Borderlines (14 page)

“You look tired,” she said. “It’s been a long day.” She stood aside to let me enter the room. I was touched by her ative concern for my psyche, and privately amused by her typical ility to really let it show.

There were only two pieces of furniture on which one could sit bed and a single hard-back chair. Ellie Wingate was sitting on the er; Bruce Wingate, naturally, was perched ramrod-stiff in the r. The room had a single window, rendered milky white by the old, tIe plastic sheet that sagged across it to cut the drafts. A single bulb g above the peeling white wrought-iron bed. The floors and walls e blotchy with an artistic assortment of earth-colored stains. A ked, balding velour painting of a toreador was the sole decoration, ging over the battle-scarred dresser where a mirror should have I parked myself against that wall, with my elbow on the dresser Ellie Wingate was staring at the floor, like a penitent in church. bulb hung behind her, so her face was in shadow. Not so her band’s, across the way. The harsh light endued his face with the niness of a news photo. “So what do you want?” I was silent for a moment, wondering how much good this would e, now that I was here. “I just wanted to talk about a few things.” Greta jumped right in. “Good. We’d like to do that, too.” I raised my eyebrows at her, interested. It didn’t bother me if they ted to get the ball rolling. It might prove more educational. “What are you doing to locate their daughter?” Greta asked. “Specifically?”

“Well, yes, specifically. That’s why they came up here, after all.” “We aren’t doing anything.” Wingate nodded and stood up, as if I’d just cranked his handle one too many. “I knew that. I kept telling you.” I wondered for a moment if he was going to march right out of own room, but he stayed put, immaculate as always in a V-neck ater and slacks, like a J.C. Penney catalog version of a Brooks thers model-barring the Band-Aids on his face. Greta’s voice was firm. “What do you mean, ‘nothing’? Don’t you k you owe these people an explanation?” I was, as usual, awe-struck by her grasp of reality. I’d also sudly decided I needed her out of there. “Wait, stay put,” I told the gates, and escorted Greta back out into the hallway, speaking in a low voice.

“Greta, I will talk to them-I want to talk to them, in fact.

But neither I nor anyone else in this investigation owes them anything.”

I held up my finger to silence her. “It’ll be on an even footing, okay?

They can ask me questions, too. We’ll go back and forth. But I want to do it alone. You’ve got to butt out.” Her voice was an angry hiss.

“What do you mean, ‘butt out’? I’m their only friend in this stupid town.” “Exactly. I need some neutrality.” “I won’t say a word.”

“Because you won’t be there.” “Dammit-” She glared at me, but then finally shrugged. “Okay, Greta?” “All right.” “Good. Get some sleep.

I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” I returned to the room and closed the door behind me. Wingate was standing by his wife, trying to coax her to stand also, as if I would then take the subtle hint and dash for the street. Instead, I crossed the room casually and sat in his chair, placing him awkwardly between us. “Sorry about that. I just thought we might be able to talk more freely without her.” I gestured to the bed.

“Please, have a seat.” Reluctantly, as if being asked to sit in a puddle of cold water, he bent his knees and perched next to his wife.

“Do you like Greta?” They looked at each other, surprised. “She’s been very nice,” Mrs.

Wingate said.

“A little overbearing?” Wingate’s face was set impassively, his voice purposely neutral. I had a sudden image of him refusing bank loan extensions to people right and left. “My wife has already answered that. We appreciate all that Mrs. Lynn has done for us, that everyone has done for us.” “How did things go at the State Police?” “Fine.” “I gather your wife refused to take the lie detector test.” Ellie Wingate stared at her hands. “I wouldn’t let her.” “Why not?” “It was inappropriate. No one knows how much she has suffered through all this-for years. That test calls people a liar. It was an insult.” “You took it.” “I wanted to cooperate. I know you have to rule me out-that’s of what you do but pulling her over the coals wouldn’t have mplished anything.” ‘We haven’t ruled you out, though.” “I passed, didn’t I?” His voice quickly bordered on belligerence.

wife reached out and gripped his hand. “Not really. The test was inconclusive.” It was a tiny gesture-a quick shift of the eyes, right and left-but ruck me as odd, as if something else was struggling with the show utrage. Right now, Bruce Wingate was very high on my list of icious characters, and I was loath to edit out his little mannerisms.

e sunspots, they appeared to me as signs of a body in turmoil.

