clapping Ted on the back. He ordered a vodka and cranberry from the bartender. “The meeting will go fine. In fact, we’ve got some time to relax. Fish’s agent called. He’s running about an hour late.”

“Christ,” Ted said. “An hour?”

“What’s wrong? You’ve got someplace else to be? You look too thin, by the way. How’s things going in Virginia?”

“Maryland.”

“Wherever. Laurie doing okay?”

Ted emptied his second drink and set the glass down hard on the bar. His hand was shaking. “You know, Steve, she’s not. Not really.” He sat up straight, looking around the restaurant. “This was a mistake,” he said.

Markham frowned. “The hell are you talking about? You’ve been begging for a sit-down with Fish ever since you started on the project.”

“I don’t mean the meeting. I just . . . I shouldn’t be here.” He checked his watch again. His cell phone. Was Laurie so angry at him that she wasn’t answering his calls? Or was something else going on back at that house?

Yet he couldn’t shake that feeling that Laurie was in trouble. And not just Laurie—Susan, too.

“Are you on something?” Markham said.

Ted dropped cash on the bar and got off the stool. “Look, Steve, I can’t stay. Tell Fish I’m sorry, but something came up and I need to get home.”

“
What?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But it’s an emergency.”

“Are you fucking with me? You busted my balls about setting this up and now you’re just going to bail? Is this some kind of joke?”

“I wish it was.”

“What about the meeting with the producers? We’re supposed to head to their office when we leave here. This is a big goddamn deal, Ted. Please tell me you’re pulling my leg.”

Ted squeezed Markham’s shoulder. Then he turned and hustled through the lunch crowd toward the doors.

“This is your career!” Markham shouted after him. But by that time, Ted was already out on the street and running to his car.

L
aurie awoke to the vibration of her cell phone. Sprawled out on the mattress in the master bedroom, she pawed around the floor for her purse. Beside her, Susan moaned and muttered something unintelligible, though Laurie could tell she was clearly agitated about being disturbed. Her purse was on the floor beside the mattress, beneath a clutter of yesterday’s clothes. She dragged the purse closer and dug out the phone. Ted’s name and cell number blinked on the digital display. Laurie felt a knot tighten up in her stomach. She hit the
IGNORE
button and the call was silenced. The clock on the phone’s display showed it was 12:41
P.M
. There were missed call icons on the screen, and when she clicked on these, she saw they were from Ted, too. Why had she and Susan slept so late? She powered down the phone and tossed it back in her bag.

Rolling over, Laurie rocked the girl gently. “Hey. It’s late. We slept till lunchtime.”

Susan groaned and pulled the sheet up over her head. “Don’t feel good.”

Don’t feel well,
Laurie internally corrected her grammar—an unpleasant habit she had adopted from Ted.

Laurie climbed up off the mattress. Her back ached. In just her panties and a T-shirt, she went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, washed the sleep from her eyes. Susan had been up much of the night with cramps. Laurie had tried to talk to the girl about all the changes going on in her body, and how it was actually a wonderful thing despite how awful Susan felt. Susan had not been interested in hearing how wonderful it was. On her way out the bedroom, she shut the door so the kid could sleep.

Downstairs, the house was gray. The sky beyond the windows was overcast. Clouds the color of ash congregated over the trees in the backyard. An unseasonably cool wind funneled into the kitchen when Laurie opened one of the bay windows. At the stove, she put on a pot of coffee and silently wished for a newspaper. She wasn’t terribly hungry but found herself peering into the refrigerator at one point, looking at everything but not seeing a thing. In the end, she decided to take a long, hot shower. The need to get clean was very strong.

Outside, the roll of thunder was long and sonorous, like a passing locomotive.

 

It was nearly one-thirty when Ted finally broke free from a snarl of traffic and the highway opened up. He sped along I-95, dodging slower vehicles while honking at the ones that simply refused to get out of his way. He had already called Laurie’s cell phone three times, leaving enough time between each call in hopes that she would cool off. Each time his call went to voice mail.

This had been a bad idea. He knew he shouldn’t have left them behind in that house.

He wondered now just how long this sense of dread had been bobbing around in his stomach. It had been roiling inside his guts since leaving Maryland. Yesterday, when he had pulled the Volvo up the driveway of their house in Hartford, he had felt an unsettling black shadow fall against his back—an unseen presence breathing down his neck. For the second time in just over a week, he thought about his old childhood nightmare—of waking up in an empty house, his parents gone, his dog gone. Only now it wasn’t a dream. Laurie was gone. Susan was gone. Ted Genarro was finally and permanently ostracized from the people he loved the most.

