Lost Innocents (24 page)

“Wow,” Len said solemnly. “Wow.”

Donna and Johnny Wallace sat stolidly in the chairs in front of Frank Cameron’s desk and stared at the police chief with angry, bleary eyes. Frank, who had had almost as little sleep as the distraught parents, tried to reassure them that he was doing everything that could be done.

Johnny Wallace jumped up in the middle of Frank’s reassurances and started screaming. “We don’t want excuses,” he cried. “We want our baby back!”

“I understand,” said Frank. “We want the same thing. But all we can do, unless we hear from the kidnapper, is to proceed as we are doing. Checking out every possible suspect. Every possible lead. Now, my question is, what are both of you doing here? What if the kidnapper should call with a ransom demand while you are both here?”

“I couldn’t stand to sit there anymore,” Donna said apologetically.

“Don’t try to make out like this is our fault,” Johnny cried.

“It’s not my fault, either, sir,” said Frank, just barely keeping a lid on his hostility.

“He’s right,” Donna said wearily to her husband. “One of us should be at home.” She got up from her seat, fresh tears running in well-formed tracks down her cheeks. “You’ll call us, right, Chief?” she asked in a dull voice.

“If there’s anything…anything at all,” Frank said, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. He really did feel for her. For both of them, whether they knew it or not.

The phone on his desk rang, and Frank looked at it warily. In between busting his butt trying to get a lead on the fate of Justin Wallace, he had been wasting his precious time on damage control as one irate citizen after another had called to complain about Len Wickes’s outrageous interrogations. Frank was half waiting to hear from Charles Henson again. Frank had chewed out Len Wickes sixteen ways from Sunday when he’d found out about how Len had taken it upon himself to correlate the adoption data and use strong-arm techniques on the people who had tried hardest, and with the least success, to adopt a baby. As much as Frank needed every available officer, he could not let that kind of hot-dog behavior go unpunished. Len had slunk out of the station house, almost slope shouldered in disgrace.

Frank picked up the phone as if it were a hand grenade minus the pin and barked out his name and rank. To his relief, he heard the voice of Pete Millard on the other end. Pete had been out checking up on the efforts of the diving team that was searching the lake in the state forest, looking for the little body of Justin Wallace. So far, nothing. Frank didn’t know whether he wanted to convey this information to the Wallaces or not. As long as there was no body, there was still hope. But the image of a baby drowned and tangled in the muddy grass of a lake bed might be more than Donna Wallace wanted to contemplate right now.

“When are we ever going to get a break on this?” Frank demanded irritably.

Pete knew it wasn’t an actual question. “I’m going to get back to it,” he said.

“Keep me posted,” said Frank, hanging up as Delilah Jones stuck her head in the door.

“What is it?” he growled at the cadet.

Delilah smiled like the Cheshire cat. “Len’s here,” she said.

Frank pushed himself up from his chair. “I told that ignorant—”

“You’re going to like it,” she said, beckoning to him with one polished fingernail.

Frank never could get used to those red nails with the severe blue uniform. He scowled, but his heart lifted. Delilah would never dare to announce that Len Wickes was back in the station house unless she was absolutely sure this was good news. Frank assumed his steeliest expression and strode out of his office.

Len Wickes was standing next to Rocco Belmont’s desk. He winced slightly at the sight of the scowling chief but held his ground. Seated next to him, in Detective Belmont’s chair, was a good-looking Asian man in his late twenties, wearing a warm-up suit. Frank glared at Len.

“What do you want?” he said.

“Chief, I’d like you to meet Mr. Tom Ishikawa. I found him in Binney Park doing his tai chi exercises.”

“You’re suspended,” Frank reminded him. Then he turned to Mr. Ishikawa, who had risen politely from the chair, and said gruffly, “How do you do?”

“Mr. Ishikawa was in the park the day Rebecca Starnes and Justin Wallace disappeared,” said Len. “He saw them.”

Frank turned his laser gaze on the witness. “Is that right?”

“I saw them.”

“We’ve been looking for you. Don’t you read the papers?”

“He’s been away,” Len said apologetically.

“So, did you see them talking to anyone?” Frank demanded.

Mr. Ishikawa nodded. “A man.”

“Can you describe the man?”

Len and Delilah exchanged a glance. Len took a deep breath, and Delilah smiled broadly, ready for the piece de resistance.

