The Dark House (29 page)

“Right now?” Whit asked.

Rollins nodded.

“Well, how dramatic,” Marie said.

 

Rollins used the telephone in the game room, settled onto the wicker settee, with a view of the surrounding marsh.

“And where the hell have you been?” Schecter asked the moment he came on the line.

Rollins had to tell him he was in Gloucester, which caused Schecter to sputter with amazement, and that only got worse when he said he had Heather with him. But his voice moderated as the detective thought the matter through. “Well, hang on to her,” he told Rollins. “Who knows? She might come in handy. But get your ass down here. If you ever want to get any answers on this case, now's the time.”

 

Rollins returned to the dining room, where Heather was now sitting on Geena's lap while she took bites out of her chicken salad sandwich, and Marj looked on tentatively from beside the mantelpiece, adorned with a model of a clipper ship. Perhaps she didn't belong in such a place, with these people.

“Well?” asked Uncle Lloyd as he popped a slice of hard-boiled egg into his mouth.

“We should go,” Rollins said.

“Has something happened?” Whit asked eagerly.

“Not yet. But it might soon.”

The group all professed disappointment that Rollins and his “friends” had to leave so soon. They were going to put up the net for badminton after lunch, and Marie was organizing an expedition into
town to buy lobsters for dinner. Geena would have liked to show Heather the upstairs.

“Do you play bridge?” the redhead asked Marj. “We were trying to get up a foursome.”

Marj shook her head. “Sorry.”

“How about canasta?” asked Whit.

“I don't even know what that is.”

Geena did her best to sound reassuring. “Well, I'm sure you have lots of talents that we don't know about.”

By then, Rollins had led Marj and Heather into the front hall, where Heather retrieved her towel and teddy bear, and then, shouting one last round of good-byes, they headed out to the car.

 

Rollins' face was sore with sunburn, and his discomfort was not lessened by the sullen looks that Marj, still damp and sandy, gave him as they drove south. He thought he'd done a little better to fit her into the group, but now Marj made it sound as if she wasn't sure it was worth the effort. “Are they all like that?” she asked.

“Like what?”

“Rich, I guess I mean.” She swept the hair off her forehead. “They don't seem very nice.”

“They're okay, just a little loud.”

“You sure you're not just trying me out like those new clothes of yours? I keep thinking you'd be better off with a preppie like that Geena.”

“You mean, I should stick to my own kind?”

“Maybe.”

“Thanks a lot!” Rollins thought if he said it in a joking way, then she'd dismiss the whole idea as a joke. He shifted gears. “We don't have to go back there if you don't want. I don't have much to do with my family, as you may have noticed.” He waited a moment, unsure if this was the time to say this. “I liked seeing you with Heather.”

“Oh, we're having kids now, is that it?”

Rollins prudently remained silent, but, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Marj staring at him, shaking her head as if she couldn't
believe what she was seeing. “Sex really gets to you, doesn't it?” she said.

“I'm serious.”

“I know you are. One thing about you, Rolo, is you are always serious.” There was only a slight edge to her voice, which Rollins appreciated.

Marj turned to check on Heather, who was snoozing in the backseat.

“She is cute, isn't she?” Rollins said.

“Look, Rolo, maybe we should talk about this some other time, okay?”

Rollins returned his eyes to the road. “Of course.”

 

Schecter had given Rollins the Melrose address, which was off Upham Street near the center of town. Rollins had driven through the congested downtown a few times before, on one pursuit or another, but it seemed like a new place now that he knew Tina Mancuso lived here. He turned down a narrow street lined with modest two-story houses bounded by tiny yards.

“Hey, that's
my
house!” Heather shouted when Rollins drew near a gray dwelling topped with a TV antenna.

“That's right. A friend of mine and I are going for a visit.”

“Can I come?”

“No, I think you better wait with Marj.”

Heather made a long face and slumped down in her seat. “I wanted to show you my room.”

“Maybe later,” Rollins said.

“We'll have a good time,” Marj assured her.

Schecter's silver Cressida was parked up ahead, a short ways down from the house. Rollins tapped on the window on the passenger side, and Schecter popped the lock. Rollins took a seat beside him. Schecter was wearing a University of Maine baseball cap, and he was working a cigar, which had filled the car with smoke.

“Took her swimming, huh?” Schecter tamped the ash into the tray under the radio.

