Where Are the Children? (23 page)

'Ray.' Jonathan pulled him back forcibly.

Rob stared from face to face: The Chief... the doctor . . . Ray Eldredge. . . that Knowles guy, the lawyer. If he admitted being at the Eldredge house ... but what good not to admit it? There was a witness. His instinct told him to take the offer that had been made. Rob knew when he had no cards left to play. At least by taking the offer, he had some leverage on the desertion business.

He shrugged and looked at Jonathan. 'You'll defend me.'

'Yes.'

'I don't want any bum kidnapping rap.'

'No one's trying to pin one on you,' Jonathan said. 'We want the truth - the simple truth, as you know it. And the deal's off unless we get it now.'

Rob leaned back. He avoided looking at Ray. 'Okay,' he said. 'This is how it started. My buddy up in Canada ...'

They listened intently as he talked. Only occasionally did the Chief or Jonathan ask a question. Rob chose his words carefully when he said he was coming to ask Nancy for money. 'See, I never believed she touched a hair on the head of those Harmon kids. She wasn't the type. But I got the word that they were trying to pin the rap on me out there and I'd better just answer questions and keep my opinions out of it. I felt kind of sorrv for her: she was a scared kid in a big frame-up as far as I was concerned.'

'A frame-up that was your direct responsibility,' Ray said.

'Shut up, Ray,' Chief Coffin said. 'Get to this morning,' he ordered Rob. 'When did you arrive at the Eldredge home?'

'It was like a couple of minutes before ten,' Rob said. 'I had been driving real slow, looking for that dirt road my friend drew a picture of ... and then I realized I'd missed it.'

'How did you realize you missed it?'

'Well, this other car ... I had to slow down for ... Then I realized that the other car had come off that road, so I backed up.'

'The other car?' Ray repeated. He jumped up. 'What other car?'

The door of the interrogation room burst open. The sergeant hurried in. 'Chief, I think it's real important you talk to the Wigginses and that other couple. I think they have something real important to tell you.'

CHAPTER THIRTY

Finally Nancy was able to get up, wash her face and rinse her mouth. She mustn't let them see that she'd been sick. They mustn't talk about it. They'd think she was crazy. They wouldn't believe or understand. But if the unbelievable was possible . . . The children. Oh, God, not again, not like that; please, not again.

She rushed into the bedroom and grabbed underwear from the drawer, slacks and a heavy sweater from the closet. She had to go to the station house. She had to see Rob, tell him what she believed, beg him for the truth. What did it matter if everyone thought she was crazy?

With lightning speed, she dressed, stuffed her feet into sneakers, laced them with trembling fingers and hurried downstairs. Dorothy was waiting for her in the dining-room. The table was set with sandwiches and a pot of tea.

'Nancy, sit down . . . Just try to have something

Nancy cut her off. 'I have to see Rob Legler. There's something I have to ask him.' She clenched her teeth together, having heard the hysteria rising in her voice. She must not be hysterical. She turned to Bernie Mills, who was standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

'Please call the station,' she begged him. 'Tell Chief Coffin I insist on coming over . . . that it has to do with the children.'

'Nancy!' Dorothy grabbed her arm. 'What are you saying?'

'That I must see Rob. Dorothy, call the station. No, I will.'

Nancy ran over to the phone. She was just reaching for it when it rang. Bernie Mills hurried to take it, but she picked it up.

'Hello?' Her voice was quick and impatient.

Then she heard. So low it was a whisper. She had to strain to make out his words. 'Mommy. Mommy, please come and get us. Help us, Mommy. Missy is sick. Come and get us . . .'

'Michael . . . Michael!' she screamed. 'Michael, where are you? Tell me where you are!'

'We're at . . . ' Then his voice faded and the line went dead.

Frantically, she jiggled the phone. 'Operator,' she shrieked, 'don't break the connection! Operator . . . ' But it was too late. An instant later, the monotonous dull, buzzing dial tone whined in her ear.

'Nancy, what is it? Who was it?' Dorothy was at her side.

'It was Michael. Michael phoned. He said Missy is sick.' Nancy could see doubt on Dorothy's face. 'In God's name, don't you understand? That was Michael!'

Frantically, she jiggled the Dhone. then dialled the operator and broke into her perfunctory offer of help when she responded. 'Can you tell me about the call that just came in? Who handled it? Where did it come from?'

'I'm sorry, ma'am. We have no way of knowing that. In fact, we're having a lot of trouble generally. Most of the phones in town are out because of the storm. What is the problem?'

'I've got to know where that call came from. I've got to know.'

'There is no way we can trace the call once the connection is broken, ma'am.'

Numbly, Nancy put down the receiver.

'Somebody may have broken that connection,' she said. 'Whoever has the children.'

'Nancy, are you sure?'

'Mrs Eldredge, you're kind of strung-up and upset.' Bernie Mills tried to make his voice soothing.

Nancy ignored him. 'Dorothy, Michael said, "We're at ..." He knows where he is. He can't be far away. Don't you see that? And he says Missy's sick.'

From far off, she was hearing something else. Lisa is sick . . . She doesn't feel right. She had said that to Carl long ago.

'What is the number of the police station?' Nancy asked Bernie Mills. She pushed back the waves of weakness that were like clouds of fog inside her head. It would be so easy to lie down ... to slip away. Right now someone was with Michael and Missy . . . someone who was hurting them . . . maybe was doing to them what had happened before. No ... no ... she had to find them . . . She mustn't get sick . . . She had to find them.

