Somebody Else's Daughter (45 page)

“I'm very sorry,” Claire said. “This won't happen again.”

The man nodded. “I'm not pressing charges. But they took him anyway. I think they wanted to frighten him.”

“Thank you.” Claire took the man's hand. “Thank you for being so kind.”

The police station was on Main Street, an old-fashioned precinct, almost quaint. An enormous print of one of Rockwell's paintings,
Policeman with Boys,
hung in the foyer. Claire wished her business here were so innocent. A cop escorted them down the hall and directed them to a bench outside Detective Croft's office. Claire could see the detective inside on the telephone. Teddy was nowhere in sight. Nate took her hand and squeezed. “It's going to be all right.”

Croft stuck his head out the door. “Mrs. Squire.”

He motioned for her to come into the office; Nate had to stay on the bench.

“Take a seat,” Croft said, motioning to a chair. “The boy will be right out. I should warn you that he's a bit roughed up.”

“What do you mean?”

“He claims somebody beat him up. We're looking into that now. I'm not going to be coy with you, Mrs. Squire, but I'm going to suggest you find yourself a lawyer.”

“He had nothing to do with this, Detective,” she said, but even she wasn't so sure.

“We'll get it all sorted out, Mrs. Squire. I can promise you that.” Croft nodded at her gently, as though he pitied her. She wanted to tell him that her son was kind and good and didn't have a destructive bone in his body—he wouldn't even kill a spider when he found one in the house but would gently scoop it up onto a piece of cardboard and take it outside. Through the window Claire could see them bringing him in, Whalen holding onto his arm. He looked awful; beat up. He had a black eye. He had on her father's leather jacket and his black boots—she regretted letting him buy them now; she regretted a lot of things. He turned abruptly and caught her eye and his face withered somehow, like a wilting flower. A daisy like the ones he'd pull out of the ground when he was little and present to her as a gift. He walked in his loping teenaged way, all arms and legs and feet. She stood up as he entered the office, jaunty, defensive, arrogant.
Don't hug me,
his eyes warned.

“Teddy,” she whispered, and then in a stronger voice, “are you all right?”

He didn't answer her.

“Take a seat, son,” the detective told him.

Teddy sat down and crossed his arms across his chest. It was a familiar pose, one she'd seen many times in the myriad principals' offices of his youth. Whalen sat down against the wall and Croft sat behind his desk. “I know we got off to a bit of a rough start,” he said to Teddy. “But we'll try this again.”

Teddy shot Claire a look.

“Tell us where you were on the night of February third, Mr. Squire.”

“I was home. My mother was out.”

She tried to think: She was over at Nate's. “Yes, that's true.”

Teddy explained how Joe Golding had called and told him about Willa, how she'd climbed out of her window. “Rudy and I went out to look for her.”

“Rudy?” Whalen said. “I'll need his full name.”

“I don't know it. Rudy. He works up there, for the Goldings.”

“He's the barn manager up there,” Whalen clarified.

“Rudy Walsh. He's got a record, don't he?” Croft asked his partner.

“Aggravated assault. He did four years.”

“He had nothing to do with this,” Teddy said.

“Do you want to tell us what you were doing over in Spencertown?”

“I told you. Looking for Willa. We thought Pearl might know where she was.”

“They were friends?”

Teddy glanced at Claire, warily. “Willa had met her at Sunrise House.” He explained her community service project. Whalen and Croft exchanged a look.

Croft said, “Gotta love that community service, teaching us all to be real good citizens.”

“They were friends,” Teddy went on. “But Willa wasn't there.”

Abruptly, Teddy started to cry. “I was worried about her.”

“All right, son. Settle down.”

Teddy admitted that he'd slept with Pearl on several occasions, but he'd never done anything to hurt her. “She was just a girl I knew, all right? She was in a bad situation.”

“You could say that.”

Teddy looked confused.

“I guess she didn't tell you she was pregnant?”

Her son expelled some air. “No.”

“Let's hope for your sake it isn't yours. I don't think a jury would be too happy to hear that.”

“I didn't have anything to do with this,” Teddy said. “Why don't you ask Dale? He's the one who was with her! He's the one who did this.” He pointed to his eye. “He's the one who stole Luther Grimm's dog, not me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Croft dug around in his files and pulled out a dog collar. “Then what was this doing in your locker?”

Claire shot a look at her son, his face white as paint. He didn't say anything; he didn't answer the question.

“I'd like to call my lawyer,” Claire said.

The detective picked up the telephone and placed it in front of her. “Be my guest.”

Claire dialed Lubin's number. When the secretary answered, Claire had to make a concerted effort to push the words out. When she told her it was an emergency, Lubin came right on. “What's the matter, honey?” he said and she was suddenly Teddy's age, pregnant and broke and begging him for a loan. “It's Teddy,” she said. “He's in trouble. We're at the police station.”

"I'm on my way.”

49

The next morning, Joe got a call from Claire, asking him to meet her somewhere, anywhere. They met at the lookout on the mountain and walked the trails. Just being around her, alone, stirred his senses. His memories of being with her were still fresh. Almost immediately she started to cry. “What's wrong?”

When she spoke, her words came in spurts, breathlessly. “Teddy. They're charging him, Joe.”

“With what?”

“Conspiracy to commit murder.”

“On what basis?”

“They have evidence. A witness. They found a dog collar in his locker.”

“So what? That doesn't make him a criminal.”

“The girl was pregnant. They're claiming he had a motive.” She shook her head, nervously lighting a cigarette.

“What motive? She was a prostitute. That sort of thing comes with the territory. Whatever happened to damage control?”

“Apparently she wanted to keep it.”

“How do they fucking know what she wanted?”

