Where Are the Children? (18 page)

'Sounds perfect.' Quickly John ordered the steak rare and a green salad. The Chivas warmed his body, and some of his depression began to lift. 'You make a good drink,' he said.

The bartender smiled. 'It takes real talent to put together a Scotch on the rocks,' he said.

'I'm in the business. You know what I mean.' John decided to be candid. 'I'm thinking of buying the place they call The Lookout for a restaurant. What's your top-of-the-head opinion?'

The other man nodded emphatically. 'Could work. A real class restaurant, I mean. Here we do fine, but we get the middle-buck crowd. Families with kids. Old ladies on pensions. Tourists heading for the beach or antique shops. We're right on the main drag. But a place like The Lookout overlooking the bay . . . good atmosphere, good booze, a good menu . . . you could charge top dollar and keep it packed.'

'That's my feeling.'

'Of course if I was you, I'd get rid of that old creep on the top floor.'

'I was wondering about him. He seems to be somewhat odd.'

'Well, he's supposed to be up here every year around this time for the fishing. I know because Ray Eldredge happened to mention it. Nice guy, Ray Eldredge. He's the one whose kids are missing.'

'I heard about that.'

'Damn shame. Nice little kids. Ray and Mrs Eldredge bring them in here once in a while. Some looker, Ray's wife. But like I was saying, I'm not a native. I quit bartending in New York ten years ago after the third time I was mugged going home late. But I always been crazy for fishing. That's how I ended here. And one day just a few weeks ago, this big guy comes in and orders a drink. I know who he is, I seen him around. He's the tenant at The Lookout. Well, I try to make anybody relax, get his beefs of his chest, so just to make conversation, I ask him if he was here in September when the blues were running. You know what that stupe said?'

John waited.

'Nothing. Blank. Zero. He didn't have a clue.' The bartender stood with his hands on his hips. 'Do you believe anyone can come fishing to the Cape seven years and not know what I meant?'

The steak arrived. Gratefully John began to eat. It was delicious. As the taste of the prime meat combined with the warm glow of the drink, he relaxed perceptibly and began to think about The Lookout.

What the bartender had told him had confirmed his decision to make an offer on the place.

He had enjoyed going through the house. The sense of discomfort he'd experienced had begun only on the top floor. That was it. He had been uneasy in the apartment of the tenant, Mr Parrish.

John finished the steak thoughtfully and rather abstractedly paid his bill, remembering to tip the bartender generously. Turning up his collar, he left the restaurant and headed for his car. Now he should turn right and keep towards the mainland? But for minutes he sat irresolutely in the car. What was the matter with him? He was acting like a fool. What crazy impulse was forcing him to return to The Lookout?

Courtney Parrish had been nervous. John had been too many years in the business of sizing people up not to know nervous tension when he saw it. That man had been worried . . . desperately anxious for them to leave. Why? There had been a heavy, sour sweaty smell on him . . . the smell of fear . . . but fear of what? And that telescope. Parrish had rushed over to change the direction it was pointing in when John bent over it. John remembered that when he put it back to approximately where it had been, he'd been able to see the police cars around the Eldredge home. Such an incredibly powerful telescope. If it was directed into the windows of homes in the town, anyone looking into it could become a peeping Tom ... a voyeur.

Was it possible that Courtney Parrish had been looking through the telescope when the children disappeared from behind their home . . . that he had seen something? But, if he had, of course he would have called the police.

The car was cold. John turned the ignition key and waited for the engine to warm up before switching on the heater. He reached for a cigar and lighted it with the small gold Dunhill lighter that had been his wife's anniversary present to him: an extravagant, deeply cherished gift. He puffed at the cigar until the top began to glow.

He was a fool. A suspicious fool. What did one do? Phone the police and say that a man seemed nervous and they should look into it? And if they did, Courtney Parrish would probably say, 'I was about to take my bath and disliked having such short notice of the house being shown.' Perfectly reasonable. People who lived alone tended to become precise in their habits.

Alone. That was the word. That was what was nagging John. He had been surprised not to see someone else in the apartment. Something had made him sure that Courtney Parrish was not alone.

It was the child's toy in the tub. That was it. That incredible rubber duck. And the cloying scent of baby powder . . .

A suspicion so absurd that it would be impossible to vocalize took shape in John Kragopoulos's mind.

He knew what he had to do. Deliberately he took his gold lighter from his pocket and hid it in the glove compartment of his car.

He would drive back to The Lookout unannounced. When Courtney Parrish answered the door, he would ask permission to look for his valuable lighter, which he must have dropped somewhere in the house during his inspection. It was a plausible request. It would give him a chance to look around carefully and either allay what was probably a ridiculous suspicion or have something more than suspicion to discuss with the police.

Having made up his mind, John stepped on the accelerator and swung the car left on Route A6, back towards the centre of Adams Port and the curving, hilly road that led to The Lookout. Visions of a faded, peeling rubber duck bobbed in his head as he drove through the steadily pelting sleet.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

She didn't want to remember . . . there was only pain in going back. Once when she was very little, Nancy had reached up and pulled the handle of a pot on the stove. She could still remember how great torrents of bright red tomato soup had gushed over on her. She'd been in the hospital for weeks and still had faint scars on her chest.

