Victim

by Gayle Wilson

  Mrs. Ingersoll sighed and stubbed out her cigarette in the overflowing dish. "I don't know why everything takes so long."

  "It's just the way these things work," Mac said.

  "When they work,” Sarah added under her breath.

  She hadn't looked at him straight on since he'd come inside. He knew why, because he knew what she was thinking. The same thing he was. The only person who didn't seem to understand was Dwight's mother.

  And his grandmother, of course. She was ensconced in her recliner in the living room, the television blaring away on some sitcom. He wasn't even sure she was aware now that Dwight was gone.

  "Will the police call me or should I call them?"

  "They'll call when they have something," Mac said.

  This was the first time he'd been on the "other side" of this kind of situation. The waiting side.

  He had to admit he'd never thought much about how the families of the missing spent these hours. He opened his mouth, about to attempt an explanation of the process the police were going through in trying to find Dwight, when Mrs. Ingersoll stood up, her eyes focused on something in the front room.

  "Where the hell have you been?" she demanded angrily. "Do you know how much trouble you've caused?"

  Sarah reacted before Mac could, pushing past him and hurrying out of the kitchen. "Dwight? Oh, my God, Dwight, where have you been?"

  Mac and the boy's mother followed. Apparently the kid had let himself into the apartment using a key hanging around his neck.

  He'd been in the process of dropping it back down into the neck of his sweater when they'd begun bombarding him with questions. Eyes wide. Dwight looked from one to the other, as if unsure who to answer first.

  His cheeks were reddened from the cold as were his hands, their chapped knuckles curved around the key he still held. He wore the same jacket he'd worn the day Mac questioned him in Sarah's apartment and no hat.

  His mother crossed the room faster than Mac had seen her move before. She took the boy's arm and shook him hard.

  "You were supposed to be watching Nana. How the hell would you have felt if something had happened to her while you were out gallivanting around?"

  Mac felt sorry for the kid, whose eyes were now shifting from his mother's furious features to his grandmother, who seemed oblivious to the commotion.

  Finally they settled pleadingly on Sarah. "I did what you told me, but you didn't come."

  "What I told you?" Sarah repeated, shaking her head. "I don't understand. Dwight."

  "In the note you sent me. I went to the playground, and I waited and waited for you and Toby, but you never came. Did you lose him?" The boy leaned to the side to look around Sarah, obviously searching for the dog.

  "No, he's fine. He's upstairs in my apartment, but... I didn't send you a note. Dwight."

  "Are you lying?" his mother demanded, shaking his arm again. "You answer me right now, you hear. And don't you start trying to blame this on somebody else."

  "But he gave me a note." Dwight dropped the key, and with the hand that had held it, he reached into the pocket of his jacket. From it he pulled out a folded piece of yellow paper. "He said it was from you."

  Sarah reached for what he held out, but Mac pushed her arm away. Surprised, she looked at him questioningly.

  "I need a plastic bag. Mrs. Ingersoll," Mac said. "One of the zipper kind, preferably."

  The mother's eyes, widened in surprise, focused on his face, but she didn't release her son's arm. "What for?"

  "Evidence," he said softly.

  Sarah's mouth opened and then closed, but he could tell from her face that she, at least, knew what he was thinking.

  "Could you get me a bag?" Mac repeated to the mother.

  He walked forward and stooped in front of the child, so that they were approximately on eye level. "Just hold the note until your mom gets the bag to put it in. okay?"

  The boy nodded, his arm still stretched out in front of him, the paper gripped between his thumb and forefinger.

  "It's okay," Mac said. "We were worried because we didn't know where you were. Nobody's mad at you. Your mom's just scared. We were all afraid something had happened to you."

  "I'm fine."

  "I can see that." Mac smiled at him reassuringly, and the thin, hunched shoulders visibly relaxed. "I want you to do something for me, okay?"

  Dwight nodded again, and then his eyes lifted to watch his mother's approach. She held a sandwich bag out to Mac, her face still tight with anger.

