The Edge of Sleep (23 page)

“Cops are used to chasing wild geese,” Becker said.

“Their own geese. Now we want them to chase ours. We want them to undertake a major search because one boy—for most of them a boy who’s not from their own town or jurisdiction—has been missing for a few days.”

“A week,” said Becker.

“Do you think you can do that?” she asked.

“Me?” Becker asked. “No, I couldn’t hope to do that. I don’t have the skills. I tend to alienate people. I’m too sure of myself. I could never convince them to do it ... But you could.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“A pleasure.”

“Any bright ideas as to how I go about it?”

“No,” said Becker. “But you’d better hurry. At the rate Lamont is escalating his hunger. I’d say Bobby Reynolds has two weeks left. Three at the outside—if he’s very, very docile.”

Karen stood outside the conference room in the Radisson Hotel in Bickford, slowly tearing the tissue she held in her hands to little pieces. The Deputy Chief of the Connecticut state police and the heads or representatives of two dozen local police forces were waiting inside along with as many FBI men from the New York and New England districts as she could command, beg, borrow, or scrape. Getting them all together with only two days’ notice had taken all the authority and good will that her position in the Bureau could muster. And that was the easy part.

Getting them all to do something was not a problem. They would make a token of assistance simply for the asking. What Karen needed, however, was a dedicated effort. Fast and concentrated and thorough. And this from men who resisted, on principle, the very idea, much less the practice, of being told what to do by the federal law enforcement agency. Men who would resist for reasons of turf and professional pride if the directions came from a seasoned agent would resist even more fiercely if they came from a woman.

“A young and beautiful woman at that,” Becker reminded her. He stood next to Karen outside the conference room. Karen had noted that her nervousness only seemed to amuse him.

“They’ll hate me,” she said.

“That is not the average man’s reaction to a young and beautiful woman. Believe me, these guys are very average. You start at an advantage.”

“Are you nuts? I’m walking into a nest of male chauvinists. I’ve got as much advantage as a kitten in a dog kennel.”

“One thing’s for sure, you’ll have their attention,” Becker said, grinning. “Come on, how bad can it be? You command a couple dozen men all the time.”

“I’m their boss. When I talk to them they pay attention, they don’t sit around and grab at their nuts. I don’t have to stand in front of them and convince them of what to do. I tell them.”

“Probably not the best approach to take here,” Becker said.

“Thanks for the advice.”

Becker took her by the hand and removed the decimated tissue.

“Makes you look nervous.” he said.

“No shit. Wouldn’t want to give the wrong impression ... I hate talking to groups. I’m not so bad one-on-one ...”

“Not bad at all.”

She cast him a dark glance. His amusement was getting very hard to take. “But I hate—hell, I fear talking to groups. Especially a room full of cops.”

“I think you’re supposed to imagine them all sitting there naked. That’s supposed to make them less intimidating and to relax you.”

“You want me to imagine a roomful of overweight, balding, middle-aged cops? That’s disgusting. You try imagining that. I’ll come up with my own nightmares.”

“As a middle-aged cop myself, I rise to say, how unkind,” said Becker.

“I don’t mean you. For one thing, you’re not overweight. You’re not balding. You’re certainly not disgusting.”

“Sounds like damning with faint praise to me.”

“Christ, John. I’m in the middle of a crisis here. I can’t cater to your ego right now. You want me to wet myself just thinking about you when I’ve got to go do this?”

“You’ve got a law degree, don’t you? You had to do a lot of talking to earn that.”

“And I hated every second of it. Why do you think I went into the Bureau?”

“A thirst for justice and social equality?”

“This isn’t funny! I hate it! Why don’t you stop being a fucking wit and help me?”

“All right,” Becker said. “I’ll talk to them.”

He started toward the conference room. Karen caught him by the arm and yanked.

“I’ll do it,” she said angrily. “I said I hated it; I didn’t say I couldn’t do it.” She started toward the door, then paused with her hand on the handle.

“And I know that was a ploy,” she said. “Trying to shame me into it.”

“I know you know.”

“It didn’t work. I’m not so easily manipulated.”

“Never thought you were,” he said.

“Just so you know,” she said. She glanced up and down the corridor to be sure they were alone, then she put her hand briefly in his crotch.

