Missing Boy

by Rick Polad

  “Don’t turn around. I saw you talking to Meatstick. I figure you want to talk to me too.”

  “Why do you figure that?”

  “Meet me at the hot dog stand across from the Bobs in ten minutes.”

  “How will I know who you are?”

  “I’ll know who you are.”

  I didn’t hear anything except whooshing air. I turned around and only saw a face with a scar from eye to chin lit up in the eerie darkness, reminding me of a recurring dream I’d had when I was a kid. I would wake up in the middle of the night screaming at a grotesque face looking in my window. But my folks never came running, so the scream was part of the dream. When I screamed the face disappeared.

  Now I wondered if the dreams had started after a trip through the Fun House. Not so much fun. Then I realized that wasn’t the only thing I had seen this time. I’d also seen a very brief, tiny flash of light just before the face had lit up. It was at about the level of my waist.

  ***

  I waited ten minutes at the hot dog stand… then another ten. Not being able to resist the smell of hot dogs, I bought one. Lunch with Samantha would have to wait for another day. I waited forty-five minutes before I gave up and headed back to the office.

  I drove down Montrose and passed the office instead of turning early and going back to the alley. I honked at Carol who was just coming out of her building. She waved and smiled.

  The water was running behind a closed bathroom door when I walked in. I read a note pinned to the small bulletin board outside my office door—“call Rosie”. She didn’t answer her phone but a gruff voice said he’d find her.

  “Hey, Spencer. Still can’t get over a real person answering your phone.”

  “Yup. If you look up ‘big shot’ in the dictionary you’ll find my picture. How’s things Rosie?”

  “Things are busy. Lots of job security. I spent some time this morning going through files on missing persons.”

  I crumpled up the note and missed the basket with my toss.

  “I went back to the beginning of April, a month before Riverview opened. There are thirty-two cases and six of those are kids under the age of twenty, including Martin.”

  “Interesting. Thanks.”

  “There’s more. Of those six, five were after May first when the park opened and four of those worked at Riverview.”

  I paused to let that sink in. “Seems like a coincidence.”

  “And you don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “Right.”

  Samantha came out of the bathroom and waved as she went by.

  “So?” Rosie asked.

  “So time to ask more questions. I assume Missing Persons looked into this already. Nobody was concerned about the Riverview connection?”

  “No one saw it. Probably different people working the cases, and if you weren’t looking for it, Riverview was just the place on the job line.”

  “Yeah, probably. You mention it to anyone?”

  “Yes. They’re going to look into it again.”

  “Any of those kids ever found?”

  “No. Still missing. Who are you going to ask questions of? Your buddy Walters?”

  I laughed. “Not right now. I think we both know how much I’d get from him. I’ll find someone else.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. Dinner?”

  “Sure. Pick me up at seven.”

  ***

  I walked into the front office and asked Samantha how the day was going. She tried hard to sound productive but there really wasn’t anything to do. She apologized.

  I gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it, I’m not expecting you to invent work. I’m hoping things will pick up over time. As long as you take care of whatever comes in, I’m happy. Looks good to have someone sitting in the office.”

  She didn’t look too reassured. “I just can’t believe you’re paying me for doing nothing.”

  “Hey, my dad once told me if someone wants to give you money and it isn’t illegal, take it. It really does help to have the door open and a person at the desk. Just don’t complain when you’re swamped.”

  She laughed and assured me she wouldn’t.

  “Did you get your phone hooked up yet?”

  “No, I need to get that done.”

  “Give me your number when you get it.”

  She assured me she would.

  “I do have something for you to do. Call Riverview and find out who the owner is and get a phone number and an address. I’d like to pay him a visit.”

  She looked excited. “Right away, Mr. Manning.”

  She came into my office five minutes later with a slip of paper. Charles Block was written on it in neat script with a phone number and an address downtown.

  “Thanks, Samantha.”

  “Anything else?” she asked hopefully.

  I shook my head. “Sorry. But you’ll be the first to know when there is.”

  ***

  Charles Block had an office on the third floor of a building on the west side of Michigan Avenue in the high rent district. Riverview Enterprises was stenciled on the glass door. After telling the receptionist I didn’t have an appointment, I explained who I was and asked if he could spare a few minutes.

  After a blank stare, she said she’d check. I sat and studied the photographs of Riverview on the walls, some dating back into the teens. Ten minutes later, her phone buzzed and a deep voice said he would see me. She held the door open. Block was seated at a large desk with a giant aerial photo of the park on the wall behind him. One of the windows facing Michigan Avenue was open and the sounds of Moody Blues drifted up from somewhere on the street: Tuesday Afternoon. Two days late.

  Charles Block stood up behind the desk and offered his hand. “Please have a seat, Mr. Manning. How can I help you?”

  “Maybe not at all. But I’d like to make you aware of something.” I told him about the kids.

  He obviously felt badly.

  “And I want you to know I didn’t get such a warm reception at your park,” I said.