  "Thanks." He took the bag and opened it, allowing the boy to put the note inside. When he had, Mac closed the bag and then slipped it into his shirt pocket. "Now tell me about the man who gave you that."

  The boy's gaze came back to his face, but his eyes flicked up to his mother once more before they moved on to Sarah. Mac assumed she smiled at him, because the corners of Dwight's mouth made an answering motion, transforming his pinched features.

  "He said it was from her."

  "From Sarah?"

  "He said Miz Patterson who lives upstairs."

  "Where was this, Dwight? Where he gave you the note."

  "On my way home from school."

  Mac felt Sarah stir behind him. At least she knew enough not to say anything.

  "And after he gave it to you, where did you go?"

  "Here."

  "You came home?"

  "I had to look after Nana 'til Mama got back from the store. This is coupon day."

  "But you didn't tell your mother about the note?"

  "I tried, but she was in a rush." His eyes again lifted to his mother's face. "I tried to tell you. Mama. Really I did."

  "And after your mama left," Mac said hurriedly, hoping to avoid more recriminations from the mother, "you went out to meet Sarah."

  "I tried to wait until she got back, but she was late, and it was gonna get dark soon. I didn't think Toby could find the ball so good in the dark."

  "So you went out before your mother got home."

  "I thought she'd be here in just a little while. She just went to the store, and Nana was watching her shows. I left her some cookies, and I made her promise that she wouldn't go anywhere. I thought Mama would be right back. That's what she told me when she left. 'I'll be right back.'"

  "And then you went to the playground."

  "The note said 4:30 p.m., but it was later than that when I got there. I thought maybe they were playing somewhere else, so I looked all over everywhere, but I couldn't find them. And then it was dark, and I thought I'd missed them because I'd come too late, so I came on home."

  "Did you see the man who gave you the note?"

  "On the way home from school?" It was clear from his voice that Dwight was confused by the question.

  "I mean did you see him again. After you went to meet Sarah and Toby at the playground."

  "Nobody was there. All of the kids had gone home and all the teachers, too."

  "And that man wasn't there, either," Mac clarified.

  Dwight shook his head.

  "Can you tell me what he looked like?"

  The boy's shoulders lifted, almost a shrug. "Nice. He looked nice."

  "Nice? Like nicely dressed, Dwight? Neat and clean? Or nice like friendly."

  "Just...nice. He was clean, though."

  "What was he wearing?"

  "A coat. And some pants. And he had on gloves. Black ones."

  He would, Mac thought. And that meant there would be no fingerprints on the note.

  Not that it mattered. There was no doubt in his mind who had lured Dwight Ingersoll out at twilight. What he didn't understand is why Tate had gone to all that trouble and then not taken the child.

  Because he had already satisfied whatever drove him to kill with the boy in the park? Or because killing Dwight wasn't what this was about?

  He likes control. Daryl Johnson had told him. Tate had certainly had that this afternoon. They'd all jumped sky-high when he'd yelled frog.

  Especially him
and Sarah.

  "We may want you to look at some pictures and see if you recognize him." Mac went on, trying to clear his thinking of the distraction anger would provide. "Do you think you could do that?"

  "I guess. Where are they?"

  "I don't have them with me. Somebody may bring them over here for you to look at. Or they may want you to come down to the police station."

  "Am I in trouble?"

  "With the police? No, they'll just want you to tell them all about the man who gave you that note. Just tell them what you told me. And anything else about him that you can remember."

  "Okay."

  "Good boy." Mac stood, putting his hand on Dwight's shoulder and squeezing gently. "I'll bet you're hungry, aren't you?"

  "A little." Again the pale, blue eyes darted to his mother's face.

  "I'll call and let them know he's home," Mac said to Mrs. Ingersoll. "Why don't you fix him a sandwich or maybe some soup? Something to warm him up."

  For a moment she looked as if she meant to refuse. Then, her reluctance obvious, she turned and headed back to the kitchen. Mac used his hand on Dwight's shoulder to move him in that direction.

