Unspeakable

by Graham Masterton

  "Holly, come on," Tyrone urged her.

  "No," said Holly. "Wait."

  The paramedics were already kneeling down on the pavement and opening up their resuscitation packs, although it was obvious to everybody that the man on the tracks could never survive. Holly heard nothing: She only saw them gesticulate, and silently argue, and hurry backward and forward. The man turned his eyes toward her, and it seemed to Holly as if he were asking her why this had happened, and whether he was imagining it, and if she had been anything to do with it.

  She looked down. On the pavement lay the books that he had bought from the Bellman Bookstore, on George Stevens and David O. Selznick. The book about George Stevens had fallen open, and the rain was already crinkling its pages. It was marked with blood, too, in a strange jagged pattern, like a claw, and the claw spread right across a black-and-white photograph of James Dean inGiant.

  Holly turned to Tyrone and opened and closed her mouth but didn't say anything. She couldn't find the words. Tyrone led her away, holding her elbow firmly, propelling her, until they reached his gallery. Matthew followed close behind.

  "Are you all right?" he asked her once they were inside. "Do you want a coffee? A brandy? Another glass of wine?"

  "I'm fine. It was the shock, that's all. I saw that guy in the bookstore. I talked to him. I thought-I had the impression that he was David."

  Outside, the rain was cascading into the street so much that the stormdrains were overflowing, and the roofs of the passing taxis carried a fine mist of spray. Tyrone knelt down and held both of Holly's hands. "Do you know something?" he said. "I'd give a million dollars if only you could hear my voice."

  The Heilshorn Home

  Holly arrived at the Heilshorn home a few minutes after threeP.M. The rain had long since passed over and the sky was streaked with thin gray clouds, like unraveling wool. The Heilshorn home was right at the end of a new housing development called Hawthorne View, a three-bedroom home with a neatly trimmed lawn and unnaturally bloodred chrysanthemums glittering with raindrops. A girl's pink bicycle lay on its side on the path outside, along with a bracelet of bright plastic beads.

  She rang the doorbell. At first there was no answer, but when she rang it again, Mrs. Heilshorn appeared behind the frosted-glass door and opened it.

  "Yes?" she said blankly. She was a small woman with intensely black hair and bright red lips. She was wearing a wraparound dress in cerise satin with a large gold brooch in the shape of a spray of roses, and large gold earrings. She had a deep, finely wrinkled cleavage and a sharp little up-tilted nose that saidovercorrective surgery.

  "Mrs. Heilshorn?" Holly produced her ID card. "Holly Summers, Portland Children's Welfare Department. We have an appointment, if you recall."

  "We do? What day is it?"

  "Thursday."

  "Oh my Lord, I forgot all about it. I'm so sorry. I have a memory like a sieve."

  "That's all right, I can be pretty forgetful myself sometimes. Do you mind if I come in?"

  "Well, you're welcome, but I'm afraid that Sarah-Jane isn't here right now. She's out playing with friends."

  "I do need to see her, Mrs. Heilshorn. Can you tell me where she is?"

  "I'm afraid I don't have any idea. Her friend's mother has taken them all out for the day, goodness knows where. Maybe the zoo."

  "What time do you expect her back?"

  Mrs. Heilshorn shrugged and widened her heavily made-up eyes. "Who knows? She may even sleep over."

  Holly stepped into the hallway.

  "You won't mind taking off your shoes, will you?" said Mrs. Heilshorn, although it wasn't really a question. Holly slipped out of her pumps and followed her into the sitting room.

  "We've just had a new carpet fitted," Mrs Heilshorn explained. "And I do like everything to stayperfect,don't you?"

  The sitting room looked as if nobody was ever allowed to draw breath in it, let alone sit in it. It was almost psychotically neat and tidy, with a sculptured nylon carpet in the palest of honey colors, wallpaper with brown-and-cream curlicues, and a coffee table with a glass top and fluted brass legs, on which was spread an arrangement of shells and pebbles and a china figurine of a mermaid sitting on a rock, as well as a pristine copy ofWoman's Ownwith the cover lineEasier Orgasms!

  Above a sandstone fireplace hung a large reproduction of a Gypsy girl with sultry eyes and a blouse that had slipped down from her shoulder to reveal a single bare breast.

  Mrs. Heilshorn perched on the arm of one of the large brown brocade armchairs, crossing her legs as if she were posing for a magazine cover. Holly sat on the couch, opened up her briefcase, and took out her notes. "You know why I'm here, don't you?"

  "Well, I know that there was some ridiculous nonsense about Sarah-Jane having bruises."

  "Sarah-Jane's phys-ed teacher noticed last Monday that she had bruising around her upper thighs and wrists. Her class teacher has also reported that in recent weeks Sarah-Jane has changed from being one of the most outgoing girls in the fifth grade to one of the quietest and least involved. She's been having no problems at school, either with her classwork or with her relationships with other pupils, so her teacher concluded that something must have upset her at home."

  "Such as what?"

  "That's what I'd likeyouto tellme,Mrs. Heilshorn. Has she had any kind of argument with you or your husband? Is there somebody else in the neighborhood she could have had trouble with? Either a neighbor or one of her friends?"

