Surrogate Child

by Andrew Neiderman

  Because of reddish-brown hair and a light complexion, Kevin always looked flushed or excited. He had a ribbon of tiny freckles over both his eyes, but nowhere else on his face. He had very light blue eyes and a square jaw that emphasized his slightly thicker lower lip.

  “He’s bright. Doing well in school. Handy around the house. He’s made friends quickly.”

  “So? That’s all good.”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t know. His friends are all Solomon’s old friends. He’s even taking out Solomon’s girlfriend, Audra Lowe.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. I know the Lowe girl,” Kevin said, pulling the left corner of his mouth up into his cheek.

  “There’s more. It’s . . . weird.”

  “Look,” Kevin said, sitting up. “It probably wasn’t the best idea to take in a boy so close to Solomon in age. All the rest feeds your imagination.”

  “I told her what would happen, but she was stubborn, and I thought . . .”

  “It’ll work out,” Kevin said, tapping him on the arm. The women were returning. “Just give it time.”

  “Sure,” Joe said.

  Something happened to Martha after dinner was served. She quieted down considerably and contributed very little to the ensuing conversation. In fact, as the evening wore on, she looked more and more distracted and aloof. At times, Joe caught her staring blankly across the restaurant. When he looked at Mindy, she closed and opened her eyes gently as if to say “Leave it be.”

  Even Kevin’s descriptions of some of his more dramatic new cases, one malpractice case, and one terrible divorce, didn’t bring her back into things. Joe, who had been embarrassed because of the way Martha had dominated the conversation earlier, was now embarrassed by her total indifference. He was happy when dinner was finally over and they had paid the bill.

  On the way out, he had an opportunity to step back and whisper to Mindy because Kevin had taken Martha’s arm and escorted her out the door.

  “What happened to her in the bathroom?”

  “She started to talk about Jonathan again,” Mindy said, keeping her eyes on Martha, “and then she stopped as if someone were standing right behind me. I actually turned around. Then she went into a stall. Maybe she took something. Is she on anything?”

  “Not for quite a while. Not since we decided to take in the foster child. Although, we have plenty of tranquilizers in the house.”

  “Sorry, Joe. This wasn’t much fun for you.”

  “It’s all right. It’s not your fault. This was the wrong day to go out. She thought she could do it.”

  “I understand,” Mindy said. “I’ll call tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.”

  The ride home was the antithesis of the ride to the restaurant. Whenever Kevin or Mindy spoke, it was obvious they were forcing conversation. Martha said she was tired and sat back with her head tilted against the seat, her eyes closed. Joe had to announce their arrival when Kevin pulled into their driveway.

  “We’ll keep in touch,” Kevin said.

  Joe helped Martha out of the car. The good-nights were said, and they entered the house.

  He asked her if she was all right. She said she was, but she went right up to bed. When he looked in on her, she was sound asleep, and she hadn’t even taken off her makeup. He checked the medicine cabinet and discovered one of the bottles of tranquilizers was indeed missing. He found it in her pocketbook.

  He stood by the side of the bed looking down at her. Her face was in deep repose. The heavy eye shadow made her eyes look almost sewn closed. Her breathing was slight but regular, and he thought she looked so soft and vulnerable that his heart went out to her.

  Poor Martha, he thought. She believed she could ignore the significance of this day, but it crept over her and took hold. He knelt down and kissed her on the cheek and then went downstairs to watch some television until he, too, was tired enough to sleep.

  Actually, he fell asleep in his easy chair and didn’t wake up until the station he was watching went off the air. It was a local network, and the sound became a low-pitched hum. He opened his eyes slowly and looked at the snowy picture. Realizing what happened, he sat up, rubbed his face, and turned off the set. It was close to four in the morning.