  The boy stopped when he got to Sarah. "I'm sorry I was late."

  She glanced at Mac, as if wondering what to say. He lifted his brows, at as much of a loss as she was over how to get through to this child.

  Finally, Sarah bent and put her arms around Dwight, hugging him quickly. The contact lasted only a second or two, but when she broke it, she put her hands on either side of Dwight's face, so that he would be forced to look into her eyes.

  "I didn't send you that note, Dwight. Someone tricked you. Going out alone when it's almost dark is very dangerous. I would never ask you to do that. And in the future, if I want to give you a message, I'll come to you and tell you myself. I won't ever send someone else to do it, I promise. Do you understand?"

  The boy nodded, his face moving up and down between her palms.

  “Good,” Sarah smiled at him encouragingly. "And now I want you to promise me something. Okay?"

  He nodded again, more forcefully this time, eager to please her.

  "I want you to promise me that you won't believe everything a stranger tells you. There are some very bad people in the world. People who..." She hesitated, and then started again, taking a different tack. "You can always trust your mom and whatever she tells you. And you can trust me. But—and this is very important—only if you hear something directly from our lips. You shouldn't trust someone who just tells you that we said something. Do you understand?"

  The boy nodded. "He lied. That man."

  "Yes, he did. And a lot of people lie. That's why you have to be careful who you believe."

  "What about him?" Dwight glanced over at Mac.

  "Detective Donovan? You can trust him, too. He helped me look for you tonight."

  "Because he's your friend."

  "Yes, he is," Sarah said without looking at Mac.

  "And he's Toby's friend."

  "He's Toby's friend, too." she agreed, smiling at him again. "Just like you are. But good friends are very rare. You always have to be careful who you choose for your friend. And you have to know someone a really long time before you can be sure they are your friend. Do you understand?"

  Although the child nodded. Mac wondered how much of that little lecture would stick the next time someone offered him a chance to throw the ball for

  Toby. In his innocence, Dwight Ingersoll was far too easy to manipulate.

  Which brought him back to the questions he'd posed before. Why, when he'd had the perfect opportunity to take Dwight, had Tate chosen to kill another boy? And why leave that child's body where they might reasonably have been expected to look for Dwight's?

  "I made that soup like you told me."

  They turned to find Mrs. Ingersoll standing in the opening to the kitchen. It was obvious she'd been watching them talk to Dwight.

  Sarah put her hand on the boy's back, encouraging him to go to her. "Tell your mother you're sorry for worrying her."

  Obediently Dwight crossed the room, stopping in front of his mother. "I'm sorry, Mama, for going out when you didn't know where I was going. And I'm sorry for leaving Nana all alone. I won't do that again, no matter what anybody tells me."

  Mrs. Ingersoll nodded, her mouth tight. Mac could sense the effort it took for her not to say something cutting to her son. "Go eat your dinner before it gets cold."

  As Dwight disappeared into the kitchen, his mother crossed her arms over her chest. "He doesn't think," she offered, speaking directly to Mac. "He never has. I don't know why he's like he is...." She shook her head, apparently at a loss to explain the boy's behavior.

  "You do understand that the man who gave him the note is very likely the man who murdered the other boy? The child we found in the park. That could just as easily have been Dwight. He was very lucky tonight."

  "What is it they say? God looks out after fools and drunks."

  "It is up to you to look out after your son, Mrs. Ingersoll," Sarah said, "because God isn't going to. Detective Donovan tried to warn you about this the other day. He told you to keep him inside. To keep a close eye on him. And to keep your doors locked."

  "Is that what vow did. Mrs. Patterson?" Dwight's mother lifted her chin as if she were challenging the suggestion that she might not have behaved properly. "Is that how you looked after your son?"

  There was a long silence, broken only by the canned laughter coming from the television set in the living room.

  "My son's dead, Mrs. Ingersoll. I suggest, if you don't want that to happen to yours, you follow Detective Donovan's advice."