  "She's probably starting her period."

  "That's not impossible. She's ten and a half, after all. Has she mentioned anything to you? Asked you about it?"

  Mrs. Heilshorn shook her head.

  "Have you tried to broach the subject yourself? I mean, given her sudden change in behavior."

  "To be honest with you, I can't say that I've noticedanychange in her behavior. Her teachers might call her 'outgoing,' but as far as my husband and I are concerned, she's never been anything but difficult."

  "Really? In what way difficult?"

  "Why do you think we've had to go to all the expense of having a new carpet? Sarah-Jane walked in here with her shoes on and tracked in dog mess all over the last one."

  She looked around the room with such irritation that Holly half expected to see that the footprints were still there.

  "Couldn't you have had it cleaned?"

  "Cleaned?That would have totallyruinedit. Have you ever seen what cleaning does to your pile? Flattens it, mats it, makes it go every which way. Maybe a less particular person wouldn't mind about it butIalways would. I have to have everything-" She didn't actually say the wordperfectagain, but the word was there, hiding behind her pursed red lips.

  "I see. What else did Sarah-Jane do that was difficult?"

  "Do you want a list? She broke one of my Wedgwood saucers from Woodburn's. Just dropped it on the kitchen floor when she was drying it. She took a peanut butter sandwich to bed and wiped peanut butter all over the throw. That was pure merino wool, that throw. Do you know what peanut butter does to pure merino wool?"

  Holly made some notes while Mrs. Heilshorn arched her neck to try and see what she was writing. "Is that all?" said Mrs. Heilshorn when she had finished.

  "I have to ask you about the bruises on Sarah-Jane's thighs and wrists."

  "Riding her bike," said Mrs. Heilshorn, with several emphatic nods.

  "Riding her bike?"

  "She's always riding her bike. I don't know where she goes off to, half the time. She's supposed to be home, doing her homework and helping with the chores. Well! If you can call breaking one of my Wedgwood saucers from Woodburn's helping with the chores But she rides her bike a lot, and when she rides her bike, I guess her thighs get a little bruised. Have you ever seen a kid with no bruises? I never saw a kid with no bruises. When I was her age, I was one big bruise all over. You wouldn't think I was such a tomboy, would you, to look at me now? How old do you think I am?"

  Holly hesitated. "I really couldn't say, Mr
s. Heilshorn. What about the bruises on her wrists? Did she get those from riding her bike too?"

  Mrs. Heilshorn gave an exaggerated shrug. "Maybe some boy tried to grab her."

  "Does she have a boyfriend to your knowledge?"

  "Sheknowsboys-of course she does. I'm forty-one next September twelfth."

  "I'll have to talk to her personally, Mrs. Heilshorn. Can we make another appointment?"

  "I don't know what Sarah-Jane can possibly tell you that I can't."

  "It's routine, Mrs. Heilshorn. If a teacher or a doctor expresses any concern about a child's well-being, we have to investigate. I'm sure you can understand why."

  "Listen, I can assure you that nobody'sdoneanything to her."

  "I didn't suggest that anybody had. But I do have to see her for myself. How about tomorrow, same time?"

  "Well, no, that wouldn't be convenient. I have to take her to see my mother in Fairview."

  "All right, Monday. But I don't want to postpone it any longer than that."

  Mrs. Heilshorn showed her to the door. As Holly was putting her pumps back on, Mrs. Heilshorn said, "Nobody's hurt her, you know. I can promise you that."

  Holly didn't reply. But she looked at Mrs. Heilshorn and she saw something in her eyes that seriously disturbed her. She had seen it so many times before, and its name was panic.

  Crossing the Burnside Bridge

  As she was crossing the Burnside Bridge on her way back to the office, the sun came out and the river glittered as if it were filled with shoals of jumping salmon. Halfway across the bridge, however, she became aware that while everything around her was sparkling in sunshine-the river, the riverside park, the seagoing ships tied up along the waterfront, the Portland Center, and the downtown high-rise towers-she herself was in shadow.

  She looked up through the sunroof to see if there was a cloud above her, but the glass was tinted and so it was impossible to tell. But the shadow followed her all the way across the bridge and into the city until she turned left on Broadway. As she slowed down, she could actually see it gliding westward along the facades of the buildings, like the sail of a black yacht.

  Suspicious Minds

  Doug was tilted back in his chair, reading a thick new report on the psychology of child abusers and eating a sugary doughnut. Through his window Holly could see treetops waving in the wind and silently sliding streetcars and people ambling up and down the sidewalks.

  "Hi, Doug," she said, sitting on the edge of his desk.

  He lifted his doughnut in greeting. "How did things go with the Heilshorns?"

  "They didn't. Sarah-Jane wasn't there. Her mother claimed that she forgot the appointment and that Sarah-Jane was out with friends."

  "Sarah-Jane Heilshorn she's the bruise girl from Hawthorne Elementary, isn't she?"

  "That's right. Her mother said she probably got them from riding her bike."

