by James Tucker
Then he heard them. Faint cries from inside the coffinlike shape.
Buddy stepped onto the ladder and climbed down into the dark, dank space that pressed against him on all sides.
Now the cries were louder. He went toward them, step-by-step, careful not to run into the bulwark. From his previous visit, he knew he was passing through the torpedo room and the officer’s wardroom to the sonar room. Careful not to bang his head, he needed a long time to reach the source of the cries.
But in an instant, the cries ceased. When Buddy saw why, panic gripped him.
A large man, his back to Buddy, stood over Ben. The man’s large, muscular hands squeezed Ben’s neck and then shoved him backward.
Ben tumbled onto the metal decking, screaming in pain and fear.
The man closed a glass door, rimmed with steel and rubber, between himself and Ben. As Ben banged his small hands against the glass, the man turned a lever that locked the door and created a seal. A moment later, the man pressed a button hidden in the darkness.
Buddy could see it then. The water, rising in the room where Ben was imprisoned. Rapidly, the water level rose. To Ben’s ankles. To his knees.
His hips.
His chest.
His chin.
His nose.
Finally, to the top of his head.
Buddy saw the boy he loved thrashing in the water, trying to climb up the sleek metal wall to the remaining air pocket. But Ben couldn’t. He could only stare at Buddy, his mouth moving, creating words Buddy would never hear.
In a last gesture, he raised his right hand, and saluted Buddy.
Buddy tried to lurch forward toward the man, to grab the lever and turn it the other way, to open the door so the water would run out of Ben’s cylindrical grave and he could take Ben in his arms and carry him to safety. But he couldn’t run or even walk.
He couldn’t lift his feet.
He could only stand there as Ben’s eyelids closed and the boy floated, lifeless as a fallen leaf.
22
Mei shook Ben awake. “We’re here,” she told him.
She watched his eyes open in the soft light of the Audi’s interior. He looked at her, then forward.
In the headlights, they saw a small house with gray siding and a red brick chimney. There was no garage, and the house’s front door faced the asphalt driveway that showed in oil-colored patches where wind had cleared the snow. The house had a narrow blind-covered window on the left side of the door.
Mei shut off the engine, and they climbed out.
She shivered. The cold here was stronger than in the city, the wind more cutting. Turning to look behind her, she saw only the dimmest contours of the long steep hill they’d taken and the serpentine driveway that terminated right here. Above them to the west, the same hill rose even more steeply. In the darkness it seemed they were halfway up a mountain. There were no houses around them, only what appeared to be open land studded with evergreens. It was quiet and serene up here, she decided, but without neighbors who could help if you got into trouble.
While the car’s running lights illuminated the house, they took their bags from the Audi’s cargo area and carried them to the door. As they did, two exterior lights on motion sensors flashed on, brightening the area at the front of the house. She punched in the access code—1832—that Jessica had given her.
The lock clicked and drew back.
She turned the handle and pushed open the door.
They stepped into the dark house, whose interior was warmer than outside but not warm.
Mei felt along the wall behind her, searching for a light switch. Finding it, she pressed the rocker switch, and recessed lights bathed the space in a warm glow.
The house’s interior was clean and sparsely furnished. Cheap paintings of landscapes hung on white walls, and the floors were white oak. A sofa and two chairs, covered in navy-blue leather, faced a large flat-screen television on the wall to the left. At first it seemed to Mei that the house was one large room that included the entry, kitchen, dining table, and living area. Then she noticed a doorway to the right.
She and Ben passed through it and into a hallway that led them to two bedrooms, one large, the other small. In addition to a king-sized bed, the larger room had a sofa in gray leather.
Ben went over to the sofa and looked at it. Then he turned to her, his eyes uncertain, and said, “Can I sleep here?”
She smiled at him. “You don’t want the other bedroom?”
He shook his head. “I can’t sleep by myself. I don’t like it here.”
She said, “I realize it isn’t home.”
