by Owen Mullen
‘I’m complimenting your energy, Mrs Santini.’
‘I know what you’re doing.’
‘It’s called conversation.’
‘Yeah. Heard there’s an art to that.’
But with Lowell, we found our common ground. In this weather, if Lowell came with me, he would get filthy and leave mud everywhere.
The way I felt, I was better by myself. I had to think. Whenever I remembered that night, my spirits sank. Guilt about what I’d done to Clyde and the traders, regret about Stella, and suspicion about Cal Moreland overwhelmed me.
And a paralysing fear that gripped so hard, I could barely breathe.
Because I’d no idea what to do next.
Today’s competition was in Kenner, out near the airport, and while Ray and Catherine registered, I took a look round, glad to have something to occupy my mind.
I recognised a few faces from other pageants, but the harder I looked, the less I saw. What was I supposed to be looking for, anyway? Some guy with “psycho” tattooed on his forehead? It wasn’t going to happen. Until now, I hadn’t been even close to the crime scenes. I wasn’t likely to help catch this guy if our paths never crossed. All I could do was stay with it.
‘Hello again.’
I didn’t recognise him at first.
‘Hey,’ I said, struggling for a name.
He supplied it for me. ‘Peter Roy. My wife introduced us.’
‘Of course. Vince Delaney.’
We shook hands.
‘I know,’ he said.
‘Peter, yeah. Where’s your wife?’
‘She’s with Labelle. I stay clear of form-filling. Can’t stand it.’
‘Luckily, I’m only the cheerleader on our side.’
He was wearing the same clothes as last time; the cardigan, the button-down shirt and the jacket with the leather patches on the elbow.
‘We almost didn’t come today. Labelle isn’t feeling well. Tummy ache.’
‘Hope she’ll be all right.’
‘Thanks, I’m sure she will. Any recurrence of the symptoms and we’re going straight home.’
‘Yeah. Always other competitions to go to.’
‘Yes, there are, though I think this might well be our last year. Labelle’s had a good run. Won here and there. There comes a point where it’s better to retire gracefully and move on.’
‘You won’t take her up into the young-teens events and beyond?’
I sounded as if I knew something about how it worked. In truth, all I knew about pageantry was what I got from the Internet.
‘No. Reba and I are in agreement. It’s been fun for all of us, but it’s time to let it go. Almost.’ He smiled. ‘No doubt Labelle will give us a hard time. She’ll be a teenager soon. From what I hear, that’s their number-one priority.’
Over Peter Roy’s shoulder, a man was watching me. Even at a distance, he seemed on edge. I’d keep an eye on the guy.
‘I read somewhere they can’t help it, something to do with hormones.’
Peter said, ‘That makes me feel a whole lot better.’ He held out his hand. ‘I better go. Look, if you don’t see us later, assume Labelle didn’t make it. We’ll meet again. And tell Molly good luck, although she hardly needs it.’
‘Sure, Peter.’
Peter Roy had distracted me. When I looked again, the guy was gone.
It was good to feel apart from the herd. Different from the masses. What could be worse than being just another walking number on the earth? Thank God that wasn’t the way of it. Society saw it otherwise, of course, that was to be expected. Closed minds.
A woman passed with a child dressed in top hat and tails. Fred Astaire? The kid was bawling something impossible to make out, its small face distorted in an anguish that would cease the second the mother relented and let it have its way. When children acted like that, they were almost as unattractive as the adults who spawned them. Well, the mother could relax; her whining offspring was safe; repulsively secure.
No matter, there were plenty more.
Lots and lots and lots more.
Where to begin. The biggest question. The answer would dictate how the rest of the day would go. This was a moment to be savoured. The trick was not to wait too long. That was dangerous. Anxiety about missing-out produced poor-quality decisions. Risk was all very well so long as the thrill allowed for escape.
It was all about timing.
A lost-looking girl came close. Pretty, but pretty wasn’t enough. There were many here who out-scored her on that, boys as well as girls, it didn’t matter.
Cute. Cute. Cute. Nothing but cute.
‘Darleen! Darleen, honey!’ A woman bent to scoop up her daughter.
Mother and child reunion.
Time to make a move. But what was the rush? There was a whole day ahead.
All day. All day, every day, if need be.
24
The second time I saw him was during the mid-morning interval. He stood apart from the crowd in the corridor outside the main hall, preoccupied with the people coming and going, and didn’t notice me. He was searching for something. And he seemed to be alone. That figured. His eyes darted over every face; his own held an expression of cold excitement. Then, he was gone; he just disappeared. I tried to control the panic that rose in me, without letting Catherine or Ray know how I was feeling or why.
Although I never stopped looking, I didn’t see him again until the afternoon, standing off to the side, inside the hall this time. He stuck out – at least he did to me – hardly bothering with the stage, preferring to watch the children beside their parents. When I saw him, I got up. He must’ve known I was onto him because he made for the door. Onstage, the usual, super-smoothie incongruent in a dinner suit, was making an announcement. It hardly registered.
‘And the winner is … Jolene Johnson!’
