Whispers from the Dead (18 page)

As we reached the car I mumbled at Tony, “I’ll walk home.”

“You can’t do that,” he said curtly, and opened the door, waiting for me. “Get in.”

“Hurry up,” the guard said to me. “I ain’t got all day.”

“I hate you!” I snapped at Tony as I climbed into the car and huddled against the seat. I
did
hate him for lying to me, for tricking me. And yet, as he walked in front of the car and I looked at him, I knew that if he were to kiss me again, I’d respond just as ardently. Why did he have such a hold over me?

Tony didn’t say a word until we left the woods and were on the road. Then he simply said, “I’m glad the guard came when he did.”

“
You’re
glad! Not as glad as I am! You lied to me, and I trusted you! What a dumb trick, to try to force me into the water! That wouldn’t have helped! It would have made everything worse!”

He glanced at me sharply, questioningly, but I wasn’t through. “It would have been the same, horrible death! I was caught and trapped in vines before! I can still feel them wrapped around my arms and ankles! And my lungs! I can feel—” I pressed my hands against my chest, trying to push away the pain. “You could have killed us both!” I was crying again, uncontrollably, and I didn’t care.

My storm of tears passed before we arrived at our house. Tony pulled into the driveway, turned off the ignition, and stared down at his hands, which rested on the steering wheel.

“I made a mistake,” he said quietly.

“Lying to me was the worst part of it. I could never trust you again!”

“I don’t blame you.”

He looked so dejected that I wanted to relent. His gaze rose until he looked into my eyes, and I felt myself drawn forward, dazzled by the depth of that alluring, vibrant blue. Before I could give in, I threw open the car door, jumped out, and hurried toward the house.

He didn’t call out to me. He didn’t say he’d see me again. I wanted him to say it. No. I didn’t. I heard Tony’s car drive away as I fumbled with my key in the lock, and I didn’t turn to look.

Mom heard me and came from the kitchen, talking all the way. “Sarah, Eric called again and was very upset
to find out you’d gone without returning his call. He didn’t say what he wanted, but maybe you’d better call—” She was close enough to see my face and broke off in mid-sentence. “You’ve been crying! What’s the matter?”

“We had an argument,” I answered. I didn’t want to tell Mom all of it. It would only upset her, and I’d hate to talk about it.

She nodded, understanding my mood, but I saw her take in the dry towels. “You didn’t go into the water?”

“Not this time,” I said. “I think you’re right. I should start with the swimming pool.” Heading off any further conversation, I quickly added, “I’m going upstairs to take a shower.”

The warm water soothed away the remnants of my anger. I dressed in clean clothes and flopped facedown across my bed. Maybe I’d take a nap before dinner. There should be enough time. The room was cool and comfortable, the quilt under me was soft, and I drowsed toward the edge of sleep.

La fotografía.
The word swirled into my head, demanding my attention, chasing away all chance of rest.

Groaning, I rolled over onto my back and sat up.
Rosa, there was no photograph. No
fotografía.
The calendar, the letter from your uncle, the money. Oh—and the medal. That was all.

The air was agitated against my cheek.
¡La fotografía!

It dawned on me that Rosa might be referring to someone else’s photograph. “Whose photograph?” I asked aloud, the thought surprising me. “Adam’s?”

The air was still. I’d given her the answer she wanted.

I had seen the newspaper photo of Adam taken in the corridor of the police station, as well as his school photograph. Neither was a very good shot. Where would I be able to find others?

From Eric? Would he have some snapshots? Forget Eric. I wasn’t going to ask him for anything.

Suddenly I realized who would have photographs of Adam Holt. Sergeant Mark Hardison. Surely he’d have the official police photographs in his file. If I asked, maybe he’d let me see them.

But he’d want a reason, and what reason could I possibly give him? I didn’t know why Rosa wanted me to look at Adam’s photographs. I tried to picture Rosa in my mind. I tried to make mental contact.
Can you tell me why?
I asked her.

There was no answer.

Dee Dee called after dinner. “Okay, tell me all about it! What lake was it? How far out did you go? Were you scared? Could you handle it? I wanted to start you out in the swimming pool, and as I said, I’d be with you, and I’m a good swimmer, but if you—”

“Dee Dee,” I interrupted, “I didn’t make it. I’m back to zero.”

There was a pause before Dee Dee, in her most cheerful voice, said, “Oh, don’t look at it that way. It just proves I was right. A swimming pool is a lot easier to get into than a lake. When you’re ready, we’ll try again.”

“Thanks. You’re a real friend.” I needed a friend.

“Do you want to do something tomorrow morning? I haven’t talked to you for two whole days, and to begin with, I want to hear more about this Tony. Do you really like him? You never did tell me—is he handsome?”

“We had an argument. I may never see him again.”

“Oops! Sorry. I
would
say the wrong thing. Well, how about tomorrow? Why don’t we go over to Town and Country Mall? Anytime. I’m off duty tomorrow.”

“That sounds good,” I answered, “but there’s someone I have to see first.”

“Oh, who?”

Just like Dee Dee to be so blunt. I started to hedge a bit until I remembered that, on the other hand, Dee Dee might be able to help.