  "Well, maybe she did." Doug tossed the report onto his paper-strewn desk. "Kids get bruises and nine times out of ten they tripped over or fell out of a tree."

  "Sure. But her teachers say that she's been exhibiting some behavioral problems too: acting withdrawn, when she usually used to be extrovert."

  "You can't read too much into that, either. When my Annie reached puberty, she turned from Shirley Temple into Courtney Love in one weekend."

  "I don't know. Her mother seems kind ofedgyabout her, if you know what I mean. And she's a very obsessive personality. The house is so damn clean, it gave me the creeps. I mean, like, it'simmaculate,like a show home."

  "Met the father yet?"

  "Unh-hunh."

  "So what's your gut instinct?"

  "Something's wrong in that family, but I'm not at all sure what it is. There's a sexual undertone which I don't like at all. Seminude painting over the fireplace trashy women's magazines lying around: You know, the ones that tell you how to strip for your husband."

  "Have you made another appointment?"

  "Yes, Monday."

  "You don't want to action it sooner?"

  Holly thought about it and then she shook her head. "No I haven't even had a chance to talk to Sarah-Jane yet. Besides, I don't want to go crashing in there with accusations of abuse unless I have a whole lot more to go on. All right, Mrs. Heilshorn was edgy, but peopledoget edgy when the Children's Welfare people come knocking on their door. And she may be an obsessive Hooverer, but that's not exactly a felony."

  "If itisa felony, then my ex certainly wasn't guilty of it."

  "I think I need to take this carefully, that's all. One step at a time."

  Doug sipped his coffee. "Probably wiser. You remember the Katz family?"

  "Must have been before my time."

  "I almost lost my job over it, believe me. It must have been, what, six or seven years ago. Mr. and Mrs. Katz lived in the Lloyd District. Mrs. Katz had gone to stay with her sister in Bend, but she and her sister had an argument and Mrs. Katz unexpectedly returned home twenty-four hours early. She came into the bedroom at six o'clock in the morning to find her husband in bed, naked, with their four-year-old daughter.

  "There was a furious argument and Mrs. Katz called the cops. Mr. Katz was immediately arrested on a charge of suspected molestation, and forensic evidence showed that there were traces of semen on the sheets. My senior director sat in on the police questioning, and she decided that Mr. Katz was protesting his innocence so angrily that he simply had to be guilty."

  "Pretty contradictory conclusion."

  "Well, she was what you might call an aggressive supporter of women's rights. She believed that all men are rapists, especially husbands and fathers. At first the little girl herself wouldn't say what had happened to her. But after more than a week of very low-key questioning, she blurted out that she had been scared by an electric storm and had crept into her father's bed for security. He had been fast asleep all the time and had never even known she was there.

  "The semen?"

  "His wife had been away for a week. He had jerked himself off before he went to sleep."

  "So what was the outcome?"

  "What do you think? Divorce. Mr. Katz couldn't forgive his wife for thinking that he would ever touch his own daughter. So the little girl suffered a broken home just because her mother and the cops and the Children's Welfare Department were all too goddamn eager to believe the worst."

  "So your senior director?"

  "Not fired, of course, because of the feminist mafia. But moved sideways. These days, she runs Women's Right to Refuse."

  "What happened to Women's Right to Say 'Mmm, Yes, Please'?"

  Doug brushed sugar off his pants. "You'll keep me posted with the Heilshorn case? I mean, regardless of what happened in the Katz case, any serious suspicions "

  "Sure, of course." Holly stood up, and hesitated. "Actually, there's another reason I wanted to see you. What time are you leaving for the lake Saturday?"

  "Ten-thirty." Pause. "You mean you want to come along?"

  "Yes I think I'd like to."

  "That's great. Ned's going to be delighted. He's a really regular guy, I promise you."

  "Okay, then. I'll come. Do you want me to bring any food?"

  "Hey, only if some of Marcella's spicy meatballs are going begging."

  The Doctor Is Out

  Holly asked Emma on the switchboard to find the number of East Portland Memorial and to ask for the children's cancer clinic.

  "They say wait one moment," said Emma. She was very pretty, intensely black, and had her hair braided in colored beads. Her cotton dress was Barbie-doll pink.

  Holly waited and waited. "What's happening?" she asked at last.

  "They're playing 'Monday, Monday' by the Mamas and the Papas. You should thank your lucky stars you can't hear nothing."

  Holly waited another minute. Just as she was about to give up, Emma said, "Yes, please. I'm calling for Ms. Holly Summers of the Portland Children's Welfare Department. She wants to speak to Dr. Ferdinand. It concerns one of his patients,
Casper Beale. B-E-A-L-E. That's right."

  Another long wait, then, "Yes, I see. Okay, yes."

  Emma looked up at Holly. "Dr. Ferdinand is in San Diego till Monday morning, but his secretary promises to have him call us as soon as he gets back."

  "In that case, I'm out of here."

  A Puzzle andAnother Shadow

  She spent most of Friday morning on paperwork and answering her emails, and she ate a Swiss cheese sandwich at her desk. At three o'clock, as she left the office, she met George Greyeyes in the corridor, impatiently waiting for an elevator.