  He looked concerned. “We try to be a customer-friendly place. Who did you talk to?”

  I explained and he laughed.

  “I should have guessed.” He offered a cigar. I took it. “Chief Walters is very protective of the park. Doesn’t think he needs outside help, and I have to say, since I hired him, he’s handled things nicely without any.”

  “When did you hire him?”

  “It’s been a couple years. My secretary can get the exact date if you need it.”

  “Not at the moment.” I put the cigar in my pocket and wondered what methods Walters used to get things handled so nicely. “Maybe he hasn’t had a situation where he’s needed any help.”

  He lit his cigar, took a few puffs and placed it in a large crystal ashtray. “Perhaps. And maybe that’s because of him. We really didn’t have a qualified person there before Walters. I felt we needed to be more official… you know, stop trouble before it gets started. So I felt we needed someone with police experience. Are the police involved in this?”

  “Each case was investigated with no result.”

  “I see. Well, I hope the kids are found to be okay.”

  “Me too.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. He was done with me.

  But I wasn’t done with him. “May I ask a question?”

  “Please.”

  “I’d like to find out where in the park Martin worked. Who would have that information?”

  Pushing a button on his intercom, he said, “Miss Randel, would you come in, please?”

  As soon as the door opened, Block asked her who was in charge of personnel at the park.

  She glanced briefly at me and said, to him, “That would be Mrs. Meyers.”

  “Thank you, Miss Randel.”

  She left before I could ask where I would find Mrs. Meyers. So I asked Block.

  He shrugged. “I have little to do with the running of
the park, Mr. Manning. If things run smoothly, I don’t hear about it. You could ask Miss Randel.”

  I nodded and gave him my card. “Please call if you hear anything.”

  “I will save your card, but I think it best that everything be handled by my Chief of Police. That’s why I pay him.”

  “Understood. By the way, I’m wondering how a Block got to be sitting in that chair, seeing as how the founders were Schmidts.”

  “No male heirs who wanted to run the place. My mother was George’s daughter.”

  “I see. Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Block.”

  “No problem, Mr. Manning.”

  I closed the door behind me and stopped at Randel’s desk. I had to clear my throat before she looked up with a blank look. I must have left my charm at the office.

  “Do you have a first name?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She went back to doing whatever it was she was doing.

  I asked my question.

  In a very business-like tone, she told me to go to the personnel department at the park. I thanked her and gave her my best smile.

  As I opened the outer door, I paused and asked another question that suddenly popped into my head. “Does Mrs. Meyers do the hiring at the park?”

  My smile was wasted because she didn’t even look up.

  “Yes. That’s what someone in personnel does.”

  “And what is Mrs. Meyers’ first name?”

  “Belva.”

  My smile was gone before the door closed behind me. Evidently I had been ten steps from the personnel department and the answer to the question Walters didn’t know the answer to.

  Chapter 8

  Martin woke up and found a wooden tray with a plate of food on the table next to the bed. He had no idea where he was or how long he had been there or whether it was day or night. His watch was gone and all he had on was his underwear. He felt lightheaded, and when he reached out to pull off the covers it looked like his arm was moving in slow motion. His right arm hurt and he noticed a tiny red mark on the inside just below his elbow.

  After what seemed like a very long time, he found himself sitting at the table with the tray in front of him. The food didn’t look appetizing, but he was hungry. Some sort of meat, corn, and mashed potatoes covered the plastic plate. It was all cold.

  As he ate, he looked around the room; it was smaller than his bedroom. The bed and table were the only furniture in the room, which had bare white walls and two boarded up windows, and he could see the front of a toilet through the door in the corner. There was another door, this one closed, at the other end of the wall. As he ate, he drank water from a plastic glass on the tray. It tasted a little strange, but he was thirsty and drank it all. As he mixed the corn in with the potatoes, he realized he was watching himself eat from the other side of the table and thought that was great fun.

  When he was done eating, Martin walked to the closed door and turned the knob. It was locked. He went to the bathroom and then laid down on the floor next to the bed and fell asleep.

  When Martin woke up he found a new tray on the table. This one had a plate with eggs and toast. He remembered dreaming about someone walking around in the room. It was a woman with a hood dressed all in black. She had a stern-looking face and wrinkled hands. He thought it strange that he remembered his dream—he never had before. He got up to eat, this time with more assurance than before. As he reached out for the chair, he noticed another red mark on his arm.

  Chapter 9

  I picked up Rosie at seven and headed for McGoon’s. I figured it was time I had a chat with her. She looked lovely in black slacks, a white blouse, and a loose yellow sweater. We both ordered chicken boxtys and Harp beer.

  “Anything on the kids, Rosie?”

  “There’s somebody on it. Not much to go on. If they find something that points to Riverview, I’ll be assigned to it.”

  “You and Steele?”

  “Nope. Just me. Remember what I told you about Steele’s missing son?”