“Those tests don’t mean anything anyhow,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t be quite that categorical.” I was impressed by both his nsiveness and the fact that neither he nor his wife had asked me ngle question about their daughter. Had they been as genuine as ta thought they were, it seemed to me they’d be brushing aside my stions and grilling me for updates on their daughter’s whereabouts. I stared at him hard, forcing him to look at the floor. I wanted to advantage of whatever it was that was chewing at him. Convenally, that would mean giving them both the third degree on their vities on the night of the fire. It occurred to me, however, that in r eyes, the fire was not the monumental event it was to the police. ething else had brought this couple here, far from the decent dIe-class values they supposedly espoused back home, something had torn their moorings and had possibly forced them to desperate emes. It was that something I wanted to learn more about. “Tell about your daughter.” “What about her?” Wingate’s voice sounded like he was muttering out moving his lips. It wasn’t at all like the anger I’d seen explode ennie, but it revealed a brooding moodiness totally at odds with the appearance, and one which I’d already come to expect. I wond what he was like to work with or live with. Presumably, as a ker, he had to present the stereotyped blandness we’ve come to ect of that profession.

What outlet did he have for his other side?

did he blow off that excess steam? I doubted the answer was lthy-or harmless. “How old is she?” “Twenty-one.” “What kind of person is she?” “She’s very sweet,” her mother almost whispered. “Ever have any troubles with her?” “Like what?” Definitely a nerve there.

“Oh, I don’t know. Drugs, sex, hanging out with people you didn’t approve of-” “We didn’t permit that. We are a hard-working, God-fearing family.

Those things never crossed our threshold. Julie was a very. obedient girl.” “The threshold works two ways.

“My daughter didn’t do those things.” Ellie Wingate’s voice attempted to match her husband’s, an impressive show of dual indignation. I was now quite content to push this line of questioning to whatever limit it might reach.

“Then how did she end up here?” She pursed her lips. He answered.

“She was duped.” “Duped?” “At college by her supposed ‘friends.” They brainwashed her.

She was naive, just a freshman.” “Where?” “Boston College.” “Was she happy?” “Of course she was,” said Ellie, gaining strength.

“Brainwashing’s pretty difficult unless the subject is receptive, at least to a degree.” “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I raised my eyebrows.

“How did the Order approach her? How did you hear about it?” “We talked on the phone every week,” Ellie Wingate answered. “The three of us.

Just a few weeks after she got there, she started to talk about her new friends. It sounded nice at first.” “How long ago was this?” “When she entered college? Three years ago.” “And there was no mention of the Order?” “No. Just friends. We thought they were college friends.

People she was going to school with.” “How did she describe them?”

Wingate shook his head contemptuously. “You obviously don’t have children. They don’t describe their friends.” “They do talk about them, don’t they tell you what they’re doing?

Did they dance, go to the movies, attend religious services, protest in the streets?” “No, no. They were just friends-” Ellie’s voice trailed off.

“They talked. Bull sessions-typical college stuff.” “What about?” “I was hardly there, was I?” “You talked every week. She mentioned these new friends. What the context?” Wingate rolled his eyes. “I don’t see that it matters a good godn what the context was.” From the quick accusative glance Ellie e him, I gathered cursing was considered among the social diseases. n the other hand, found his increasing brittleness encouraging. “I think she mentioned these new friends and you told her to dump m sight unseen. So she stopped talking about them, and then pped talking to you altogether.

When did you last communicate with daughter?” It “vas a long shot. As Wingate had said, I didn’t have children of own. On the other hand, I had dealt with more troubled kids than ever would, and I knew that the bridges from children to their ents were among the first to be burned.

There was an embarrassed silence before Ellie Wingate murmured, wo and a half years ago.” Her husband gave her an angry glance.

Six months after she entered college. “How was that? A phone I?”

“A letter.” “And what did it say?” “A bunch of crap,” Wingate burst out.

