Stranglehold (36 page)

He wanted him in a lineup with Marge Bernhardt sitting there in front of a two-way mirror.

And what if the disappearing act meant that Arthur was totally losing it? Losing the handle on what passed for his fucked-up life. There was no way of knowing what he'd do. Because the guy was dangerous. Whether he'd done the women or not he was dangerous.

He was certified now. The system had already judged him a man who was dangerous to others, at least to his son. Though Duggan hadn't needed the system to tell him anything about Arthur
Danse
and hadn't for a long time.

The hell with it, he thought. It's a pretty nice day for a ride. Get your butt out to the car.

So he did.

Ellsworth, New Hampshire

It kept nagging at her.

She'd been to Ruth and Harry's every day, twice over two days with this afternoon being the third time. Her reception was cold and distant but that was to be expected. That didn't bother her. What bothered her was Robert.

He acted as though he were hiding something again.

She pulled into the pitted dirt driveway, got out of the car and walked toward the house. It was just after three and the day was gray and chilly and felt like rain. She'd gone back to work for Ellie Brest but Ellie had thrown her out early today, saying she didn't want to see her get caught in a rainstorm—even though the woman was in pain, having broken yet another of the small bones in her wrist while Lydia was away.

She knew that rain had nothing to do with it. She'd voiced her concerns to Ellie about Robert's behavior and as a result she thought it possible that Ellie was nearly as worried about him as she was. She'd phoned ahead from her house and Ruth said begrudgingly that it was all right for her to come over.

Harry's getting sloppy, she thought—or else he's just getting old—because the wooden porch badly needed fixing. The broad gray plank of the second step was cracked through most of its length. All the way across to the rusted
tenpenny
tail on the right-hand side, and it gave beneath her foot.

At the door she knocked and waited.

It was yesterday, mostly, that disturbed her. It was nothing specific, nothing she could put her finger on. Just a silence about him which she didn't feel could be accounted for by the situation he was in, away from her and all the familiar aspects of home, not even by the uncertainty of his future.

Because two days before, on Thursday, he'd seemed to have adjusted more or less. He had a room of his own and all his things were there, including his television and all his toys and books and video games. He seemed to accept what was going on as best as you could expect him to. For his sake she'd been happy to see it.

And then yesterday, complete sullen silence.

As though he blamed her.

She'd asked when they were alone if it was something that had passed between him and Ruth or between him and Harry but all he did was shake his head no and continue working on the math homework she was helping him with. She'd asked if he'd seen his father. No again. So what's the story then? she said. What's the matter? You mad at me?

No, he said. Nothing was the matter. But he said it too loudly so that it felt as though he were annoyed with her. No. As though she ought to have
known
that something was wrong. As though she were stupid for asking.

She asked if he'd even heard from his father and got another denial.

He wouldn't talk again
.

He wouldn't open up again.

That was what was bothering her.

She was about to knock a second time when Ruth appeared at the door. Behind her the first drops of rain were falling. She realized she hadn't rolled up the window on the driver's side.

"Wait," she said. "One minute."

She dashed for the car. Suddenly the rain was coming down for real. So she'd gotten caught in it after all. She rolled up the window and slammed the door and ran back toward the house, glancing up just before she hit the porch to see a lace curtain close in one of the bedrooms on the second floor. Ruth's room, she remembered. She and Harry had separate rooms. Had for years now.

Her blouse was soaked by the time she made it past Ruth and through the door, her thin white lace bra showing.

She flushed seeing Ruth glance down at her breasts.

"I'll get a towel," Ruth muttered. "Boy's in the kitchen,
workin
' on a puzzle."

"Thank you," Lydia said.

I'll be unnerved by this woman forever
, she thought.

The puzzle was really something. He had it about halfway done. She was rusty on her art history but it was either Bosch or
Brengel
. Angels wielding swords and spears against a fleeing horde of surreal-looking monsters—toad-things, fish-things, things being hatched out of eggs. She picked up the box and read the cover and looked at the completed painting.
Breugel
.
The Fall of the Rebel Angels
. Brussels, 1562.
Musees
Royaux
des Beaux-Arts.

Pretty wild stuff.

She kissed him on top of the head.

"Hi, Mom," he said.

"Hey, you're doing pretty good there."

"Yeah, but it's taking forever."

