Hear the Children Calling (16 page)

Hearing the story, Phil whistled softly. “It’ll take some doing, Stu,” he said. “But I’m sure I can dig it up. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

In fact, he was back to Stuart by late that afternoon. Stuart listened carefully, asked Phil to repeat what he had said, then thanked his old friend for all his help. Armed with this new information, he headed home. As he drove, staring at the road through a gray curtain of rain, he could feel the muscles in his body growing more and more tense. How could he have let this slip by? Why didn’t he ask questions at the right time, six
years ago? He clenched the steering wheel so hard the tensed muscles of his forearms began to quake. By the time he arrived home, he felt so horrible inside that all he could do was hold Natalie when she greeted him in the foyer.

“Stuart, you’re white as a sheet,” Natalie cried, tucking back a lock of wet hair that had fallen over his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

“Is Daddy sick?” Beth asked.

Stuart pulled away. He took a deep breath and told his family what he had learned from Phil Dositt.

“Peter wasn’t on that airplane.”

Natalie gasped.

“I knew it,” Beth cried, triumphant.

“Stuart, how . . . ?” She helped him out of his coat.

With his arms around his wife and daughter’s shoulders, he went into the living room and sank down on the couch before answering. “I called in an old favor,” Stuart said. “You remember how I lent Dositt money about twenty years ago, when his airline was going downhill?”

Natalie nodded, but she was eager to hear what had happened.

“I knew they took films of people as they passed through security,” Stuart said. “So I asked Phil to look up the film shot the day Peter supposedly got on the plane.” He pulled Beth closer to himself, but turned his gaze fully in his wife’s direction. “Peter wasn’t on the film,” he said. There were tears brimming in his eyes, but he took a deep breath to keep them from falling. “Phil said he looked at the movie over and over. He knows what Peter looked like. How could you miss him, with that red hair? But no one at the airport knew the child’s description. Natalie, they put another little boy on the plane. Some other child had Peter’s ticket, with Peter’s name.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Natalie cried. “Remembers, Stu, when I had to stay home because Beth was sick, I hired Peter’s nursery-school teacher to take
the trip with him. Agatha would never have gotten on that plane without him. And surely my parents took him right up to the gate—”

“Nevertheless,” Stuart said, “Peter was not on that flight. Someone must have gotten him after your parents left.”

“But what about Agatha?” Natalie asked.

Beth’s eyes rounded. “Maybe she’s alive, too.”

Stuart shook his head. “No, Beth. I thought the same thing, but Phil checked into it for me and said that Agatha was definitely on the plane. He called a friend in Records who said her body had been positively identified. Somehow, someone was able to get to Peter between the time Grandma and Grandpa left him and the time the plane took off. More strangely, they even substituted another child for him.”

“Then they took Peter away,” Beth said. “But why? Who are they, Daddy? Are we going to get Peter back?”

“We’re damned well going to try, Beth,” Stuart replied.

Natalie closed her eyes and shook her head. She was full of feelings: dismay, anger, hope, and a strange sadness for the nameless little boy who had been murdered in Peter’s place, because . . .

“Someone wanted Peter,” Natalie said, opening her eyes again. “I don’t know why, but they went to a lot of trouble, so it can’t just be an ordinary kidnapping. I have a bad feeling, Stuart. These people are evil, I’m sure of it.”

Beth bounced up and down on the cushion. “Peter’s in trouble,” she cried. “I know it. He’s been calling to me, but you guys wouldn’t listen.”

“We’ll listen now, Beth,” Stuart said. “Do you think you can contact him?”

Beth shrugged. “I’ve been trying ever since that day I saw him at school. But it’s like he can’t hear me. He keeps appearing to me, but he always looks so scared. But when I call to him, he never answers.”

“Maybe we have to wait until he makes contact again,” Stuart said.

Natalie pulled Stuart’s hand onto her lap and started to rub the back of it. “What do we do first, Stuart?”

“First, we have dinner,” Stuart said. “I can’t think straight on an empty stomach and we’ve got a lot of planning to do.”

“Planning?” Beth said.

“We’re going to visit Grandma and Grandpa Blair,” Stuart said. “They may have answers to some of our questions.”