  He turned off the front light and locked the door. Then he went upstairs. When he reached the landing, he paused before Jonathan’s room because he thought he heard the clicking sound of the computer keyboard, yet there was no light coming out from under Jonathan’s bedroom doorway. He stepped closer and listened. No question about it, he thought. That’s the computer. He knocked very gently. The clicking ceased.

  “Jonathan?”

  There was no response. He waited. Then, his curiosity still piqued, he turned the handle of the door very, very slowly, expecting to open the door gently and look within. But the door was locked. He waited a few more moments and then went on to his own bedroom.

  Martha was still in a deep sleep when he crawled into bed beside her. She looked like she hadn’t even turned once. He brought the blanket to his neck and closed his eyes, but then he heard it again, distinctly . . . tiny little clicking sounds. The keyboard was going. He looked at the clock. Four-thirty in the morning? Why would Jonathan be up using the computer? Surely it had something to do with Jonathan’s attachment to Solomon. Those secret files . . . they loomed larger and larger as the key to all this. He felt sure of it.

  He lay there listening until he grew so tired again, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He didn’t open them again until late Sunday morning when the telephone rang. The moment he lifted the receiver from its cradle and put it to his ear, Harry Lowe began screaming something about drugs in his daughter’s punch.

  “I used to tell Solomon,” Martha began, “that that girl was no good for him. I spotted it right away. There’s something weird about her. She’s very unstable.”

  “She’s very unstable?” Joe said. Martha had been quiet during the entire ride to the police station, but just before he made the turn into Sandburg proper and headed for the government building, Martha came to life.

  He had wakened her immediately after hanging up on Harry Lowe. Moments afterward, the chief of the town police, Paul Dawson, called and requested they bring Jonathan to the station. A number of high school students were being asked to come in for questioning.

  “Of course. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that she put the drugs into the punch herself and then drank it.”

  “For Christ sakes, Martha.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t,” she said. She turned back and looked at Jonathan. Joe looked at him through the rearview mirror. He had been like a zombie from the moment they woke him, and he was half-asleep in the backseat now.

  “What time did you actually come in, Jonathan?” Joe asked him. Jonathan didn’t stir, but there was a slight flicker in his eyelids. Joe squeezed the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles whitened, but he waited patiently.

  “A little after one,” Jonathan finally said, without opening his eyes.

  “What time was the party over?”

  “About twelve.”

  “So where’d you go?” This time Jonathan didn’t reply. Joe turned into a parking spot. From the number of cars in the parking lot, he surmised there were already some other parents at the station with their children. Joe turned around before turning off the engine. “If the party ended at twelve and you came home a little after one, where did you go?”

  “Joe. He’s here to be questioned by the police, not you,” Martha said.

  “Went parking,” Jonathan said. “Couldn’t you figure that out?”

  “You’re embarrassing him, Joe,” Martha said. “How would you like it if your father had asked you all these questions after a night out?”

  “My father didn’t have to bring me to a police station,” Joe said dryly. He turned off the engine but thought about what Jonathan had said. “Parking.”

  “It’s been do
ne before,” Jonathan said. Martha laughed, and Joe felt his face redden.

  “But didn’t you go to the party with Audra?”

  “She left early. Told Paula she was sick.”

  “So who did you—”

  “Joe?”

  “They’re only going to ask him inside.”

  “Sally Kantzler.”

  “Jonathan,” Joe said, turning around in the seat to face him, “before we go in there, is there anything you know about this?”

  “JOE!”

  “It’s better if he tells us now, Martha.”

  “I don’t believe you could even ask him that.”

  “I’m just trying to—”

  “It’s all right,” Jonathan said. “No, I don’t know anything about it. Let’s get it over with,” he added. He opened the door and stepped out of the car.

  Martha grabbed Joe’s arm before he opened the door.

  “How could you ask him that? Can’t you see he’s very upset?”