Up ahead, traffic was already beginning to slow. It was just over a four-hour drive to Annapolis.

He could have called information, but he didn’t know the address off the top of his—

But he did. It was programmed in his GPS. He turned the GPS on and waited until it booted up. He scrolled through the
RECENTLY FOUND
locations. Myles Brashear’s address was at the top. On his cell phone, he dialed 411, then gave the operator the address of the house on Annapolis Road. A few seconds later, an automated female voice recited the number to him. The automated voice advised him that if he pressed 1, he would be connected at no additional cost. He pressed 1.

 

She was in the middle of toasting some bread when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Genarro, this is Detective Freeling. Is this a good time?”

“Sure, detective. Is everything all right?”

“I wanted to keep my promise,” he said. “A positive ID has been made on the body this morning. It
is
Tanya Albrecht. We’ve managed to locate Tanya’s sister June living out in White Marsh. She’s been notified of the discovery, although she wasn’t told about your involvement. She’s in the process of contacting the rest of her family.”

“Oh. Well . . . I guess that’s . . .”

“Yeah, I know. You were gonna say you guess that’s good, but it seems like a strange thing to say, given the circumstances.”

“I feel like I want to do something for those poor people.”

“That’s kind of you, but I’d lay low for the time being, if I were you, Mrs. Genarro. You can never tell how family members may react to this sort of thing. Yeah, it’s been about twenty-five years, but maybe you never get over something like that, you know?”

“I don’t think you do,” she admitted. “What about the other girls? The ones in the photos?”

“I’ve contacted the various police departments who worked those missing persons cases back then. As of now, I’ve only heard back from three of them. They sent over photos of the missing girls.” There was a pause before he added, “They’re a match to three of the girls found in your father’s photos.”

Laurie closed her eyes. “What about Teresa Larosche?”

“She’s still in custody, charged with second-degree murder. She hasn’t made bail. Still hasn’t asked for an attorney, either.”

“I still can’t believe it. . . .”

“Have you seen the news?”

“It’s on the news already?” she said, though she was hardly surprised.

“Don’t worry, your name wasn’t mentioned. We’re calling you ‘an anonymous source.’”

“But it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it?”

“I really don’t know how it’ll play out.”

“I see.”

“Anyway,” he said, sighing heavily, “I just wanted to hold up my end of the bargain. You hanging in there?”

Hadn’t Ted said something similar to her recently? She remembered thinking of those inspirational posters where the kitten dangles from the tree limb.

“Just like the cat,” she said.

Detective Freeling made a sound that approximated, “Huh?”

“I’m doing just fine, detective. Thanks for all your help.”

“Yeah. Likewise.”

She had just hung up the phone when it surprised her by ringing again.

“Detective Freeling?” she said into the receiver.

There was static over the line. It wasn’t Freeling’s telephone, but a less reliable connection. A cellular phone. Someone said something but the voice was muffled, the words incoherent.

“Hello?” she said.

The line went dead.

When she turned around, Susan was standing in the doorway. She had on baggy sweatpants and a T-shirt with a soccer ball on it. Her hair was matted and her eyes looked half-lidded.

“I was just making some toast,” Laurie offered. “Would you like some?”

“Not really hungry. My head hurts.”

“There’s ibuprofen in my purse upstairs.”

“Yeah, I found it. I already took some.”

“You know I don’t like you taking aspirin without my supervision.”

“I just took one. I’m not a dummy.” She set something down on the counter on her way to the refrigerator. “Found that in your purse, too.”

It was her wedding band.

The urge to laugh accosted her. She didn’t give into it, for fear it would begin as laughter but slowly migrate toward hysteria. She slid the ring onto her finger.

Susan opened the refrigerator and stared at the contents with disinterest. “It smells funny in here,” she said.

“Maybe some of the food has started to rot.”

“Not just in the fridge,” she said, closing the door. “The whole house.”