22

J
ILL HAD SAT IN THE PARKING LOT OF THE
S
UFFOLK
County Chronicle
for just a few minutes before backing out and driving away toward downtown Port Lincoln. Dazed, unable to decide what she should do, she had wandered around for nearly an hour. She passed boutiques decorated for Halloween and Thanksgiving; she strolled through the small park and finally sat down on a bench at the end of the dock, watching the sailboats go by.

There was no doubt the police had come looking for Jane Selden. She was grateful for the fact she’d had the sense to hide her hair under a scarf that morning and that she’d worn sunglasses. Why would anyone connect her with Ken Safton? In fact, once the coroner’s report came in, they’d know she couldn’t have committed the murder. The paleness of Safton’s body and the coagulated blood would tell them he’d been killed some time in the night. Jill imagined the lab technicians questioning one another about the skeleton,
wondering why Safton had shot at the thing. And wondering about the mysterious woman who had rushed from his office this morning, only to disappear.

Disappear. That’s what she had to do. A breeze blew off the water, chilling her. Who was she escaping from? The police? Or some dark, powerful force that thought nothing of killing one of its own to keep its secrets?

But she couldn’t just take off. She’d have to give Virginia some kind of excuse—“family problems,” she’d say—she’d have to go somewhere that would help continue her search for Ryan. And though she didn’t like the idea of returning to the paper, she knew there was only one way she would find out where to go: she had to talk to Patrick, as she had planned earlier, to find out what Deliah’s last assignment had been.

Jill sat for a few more minutes, convincing herself that the police had no doubt left by now. Then, determined, she got up and went to her car. When she arrived at the newspaper, Patrick was busy at his typewriter, plunking away with one hand while eating a bagel with cream cheese with the other. When he saw Jill, he put it down and made a welcoming noise.

“Hello,” he cried after swallowing the mouthful. “What a nice surprise. Come to thank me for the column I wrote on the gala?”

“It was wonderful,” Jill said.

Patrick stood up and cleared a pile of
Scientific Americans
from a chair. “Sit down, Jill,” he said. “You look a little pale. Is it that cold out? You want some coffee or hot chocolate? I’ve always got water boiling, and those envelopes—”

Jill shook her head. “No, thanks,” she said.

“So, what can I do for you?”

“Patrick, I need a favor,” Jill asked. “You know I was the last person with Deliah Provost, don’t you?”

Patrick nodded, looking sad. “Poor woman,” he said. “I never thought much of her column. All that horoscope and stargazing stuff is balderdash when you consider the wonders of real science. But she was a
decent person and didn’t deserve to die like that. I always wondered what you were doing with her, Jill. You don’t seem the superstitious type.”

“Not at all,” Jill insisted. “But Deliah said something to me the night of the gala that made it necessary to meet with her.”

“What was that?”

Jill sighed deeply. She hadn’t told Virginia the truth because she didn’t want her friend to get hurt. And she didn’t want Patrick involved in this, either. But Patrick was an intelligent, strong person who could take care of himself. And without him, she might never find her son.

So she told him the whole story. Most of the story, anyway, with the part about Ken Safton deftly removed.

“Meeting with Craig Dylan convinced me my son is alive,” she said. “But I don’t know where to go from here.”

Patrick whistled. “I never would have guessed,” he said. “You always seemed so cheerful. It must have been horrid for you, losing your son like that and having no one to share the grief with.”

“When I came here from Michigan,” Jill said, “I had made up my mind to get on with my life. And I was doing fine until Deliah came along.”

“So, how can I help?” Patrick said.

Jill leaned forward, her hands opened out as if the theory she had was something she could offer physically. “My son was a telepath,” Jill said. “Now, I know you don’t believe in that sort of thing, but it’s true, I swear. I figured that the only way Deliah could have gotten a message from him was if she’d been near him. So I was wondering: can you find out if she took any trips before she died? If I knew the last place she visited, I could look there for my son.”

Patrick rubbed his lower lip with his index finger for a few moments, taking this all in. “It’s amazing,” he said.

“Can you help?”

He shrugged, standing. “I can sure try. Wait here a second, Jill. I’ll see what I can dig up.”