  “Yup. Never found. Don’t know how you live with that.”

  “Me either. Probably not well, which leads to him not being assigned to a missing kid case.”

  I nodded and sipped the beer. “The whole thing is pretty damned sad.”

  “What’s your plan?” she asked.

  “I called two friends where Martin sometimes stayed if he worked late. Neither has seen him in a week, but one told me Martin worked at the baseball throw game with the milk bottles.”

  “Well, that’s a start.”

  “And a red flag.”

  “Red flag?”

  I told her about my chat with Meatstick, who said he didn’t know Martin.

  “Maybe not so strange, Spencer. Those guys don’t exactly make friends with the workers. And it is a revolving door. It’s a high-end carnival, but a carnival none-the-less.”

  “I suppose. But the guy is creepy.”

  She laughed. “They all are.”

  “I’m also going to check with the late-night bus driver and see if he remembers anything. I’m hoping you’ll give me a hand.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, I’d like to go tonight, and I’m thinking the driver isn’t going to pull over to the curb and chat, so someone to drive the car and follow the bus would save me a walk.”

  “You’d trust me with the Mustang?”

  “Yes, for a few blocks. And don’t lose the damn bus.”

  “Sure. How would I lose a bus?”

  “Overwhelmed and distracted at the pleasure of driving a real car.”

  “I’ll give it my best. So you’re hoping the driver is the same driver and remembers Martin.”

  “Yeah. The only other plan is to just nose around the park and stick my nose in where it isn’t wanted. Martin is the most recent to disappear, so I’ll concentrate on him and see what else I run into.” I told her about the no-show at the hot dog stand.

  She took a long drink.

  “Be careful,” she said with a slight smile. “I have a feeling Walters isn’t on your side.”

  “No wonder you’re a detective. Does appear that way, but appearances can be deceiving.”

  The food was as good as usual and the beer was cold. What more could a guy want?

  We finished eating and headed for the park. I had checked the bus schedule and found there were buses at the stop just outside the park at ten-thirty and eleven-twenty-five. The kid would’ve had plenty of time to catch the ten-thirty. We got there at ten-fifteen, switched places in the car, and waited. The bus was a minute early. I got on and paid. Four kids and three adults got on with me.

  It didn’t take long—the driver didn’t have much to say. He was the driver on Monday night, but he laughed when I asked him if he remembered the kid, even with my excellent description.

  “You have any idea how many people get on this bus, mister?”

  “Sure. Just a shot in the dark. Have to be able to say I turned over all the rocks.” I was quiet for two lights before I tried something else.

  “There’s another kid. Mind if I give you another description?”

  “Nope. It’s your fare.”

  “About five-foot-four, hundred and twenty pounds, pimply face, wearing a red jacket and a Sox cap.”

  The driver thought hard for about ten seconds before shaking his head. “Nope, doesn’t ring a bell… sorry.”

  “That’s okay, thanks for your time.” It was a good test of his awareness of his passengers. The kid I had just described had gotten on with me and was sitting three rows back.

  I got off at Diversey and walked back to my Mustang. The baby blue had a yellowish hue from the street lamps. I didn’t like the effect.

  As we drove, Rosie said, “Maybe he got off the bus.”

  I shook my head. “I asked his mother if there may have been somewhere else he went. She assured me there wasn’t. He always came straight home.”

  “You never know, Spencer. Even the best of kids don’t always do what
they’re supposed to do.”

  “I guess. But if he got off that bus the possibilities are endless. I’m sticking with Riverview. And the way Meatstick and Walters are acting, I think I’m right.”

  I drove to the lake where we took our shoes off and walked in the sand. I wanted to take Rosie’s hand, but didn’t. We found a flat slab of limestone and sat and watched a red moon rise out of the lake. After a few minutes, she moved close to me and I put my arm around her shoulders.

  “Rosie, I…”

  “No need, Spencer. Just enjoy the evening.”

  I turned toward her and smiled. “I am. I like being with you. I’ve missed that.”

  She just looked at me with confusion. “If you have…”

  I touched my finger to her lips.

  “Remember last year… the night we discovered the diamonds?” I asked. “Stosh suggested I should ask someone up to the cottage and spend some time. He meant you.”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “No, I didn’t. And he said if I didn’t ask I should tell you why.”

  She was quiet and apprehensive.

  I took a deep breath and took her hand, but I couldn’t get the words out.

  “Don’t worry about it, Spencer.”

  “No, I want to tell you. Would you mind if we went back to your place?”

  “Not at all.”

  We slid down off the rock and walked back to the car. It was a short drive to her apartment. She asked if I wanted anything to drink. I declined.

  We sat on the couch. She had her legs tucked under her.

  “I had a twin sister—Margaret,” I said.

  “You did? How come I never knew?”

  “Well… we were both born with a congenital heart problem. It’s got a long name, but basically there’s a problem with the left side of my heart—the side that pumps blood to the body. Something wrong with the walls.”