“Someone who might have some photographs of Adam Holt. Do you have any?”

“Good heavens, no! And I wouldn’t want any, either!” Her voice dropped. “Sarah, why don’t you forget about that murder? Thinking about it doesn’t do any good.”

“I will,” I told her. “I promise. It’s just that I need to see his photograph.”

“You didn’t tell me why.”

“I’m not sure myself. Just trust me, okay? And, Dee Dee—don’t tell anyone about it.”

“Never!” she said. “I can keep a secret—well, as long as I’m told it’s a secret. I mean, I told Eric about your going swimming with Tony at a lake because your mother didn’t tell me it was a secret, and I didn’t see why it would be. Say—where is that lake, anyway?”

“Not far from here,” I told her. “I don’t even want to think about it, so let’s not talk about it.”

“Where are you going to go to find pictures of Adam?” she asked. “I’ll go with you.”

A tickle of warning touched the back of my neck. “I’ll figure that out tomorrow,” I said, “and you can come with me if you like. I’ll call you back and tell you what time.” I didn’t mean to be using Dee Dee for my own purposes, but I wanted to introduce Dee Dee to Sergeant Hardison. She could tell him that she had seen the packet of Rosa’s things so he wouldn’t think I’d invented it.

Sergeant Hardison agreed to talk to me. He couldn’t see me at nine
A.M.
I called Dee Dee right away and said, “I made the appointment for tomorrow morning.”

“What time?”

Again I felt a flicker of caution. “Expect me about nine.”

The next morning I arrived at Dee Dee’s house at eight, Mom’s car keys in hand.

“Of course I don’t mind if you take the car,” Mom had told me. “You and Dee Dee have fun. Just don’t plan anything with her for tomorrow morning, though. You’ve got another appointment with Dr. Fulton.”

I found Dee Dee still in her dinosaur T-shirt, doing exercises.

“Nothing I do takes off a single pound,” she complained.

“Get dressed,” I said. “We have to be downtown at nine.”

“I thought you said you’d be here at nine. Where are we going?”

“I’ll tell you on the way.”

“Why are you being so mysterious?” she asked.

Mrs. Pritchard came into the room. She gave me a wary look. “Good morning, Sarah,” she said.

“Good morning,” I answered.

Something was bothering her. I didn’t need to wonder what it was, because she came right out with it. “What’s all this about your needing some photographs of Adam Holt?”

“I want to know what he looks like,” I answered.

“There were pictures of Adam in the newspaper and on television,” she said. “Weren’t they enough?”

“The newspaper shots weren’t very good, and I wasn’t here to see the news on television.”

She was still suspicious. “This isn’t something concerning your father or mother, is it? I hope they understand that everything about the sale was legal and correct.”

“This is my idea only,” I said firmly. “My parents believe in being honest and straightforward about everything they do.”

She had the grace to look slightly embarrassed, as did Dee Dee.

But Mrs. Pritchard collected herself quickly. “See you girls later,” she said with a quick wave of her hand, and breezed out of the room.

I looked right into Dee Dee’s eyes. “That’s why,” I said.

“Well, it’s different with parents,” Dee Dee explained. “You’re supposed to tell them things.”

“Hurry up and get dressed,” I reminded her. “We have to leave in about ten minutes.”

I introduced Dee Dee to Sergeant Hardison, and he led us into one of the interrogation rooms, seating himself across the desk from us.

“That packet belonging to Rosa Luiz I told you about,” I said right away, “Dee Dee saw it too.”

“Yes,” Dee Dee told him. “I translated the letter from Rosa’s uncle.”

“I wanted to prove to you it wasn’t in my imagination.”

“I had no reason to disbelieve you,” he said.

“Is this where you take criminals?” Dee Dee asked. She looked around the tiny cubicle in wonder.

“That’s right. But it’s a good place to talk to attorneys, parents of juveniles who’ve been arrested, and—right now—you two.” He turned to me. “I pulled Adam Holt’s ID from the file. Suppose you tell me why you want to see it.”

I couldn’t tell Sergeant Hardison everything, and I didn’t know quite how to begin. Trying to feel him out, I answered, “I read once about psychics working with the police in solving crimes. Do you believe in help from—well, from the other side?”

One eyebrow rose. “Can’t say I do or I don’t. I’ve
seen some unusual results—very unusual—but there’s nothing scientific about it. We do check out almost all leads when we’re working on a case, and this includes information from psychics.”

Dee Dee stared at me, her mouth open.

“I’m asking you to trust me,” I told Sergeant Hardison. “I’m definitely
not
a psychic, but I’ve had a strong feeling that I should see some clearer photos of Adam Holt than those in the newspaper. If I see the pictures, maybe I’ll understand the reason.”

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a photocopy of an official ID sheet. At the top were two, clear, close-up black-and-white photos of Adam Holt, one full-faced and one in profile. Under the photos was a form in which a complete description was written.

Dee Dee leaned over my shoulder to read the sheet, while I studied the photographs. I saw a pale, pasty-faced, pudgy boy with hair as light as his skin. In the shot in which he faced the camera his eyes were large. There was something about the eyes in that unfamiliar face—