Rollins didn't want to discuss it. “Tina leave yet?”

“No, Wayne did.”

After spending the day with Heather, Rollins wasn't sure he was ready for an ugly confrontation with her mother.

“Just a couple minutes ago,” Schecter went on. “I tried to follow him, but I got cut off by a fat-assed truck. Maybe you should give me surveillance lessons. I seem to be losing my touch.” He glanced at Rollins, as if to see how such a rare gesture of self-effacement was going down. “I was going to see if I could pick him up at his house, but I didn't want to lose the broad. She's still in there, as far as I can tell.”

Rollins must have frowned because Schecter asked, “Why, you got a problem with that?”

“I'm worried about Heather.”

“Nothing's going to happen to Heather.”

“Tina's going to figure out that Heather told us about the Sloane connection, and she's going to take it out on her.”

“So?”

Rollins had adjusted the rearview so that he could see Heather and Marj in his car behind them. Heather was up in the front seat, flipping the sun visor up and down. “She might get hurt, Al.”

“Rollins, look, don't go soft on me, all right? The kid'll be fine.”

Rollins looked over at him. “Are yours?”

“Cut the shit, would you?” Schecter said angrily. “You want to keep running all your life? Is that what you want? And what about that girlfriend of yours? You want her to keep running? You can't even live in your apartment anymore. I mean, my God, Rollins, where does it stop?”

Rollins shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Go ahead. Wimp out.” Schecter stubbed out his cigar. “I'll go in there myself.” He opened the door and climbed out of the car, headed across the street to the Mancuso house.

To gain something, did you always have to risk something else? Rollins slammed his hand down on the seat beside him, then opened the car door to follow. “Okay,” he called out to Schecter across the street. “Just wait a second, will you?”

Schecter took Rollins by a high fence where they couldn't be seen from the house and he laid out the plan. They'd go in together. Rollins would get first crack at asking the questions, then Schecter would follow with his own. “I've got my gun, in case anything happens.” He pulled back his jacket to show Rollins the small automatic in the discreet leather holster on his belt. Rollins had seen the gun before, but it stunned him to see it again in a situation where he might use it. “Oh, quit worrying,” Schecter told him. “I'm just going to throw a scare into her.” Schecter went on a few steps, then stopped again. “She was fucking with you, don't forget. She was really jerking you around.”

Schecter led the way up to the front door. The house could have used a little work. The shingles looked battered, and a couple of window panes were cracked. Up on the concrete landing, Schecter had Rollins press the buzzer while he himself stood well off to the side, out of view.

It took forever for the door to open, and when it did, it only cracked open a few inches, secured by a thin brass chain at about eye level. “Well look at this,” Tina said. “What are you doing here?”

“I've got some questions for you.”

“Sorry,” Tina said. “Not buying today.” She started to close the door, but before she could lock it, Schecter stepped across and rammed his shoulder into the door, ripping the chain off the door frame with a splintering sound. He bulled his way inside, and Rollins followed behind.

Tina gave out a shout and started to run upstairs, but Schecter grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her over to a swivel chair in the living room. “Sit down.” He shoved her into her seat.

“I was just going to get my robe.” She was dressed only in a thin, silver nightgown that barely reached her knees. It didn't look like she had anything on underneath. She crossed her arms in front of her.

“You won't need it,” Schecter told her. “It's nice and warm today.” He nodded to Rollins, and he shut the door behind them, and turned the bolt.

“Get some tape, would you?” Schecter called to Rollins. “Check in the kitchen.”

Frightened, Rollins didn't ask why. He went into the kitchen, a meager space, and tried a few of the drawers. He found some duct tape in the cupboard over the refrigerator. He brought it in to the living room, which was largely unfurnished and had no rug on the floor. Tina was in the swivel chair, with Schecter standing over her.

“What do you want from me?” Tina demanded. “Why are you doing this?”

“We just want some answers to a few simple questions,” Schecter said. Then, to Rollins: “Tie her hands.”

Rollins didn't think he could participate in anything like this. “Are you sure—?”

“Do it!”

Rollins started to pull off a few feet of tape.

“I've got some questions for
you
.” Tina swung an arm toward Rollins. “What were you doing following my boyfriend all over the place? Answer me that.”

Schecter leaned down toward her. “Shut the fuck up.”