A woman jumped in front of me applauding and whooping, clapping her hands above her head. The mother. It only took seconds to reach the door at the back of the hall, but I wasn’t quick enough; there was no sign of him.
A voice I recognised spoke to me. ‘We’re going home, Delaney. It hasn’t been a good day. Labelle isn’t very well again. She’s out in the car with her father. I’m on my way to collect her things.’
‘Sorry, Reba. Hope she’s going to be okay.’
‘Oh, she’ll be fine, just not today, is all.’
I cut her off. ‘Okay.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine.’
‘Well, bye.’ Said in the delightful gentle drawl that made her so likeable.
I would get a chance to explain my odd behaviour another time. Right now, that didn’t matter. I had a killer to catch.
But my man was nowhere to be seen. The hall was still busy, even though many of the kids who’d lost had gone home earlier. I narrowed my eyes trying to spot him. And I did, at the end of the hall. He was medium height, wearing a dark-blue suit with a white shirt; his hair neither short nor long, with a face that made him appear younger than he was. My earlier guess had been late-twenties; I revised that estimate up.
We both started to run at the same time. This was our man. He ran into a part of the building not in use today, down another long corridor. Our footsteps echoed together, keeping me fixed on catching this guy, aware this could be the one and only opportunity I was ever going to get.
He was always just too far in front, always just round the next bend, racing to wherever it might lead. An alarm bell drowned the sound of my breathing. Another sound, farther away, the sound of brakes squealing on tarmac.
When I rounded the final bend, I saw a set of alarmed doors at the end thrown open. Out in the street, a small group of people gathered round the front of a dark-grey ford Transit. I ran, hoping I wasn’t going to find what I already knew was there. People stared at the man on the ground. Someone took off a coat and placed it behind his head. Blood trickled from the side of his mouth, vivid against the deathly pallor of his skin; it was
him. And he was unconscious.
Behind the wheel, a young black guy sat rooted to the seat. In the heat of the moment, he’d been overlooked, the forgotten victim of the accident. I opened the door. He wasn’t aware I was with him.
‘Guy just ran out,’ he said. ‘Never had a chance.’
‘I know. It wasn’t your fault.’
He lurched to the side, falling out of his seat, and vomited on the ground in a long continuous stream. The poor guy was in shock. He’d been driving along, minding his own affairs, when his weekend plans changed. In fact, he’d done well to keep the vehicle from running over the man I’d been chasing. Right now, he wouldn’t believe that.
A finger tapped me on the shoulder, a uniformed cop. ‘I’ll take it from here,’ he said.
‘How is he?’ It was a stupid thing to ask.
‘Bad, I’d say. Ambulance’ll be here soon. Least it better be for his sake.’
I took out my cell, called Danny and gave him the short version of what had happened.
‘Okay, Delaney, find out which hospital they’re taking him to and call me back. I’ll meet you there. Is he going to make it?’
‘Doesn’t look great, but he’s still breathing.’
Yards away, the driver sat on the sidewalk wrapped in a blanket, alone and disbelieving. He’d never be quite the same again. If only he’d been a couple of seconds earlier or later.
A couple of seconds either way.
My, my. What have we here?
Hello, beautiful. What are you doin’ all alone.
Mommy thinks she’s the star.
But it’s you, isn’t it.
Let me see your certificate. Well, isn’t that nice?
Tell you what, let’s me and you go for a walk.
Not far. Not very far. Nobody’s gonna even notice you’re gone.
Don’t appreciate you, not the way I do.
Nothing like.
Nothing like.
Mia Johnson had never known anything like it. One minute, her heart was bursting with excitement and anticipation, the next, it overflowed with the joy of realising the dream: Jolene had triumphed, just the way her mommy always knew she would.
What does beat the band mean, Mommy?
A surge of energy electrified Mia when the announcement came.
And the winner is … Jolene Johnson!
She leapt into the aisle, falling against a man hurrying past. She didn’t give him a second look: all the time, all the work was worth it. What could Joe say now, except admit his wife knew what she was doing? As for the money? To hell with it. Nothing was more important than this. Nothing. The sense of elation that engulfed Jolene’s mom rose and rose inside her, never close to peaking. Five minutes later, in the lull before the next final began, Mia was still buzzing.
Jolene broke away from the procession on its way back to the changing-area when she saw her mother and ran into her outstretched arms.
‘Yes, baby! Yes!’ Mia squealed and hugged her daughter to her. ‘We did it! You and me!’
The child looked out from under her blonde wig piled high the way those country-music gals liked to wear it into the glowing face of her star-struck mother. The big hair looked fake and ridiculous on the small head. Mia liked it; liked it enough to part with two hundred dollars. She untied the red ribbon round the scroll and read:
‘This is to Certify …’
Her eyes brimmed with hot tears of pride. The surname written on a dotted line in the centre of the page included the letter t, making Johnston. Mia didn’t care. They’d done it: her and Jolene. From now on, if Joe didn’t like it when she splashed out on something essential for the performance, he knew what he could do. Mia was done with lies and deception. Joe needed to back her judgement without resentful questions and grumbles, maybe even give her a lick of praise for her efforts once in a while. He had better watch his step, or he might be in for a surprise one fine day. The win gave Mia an inordinate sense of confidence, the way cocaine used to.