“One of the girls in the house. I don't know.” She shook her head. “It's a mess. His arraignment isn't till Monday and I can't make his bail. I don't want to leave him in there all weekend.”

He knew she was going to ask him for money and he also knew that he was going to give it to her. “I'll figure out a way to pay you back,” she said.

He reached out for her and she put her head against his chest. He held her there, breathing in the smell of her, which was at once disarming and familiar. “Don't worry,” he said. “We'll get your boy out. We'll get him.”

She looked up at him through her tears.

“I'd do anything for you,” he told her. “You know that.”

And the crazy thing was he would.

50

She went to pick Teddy up on her own. When they let him out, she wept with gratitude. They stood there in the large hall and she held on to him, crying into his neck. “It's okay, Mom,” he said. “I'm okay.”

He was hungry, so they went to the small café in town. He ordered a hamburger, but didn't eat very much. “I can't believe she's dead,” he said. “Somebody killed her. It just wasn't me.”

They were sitting in a booth near the big windows. He sat there with a toothpick in his mouth, staring sullenly into the dark. Then his face went pale. “There's the car,” he said. “We have to go.”

She paid quickly, leaving too much money on the table, and followed her son out into the night. He was walking quickly across the street to the market. The car in question was parked in the lot, the owner having gone in to shop. It was a vintage car of some sort, a big old sedan from the forties; it looked harmless enough. Teddy went up to it, trying to see in the windows. From the looks of it, the car was completely empty. “You're gonna have to go in there, Mom. Go in and see if you recognize anyone. I'll wait out here.”

“All right. If that's what you want.”

He waited in the shadows while she went in to look around. It was a small market, with narrow little aisles overflowing with merchandise. She wandered cautiously, pretending to shop, and turned into the pet food aisle, surprised to see a familiar face at the end of it. It was Jack Heath. Putting cans of dog food into his cart.

Her heart began to pound.

Gingerly, she backed out of the aisle and left the store.

They waited in Claire's car for Heath to come out. They watched as he loaded the bags into the trunk. Then he got into the car and backed out and they followed him, taking care to keep a good distance behind. As anticipated, he turned in to the school lot. Through the trees they could see his headlights climbing the private road that led up to the Head's house.

“If we follow him, we may be seen,” Claire said.

“We'll have to go in on foot.”

Claire turned down the access road that led into the woods. People came here to run and cross-country ski and, in summer, to swim in the lake. They walked through the woods, a horse-shoe trail that ran around the lake. The girl had been found near here, she realized. In the distance, they could see the lights of the Heaths' cottage. As they approached, they saw that the car was parked, and the groceries had been brought inside.

They walked up the incline toward the house. It was easy to see inside—there were many windows—but they had to be careful. They walked around to the kitchen and could see Maggie Heath putting things away. She was talking to Ada. They could hear her say, “I'm going to feed the dog.”

“See what I told you,” Teddy whispered.

They waited, hiding in the bushes. Several minutes later the door opened and they saw Maggie come out, holding a puppy. “That's right, there you go.” The puppy peed in the grass and barked. Then she scooped it up and brought it back inside.

“Quite the ferocious beast,” Claire whispered.

Teddy looked dejected.

“Let's get out of here.”

They started walking, but then a light came on in the cellar, making small rectangles on the snow. Silently, they crept down to peer through the window. Through the dirty glass, they saw Jack Heath coming down the stairs. They watched as he opened a can of dog food and put it into a bowl. Then he took a box of rat poison and sprinkled it on top. He disappeared for a minute then returned wearing thick black rubber gloves and carrying a baseball bat. Claire could see dog feces all over the floor. A moment later, Heath unlocked a closet and the dog came out to eat. It was a brawny white pit bull.

51

In situations of crisis, it was always best to rely on routine. Maggie had read this in a book somewhere, one of those best sellers that tried to explain inexplicable tragedies, like a track star who loses his legs in a car accident, or a famous mathematician who suddenly loses his mind. Routine was a dependable form of therapy when nothing else would do.

Every morning she got up, washed and dressed, and made the bed. She went down the short hallway and woke Ada, who did the same. They went down for breakfast, each choosing their own brand of cereal. She made Ada's lunch, Jack tied his tie, and the day began. Unlike the beginning of the school year, she'd become a meticulous housekeeper, making certain that all the rooms were tidy, that the floors were scrubbed clean.

Under the circumstances, Maggie wasn't surprised when the detectives came to visit. They asked if she minded if they looked around. She said, no, of course she didn't. They smiled at her as she carried around the puppy. “He's teething,” she told them.

They asked if they could see the cellar. “Of course,” she said.

They went down and looked around. They saw the newspapers where the puppy had done his business. “We put him down here at night,” she said. “We don't want him making a mess around the house. He's still learning, you know how it is.”

“Sure.”

One of them opened the small closet. “What's in here?”

“Just storage. Oh, is that bulb out? I've been meaning to replace it.”

“I've got a flashlight,” the one said.

He turned it on and stepped into the darkness. He wasn't going to find anything; Jack had made sure of that.

Remarkably, her family had made it through the week with little disruption and as each day passed her fear gradually diminished so that it seemed entirely possible that they would get away with it and could get on with their lives, just as they had before. It had been a perfect murder, really, letting the dog do their dirty work—it had cost them twenty thousand dollars—Ada's college money. Dale had taken the money and left the country, leaving the cops with no other suspect but the boy, Teddy Squire. Of course, breaking into the architect's home hadn't helped the boy's situation and the dog collar, well, she had to admit that was a nice touch on Jack's part. In Teddy Squire, the cops had clearly concluded, there were serious indications of a criminal mind, and she saw no argument there. It was the American way, of course, to incriminate a person on the basis of a moral deduction that had little more substance than a hunch. Sometimes it was all a jury needed. For the sake of her family, she hoped it was.