“Well, actually, I know him,” said Tom.

Frank stared at him in disbelief.

“Well, I don’t exactly know him. But I know who he is. He played two years on a farm team and one full season at first base for the Philadelphia Phillies. His name is Doug Blake.”

Frank felt the blood drain from his face as he leaned over against the desk. “Are you sure about this?” he said quietly.

“Positive,” said the baseball fan.

“Son of a bitch,” Frank muttered.

“He told us he wasn’t there,” Len said proudly.

Frank straightened up and nodded. “Thank you for coming forward, Mr. Ishikawa. Please be sure and leave a number where we can reach you.”

Tom looked uncertainly at Len, as if to say, “Is that all?” Len nodded, and Frank went back into his office, barking orders out the door. “Jones, get me Pete Millard on the phone. Now. Wickes, you’re back on duty. Don’t fuck up again. You can come with me. We’re going to go out and pay a call on Mr. Douglas Blake.” His voice dripped venom at the suspect’s name.

“Dad, Dad,” cried Heather.

Frank, who was pulling on his jacket, looked up to see his daughter in the doorway, flanked by two other teenagers.

“Not now, Heather,” he said. “I’ve got something important to do.”

Heather’s face fell at being dismissed without even a word of greeting, but Richie Talbot had no emotional hangups about Chief Cameron. “I think you’re going to be interested in this, sir,” he said.

Frank frowned at the videotape in the boy’s hand. “What is that?” he demanded suspiciously.

Richie Talbot waved the videotape in the air as if Frank were about to grab at it. “It’s a special feature,” he said.

“I don’t have time for games, boy,” Frank said menacingly.

“It’s Mr. Douglas Blake. Caught in the act.”

Frank looked greedily at the black plastic box. “What exactly do you mean by that?” he asked.

“Have you got a VCR?” Richie said with a broad smile. “I think you’ll find it very interesting.”

Frank Cameron rubbed his jaw and looked at Delilah and Len, who were crowded behind the teenagers in the doorway. “I think we have time for this,” he said.

M
addy opened the back door to the house and walked in. It was no use trying to work. She had been out in her studio, staring at the templates, trying in vain to concentrate. She and Doug had gone to bed at separate times last night, without speaking. This morning he had seemed contrite and asked her to wish him well as he headed back to school. She had tried to summon up some sincere wishes for his difficult reentry, but all good she could think about was his fingers tightening on her wrist, the malevolence in his eyes when he’d turned on her.

“Mrs. Blake?”

Maddy jumped at the sound of the voice behind her as she hung up her jacket. It was Terry Lewis. Bonnie had gone off to buy diapers and baby food at the grocery store and to check out some of the nearby motels for possible places to stay. Maddy looked anxiously Terry. The man was an ex-con after all, at and Maddy did not feel entirely comfortable being alone with him.

“What?” she asked defensively.

“Sean fell asleep on the couch,” he said. “And I can’t really lift him. Would you mind carrying him up to his crib?”

Maddy felt a huge sense of relief at the normalcy of his request. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll be happy to.”

She went into the living room, Terry creeping slowly down the hall behind her. Sean was fast asleep on the couch, his mouth open as he breathed through his rosebud lips. His long eyelashes fluttered on his cheeks. His short, soft hair was damp and curly. When she reached down and picked him up, he fell heavily against her.

“I thought I would rest awhile, while he’s sleeping,” said Terry.

Maddy rubbed Sean gently on the back and started for the stairs. “That’s a good idea,” she said. She carried Sean up to the guest room and laid him down gently in the crib. The room was tidy, the bags were packed. Bonnie had seen to that before she went out. Sean grasped a wad of quilt in his tiny hand and slept on peacefully.

Maddy closed the door on him and started back down the hallway. Suddenly she heard Terry calling her name again, this time in an urgent whisper from the foot of the stairs. “What is it?” she asked, hurrying, responding to the anxiety in his voice.

“The police are here,” he said. “What are they here for?”

Maddy came down the stairs, her face drawn and angry. “I don’t know,” she said, although she was filled with apprehension.

“I don’t really want to tangle with the police anymore,” said Terry.

Maddy nodded. “It’s probably about the accident,” she said, trying to reassure him and herself.

“I’ll go in there,” he said, pointing to the little TV room down the hall.