They walked hand-in-hand through the hall, conscious of their new-found celebrity. ‘Well done, Jolene,’ a woman said.
Mia basked in her moment in the sun. ‘Why thank you.’ She offered her hand. ‘Mia Johnson. Jolene’s mom.’
‘I just thought Jolene looked so sweet in her costume. And her hair …’
‘Well, do you know, I agonised over that for so long. We were in and out of that shop five or six times, before I let myself go with my instincts.’
‘Your instincts are good,’ the woman said.
Mia laughed a sad laugh. ‘I just wish my husband Joe could hear you say that.’
Jolene didn’t need to disengage from the conversation; she’d never been part of it. She let go of her mother’s hand. When Mia reconnected with her responsibilities, she was gone. At first, that didn’t mean much; she could be anywhere – back at the changing-area, in the john, showing-off her award to some envious kid. Frustration was the first response after ten minutes of searching. She muttered to herself, asking where her daughter might be, then anger because the good feelings were ebbing, making way for a fear the like of which she’d never known.
Why did you do that?
Because it was fun.
It’s dangerous.
Too dangerous.
Crazy dangerous!
But it was fun.
Will waiting on death-row be fun?
Might be.
Don’t be stupid! Don’t be fucking stupid!
You don’t get it. None of you do. It’s a game. I’ve told you. How many times?
But I liked it. I liked it a lot.
We all like it, we love it. That’s why we do it.
But you’re gonna get us caught,
No, they can’t catch us.
Why not?
Because they’re dumb and we’re smart, that’s why.
25
This is stupid! It’s stupid!
Dumb! Fucking dumb!
Why take the chance?
You’re crazy. Crazy! Crazy! Crazy!
Who the fuck are you calling crazy? Don’t ever call me that!
I give up. Why must you only listen to the others?
I like what they tell me better.
Safety first, you asshole!
You’re going to lose it for certain.
That’ll never happen.
Never happen.
We make life worth living.
Life in jail? You mad bastards!
It’s a game! I like games! I’m good at playing games!
But he’s a cop! That makes him dangerous.
That’s what makes it fun. Fun and games.
We’re smarter! Smarter than any cop!
Smarter than anyone!
Pigmy-brains!
Too many chances. He’s getting closer.
He’s a million miles away. He’ll always be a million miles away.
He’s a cop. A detective.
He’s a dick, don’t spoil the fun.
You’re crazy!
I told you never to call me that! Shall I let the others deal with you?
The voices stopped chattering. One commanded the others.
Kill that coward! Kill it! I don’t want to hear it again! End it!
Of course.
Our pleasure.
Literally.
26
My cell rang. I fished it out trying to hear above the wailing siren. The flashing red lights above me lent an unreality to the call. It was Catherine, probably wanting to know where I was. It didn’t matter anymore; it was time for the truth.
‘Delaney, where are you?’
She couldn’t make out what I was saying. The news she had for me was the only thing in her head.
‘A little girl is missing. They don’t know where she is! The pageant’s been called to a halt, and everybody needs to stay! The police are on their way!’
She shouted to be heard above the din from my end. I could only make out the occasional word. Enough to get
the drift, and a cold hand closed over my throat.
I faked calm. ‘Is Molly all right?’
‘Molly’s here with us.’
‘I’m in an ambulance on my way to hospital.’
Her voice boomed and cracked down the line.
‘I’m all right. I witnessed an accident. I’m needed at the hospital to talk with the police. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’
Flimsy stuff. All I had.
We had travelled to the event as a family in Ray’s car, so it wasn’t possible to go with Fitzpatrick’s instruction and follow the ambulance. I explained to the officer-in-charge that Detective Danny Fitzpatrick was meeting me at the hospital, and that I had to be there. I had information he required. He offered me a ride in the squad car, clearing a fast route ahead. I elected to travel in the ambulance. I wanted to have a closer look at the man fighting for his life.
Something wasn’t right. For this guy to be the killer, he had to commit the crime before I saw him. Abduct a child and stick around. It didn’t work.
Danny was there when the ambulance killed the siren and pulled into the ER. We stood while the medics secured the unconscious man to the trolley, rolled him out and wheeled him inside. A doctor appeared from nowhere and began examining him, at the same time issuing instructions. It was bad. The body language of the team attending him shouted it.
The doctor approached us, his face a study in neutral. ‘I’m afraid whatever business you have will have to wait. Preliminary examination shows massive internal injury, his blood-pressure is critically low. He’s headed for surgery this minute. When we open him up – if he survives that long – we’ll know more.’
Danny started to ask something.
The doctor raised a hand. ‘Please, there really is nothing more I can help you with.’
Two hours passed, and they still hadn’t found the little girl. A team of police officers combed the building while another organised statements from everyone present. They’d be checked and cross-checked. No one involved with the case held out hope of turning up much. Mia was sedated and looked as if her bones had been crushed from the inside. The blanket round her shoulders drowned the shrinking figure under it.
