by Clark Howard
Studying the page, weighing again the unequivocal finality of the warning, Abraham O’Hara unconsciously nodded his head in silent assent. Harsh, he thought, very harsh, very uncompromising. But very necessary. Good had been compromised far too much and far too long already, which was why the forces of evil continued to prevail in the world. Now, with the Eden Movement, a measure of strength would be restored to good men everywhere; the forces of right would, as God meant them to, become absolute. It would be a great return of man to his maker, O’Hara mused. Great—and glorious.
He returned the page to its place on the stack and glanced over at his dark, lovely wife. As he watched her rubber-gloved hands move gracefully over the typewriter, he marvelled for perhaps the thousandth time at the miracle that had made such a beautiful woman love him
It was three hours after Devlin had begun watching the church that he saw Reverend O’Hara and his wife emerge from the rectory and load several stacks of bundled paper into the trunk of their car, and proceed to drive away. For a moment Devlin considered following them, but he thought better of the idea and decided instead to explore the church in their absence.
He waited five minutes after they had left, then crossed the street and entered the churchyard. After assuring himself that no caretaker or other person was there to observe him, he systematically peered through all the basement windows of both the church and O’Hara’s residence. He saw nothing in the various rooms except folding chairs, cleaning equipment, a portable podium, a mimeograph machine with supplies, and other miscellaneous paraphernalia of no interest to him.
Returning to his car, belatedly wishing he had followed the O’Haras, Devlin glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly five o’clock. He decided to stop at a drive-in and pick up some sandwiches, then proceed directly to the secluded residence of Dr. Damon Fox.
At seven o’clock that night, his car parked in shadows across the quiet street from the Fox house, Devlin began to feel sleepy for the first time. He mentally recounted the hours of his forced surveillance and found that he had slept only three hours of the past thirty-five. He would not be able to keep up the pace too many more hours, he thought. If something did not break by midnight—
As he was thinking of his fatigue, a car passed him and turned into the Fox drive. At once he became alert, narrowing his eyes slightly to insure an accurate look at the driver. It was, he saw, Todd Holt. Beside him in the front seat was Janet Sundean; sitting behind them was Barry Chace. Devlin noted the time and jotted it in his notebook. He watched as the three were admitted to the house by Dr. Fox—
“Ah, good evening,” Dr. Fox greeted his visitors. “Thank you for coming by for me.” He closed the door behind them and turned to Todd. “Did you get a truck all right?”
“Yes,” Todd nodded. “Barry was able to get a panel model from the U-Drive uptown. We thought that would be better than a pick-up.”
“Yes, it will; very good. The equipment we’ll need for the operation is waiting for us at the warehouse where I had it shipped. They have a night dispatcher on duty, so all we have to do is call for it.”
“Will it take very long to assemble the equipment and get it set up in the Blue Room?” Janet asked.
“No, it shouldn’t. The units are self-contained for the most part; there’s actually little to do except uncrate them. The majority of our time tonight will be used in familiarizing you with the instruments I shall be using; the hemostats, retractos, sponge sticks, and so on. I’ll go into all of this in much more detail later this evening. For now, however, I think we’d best be on our way. How are we going to work the transportation?”
“We’ll all go in Todd’s car to where the truck is parked,” Barry Chace said. “Then Todd and I will take the truck and pick up the equipment while you and Jan go on to the Blue Room in the car. Later, when we’re finished for the night, I’ll return the truck to the U-Drive. My car is parked a block from there.”
“Good,” said the doctor.
“When do you think we’ll actually do the operation?” Janet asked quietly.
“Tomorrow night, I should think,” Dr. Fox replied. He stepped past them to the door. “Shall we go?”
Devlin watched the four of them get into Todd’s car and round the drive back to the street. For the second time that day he had to quickly decide whether to follow or stay. His better judgment told him to follow them, but his manhunter’s instinct dissented. His primary goal was to find Keyes. He had thus far eliminated as possible places of captivity the Wilkes and Price homes, because of other occupants; and the apartments of Todd and Chace, due to the sheer unfeasibility of such a situation; and he was now satisfied that Reverend O’Hara’s church was not being used as a prison. That left only this large, secluded house occupied solely by Dr. Damon Fox—
Todd’s car passed the deep shadows in which Devlin sat, and Devlin reached for his ignition key. His hand halted an inch from it and he turned to stare across at the dark, lonely house the four people had just left. He remained in that position until the red tail-lights of Todd’s car disappeared around the corner.
So that was that: he would let them go—and search Dr. Fox’s house.
He waited there in the darkness for another ten minutes, the anxiety slowly growing within him. This could be it, his mind kept whispering; Keyes could be inside that house that very minute, tied up or drugged, waiting for whatever fate Dr. Fox and Todd and the others had in mind for him—
Devlin stepped out of his car and walked to the terminus of the block, following the shadows across the street. The house loomed up at him as he departed a stand of trees and entered the lawn. His eyes searched for a sign of light from within, but he found none. If Keyes was in a drugged state, and alone, there would be no necessity for lights; but if he was not drugged, if he was being guarded in some remote room of the house—? A windowless room, perhaps—or blackout curtains—all manner of possibilities crossed Devlin’s mind.