  “All he looks to me is very tired,” Joe said. He got out, and the three of them went to the station. Sally Kantzler was in the lobby, sitting on a bench with her mother and father. Some of the other high school students were standing in a small group in the right corner by the bulletin board. They were comparing one another to the faces of the wanted criminals. A few turned with interest when Jonathan appeared.

  Bernie Kantzler looked up and shook his head. Sally had her head buried in her mother’s shoulder. She stopped sobbing when Joe said hello. When she turned around and looked up at Jonathan, Joe caught something in her face that told him she was terrified. He looked at Jonathan, but Jonathan was inscrutable, his face a blank slate ready to have some expression of emotion stamped on it at any time.

  “Helluva thing,” Bernie Kantzler said. “Can’t even send ’em to school parties and feel safe anymore.”

  “How is she?” Joe asked.

  “She’s in the hospital,” Kantzler said, as if that were all that had to be said. Joe nodded.

  “Sally go in yet?”

  “Yeah, but they asked us to wait. They have a couple of other kids in there. No one seems to know anything. Little bastards.”

  “Come on, Jonathan,” Martha said, taking his arm. “I don’t intend to be kept waiting here all day.”

  “Martha.” Joe watched her go right to the desk and demand attention. He shook his head. When he looked back at Sally, he saw she was sitting back, her face tight like the face of one expecting to hear her own death sentence. He joined Martha at the desk.

  “We’re going in with him, Joe,” Martha said. “The chief and some state detective will see him next.” She looked disdainfully at the patrolman behind the desk. “I told this man we’re going in with him.”

  “You don’t have to. I can go in myself. It’s okay,” Jonathan said.

  “No, it’s not okay. I know what they think here,” Martha added, continuing to glare down at the patrolman. “Just because you’re a foster child, you’re the most likely suspect. Or should I say the easiest one to suspect? They think you don’t have a family.”

  “Martha, come on,” Joe said. He took her by the elbow to pull her away from the desk, but she broke free of his grasp.

  “Things like this have happened to him before, Joe. But he didn’t have decent protection then. He didn’t have someone who cared about him. If you don’t want to go in, don’t go in. I’m not letting him become any kind of scapegoat.”

  “Jesus.” Joe glanced at the young patrolman. He looked sympathetic and patient. Joe thought that despite his youthful appearance, the patrolman probably had years of experience and had dealt with women like Martha before. Not that there could ever be anyone like Martha, he concluded.

  “How much longer will it be?” Martha demanded.

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Stern.”

  “So why did they ask us down now?”

  “We need everyone’s cooperation, Mrs. Stern. This is a serious incident,” the policeman said firmly but patiently.

  “We’re cooperating. We’re here, aren’t we?”

  “So let’s be cool about it and wait our turn,” Joe said. “Come on.” He tried again to turn her toward an empty bench. She glared at him, and then she took Jonathan’s hand and headed for the bench directly across from where the Kantzlers were sitting.

  Joe noticed that Sally was staring at Jonathan intently, although Jonathan seemed indifferent to her. He sat back, folded his arms across his chest, and closed his eyes, a look of boredom and indifference still on his face.

  “How late did you stay up last night, Jonathan?”

  “He told you. He was home a little after one,” Martha said.

  “He didn’t go to sleep then, or if he did, he woke up again.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Jonathan?”

  “I fell asleep almost immediately,” Jonathan said, speaking with his eyes still closed. “Slept until you woke me.”

  “I heard the computer going at four in the morning.”

  “What?” Martha smiled widely. “Are you crazy? Four in the morning?”

  “I heard it,” Joe said softly. He saw that the Kantzlers were watching them and straining to hear their conversation. “And I think I know what a computer sounds like.”

  Martha stared at him a moment. Then she looked at Jonathan.

  “Did you hear it, too, Jonathan?”

  “What do you mean, did he hear it, too? He’d have to be the one using it, wouldn’t he?”

  “Jonathan?”

  “I was dead to the world,” he said. “The last thing I would have done was work on that computer.”