“That’s not why,” he told her. “When I was in the country on New Year’s Eve, my family . . .” His voice faded. But he swallowed and continued. “Then we were at Ward’s house, and we were attacked. The same thing’s going to happen here.”
“No,” she replied quickly, going over to him and putting her hand on his shoulder. “No, it’s safe here. Nobody except Jessica knows we’re here. It’s just you and me. And besides, we’re here because of Buddy’s job, not because anyone wants to hurt us.”
I’m stretching the truth, she thought. But I’m probably wrong about the man outside Porter Gallery who must have had a pen or a phone rather than a knife.
Ben seemed to sense her uncertainty. “I want to go home,” he pressed. “I want to be in my own bedroom. I want to go. Can we go?”
As he spoke, her smile faded and she felt great concern for him, for his fear of being out here in the unfamiliar wilderness, so far from the familiar, and from Buddy. Instead of telling him no, she dropped her bag, sat down on the sofa, and held out her arms to him. He moved closer to her, and she embraced him, held him against her.
“Everything will be okay,” she told him. Yet she thought about his day: the meeting with Judge Miles, the strange conversation in the kitchen, the rapid packing and leaving their home, the furtive drive late at night to this house at the edge of Wurtsboro Ridge State Forest. This is hard, she thought. Hard for anyone, let alone a ten-year-old.
Ben began to cry. Not loudly. She felt his warm tears on her neck.
When he grew calm, she went into the smaller bedroom and returned with the sheets, blanket, and comforter from that room and made a bed for him on the sofa.
He looked at the sofa and then at her. He said, “Is there anything to eat?”
She felt immediate concern. “I don’t know. Let’s find out.”
She opened the refrigerator and saw only a bottle of wine. The freezer had a bottle of vodka and a carton of vanilla ice cream.
Ben had walked over and now stood beside her. “May I have the ice cream?”
She scooped some into a bowl for him and searched the cupboards for other food. Finding a box of Triscuits, she opened it, began to eat, and felt better about being so far from the city’s dangers. Then she heard noises outside the house.
Ben heard them, too. He put his spoon down in the bowl and stared at her, his eyes fearful.
She stopped breathing.
23
The footsteps moved around the exterior of the house, from the north side of the house to the area to the south—and the front door. Outside, the two lights on motion sensors came on.
Mei stared at the door. She noticed she hadn’t set the lock.
She rushed over to the door, turned the latch to set the dead bolt, and turned off the small foyer’s overhead light.
The sound of the lock, the faint abrasive sound of metal on metal, seemed loud in the silence.
At the same time, the noise outside ceased.
They waited in the darkness. One minute passed. Two.
The motion lights on the exterior of the house went out.
Ben said, “Is he gone?”
She didn’t move. She swallowed. Then she crept silently to the window to the right of the door. Her body cold with terror, she reached up and pulled at the edge of the blind. Peering through the opening she’d created, she scanned
the ground beyond the window to the extent that she could see anything in the faint moonlight reflecting off the snow. She saw movement, about ten feet from the door.
There it was. In the dimness, she could see it. Not well, but well enough.
Stepping back from the window, she let the blind fall into place. She turned on the light, faced Ben, and tried to smile. “It’s a coyote, or a wild dog. I’m not sure which. But he wants nothing to do with us.”
Ben opened his mouth and breathed, gulped for air.
She hugged him, felt his chest shudder, took his hand, and led him back to the kitchen.
He finished the ice cream. She ate another Triscuit. Then she turned out the light, and they went back to the larger bedroom.
They didn’t brush their teeth. She opened his bag and took out his pajamas. He put them on and slipped under the comforter she’d spread over the sofa.
He looked up at her with his big brown eyes. “Would you sit with me?”
“Sure.” She sat down and smiled at him.
“Mei?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“Are we going to stay together?”
She wouldn’t lie. He’d suffered too many lies already. “Buddy and I are doing everything we can so that you can stay with us forever. Judge Miles will decide. Soon, I hope.”