. . . Carl had asked her about those scars . . . stroked them . . . 'Poor little girl, poor little girl. . .' He liked her to tell him about the incident over and over. 'Did it hurt very much?' he would ask.

Remembering was like that. . . Pain . . . only pain . . . Don't remember . . . forget. . . forget. . . Don't want to remember . . .

But the questions, persistent, far away . . . asking about Carl. . . about Mother . . . Lisa . . . Peter . . . Her voice. She was talking. Answering.

'No, please, I don't want to talk about it.'

'But you must. You must help us.' That persistent voice. Why? Why?

'Why were you afraid of Carl, Nancy?'

She had to answer, if only to stop the questions.

She heard her voice, far away, trying to answer ... It was like watching herself in a play . . . Scenes were taking shape.

Mother . . . the dinner . . . the last time she saw Mother . . . Mother's face so troubled, looking at her, at Carl. 'Where did you get that dress, Nancy?' She could tell Mother didn't like it.

The white wool dress. 'Carl helped me pick it out. Do you like it?'

'Isn't it a bit ... young?'

Mother left to make a call. Was it to Dr Miles? Nancy hoped so. She wanted Mother to be happy . . . Maybe she should go home with Mother . . . Maybe she would stop feeling so tired. Did she say that to Carl?

Carl left the table. 'Excuse me, dear' . . . Mother back before him . . .

'Nancy, you and I must talk tomorrow . . . when we're alone. I'll pick you up for breakfast.'

Carl came back . . .

And Mother . . . kissing her cheek . . . 'Good night, darling. I'll see you at eight.' Mother getting in the rented car, waving goodbye, driving down the road . . .

Carl drove her back to school. 'I'm afraid your mother doesn't approve of me yet, dear.'

The call . . . 'There's been an accident . . . Steering mechanism . . .'

Carl . . . 'I'll take care of you, my little girl . . .'

The funeral . . .

The wedding. A bride should wear white. She'd wear the white wool dress. It would do for just going to the Mayor's office.

But she couldn't wear it... grease stain at the shoulder . . . 'Carl, where could I have got grease on this dress? I only wore it to have dinner with Mother.'

'I'll have it cleaned for you.' His hand, familiar, patting her shoulder . . .

'No ... no......'

The voice. 'What do you mean, Nancy?'

'I don't know . . . I'm not sure . . . I'm afraid ..."

'Afraid of Carl?'

'No ... he is good to me . . . I'm so tired . . . always so tired . . . Drink your medicine . . . You need it... The children . . . Peter and Lisa ... all right for a while . . . Carl was good . . . Please, Carl, close the door . . . Please, Carl, I don't like that. . . Don't touch me like that . . . Leave me alone . . .'

'How should he leave you alone, Nancy?'

'No ... I don't want to talk about it . . .'

'Was Carl good to the children?'

'He made them obey ... He wanted them to be good ... He made Peter afraid ... and Lisa. . . "So my little girl has a little girl"

'Is that what Carl said?'

'Yes. He doesn't touch me any more . . . I'm glad . . . But I mustn't have medicine after dinner ... I get too tired . . . There's something wrong ... I must get away . . . The children . . . Get away

'From Carl?'

'I'm not sick . . . Carl is sick

'How is he sick, Nancy?'

'I don't know . . .'

'Nancy, tell us about the day Lisa and Peter disappeared. What do you remember about that?'

'Carl is angry.'

'Why is he angry?'

'The medicine . . . last night... He saw me pour it out . . . got more . . . made me drink it ... So tired ... so sleepy . . . Lisa is crying . . . Carl. . . with her ... I must get up ... must go to her . . . Crying so hard . . . Carl spanked her . . . said she wet the bed ... I have to take her away ... in morning . . . My birthday . . . I'll tell Carl . . .'

'Tell him what?'

'He knows . . . he's beginning to know . . .'

'Know what, Nancy?'

'I'm going away . . . take the children . . . Have to go away . . .'

'Didn't you love Carl, Nancy?'

'I should. He said, "Happy birthday." . . . Lisa so quiet. I promised her we'd make a birthday cake for me . . . She and Peter and I... We'd go out and get candles and chocolate for it. It's a bad day . . . starting to rain . . . Lisa may be getting sick

'Did Carl go to school that day?'

'Yes ... He phoned ... I said we were going to shopping centre . . . that after that I was going to stop at the doctor's to let him see Lisa ... I was worried. I said I'd go to the Mart at eleven . . . after the children's television programme

'What did Carl say when you told him you were worried about Lisa?'

'He said it was a bad day ... if Lisa was getting a cold, he didn't want her out. I said I'd leave them in the car while I shopped . . . They were excited about my birthday. They never had fun ... I shouldn't have let Carl be so strict ... my fault . . . I'll talk to doctor . . . have to ask doctor . . . about Lisa . . . about me ... Why am I always so tired? . . . Why do I take so much medicine? . . . Rob made children laugh . . . They were so different around him . . . Children should laugh . . .'