He moved silently to the side of the house, locating windows by the light of the moon. He stood close by each window in turn, his ear pressed to the smooth, cold pane, straining for sound. He heard nothing. He completely circled the house, listening at every window he could reach, but there was not a sound from within.
No sound, no light. Devlin leaned back against the side of the house, throat dry, frowning deeply. It’s the only logical place, he thought doggedly; the only place where any of them lived alone, the only place remote enough, isolated enough, to hold a man captive without detection. Keyes had to be in here. He must be drugged; there was no other explanation.
He pushed himself away from the house and retraced his steps, cautiously testing every window in the hope of finding one that had been left unlocked. Again he was unsuccessful. More determined than ever, he made his way into the attached garage and felt along the wall until he found the inner door which led into the house. It too was locked.
Feeling his way back to the outside door, Devlin’s hand brushed over a ladder leaning against the wall. Instantly he stopped, his hand still on the ladder. He thought of windows again, and this time his eyes instinctively raised upward. The second floor windows—
Slowly, soundlessly, Devlin lifted the ladder away from the wall and moved it outside. He carried it to the place where the front of the upper story rose up from the garage roof. Gently leaning it into position, he removed his shoes and climbed to the top rung. Standing up, he was almost waist-high to the edge of the roof. Bracing himself, he put one knee on the roof and dragged himself up.
The first window he came to was unlocked and open several inches. Devlin carefully slid the screen off and raised the window all the way. He slipped into the room very slowly, feeling his way to avoid chairs and lamps. Once securely inside, he reached out and slid the screen back on, and lowered the window to its original position.
He began to feel around in the darkness, guiding himself along the walls, detouring around furniture. He found that he was in a bedroom, and it
was definitely unoccupied. He checked the bathroom, then made his way into the hall. Moving methodically, like a blind man, he felt-searched his way through two more bedrooms, another bathroom and two hall closets.
He found the stairs and descended to the main floor of the house. He examined the living room, dining room, a large study, kitchen, pantry, more closets; every dark square foot of space in every room, behind every door—and found nothing. No drugged hostage lying helpless, waiting for a desperate, boldly executed rescue; no struggling captive chained to a wall or hanging by his thumbs—nothing. The only sign of life in Dr. Damon Fox’s secluded, isolated house was a school of very excited goldfish in a dimly-lighted aquarium.
Devlin went into the kitchen and leaned over the sink to rub cool water onto his face. He was very tired now, his eyes heavy from lack of sleep, his body drained of energy both from the long, pressing surveillance and now the frustration of having failed to find Keyes after being so certain that the missing man was in Fox’s house. He wiped his face with a handkerchief and blotted out any water that had wet the sink. Then he let himself out the back door, pulling it locked behind him.
It was late now and the coolness of the outside air chilled him as he made his way to the ladder and put his shoes back on. He replaced the ladder where he had found it and walked through the shadows back to his car.
He was beaten, he thought, leaning his head wearily against the steering wheel. Todd, Janet, Fox, the rest—they had beaten him, all of them. Beaten him cold, at every turn—
His eyes were closed and he felt himself beginning to drift asleep. For a hazy moment the face of Jennifer Jordan floated in the smoky twilight clouding his consciousness. He dreamed an instant dream of earlier thought: Jennifer and him in Ireland, away from all that was bad in the world—
Then he remembered why it could not be so, and the memory, ugly and black, drove him awake again. Keyes, Keyes, Keyes, you son of a bitch—
He raised his head, glaring through the windshield at pitch darkness. I’ll find you, you bastard, he swore to himself. I’ll find you!
He twisted the ignition key and shocked the car to life. Drawing away from the curb, he glanced a final time at the dark, looming house of Damon Fox.
In the moonlight, it seemed almost to be laughing at him.
Twenty Four
The telephone, which had been ringing intermittently all day, finally woke Devlin at four o’clock in the afternoon. He rolled over, stiff and sore from a twelve-hour sleep, lifted the receiver.
“Hello—”
“Dev?” It was Jennifer, her voice nervous and irritated. “Where on earth have you been? I’ve been calling you for two days, I’ve been worried sick—”
“I haven’t been in much,” he said tonelessly. “I’ve been out following the men who have your husband. ”
“Alone?” she said incredulously. “Day and night?”
“Yes.”
“What are you trying to do, kill yourself? Why didn’t you get some help?”
Devlin grunted. “Mainly because I wouldn’t know how to explain why I needed it,” he said wryly. “How do you ask for assistance to conduct a surveillance of six private citizens of spotless reputation, against whom you have not a shred of factual evidence, to connect them with the abduction of a man they apparently don’t even know and who isn’t even officially missing. You figure that one out for me and then I’ll ask for help.”
Jennifer was silent for a moment, then she said, “Did you find out anything?”