His eyes shone with anxiety. He asked, “What if she says I have to go live with my aunt and uncle?”
“Then Buddy and I will keep fighting to keep you. We could go before another judge.”
Ben was quiet for a moment. He touched her hand and said, “Mei?”
“Yes?”
“Do you want me to stay with you?”
She leaned down and hugged him, kissed his cheek. “Of course,” she said. “Of course I do. You know I want you to stay with us.”
“But I’m worried.”
She pulled away and brushed his hair away from his eyes. “Worried something will change?”
He nodded.
“I had the same fears,” she told him. “My biological parents left me at an orphanage in Shanghai, a large city in China. My American parents adopted me when I was five months old. For a long time, I worried they’d leave me. I’d already been left once. Why not twice? Don’t bad things repeat themselves? And maybe I was the one to blame. Maybe I wasn’t lovable. That’s what I worried about until I was more than twenty years old. I certainly thought these things when I was your age. But you know what, Ben?”
“What?”
“I made it. I grew up. I lived on my own for a while. Then I chose to be with Buddy. And with you. It was my choice,” she repeated. “And as you get older, you’ll have more control over your life. You’ll be able to choose who you want to be with. I just hope that when you’re older, you’ll still want me to be in your life.”
Ben had tears in his eyes. He said, “I always want you to be with me.”
She leaned over, kissed both his cheeks, and caressed his shoulder.
No longer fearful, he soon fell asleep.
Mei shut off the lights, took off her clothes, and put on one of Buddy’s T-shirts. She sat in bed with the covers over her legs, listening for the sounds of the wilderness outside. Yet she heard nothing except wind interspersed with an eerie silence.
When at last she slept, she dreamed that she and Buddy were falling into warm water. Except that when she looked down, she saw they were hurtling toward not water but a vast expanse of ice. Now she was going to die. She knew it for certain. She reached for him as he reached for her. His faced showed worry. He knew they were doomed. Their hands got close, but she couldn’t grab hold of him, couldn’t touch him. And then she looked again at the ice and winced and put her arms around her head.
No!
She woke.
Sat up in the strange bed.
Leaning her back against the wall, she grew calm as she listened to the breathing from Ben’s hidden form on the sofa. As she stared into the room’s darkness, all the assumptions she’d made about her life swirled around her in confusion.
If Ben and I have to leave the city every time Buddy takes a case, she thought, we won’t live in the city at all. We won’t be the family that Buddy and I want. If we survive this case, what about the next one?
Without realizing, she’d begun to turn her engagement ring around and around her finger. She stopped herself, adjusting the ring so the diamond was up, and slid back down into the bed.
Surviving, she told herself, is more important than marriage. But I don’t want anyone other than Buddy. I’d be so unhappy, so lonely. And if we had a kind of joint custody, where I’d have to see Buddy, I’d want him in my life. I’d want him to stay the night, to stay forever.
She sighed, seeing no way out of this dilemma.
DAY 2
24
Buddy waited in Chief Malone’s office, the gray light from outside coming through the windows. Malone sat behind his scuffed metal desk, his large face pale and lined. His eyes bulged a little more than usual as he slid the Glock 19 and badge across the desk to Buddy. Taking up the gun, Buddy checked the magazine, saw that it was empty, and placed it in his shoulder holster. He took the badge, put it in his badge wallet, and put the wallet in the left breast pocket of his suit coat. Then he turned to go.
“Hold on, Buddy.”
Buddy remained still.
Malone stood. He was about Buddy’s height but outweighed Buddy by more than seventy-five pounds. He crossed his hands over his ample stomach and said, “That’s it?”
“What do you mean, Chief?”
Malone narrowed his eyes and laughed. “Buddy, I leaned on Rachel Grove to get you an expedited review. I pissed off the Southampton Town Police Department by yanking the bodies your fisherman found away from them. I’m letting you work a John and Jane Doe suicide or accidental death case when you’re a homicide detective and we need man power. I do you all kinds of favors, and you don’t give me the time of day. What’s your problem?”
