THE LAST BOY (13 page)

“That's the question. Suppose he wasn’t abducted. Suppose he walked on his own. How far do you think a little kid could get?”

“Depends on the kid…” Pellegrino scratched his head.“A couple miles maybe.”

“Yeah, I was thinking along the lines of a three-mile perimeter for starters. Check out all the gorges. Maybe use dogs…You know, I would have done it earlier, but she—the mother—had me convinced that the kid was swiped. Now I’m not so sure. I keep worrying. We got dozens of sightings, but none of them seems legit. There's always something off. But what if I make a mistake and…”

Pellegrino couldn’t help but detect the note of guilt in Tripoli's voice—which wasn’t very characteristic of the man.“Hey, you want me to do something?”

“Appreciate the offer.”

“I feel sorry for the girl.”

“Well, in that case…Molly called from up at old Edna's.”

Pellegrino rolled his eyes. “Geez, Edna.”

“Says that Edna saw the boy that same day he disappeared in front of Woolworth's.”

“Well, she certainly was out roaming then. Stevenson brought her back.”

“Yeah…”

“Remember when that guy with the ski mask tried to rob the
Trust Company?”

Tripoli smiled at the memory.“Yeah, and Edna saw him ripping off his ski mask on Aurora Street while he was fleeing.”

“Said the guy looked exactly like Sidney Poitier.”

“Except it turned out to be Joe Fitchen, who's about as black as an albino. Just one little thing here, Richie. Keeps nagging me.”

“Like?”

“Molly says old Edna can describe the kid's shirt.”

“That's no secret.”

“But apparently she told Molly that the shirt had crisscrossing stripes of yellow and blue.”

“And how reliable is Molly?”

“You want to go up to Oak Hill for me?”

“Visit my old friend Edna?”

“It’d be a help.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” Pellegrino heaved himself up from the chair. The seat was so hard one of his legs had gone to sleep. He worked it, trying to bring it back to life.

“You know, it's very simple,” said Tripoli, thinking out loud.“The kid either walked or was taken. There's no other choice, right?”

“The father,” said Pellegrino.“Did you get a line on him?”

“Nothing. Zip. Relatives don’t have a clue. His mother hasn’t seen him in eight years—you might say they were estranged. You know, Chuck must have dumped his social security number and driver's license and started from scratch. Sisler found an old set of prints on file at the courthouse from when he got a gun permit; but I ran it through the F. B. I.; he's not gotten in trouble, not popped up as an unidentified body somewhere, and not applied for a new pistol permit.”

“I’ll go say hello to Edna.”

Molly couldn’t sit still. She kept driving around town, starting in the Green Street neighborhood and moving in an ever-widening circle.
Every time she saw a cop car, she would flash her lights, come abreast of them, and roll down her window.

“Any news?”

By now all the cops knew who she was. Sometimes she didn’t have to flag them down; sometimes they just pulled over when they saw her and got out of their car.

“Trip is doing just about everything he can,” said Officer Harry Beaner, taking off his dark glasses and squinting in the low sun. Molly could see Danny's picture attached to the clipboard on the front seat of his patrol car.“And Trip's the best.”

“Trip?” she repeated.

“Yeah, that's what we call him. His friends and people.”

“Trip…hmmm.” She liked the sound of it. It fit him.

“He's good people,” Harry continued. “Believe me. He’d give you the shirt right off his back—if you needed it.”

When she swung by her trailer, there was an unmarked radio car parked in front. Tripoli was sitting inside eating a sandwich. There were puffy bags under his eyes, and he needed a shave.

He stepped out of his car as she pulled up.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked, chewing and hurriedly swallowing the mouthful.

“Good as can be expected under the circumstances.”

There was mustard smeared on the left side of his mouth. She laughed despite herself and pointed to her lips.

“Oh,” he said and leaned into his car to hunt for a napkin.

“Here,” she said, opening her purse and pulling out a tissue. “I think this is clean.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“No, the other side.”

He briskly rubbed around his lips.

“Here, give me that,” she said impatiently, took the tissue and wiped his chin.

He seemed embarrassed by the gesture.

“You look tired,” he said.

“Looks like you didn’t get too much sleep either, huh?”