Tina said nothing, her chest heaving. She glared at Schecter.

“Now, put your hands behind the back of the chair,” Schecter told her.

Tina left her arms where they were. “Go to hell.”

Suddenly, Schecter grabbed Tina by the front of her nightie and yanked her out of her chair. Schecter drew her to him and took her left ear and twisted it sharply, forcing her head back. “Ow, ow, ow,” she yelled, gasping. Her chin was pointing nearly straight up, exposing her neck, and some of the whiter skin down her front.

Rollins pulled on Schecter's shoulder to get him to stop. “Don't, Al. Please. Don't hurt her.”

Schecter shoved her back into her chair. The neckline of the nightie was torn, exposing the top of one breast. Tina tried to cover herself. Schecter leaned down toward her menacingly. “Hands behind your back, I said.”

Tina did as she was told, and Rollins bound her wrists—slender, with silver bracelets he hadn't noticed before—with several rounds of tape as she made fists.

“Now the feet,” Schecter said. “One on each chair leg.”

Rollins hesitated. “For God's sake, Al.”

“Just do it.” Schecter pushed her knees open.

“Oh, into S and M, huh?” Tina asked. “You are really sick.”

He ignored her. “
Now
,” he told Rollins.

Rollins pulled off more tape and, crouching down, affixed each ankle to one of the chair's two front legs. In his hands, he could feel the slight stubble of her shaved legs. Her feet were cold to his touch.

When he was done, Rollins stood behind Schecter, looking down at her. It gave him no pleasure to turn the tables on Tina, to toy with her the way she had toyed with him. He only felt sorry for her as she strained in her chair, her shoulders contorted so awkwardly to accommodate the hands bound behind her. And her torn and rumpled nightie barely covered her.

“All right, how do you know Jerry Sloane?” Schecter demanded.

“Fuck off,” Tina said.

“Well, a tough one. I hope you said a nice good-bye to your little girl this morning.”

Finally, there was some distress in her voice: “What have you done with her?”

“Nothing yet.” Schecter pushed his hands onto either side of her face and gripped her ears again. His face was just inches from hers. “But there's no telling what I might do.”

This time, when he withdrew his hands, a tear trickled down the side of Tina's nose. She flicked her head to the side, as if to dispel it.

“That's much better,” Schecter said. “Now, why don't we start by your telling us about Jerry.”

Tina looked down at the floor.

Schecter started to reach for her one more time.

“Okay, I'll tell you what I know. Just don't touch me, all right?”

Schecter drew back his hands. “Jerry,” he repeated.

She started to speak, timidly at first. She confirmed things they already knew, like the fact that Sloane sold real estate and lived in Medford, then moved on to how Sloane had been in charge of the operation. “He got Wayne and me to watch him,” she said, nodding toward
Rollins. “We were supposed to report his movements, every day. Make a note of where he went, what he did. Wayne handled everything outside, I did the inside.” As she spoke, Tina's eyes rarely left Schecter's face. Her breath did not come smoothly. And the nightie was so thin, Rollins could see it flutter with each beat of her heart.

“So, how'd you get involved?” Schecter asked.

“Through Wayne.” He'd sold real estate part-time for Sloane Realty, Tina explained, but he was always available for extra jobs if the money was right. “He was the one who figured out you had this crazy driving thing, following people,” Tina said, finally looking up at Rollins, just for a moment. It gave Rollins a chill to hear his pursuits described like that. While Schecter listened with his arms folded across his chest, she explained that Jeffries had been watching Rollins' car one evening when he saw the Nissan suddenly take off, then keep on for ten miles, then pull up across from a house where a car had just turned in. Sloane had thought Wayne was “totally fucking nuts,” as Tina put it, when he'd suggested that Rollins followed people pretty much at random. So he'd gone out to prove it by driving by Rollins' car several times when he was idling that night in Union Square. “It was like he was throwing out a hook,” Tina said. “And finally you bit.” But Jeffries had panicked once he'd found Rollins behind him. “And he couldn't shake you! He goes here, he goes there, but you stay on him like a bloodhound.” In desperation, he'd gone back to the one house beside his own to which he had a key, the one in North Reading. It had just gone on the market. He hid in the basement for hours, hoping Rollins would go away. Sloane was furious about that. “I guess that house was owned by somebody he knew. He was afraid you'd trace it.”