Buddy felt his face warm. “Yeah, Chief. I’m sorry. Thank you for all you’ve done. I just want to work the case. I guess I’m already focused on it.”
“Focus on me right now, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Turn, Buddy, turn to the door.”
This was an odd command, yet Buddy did as Malone had asked. He turned and saw, in the doorway of Malone’s office, Rachel Grove of the Force Investigation Division. And behind Grove stood Police Commissioner Garrett Quinn. As they filed into the office, Buddy saw Mingo. The younger man walked up to Buddy and gave him a bear hug. Buddy tried to push him away, but the younger man wouldn’t have it. Kept hugging him for three seconds too long, until there was laughter in the room. Buddy took a ziplock baggie from his pocket and handed it to Mingo. Inside the bag was his Visa card. He nodded meaningfully at Mingo, who seemed puzzled. But then Mingo’s expression cleared as he remembered that Buddy had printed Tan Jacket. Mingo tucked the bag and the card into the side pocket of his suit.
Malone’s secretary, Alicia Bravo, also walked in. And then there was a slight commotion in the corridor outside Malone’s office, and Buddy saw Mayor Susan Blenheim, tall and elegant in a navy-blue dress with long sleeves and a string of pearls around her neck, enter Malone’s office.
They fanned out on either side of him, and they seemed to appraise him silently.
He looked around, confused. He hoped he was being reinstated, not fired. So what was the brass doing here? What did they want with him? And the mayor—didn’t she have more important things to do?
From behind him, Malone said, “Buddy, you’re a pain in the ass, but you’re a fucking great detective. Your work has saved a lot of people at the same time it’s put you through hell. What you did three weeks ago impressed the hell out of all of us. We owe you our greatest thanks.” Here Malone turned to face Commissioner Quinn, a sixty-year-old veteran of the force with white hair, a ruddy complexion, and ramrod-straight bearing. Quinn nodded at Malone, but he didn’t smile
when he looked at Buddy.
With a solemn voice, Commissioner Quinn pulled a small black box from the side pocket of his jacket. He said, “Detective Cyrus Edward Lock, I, Garrett Quinn, on behalf of the New York City Police Department, hereby award you the Combat Cross. This honor is for your heroism and engagement in armed combat with an adversary at great personal risk to yourself.” Commissioner Quinn opened the box and lifted out its contents.
Buddy didn’t think much of awards, but when the commissioner pinned the green bar to the lapel of his suit coat, he was surprised by the strong emotions he experienced. His entire body warmed with pride. He couldn’t control these feelings. His heart thumped in his chest, and he felt as if he might shed a tear. Because his respect, appreciation, and love for the department went that deep. He loved his job, loved what he and his brothers and sisters in the detective bureau did. He understood their mission—to protect and serve—and it was the purpose of his life. His voice cracked as he said, “Thank you, Commissioner. I’m honored.”
He knew Commissioner Quinn needed the ceremony to be private, given how he’d earned the award. But that was all right with him. He’d had enough publicity for a lifetime, both as a pianist and as a detective. He wanted to keep his head down and do his work. Anything more was a distraction. Anything more could be a danger to Mei and Ben. But that didn’t mean this private recognition meant nothing to him. It did, because it tied him even more tightly to the mission. He might be a bit of a loner, but he wanted the commissioner and the chief to know he did his best.
The commissioner’s blue eyes narrowed, the crow’s feet around his eyes deepened, and he clapped Buddy on the shoulder. “Keep up the good work, Detective. The city needs you.”
Buddy nodded. “I try, sir. Thank you.”
When Commissioner Quinn had left the office, Chief Malone congratulated Buddy. Mario shook Buddy’s hand so vigorously that Buddy wasn’t sure if his new partner was mocking him. Malone remained standing. Mayor Blenheim walked over to Buddy.