“Sleep?” He smiled wearily.“What's that?”

“You want to come in?”

“No. I just came by to get something.”

“Like?”

“A piece of Danny's clothing.”

Molly felt her stomach sink.

He raised a hand.“Now just hold on before you start to panic.”

“Who's panicked? I just—”

“We’ve organized a search party. We’ve got over a hundred people. And I got some dogs lined up.”

“Good!” she said emphatically.

She went into the trailer and came back in less than a minute with a handful of Danny's clothes.

“None of this has been washed. Come on, let's go,” she said, leaving no doubt about her intentions.

When they got to Woolworth's, there was already a group searching the stream bed behind the store. The men were in high waders, working both ends of the creek, which was flowing briskly. The late afternoon sun was low, casting long shadows across the cold water, magnifying the size of every boulder and tree.

While they sat in his car watching the operation, Tripoli told Molly they were also checking the inlet and the near end of the lake.

“What does
checking
mean?”

Tripoli hesitated.

“You mean like dragging?”

He nodded.

“Do me a favor?”

“Hmm?”

“I can’t stomach bullshit. Just give it to me straight from now on,
no matter what it is, no matter how bad. Okay?”

He nodded.

They were also searching up at the reservoir, he told her quietly, and Six Mile Creek near Giles Street.

“You’re thinking maybe he went
fishing?
”

“I’m beginning to think that maybe he got out somehow. He was probably pissed off after they punished him.”

Molly looked at him long and hard.

“The girl who was working at Kute Kids…” he swallowed. “Cheryl? Turns out she wasn’t such an angel with kids.”

Molly kept quiet.

“She had locked Danny in the basement as punishment for a little while.”

Tripoli watched her face expecting a reaction. When he got none, he said,“So you knew, huh?”

“Yeah. I knew.”

“So who's bullshitting who?”

“That's different.”

“Like hell it is!”

“I got Cheryl to admit to it by promising not to tell.”

“Well, from now on I’d appreciate it if you don’t cut any deals with my witnesses, all right?”

“Hey, I’ll be straight with you. Just you be straight with me. Okay?” Molly held out her hand.

“Okay.” Tripoli took her hand. “A deal,” he said, shaking her hand and holding it tight.

Molly looked down to see her fingers enfolded in his large grip, looked up at him, and felt his hand slip shyly away.

He looked at her for a long moment, then shifted his eyes away. Later, when he wasn’t aware, she ventured a look at him, studying his face in profile. His features were strong, cleft chin, prominent nose and brow—all clearly delineated, like his character. He had a
strong sense of self, of right and wrong, knew who he was. Molly liked that about him. It gave her comfort and made her comfortable in his presence. She knew she was lucky to have him looking for her boy. She could hardly have found a better man for the job.

The door to the trailer was unlocked and Rosie walked right in. She caught Molly sitting at the kitchen table staring blankly into space.

“Oh, Rosie,” she gasped, and the tears sprung to her eyes. Her hands were balled into tight fists.“I’m scared. Really scared now. It's too long already.”

“I kept trying to call you all day, and either the line is busy or you’re out,” she put her arms around Molly and brought her face close.“What's going on?”

“Nothing's going on!” Both of them were crying.

“I tried to work, but couldn’t keep my mind on anything but Danny.”

“It's so damn cold outside and he doesn’t even have his jacket. He hasn’t eaten.” Molly trembled.“He's lost. Someone's taken him. He's dead already. I don’t know what to think.”

The icy air was pouring into the trailer and Rosie went back and closed the front door.

“Oh, I’m so tired.” Molly put her head down on the table and wept.“None of this feels real anymore.”

“You need some food,” said Rosie in her usual take-charge way and set to work, rummaging through the cabinets and fridge. She found some eggs, some mushrooms, and cheese.“Louie Tripoli came by to see me at work,” she said as she beat the eggs with milk and then slipped the mixture into a hot frying pan that sizzled.

“He saw my boss, too. I’m worried that he's wasting his time— that maybe he suspects me in some way.”

“Well if he did, he doesn’t anymore,” Rosie laughed.“Not after the earful of shit I gave him!” She layered the mushrooms and cheese
on the congealing omelet.