“For luck,” she said, grinning. She entered the room with Becker’s laughter sounding behind her.

Karen strode into the conference room and listened to the quality of the conversational drone change as the men caught sight of her. When she took the podium the drone rose to a quizzical buzz.

“Thank you all for coming,” she said. Her voice caught in her throat as she cleared it, cursing herself for a coward.

“I am Karen Crist, Deputy First Assistant for Kidnapping for the Bureau out of New York.”

They had stopped their murmuring and were looking at her now with curiosity and skepticism. Waiting for me to step on my own tongue, she thought.

The Deputy Chief of the Connecticut state police sat in the front row in a uniform so crisply starched and ironed that it appeared to be made of fresh cardboard. Next to him slouched the chief of one of the local forces, a fat, aging, balding man whose belly slopped over his belt like so much runaway bread dough yeasting beyond the rising bowl. As she watched, the chief unconsciously tugged at his crotch.

Assholes of the world united. Karen thought to herself and wondered if she were in the right profession.

She did not allow the doubts to linger, however. Looking up from the chief at the assembled waiting faces, she began.

“How many of you have children?” she asked.

Chapter 14

B
OBBY AWOKE TO FIND HIMSELF
in the bathtub with Ash kneeling beside him on the bathroom floor. The big man was gently cradling the boy’s head in one hand, holding it above the surface of the water while the boy’s naked body stretched full length in the tub.

“It’s all right.” Ash said when he saw the boy’s eyelids flutter. Bobby awoke in fright and confusion.

“You’re all right,” Ash said. “Everything’s all right.” Bobby tried to sit up and the pain struck him hard. Ash was ready and he had his free hand over Bobby’s mouth before the scream could emerge. Bobby could taste the plastic of Ash’s glove.

“Shhh, shhh,” Ash said gently. “It will go away.”

“It hurts,” the boy said. His forehead was wrinkled with an effort to control it. He did not need Ash to be any more specific to realize that noise would bring Dee into the room, her face wild with fury. He remembered the beating now, and each cut and welt upon his back seemed to be throbbing as if he were being struck again. No, not that badly. Bobby thought. Nothing had ever hurt as much as being struck the first time. He remembered the beating. Dee’s insane rhythmic chanting, her grunts of effort, the nonstop rain of lashes. He did not recall passing out, had no recollection of Ash holding him in his arms, carrying him to the bathroom, easing him into the tepid water.

“It hurts,” he said again, looking into Ash’s face for comfort, or sympathy, or understanding. He saw all three as well as a brute acceptance of things as they were.

“It will go away,” Ash said. “I promise.”

He eased Bobby back down into the water and began to rub him all over with a bar of soap in his gloved hand. Dec had told him to always wash a cut before applying disinfectant and he was thorough in his work. Bobby winced and gasped and moaned when the wounds were touched, but he did not cry out. He’s a good one. Ash thought. Dee would like this one better than some. She would let him last longer than some. As for Ash, he loved them all.

“Where is she now?” Bobby asked quietly.

“She’s asleep,” Ash said. “She was very sad. You made her very sad. Tommy.”

“I didn’t run,” Bobby said.

“I know. That was good. But you made her sad anyway.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

Ash shrugged philosophically. “Sometimes we just do.”

Bobby looked at the water. Ash had opened the drain and let the faucet run as he scrubbed Bobby. The water had maintained the same level, but the color had gradually changed. It was just barely pink now; in another minute or two it would be clear.

Ash touched the medallion on Bobby’s chest.

“What is it?”

“It’s a good luck charm,” Bobby explained. He lifted the medallion and looked at it, then turned it to Ash. The big man studied the face of John F. Kennedy stamped on the silver coin. Someone had punched a hole in the half dollar and threaded a cheap dime-store chain through it. The coin still shone brightly after all the years, but the chain had turned a tarnished shade of brown.

“What’s it for?”

“It’s for good luck,” Bobby said.

“What does it do?”

“It gives me good luck.” Bobby said.

“How?”