  Sarah turned, picking her jacket up off the chair she'd laid it on when they'd come in from the park. "I'll go get Toby from upstairs," she said to Mac. "I'll meet you at the car."

  Twenty

  Sarah grabbed Toby's collar as he shot out of the door of her apartment. Apparently the dog had been no more eager to spend time in there than she was. At some point she knew she'd have to, if for no other reason than to clear out her personal belongings, but she admitted that right now she wasn't up to it. Not yet.

  With Toby secured with his leash, she leaned back against the door, trying to release the tensions that had built through the long hours of the evening. Tensions that had culminated in the thinly veiled accusation made by Dwight's mother.

  She wasn't sure why what the woman had said bothered her so much. After all, no one in their right mind would take mothering advice—or criticism— from Beverly Ingersoll. It was certainly through no action of hers that Dwight had escaped Danny's fate tonight.

  Actually, she amended, it was through no action on anyone's part that Dwight had escaped. No one was responsible for that but Samuel Tate himself.

  She heard Mac coming up the stairs. He was talking on his cell, probably notifying the police that Dwight was home, just as he'd promised Mrs. Ingersoll he'd do. She straightened away from the door, rubbing at the skin under her eyes to make sure none of the moisture that had welled in them as she'd made her way up here was visible.

  As Mac reached the top of the stairs, he folded his phone and put it into his pocket. "You okay?"

  "I make it a policy not to let the ravings of idiots get to me."

  "Good. Hey. Tobe. You ready to get out of here?"

  "He didn't like being cooped up in the apartment. I can't say that I blame him."

  "You lock it?"

  "Yeah."

  "You need anything? More clothes? Cosmetics?"

  "Not bad enough to go inside to get them."

  Mac held out his hand, palm up. She looked down at it and then shook her head. "I'm good."

  "You didn't even go in. did you?"

  She hesitated, but there was no reason to lie about something so stupid. "I told you. I didn't have any reason to."

  "Then give me the key, and I'll make sure they got things straightened up."

  He meant cleaned up. Sarah re
alized. And he was talking about the blood. Dan's blood.

  "You don't have to do that tonight. There's no hurry."

  As the phrase came out of her mouth, she wondered. "Unless you're ready for me to move back here:'

  "What do you think?"

  "I don't know."

  "Yes, you do," he said. "Now give me the key. You can wait out here in the hall with Toby."

  "I'm not a coward, Mac."

  "No, you're not. And you don't have to prove it to me."

  She fished the key out of the front pocket of her jeans and laid it in his palm. "Knock yourself out."

  One corner of his mouth ticked upward, but he lowered his head to insert the key into the lock before she could tell if that movement developed into the grin she was growing to enjoy way too much.

  "You think she'd care if I took Toby down to say hello to Dwight?" she asked.

  "What do you care if she does?" He had pushed the door open, but turned back to ask the question before he stepped inside.

  "Actually. I'd kind of like it if she was pissed."

  "Then by all means, knock yourself out."

  "I just thought Dwight might like to say good-night to Toby before we left."

  "He's getting ready for bed." Dwight's mother hadn't taken the chain off the door, peering out at Sarah through the two or three inches it allowed.

  Considering that the child had been eating supper less than five minutes ago, Sarah didn't believe her. And considering Mrs. Ingersoll's question about how she'd looked after Danny, she wasn't opposed to pushing the issue.

  "That seems pretty early, even for a school night. Besides, it won't take a minute. He's very fond of Toby, you know. A feeling that's reciprocated. I thought visiting with him for a few minutes might relax him."

  For a long moment Dwight's mother didn't answer. The sound of the television drifted out into the hall through the crack in the door.

  "I'll get him." she said finally, "but please don't put ideas into his head."

  "About what?" Sarah honestly didn't know what she meant.

  "He's been after me to get a dog. Says he'll take care of it. Says the super must not mind them because he let you have Toby here."

  "He let me have Toby because I paid a pet deposit. I'll explain that to Dwight."