She grasped the edge of the table to steady herself. She said quietly, 'You may think I'm hysterical, but I am telling you that was my son's voice. What is the number of the police station?'

'Call KL five, three eight hundred,' Bernie said reluctantly. She's really flipped, he thought. And the Chief would have his head for not having got to the phone. She imagined it was the kid . . . but it could have been anybody, or even a crank.

The number rang once. A crisp voice said 'Adams Port Police Headquarters. Sergeant . . . speaking.' Nancy started to say, 'Chief Coffin,' and realized that she was speaking into nothingness. Impatiently, she jiggled the phone. 'It's dead,' she said. 'The phone is dead.'

Bernie Mills took it from her. 'It's dead, all right. I'm not surprised. Probably half the houses don't have phones by now. This is some storm.'

'Take me to the police station. No, you go; if the phone comes back on and Michael can call again . . . Please go to the police station, or is someone outside?'

'I don't think so. The television van went to the station house too.'

"Then you go. We'll stay here. Tell them Michael phoned. Tell them to bring Rob Legler here. We've got to wait.'

'I can't leave you.'

'Nancy, how sure are you it was Michael?'

'I'm sure. Dorothy, please believe me. I'm sure. It was Michael. It was. Officer. Please. How far is the station in your car? . . . Five minutes. You'll be gone ten minutes in all. But make them bring Rob Legler here. Please.'

Bernie Mills thought carefully. The Chief had told him to stay here. But with the phone out, there wouldn't be messages. If he brought Nancy with him, the Chief might not like it. If he left and came right back, he'd be gone a total of ten minutes, and if that ever was the kid on the phone and he didn't report it ...

He considered asking Dorothy to drive to the station, then discarded the idea. The roads were too icy. She looked so upset that the odds were she'd crack up her car.

'I'll go,' he said. 'Stay right here.'

He didn't take time to look for his coat, but ran out the back door to the patrol car.

Nancy said, 'Dorothy, Michael knew where he was. He said, "We're at ..." What does that mean to you? If you're on a street or a road, you say, "We're on Route 6A," or "we're on the beach," or "we're on the boat"; but if you're in a house or store, you know you say, "We're at Dorothy's house," or "We're at Daddy's office." Do you see what I mean? Oh, Dorothy, there must be some way to know. I keep going over things. There must be something . . . some way to know.

'And he said that Missy is sick. I almost didn't let her go out this morning. I thought about it. I thought about it. Was it too cold; was it too windy? But I hate to think about them being sick or to baby them about being sick, and I know why now. It was because of Carl and the way he examined them . . . and me. He was sick. I know that now. But that's why I let Missy out. It was damp and too cold for her. But I thought just half an hour. And it was because of that. And I got her red mittens, the ones with the smile faces, and I told her to be sure to keep them on because it was so cold. I remember thinking that for a change she had a matching pair. But she did lose one by the swing. Oh, God, Dorothy, if I hadn't let them out! If I had kept them in because she was getting sick . . . But I didn't want to think about that . . . Dorothy -'

Nancy spun around at Dorothy's strangled cry. Dorothy's face was working convulsively. 'What did you say?' she demanded. 'What did you say . . . about the mittens?'

'I don't know. Do you mean - that she lost one - or that they matched? Dorothy, what do you mean? . . . What do you know?'

With a sob, Dorothy covered her face. '1 know where they are. Oh God, I know . . . and I was so stupid. Oh, Nancy, what have I done? Oh, what have I done?' She reached into her pocket and pulled out the mitten, it was there . . . this afternoon on the floor of the garage . . . and I thought I'd kicked it out. And that awful man ... I knew there was something about him; the way he smelted so sour ... so evil . . . and that baby powder. Oh, my God!'

Nancy grabbed the mitten. 'Dorothy, please help me. Where did you find that mitten?'

Dorothy sagged limply. 'At the Lookout, when I was showing it today.'

"The Lookout. . . where that Parrish man lives. I don't think I've ever seen him except from a distance. Oh, no!' In an instant of total clarity, Nancy saw truth and realized it might be too late. 'Dorothy, I'm going to The Lookout. Now . . . the children are there. Maybe. Maybe I'll be in time. You go for Ray and the police. Tell them to come. Can I get into the house?'

Dorothy's shaking stopped. Her voice became as calm as Nancy's. Later - later, for the rest of her life - she could indulge in self-recrimination ... but not this minute. 'The kitchen door has a bolt. If he put it on, you can't get in. But the front door, the one on the bay side - he never uses it. I never gave him a key. This will open both locks.' She dug into her pocket and came out with a set. 'This one.'

She did not question Nancy's decision to go alone. Together the women raced out the back door towards the cars. Dorothy let Nancy pull out first. She caught her breath as Nancy's car lurched, skidded and then righted itself.

It was almost impossible to see. The sleet had formed a thick ice shield against the window. Nancy rolled down her side window. Glancing out of it, squinting against the pelting sleet, she raced the car down the road, across Route 6A and down the street that led to the cut-off for The Lookout.

As she started up the winding incline, the car began to slip. She floored the gas pedal and the front wheels skidded, twisting the car on the icy road. Nancy jammed on the brake. The car spun around. Too late, she tried to right it. A tree loomed ahead. She managed to yank the wheel in a half circle. The front end of the car pulled to the right and with a grinding crash hit the tree.