“He's not a bad guy, really.” Molly pressed her fingers against her head and rubbed her temples, trying to drive away the dull throbbing that had started in the late afternoon. “He even gave me the number to his cell phone—said I could call him day or night.”

Rosie slipped the omelet onto a plate.“Yeah. Sure.” She brought the plate to the table.“I’m sure they want to find Danny as much as we do—whatta you want to drink with this?”

Suddenly, the phone rang and Molly lunged for it.

“Hi, this is Wally Schuman,” said a man's voice.

It took Molly a second.“Oh, right, the newspaper man. Thanks for the picture. And all the help.”

“Don’t even mention it. Reason I called is that we’re running another story.”

“And Danny's picture, too?”

“Sure. Of course. It's on the wire now, too. It looks like a lot of other papers around the state have picked up the story. Our Gannett wire service has it, too.”

“Good. Ask people to call the police if they’ve seen anything, anything at all. Somebody spotted Danny that afternoon, you know.”

“
Really?
”

Molly told him about Edna Poyer. He, too, knew Edna. Everybody in town seemed to know Edna. “But she described his shirt perfectly. There was no way…Look, somebody else must have seen him, too.”

“Well, we’ll run it in the story. See what pops up.”

“And maybe just say something like…well, if anybody took Danny, I’m begging them to let him go. I’d do anything to get him back.
Anything!
”

Despite herself, Molly was crying again. “Damn it!” she said, banging down the phone.“I can’t even talk anymore. I don’t know what to say. What to do.”

“You gotta trust in God,” said Rosie. She got Molly to sit down, then slid in next to her and tried coaxing her into eating as if she were a child.

“Well, maybe that's okay for you,” said Molly blowing her nose loudly.“My mom believed in all that Jesus and church crap, and just look where it got her.”

They ate in silence. Rosie kept wanting to turn on the television to see if anything was going on, but Molly couldn’t bear it. Rosie wanted to sleep over, but Molly was afraid that having her stay the night would lend an air of permanence to Danny's absence. The thought of Rosie sleeping in Danny's bed—or even out on the couch—somehow seemed more of a threat than a consolation.

“Go home and sleep,” she insisted around midnight. “Ed needs you, too.”

“But…”

“I’m going to take a sleeping pill and knock myself out.”

The days started to flow into each other. Time became elastic; Molly was no longer sure if it was being compressed or stretched. She kept checking her calendar. How long had Danny been missing? What could be measured before in hours now became days. First three days. Then a week. Then almost two weeks. It was all a nightmarish blur.

Somewhere in that dream-like continuum, Doreen came over from the office with bread she had baked. “It's nothing,” she said, looking a bit embarrassed. “It's the only thing that came to mind. That I could…”

Days later, Ben, the editor Larry had hired just before she joined the crew, came by with flowers.“I just wanted to let you know we’re all thinking of you,” he said.

Molly opened the paper wrapping to inhale their fragrance. “Oh, they’re lovely,” she uttered and, before she even realized it, her tears were wetting the petals.

Ben awkwardly put his arm around her shoulder. “Come back soon. We miss you,” he whispered, and then fled before getting emotional himself.

Dianne Lifsey, little Stevie's mother, called to commiserate and find out what was going on. “We still can’t get over what's happened,” said Mrs. Lifsey. “It's terrible. Really terrible.” In her voice Molly thought she detected an undercurrent of better-your-Danny-than-my-Stevie, but she could hardly blame her.

“The state authorities have shut the place down,” said Stevie's mother. “My husband says that Kute Kids probably had extensive liability coverage. You might want to look into it. He's a lawyer, you know.”

One morning, there was yet another TV crew outside waiting for her. They were from one of the major networks, and reluctantly she let them in. With their lights and equipment squeezed into the trailer, there was hardly room to turn around.

The producer was a young man who, despite his beard and mustache, looked almost like a teenager. He kept asking inane questions like, “How does it feel to have your boy missing and not know where he is?”

Molly refused to be provoked to tears or give a flippant reply. She tried to respond calmly. She appealed to the kidnapper to not harm her son and asked viewers to be on the lookout for Danny.

“Did you investigate that daycare center before sending your boy there?”