After he left, Jill picked up a two-year-old copy of
Scientific American
and thumbed through it while she was waiting. Patrick was back within ten minutes. “It was easy,” he said. “Deliah has a sister in Albuquerque, New Mexico. She went to visit her last month and came home the night before the gala.”

“New Mexico,” Jill cried.

“That’s right,” Patrick said. “If Deliah was in contact with Ryan just before the gala, maybe it was there.”

Jill stood up. “Then I have to go there.”

Patrick reached out quickly and took hold of her arm. “Whoa! Do you have any idea what a trip to New Mexico is going to cost you, especially with such late notice?”

“I know,” Jill said. “But we’re talking about my son.”

“Who may not even be there,” Patrick said. “Are you going to spend hundreds of dollars each time you have even the slightest clue as to Ryan’s where-abouts?”

Jill looked annoyed. “Then what do you expect me to do?” she asked. “Sit around and wait while my baby is in the hands of murderers?”

“At least look into it further,” Patrick said. “What was that detective’s name? Dylan? Call him and ask if there’s any chance Ryan was taken to New Mexico.”

“He won’t talk to me,” Jill said. “His wife made it very clear I wasn’t to bother them again. And after what happened at his house that day, watching him freak out like that, I could never call him. No, Patrick. If Deliah was in Albuquerque before the gala, then that is where my son contacted her. I’m going.” She stood up, zipping up her jacket. “Patrick, thank you for your help,” she said. “Wish me luck?”

Patrick sighed. “There’s no arguing with you,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“If I can, I’ll be on a flight tomorrow morning,” Jill answered.

Patrick smiled and shook his head. Then he opened his arms and gave Jill a bear hug. “Maybe you’ll be buying an extra ticket,” he said. “A child’s, one way back to New York.”

Jill hugged him back. God, how she prayed he was right!

23

I
N THE DAYS FOLLOWING
K
ATE
’
S FIRST SESSION WITH
Dr. Tavillo, Laura did not make any new appearances. The parapsychologist suggested that, perhaps, she was too frightened to do so after coming so close the other day.

“And she saw you in unfamiliar surroundings,” Alec pointed out during a phone conversation. “I think our next session would be best held in your home, where Laura will feel safe.”

Danny had made arrangements for the boys to stay with Mrs. Ginmoor at her own house, and both he and Kate had relinquished a day’s work to their partners. Dr. Tavillo arrived at the house shortly after lunch, dressed in a tweed jacket, corduroy trousers, and turtleneck sweater. Mist from the nearby water twisted strands of his hair into tight little curls. Danny stepped back and let him into the kitchen.

“Kate’s in the living room,” Danny said. “We’re very eager to get started.”

Alec smiled. “You, too? I wasn’t sure if I had you convinced the other day.”

Danny’s shoulders rose and fell. “It’s sure as hell
something happened to Kate. I just want to find out what’s really going on here.”

Kate was sitting on the living-room couch, facing the entrance, her arms wrapped around a soft-sculptured doll. It was the size of a small child, with dark braids made of yarn that fell to the waist of a pink pinafore. Dressed in a pink blouse and faded blue jeans, Kate looked very much like a child herself.

“Dorothy Williams, my boss, made this for Laura on her third birthday,” Kate explained. “I thought—if Laura came today—that it would help.” There were tears rimming her green eyes. She reached behind her glasses and rubbed them away. “Please help me get her back, Dr. Tavillo,” Kate implored. “I haven’t seen her in days and I’m afraid we’ve lost her.”

“Then let’s get started,” Alec said. “Kate, I want to try a different approach today. I want to try to have you remember something very pleasant about Laura. Some memory that she may be able to pick up, wherever she is, and feel comforted.”

“How about her third birthday?” Danny suggested. “The day Dorothy gave her the doll?”

“That was a long time ago,” Kate said.

“You’ll remember,” Alec said. “Kate, I’ll bring you under the same way as we did the other day. Are you comfortable?”

Kate nodded. She wasn’t comfortable at all, but she was ready. Danny sat on one side of her and Alec sat on the other. The doctor took her by the hands and told her to close her eyes. Within moments, she was completely hypnotized.

“That was fast,” Danny whispered.

“She’s eager,” Alec replied softly.

He let one hand go, but stroked the back of the other with his fingertips.