"So? No rush, right?"

"I got one more hour and then
Gramma
wants the table back."

"We'll transfer it to something, don't worry. Where'd you let this, anyway?"

"Dad ...
Gramma
... um, it was Daddy's."

It was as though he'd said too much. He blushed. He went back to fiddling with the puzzle.

"It was Daddy's when he was a boy?"

He nodded.

"What'd they do, pull it out of the attic for you?" He nodded again.

Silence. Silence once again
.

Dammit. What the hell was going on?

Ruth walked in with the towel.

"Here," she said. She glanced at the puzzle and smiled thinly and then she left the room.

Lydia toweled dry her hair. The towel had an unpleasant musty odor. She wondered when it had last been washed.

Whether all Ruth's towels smelled like that or if this one had been specially selected for her.

"Have you heard from your father?"

He shook his head again, staring down at the puzzle, turning a piece of it between his fingers, looking for a place to fit it in.

"Everything okay?"

He nodded.

"You sure?"

He nodded again.

"Hey. I miss you. You know? The house is pretty big and awful quiet without you."

She saw him draw a quick breath. The piece of the puzzle stopped turning in his hand. The tip of his thumb went white where he was holding it.

For god's sake, she thought. What are you doing? Torturing him?

"We'll get you back there real soon, I promise."

She ran her hands over his shoulders and kissed the top of his head again.

"Want some help with that?"

She pulled out a chair and sat down.

They stared at the puzzle and at the pieces of the puzzle. An hour later it was still not finished and they had said barely ten more words to each other.

When she went outside it was almost dark and the rain had stopped. It lay in shining black puddles on the pitted drive. She stepped around them and got into the car and started it.

As she pulled away she gazed again at the second floor window. The curtain was still. The room was dark.

But something about it felt wrong and it took her only a moment to realize that it could not have been Ruth at the window earlier because Ruth was at the door and it could not have been Robert either.

So if Harry was still at the store—as he usually was until just before dinnertime—who was at the window?

She drove by the store to check and pulled into the parking lot in front of it. She could see Harry's young assistant inside sitting alone at the register but not Harry. His pickup wasn't there. But then it hadn't been over at the house either.

She didn't like what she was thinking.

What she was thinking could make her crazy.

But it was possible. It would not be smart and arguably not even sane but it was possible.

It all depended on exactly how arrogant these people actually were. On how much they thought they could get away with.

She was going to watch this carefully. Watch it like a goddamn hawk.

Starting tonight.

She asked Cindy to drive her there, then kill an hour and a half somehow and return to pick her up. Owen
Sansom's
words kept coming back to her—
what we have to prove is that you're anything
but
unstable
—so she didn't want to risk anyone recognizing her car parked somewhere along the side of the road and wondering where she'd got to or some stranger reporting it abandoned to the police. She wanted to be in and out of there undetected, completely invisible. An hour and a half seemed plenty of time to find out what she needed to know.

She changed into jeans, sweatshirt, running shoes and a dark blue jacket and made herself a bowl of soup in the microwave and drank a cup of coffee while she waited for Cindy to drop Gail off at Ed's house for the evening. When she heard the horn outside she was ready.

Cindy's car smelled like potpourri deodorizer and something like vinegar. The vinegar smell came from a glass of apple juice Gail had spilled down into the backseat a couple of months ago. Cindy said she kept on meaning to pull out the seat and clean it up and then she kept forgetting. A pair of Styrofoam dice dangled from the rearview mirror. The ashtray was full to overflowing with the filters of Virginia Slims.

Cindy was too fast a driver and probably drank too much beer for her own good. And she wasn't the neatest person in the world god knows. But she'd dropped everything for this. She was a damn good friend.

On their way out of Plymouth and up the mountain Lydia filled her in on Robert's behavior and the figure in the window.

"You don't really think he'd be crazy enough to ..."

"I can't tell what he'd do. Who'd have thought he'd have done all this?"

"You remember at your sister's wedding? You remember it was me who encouraged you to ... Jesus! I could kick myself in the face for that!"

"You didn't know him then. Or me."

"I thought he was cute and I heard he had money. Turns out he's about as cute as a pet sewer rat."

"He did have money, though."

"Oh, yeah. I got that part right. I'm a genius. Yenta the shithead matchmaker."