“Yes, two things,” Devlin replied, his voice reflecting the frustration he felt. “I learned that the six men and one woman involved are leading daily lives so perfectly normal that you couldn’t charge any one of them with the offense of jaywalking, much less anything more serious. And I have compiled a very thorough and accurate list of all the places of captivity where your husband isn’t being held.” He reached one hand behind him to massage his aching back. “I also learned,” he added as an afterthought, “that I’m not as young as I used to be.”
Another silence came over the wire between them. Devlin took the opportunity to sit up on the side of the bed. He picked up a nearly-empty brandy bottle from the floor and sipped enough to rinse a wretched taste from his mouth, afterward swallowing it as quickly as he could.
“You don’t sound good, Dev,” Jennifer said at last. “You don’t sound right.”
“I’m not.” He sighed heavily, not caring whether she heard him or not. “This case has gotten to me,” he said quietly. “It’s inside of me, chewing away at me in different places. I’m too close to it; there are too many personal factors involved—”
“What personal factors?”
“You, for one,” he told her flatly. “Todd, for another. And others.” Like Janet Sundean and Evelyn Lund, he thought half-sadly, half-bitterly.
“Why don’t you give it up, Dev?“ Jennifer asked hesitantly. “Why don’t we both give it up?”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s go away somewhere, Dev. Get away from all of it. Let them all go to hell in their own way.”
“Including your husband?”
“Him most of all. I’m sure you must realize by now that he deserves whatever he gets.” She paused for a moment, then added coolly, “And I wish you’d stop referring to him as my husband every chance you get. I haven’t forgotten for a moment that I’m still legally married to him. ”
“I wish I could say the same,” Devlin answered quietly, thinking of the night they made love in the house of the man he was looking for.
“Do you really mean that?” she asked, and Devlin heard the pitch of hurt in her voice.
“Yes, but not the way you think,” he said gently. “It’s not a question of remorse over the way I feel about you; it’s whether my failing to find your—to find Keyes is a result of those feelings. I’m wrestling with my own conscience, to put it simply.”
“I see. I suppose your conscience wouldn’t permit you to even consider going away with me.”
“On the contrary, I had already thought about our going away together,” he said frankly. “In fact, I probably had the idea before you did. But thinking about doing something wrong and actually doing it are two different things. And it would be wrong for us to run away; I think you probably know that as well as I do.”
“Yes, I do, and I don’t care,” she said evenly.
“That’s the way I might expect Keyes to talk,” he told her, “but not you.”
“Did you think it was wrong when we made love the other night?” she asked bluntly.
“Not in the sense that you’re using the word,” Devlin said. “The other night was a spontaneous thing; neither of us were forced into it, neither of us hurt the other, and what we did didn’t hurt anyone else. If one of us had deliberately planned it, or if we continued it now, then it would be wrong; very wrong.”
“You draw a pretty fine line, don’t you?” Jennifer asked pointedly.
“Perhaps,” Devlin admitted. “But I don’t ask anyone else to follow it. Everyone has to establish his own personal values. If mine are difficult for you to understand, I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do to change them, however.”
“All right,” Jennifer said, herself sighing this time; the sigh of one unused to not getting her own way. “What do you intend to do now?”
“The same thing I’ve intended to do since the beginning,” he said matter-of-factly. “Find your husband. ”
“When will I see you again?”
“When it’s done.”
“Not before?”
“Not before.”
“You seem to find it considerably easier to stay away from me than I find it to stay away from you,” she said.
“Possibly that’s because I realize how important it is that Keyes be found; important to you, to me, to him, even to Todd and the others who have him. It may even be important to something else, something bigger than any of us, something none of us can see. That
’s what I’m concerning myself with, and I imagine it makes our being apart a little less trying on me than it is on you.”
“There’s no way to make you change your mind?” she asked, her voice deepening in its obvious meaning.
“No.”
“Not even if I came over right now? All you’ll have to do is lie there and wait for me—”
“I won’t be here,” he told her. “I’m going out.”
“Where now?”
“To see the one person I know who may be able to help me find Keyes.”
“Who?”
“I can’t tell you that, Jennifer. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps when it’s over.”
“Looks like I have to wait until this thing is finished for everything,” she remarked with forced lightness. She sighed again, wearily this time. “Will you call me? As soon as you can?”
“Yes.”
“Promise, Dev?”
“Yes.”
“All right.”
“I’ve got to go now,” he said.
“All right. Goodbye—but hurry.”
“I will. Goodbye.”
Devlin replaced the receiver and stood up, feeling the stiffness crack and split throughout his body. He stripped off the underwear in which he had slept and went into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth for five minutes, scrubbing the brandy-sourness from his mouth. Then he went into his tiny kitchen and took a quart of milk from the refrigerator. He drank half of it on his way back to the bathroom and finished the bottle after he had showered. Lathering his face, he shaved very closely with a straight razor that had cut the beards of four generations of Devlin men. With the fine edge gliding smoothly over his face, the bone handle cool to his fingertips, Devlin felt his spirit rejuvenating within him. He felt his blood flowing again, the juices of his body beginning to stir restlessly; in the mirror he saw the steel hardness, deep and dark, return to his eyes.