Laurie smelled it, too. It was like there was something behind the walls, rotting. It reminded her of the well in the front yard, and that awful smell that had risen out of it. Shaking her head, she took the toast from the toaster oven and set the slices onto a plate. “Could you get me the butter from—”

At the opposite end of the house, someone knocked three times on the front door. Had someone begun playing the trumpet in the next room, the sound wouldn’t have been less startling. Laurie slipped out of the kitchen, through the parlor, and down the hall. She glanced out one of the front windows on her way to the door and could see no car in the driveway. She opened the door to find Dora Lorton standing there. Dressed in a black square-shouldered coat and clunky black shoes, the woman looked like a widowed Italian grandmother.

“Ms. Lorton. I didn’t see your car. . . .”

“I parked it in the street. I can’t manage it up the driveway without bumping a few trees. Felix gets furious. May I come in?”

“Please. I was just making some toast. Can I get you something?”

“Some coffee would be nice.”

“Have a seat and I’ll put some on.”

“Nonsense. You finish your business and
I’ll
put some on. I still know my way around the place, assuming you haven’t moved anything.”

“It’s all where you left it.”

They passed through the parlor and Dora paused to survey the missing liquor cabinet.

“We’ve had some interest in my father’s stuff,” Laurie said, and immediately winced inwardly at the apologetic tone she heard in her voice.

In the kitchen, Laurie sat at the table and ate her toast while Dora—still in her square-shouldered coat—put on a pot of coffee. Susan had retreated to her bedroom to read, perhaps unnerved by the older woman’s presence. Gemlike specks of rain appeared on the bay windows.

“I saw the news this morning,” Dora said. “There was no mention of your name, but I recognized the Sparrows Point facility from that old picture he used to have hanging on the wall. Before he smashed the glass and tore it out of the frame, that is. I’d spoken to Teresa Larosche, too, and she told me what you told her—about keeping an eye on the news. I was able to make the connection.”

“I found her,” Laurie said. “The little girl. Tanya Albrecht.” She explained about the keys in the well and how one of them matched the lock on garage 58. “I went there Wednesday night and found her body.”

Since the newspapers and TV news had left out her name, she assumed this was new information to Dora. Yet the old woman’s expression didn’t change.

“There’s more,” she went on, almost breathlessly now. It was as if she needed to get it off her chest. “I’m not supposed to talk about it yet, but you’re going to hear about other girls. My father. . .” Her voice trailed off.

“I feel I owe you an apology,” Dora said. She retrieved two mugs from the cupboard and set them down on the counter. “More than one, perhaps.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Please, Mrs. Genarro.” Her thick-soled shoes made hard, flat sounds on the tile as she tottered over to the refrigerator for the milk. “It took some courage for me to even come here today, so let me go on with it.”

Laurie nodded. Finished eating, she now broke apart the remaining bits of crust in her plate.

“I was hard on you when you came here. My reproachful behavior toward you when we first met was misdirected. It was not my place to judge the relationship you had with your father. I am sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“My sister lives in Boca Raton.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial murmur and added, “That’s in Florida. She’s got four children, all grown now, of course. I was never able to have children. It was the reason I never married. That’s difficult enough, but I carry Felix’s weight in that regard, too.”

“I don’t understand. Your brother Felix?”

“He’s never said as much, but I know him well enough to know that because
I
never married,
he
never married. We grew up in a different time, Mrs. Genarro, and ours was a close family. Our parents were very poor and our father died of emphysema when I was still very young. A girl needs a father, Mrs. Genarro. Little girls are like clay waiting to be molded. The father reserves the right to mold it—reserves it
solely,
Mrs. Genarro—and she is happy to let him. But if he is not around, strange hands are eager to come into the mix and lay their own impressions in the clay.”

The coffee began to percolate on the stove. Brown water spit up into the glass bulb in the lid of the coffeepot.

“I speak metaphorically because we both understand what I mean, correct?”

“Yes.”

“After our father died, Felix became very protective of me. He has always been a good brother, and I am very grateful for that, but I am also sad for him, too. Perhaps had I married, he would have let go and lived his own life. But I never married, Mrs. Genarro, and Felix never did, either. It was as though we’d become husband and wife by proxy.”

“He must care for you very much.”

“And I for him,” Dora said. “See, in a way, my brother became my father, and our fathers are the ones who hold the lamplight so we can find our way in the dark. Teresa Larosche is a perfect example.”

“How do you mean?”

Dora poured two cups of coffee, which she carried over to the table. She expelled a great huff of air as she settled herself in the chair opposite Laurie.