“She was babbling about ing a higher plane and needing to cut her ties with her past. It was er nonsense.” “And it took you this long to find her?” They both looked at the floor and didn’t answer immediately. en Ellie finally did, it was in a whisper. “We didn’t look at first; we d to honor her wish to be treated as an adult. Later we tried to locate on our own, but we both work, and… there were some other ubles. We finally joined FTC, and Mr. Gorman introduced us to a ate detective. He found out last week that she was here, in Gannet.” I interrupted.

“What’s FTC and Mr. Gorman?” Wingate sighed, the impatient executive dealing with a dull-witted ordinate. “FTC stands for Freedom to Choose and Paul Gorman it. It’s a Boston counseling group for parents of children who have n brainwashed by cults. He’s like a deprogrammer and counselor bined he’s had a lot of experience in these matters.” I made a mental note of both names. The sudden introduction of programmer was significant, I thought, especially given their lessn-pristine reputation.

“Did you tell the State Police about Gorman?” Wingate’s tone was indulgent. “They didn’t ask.” **skip**I certainly would, but a little later. Right now, I wanted to get them back to the present. “And you saw your daughter for the first time two nights ago?” Mrs. Wingate was becoming almost conversational. “Yes. Mrs. Lynn has been letting us sit in her cafe so we can watch the street. We hoped we’d see her that way. We asked around at first, but those people wouldn’t talk to us.

Then the night before last, Bruce saw a large group of them headed into the woods. We figured there must be a meetingthey have a kind of church up there in the woods-so we waited by that small bridge near the street.

That’s how we found Julie. She just walked out in front of us.” She shook her head. “She wouldn’t talk to us, wouldn’t even look at us. It was as if we weren’t even there. All I can think is that they must have brainwashed her. It was as if she didn’t recognize us. Then her friends all grouped around and crowded us out. It was so frustrating…

after all this time.” She shook her head again. “She looks terrible.

We followed her to that house, but the others wouldn’t let us enter.

Finally, Bruce decided to go in anyway.

Wingate’s face tightened. “But Julie was gone?” “She must have gone out the back,” he answered. I thought of Fox’s self-confidence when he’d offered to let us search the cellar. I was pretty sure now I’d been outmaneuvered on that one. I also imagined Wingate being confronted by that same arrogant confidence, being denied access to the house, and to the daughter he’d been hunting for years.

It wasn’t hard to see how any father might have exploded. What hung in my mind, though, was his punching Rennie. Despite forcing his way into the house, and being forcibly ejected, Wingate’s punch had showed his rage to be still hot, and still uncontained. It made me wonder what he might do to quench that anger, and what he had done in the past when similarly denied. Wingate was by now struggling for self-control.

“This is nonsense. We’ve been all over this with your colleagues.” I stood up, walked to the window and sat on the sill, changing tack somewhat. “Look, Mr. Wingate, I’m trying to find out how the Natural Order ticks, not just what happened two nights ago. Sarris says he won’t talk for his members, and they won’t talk at all, probably because he’s got them under his thumb. So that leaves you two. I’ve got to understand how their system works, at least that part of it you’ve witnessed.” This wasn’t strictly true. I was enlisting their alliance less for what they knew than for how they expressed their knowledge, or their prejudice.

“Paul Gorman calls it love-bombing-” “I’ll talk to Gorman later.

What I need to know now is what you not what you learned from him.”

Wingate slapped his knees in exasperation. “What’s the point of is? Who cares how it happened? It happened, that’s all they stole only child, they turned her into a freak. I want my daughter back. at so unreasonable?” Maybe not, I thought, but the means might have been. I rememd Fox’s blackened skull gritting its teeth at me, and the pale-faced ren, huddled together on the bed. “Did Julie have many friends as a kid?” “Of course,” he answered just as she shook her head.

In the embarrassed silence that followed, I asked, “Since you both did you have someone stay with her after school?” “No. I began working after Wingate stood up, not angrily, but determined. “I’ve had enough is. Unless we’re under arrest, we don’t have to submit ourselves ese questions. I’d like you to leave.” “Tell me about Gorman. How did you find him?” He tugged at her arm, in an attempt to make her stand.