“I don’t know, it just does. Nothing bad can happen to me as long as I wear it. That’s why I never take it off.” Ash held the coin gingerly between gloved finger and thumb, trying to imagine what bad things it had warded off for Bobby. For a moment Ash wondered if the boy was teasing him, but he seemed utterly convinced of his good fortune.

“You should get one, Ash,” Bobby said.

“Would it work for me?”

“Not this one, this one only works for me.”

Ash nodded solemnly, as if he understood.

“But you could get one for yourself,” Bobby explained. “I could help you find one if you want.”

“Okay.”

Bobby took the coin from Ash’s finger and put it back in its proper place on his chest. Ash regarded the coin with new respect.

“That’s sure a nice ...” Ash groped for the proper word.

“Good luck charm,” Bobby offered.

“Good luck charm,” Ash repeated. “That’s sure a nice good luck charm.”

“It’s the best. It’s never let me down. I found a five-dollar bill on the sidewalk once.”

“Really?”

“Honest. Just lying there.”

“I wish I had one.”

“We’ll get you one,” Bobby said.

“Then I’ll be as lucky as you,” Ash said.

“Maybe,” Bobby said. “It depends on how good your charm is.”

Ash stood the boy in the tub and let the water continue to run as he poured disinfectant over his back and legs. Bobby bit down on a wadded washcloth, but the pain was mild compared to all that had gone before, scarcely more than a sting.

“How come you wear those silly gloves in the water?” Bobby asked.

“Dee says,” Ash replied.

“How come, though?”

“Dee knows all about these things. She says it’s for everybody’s safety.”

Afterwards Ash wrapped a towel around the boy and used another to dry the boy’s hair. They stayed in the bathroom to keep from waking Dee. They could hear her make noises now and again in the agitation of her dreams.

“How come you never sleep?” Bobby asked.

“I can’t.”

“Don’t you get tired?”

“Sure. I get tired all the time, but I can’t let myself go to sleep because of what happens.”

“What happens?”

Ash looked away. He wished the conversation had never started.

“What happens when you go to sleep. Ash?”

Ash shook his head stubbornly.

“Do you have bad dreams?”

“I don’t have dreams. I don’t sleep.”

“Because I have bad dreams sometimes,” Bobby said. “But I sleep anyway. I don’t have them all the time, just sometimes, and besides, they’re not really real.”

“I don’t have bad dreams.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“Oh, come on, Ash. I tell you things, don’t I?”

“Yes ... ”

“I won’t tell anyone else, I promise.”

“Dee knows,” Ash said. As far as he was concerned, there was no one else in their world to tell.

“Well then. If she knows, why can’t I?”

“I kill people.” Ash said in a rush.

“You don’t either.”

“I do. When I go to sleep I do.”

“You don’t either.”

“Uh-huh.”

“If you’re asleep, how do you know?”

“Dee told me.” Ash said.

“How does she know?”

“Everyone knows,” Ash said. “I’m famous.”

“You’re not either.”

“I fell asleep a long time ago and killed my family.”

“How?”

“When I woke up, they were all dead.”

“Your whole family?”

“My mother and father and sister and brother.”

“You couldn’t kill them,” Bobby insisted. “You were just a little boy.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was sixteen. I was big. I wasn’t old enough to be tried as an adult, though. Dee says I was lucky, ’cause if I was any older they would have cooked me.”

“Cooked you! They wouldn’t do that, no one would do that.”

“That’s what Dee says. She said I was lucky I didn’t fry.”

“They don’t fry people,” Bobby said uncertainly.

“She said they would have fried me, but I was too young so they sent me to the hospital instead. That’s where Dee found me. She worked there.”

“Were you sick?”

“They said I was sick to kill my family.”

“You’re not sick. Ash.”

“I don’t always understand things the way I should.”

“I know. But you’re not sick. I think you’re nice.”

Ash smiled brightly, revealing his teeth. Two of them were jagged and darkened at the roots, and Ash hid them behind his hand as he continued to smile.

“I think you’re nice, too,” Ash said.

“Was Dee sick, too?”

“Dee isn’t sick,” Ash said hastily, the smile vanishing. “She has a controllable condition. She has pills. We both have pills. I’m controllable, too ... Sometimes Dee doesn’t take her pills. But I always take mine.”

“Why was she in the hospital if she wasn’t sick?”