Maddy didn’t care where he went. All her attention was focused on the banging at her door, the black-and-white car she could see in her driveway. She composed herself as best she could and opened the door. Chief Cameron stood there, accompanied by a detective in a rumpled suit and a uniformed officer.

“Chief Cameron,” Maddy said coldly. “Not again.”

“Oh yes, again,” he said, pushing his way into the foyer.

“Hey,” Maddy protested. “I didn’t ask you in.”

“Where is your husband?” the chief demanded.

“I don’t know,” said Maddy. “Probably working late at school. But I think I’m going to call my lawyer, because you cannot keep on harassing us like this.” She sounded defiant, but she felt a hard little knot in her stomach. Where the hell was Doug? she wondered. Why didn’t he come home right after school?

“You better call a lawyer, ’cause you’re going to need one,” said the chief with grim satisfaction.

“What’s this all about?” Maddy asked.

“About the murder of Rebecca Starnes, for starters. We have a witness who saw your husband engaged in an intense discussion with Ms. Starnes in the park shortly before she died. You know, when he said he hadn’t been anywhere near her or the park that day?”

Maddy’s heart was pounding. Maybe it was another bluff. “So what,” she said, sticking out her chin. “Maybe your witness is mistaken. The last one was, as I recall.”

Chief Cameron squinted down at her. “Look, Mrs. Blake. You don’t know this yet, but you are about to find out. You believed all his lies about my daughter. I don’t blame you for that. But I’m warning you to prepare yourself. The bad news is about to hit the fan.” He could hardly contain his glee, and his certainty was terrifying.

The detective in the suit was scrutinizing the house as if he were planning to rent it. The uniformed officer was looking at her with a combination of scorn and pity. Maddy felt a rising panic. “My husband is not here,” she said through clenched teeth. “Now will you please leave?”

At that moment the phone rang. “Maybe that’s your hubby now,” Frank Cameron said unkindly.

Maddy walked to the phone and picked it up stiffly. “Hello?” she said.

“Hello, Maddy. I’m on my way home and I thought I’d pick up a movie for us at the video place. Is there something you’d like to see Maddy flinched at the sound of his voice. Warm and cajoling. Eager to make amends. “Hello, Ruth,” she said. “Do you want me to come and get Amy?”

“What’s the matter?” Doug asked in alarm. Then he said, “Are the police there?”

How does he know? she thought. Why would he expect the police to be here? What is happening? “Yes,” she said.

“Oh Jesus,” he cried.

“Where are you?” she said.

There was a silence at his end.

“I’ll come and get her right now if you’ll tell me where to meet you,” Maddy said.

He was silent, thinking.

“Oh no, Ruth, I insist,” said Maddy.

“All right. At the fort. By the guardhouse.”

Fort Wynadot. It was a historical site that attracted lots of summer visitors. The scene of some battles between Indians and local settlers in colonial days. It would be pretty deserted now. “Okay,” she said. “At St. Anne’s. Say, fifteen minutes.”

He hung up the phone without replying. Bastard, she thought. I want some answers before the police whisk you away, before Charles Henson starts telling you what to say. She hung up the phone and returned to the foyer. “I have to go and pick up my daughter,” she said.

“Someone’s smoking in there,” said Frank Cameron.

“We have a guest,” said Maddy.

“Pete,” said the chief, indicating for the detective to go and look in the room down the hall.

Pete Millard walked down the hall and pushed open the door to the TV room. Terry Lewis sat hunched forward on the couch, puffing nervously on an unfiltered cigarette. Pete frowned at the man with the rugged, outlaw appearance.

“How ya doin’, brother,” Terry said anxiously, glancing up and meeting the detective’s eyes for a moment.

Pete did not answer. He contemplated Terry suspiciously, then returned to the foyer. “It’s not him,” he said.

“I have to go,” said Maddy. “My daughter is waiting for

>> me.

“All right, go,” said Frank, spreading his arms wide as if making a pathway for her. “Don’t let us stop you.”

She got her jacket, thinking that the first thing she had to do, when she got out of their sight, was to call Ruth Crandall and actually arrange to pick up Amy. She didn’t want Ruth coming by with her while the cops were here, catching her in a lie. She tried to think. There was a phone booth at the convenience store around the corner. She could stop on her way to the fort. She wondered if Doug would be at the fort. She wondered what would happen if the police did catch her in a lie. They couldn’t arrest her for that, could they? What did they really know? What was the truth?