  “Now, wait a minute . . .” Joe started to turn to him when two boys from the high school senior class emerged from the chief’s office. They looked unruffled. Both nodding at Jonathan, and he lifted his hand weakly in response.

  “The chief will see him now,” the patrolman at the desk announced.

  “Let’s go,” Martha said. She got up quickly, eager for combat.

  “Martha, hold up,” Joe said softly, hoping to slow her down. She didn’t hear him. She walked right beside Jonathan to the office. Joe followed meekly and looked over at the Kantzlers one more time. Sally was biting down gently on her lower lip and watching intently. Bernie and his wife looked dazed.

  Paul Dawson stood up behind his desk as they entered his office. Joe didn’t recognize the tall, olive-skinned man in the dark blue suit who stood just to the right of the desk, but he had known Paul Dawson all his life. Paul was a local boy who had served in Vietnam in the military police. He had been on the Sandburg police force before he was drafted, and when he came out of the service, he returned to the force and quickly moved up the ranks until he became chief of the township police.

  Joe always thought Paul Dawson to be the military type. Even in high school, he walked with a soldier’s gait—his shoulders back, his chest out, making him appear more than five-feet-ten-inches tall. He kept his hair shorter than everyone else’s and always looked as though he had just come home on leave from boot camp. He replied to his male teachers with “sir” and his female teachers with “ma’am.” He wasn’t an exceptional student, but he was a good student, responsible, efficient, dependable. He was the kind of teenager liked more by adults than by other teenagers, but that never seemed to matter to him. He had his mind set on his goals and refused to permit any distractions.

  After high school, he studied police science for a year and a few months, but he had to give it up when his father died unexpectedly. An only child, he returned home to work and care for his mother. He had no trouble getting a job on the local police force, and people appreciated the professional manner with which he handled himself, even as a small-town patrolman; so it came as no surprise to anyone, least of all Joe, that Paul moved up quickly and became chief of police when the opportunity arose. Now married with three young children of his own, he was as stable a part of the community as the most respected tow
n fathers.

  Paul extended his hand when Joe stepped out from behind Martha and Jonathan.

  “Joe, Martha. Thanks for coming down. Everyone, please take a seat. This is Lt. Diana from the state police division handling substance abuse.” Lt. Diana nodded, but Martha did not smile at him or Paul.

  “So,” Paul began, sitting down after everyone else had, “this is Jonathan. I’ve been hearing a great deal about you, Jonathan,” he added, smiling tentatively. Dawson still wore his hair very short. Dressed in a tapered, short-sleeve white shirt, blue tie, and dark blue pants, he looked as trim and muscular as he did the day he returned from his stint in Vietnam.

  “The others are blaming him, is that it?” Martha asked quickly.

  Dawson glanced at Lt. Diana and then at Joe before responding. Joe sensed that there were some real suspicions.

  “No, Martha. No one has placed any blame on anyone.” Dawson leaned forward and turned to Jonathan. “But there’s no question someone’s to blame, right, Jonathan?”

  “I suppose so,” Jonathan said. He sat up straighter in his chair and looked more wide-awake.

  “You knew about the vodka being in the punch, didn’t you, son?” Lt. Diana asked. The abrupt way in which he entered himself into the conversation turned all heads.

  Joe thought the state investigator looked more like a corporate executive. He wore a rich-looking gold watch on his left wrist and two rings on his fingers: a gold wedding ring and a tigereye pinkie ring in a gold setting. He had a trim, full head of thick black hair, and although he was cleanly shaven, his dark beard was visible and threatening just at skin level. There was no question he had to shave twice a day.

  “I heard about it, yeah,” Jonathan said. “But I didn’t put it in there. It was already spiked by the time we got to the school.”

  “How did you know it was spiked?” Dawson asked.

  “Someone told me.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. Everyone knew. I think it was Abe Hodes who told me first?”

  “And you told Audra?” Lt. Diana asked.