Picture Perfect

by Fern Michaels

  He could tell Cudge was mad by the way the door banged against the tiled wall. Davey waited while footsteps sounded. Looking down from his perch, he could see heavy yellow boots, caked with mud, appear and disappear as the man stalked back and forth. With a growl, he moved toward the door. Davey waited for the sound of the door closing, but he didn’t hear it. Did that mean the man hadn’t pulled it closed, or did it mean he was still there, waiting to catch him? Davey wished he could hear the sound of the workman banging the nails. He was tired, and his arms ached, but he would wait a little longer. He couldn’t get caught now, not when he was so close to Aunt Lorrie. He had to be more careful than ever.

  Just when he thought he couldn’t stand another second of waiting, Davey heard the snick of the closing door. There were no more footsteps, no muttered curses. The man was gone. Davey gingerly pulled back one arm and then the other. Dropping to the floor, he reached out a quivering arm to flush the toilet, but then quickly withdrew it. The frothy bubbles would have to stay—toilets made a lot of noise in places like this. It wasn’t safe here; he had to leave. If the man came back, he would see the open door, and then he would know Davey had tricked him. The thought pleased Davey—he really had tricked him.

  Now, when he walked out of the bathroom, he would go to his left, because if he went right he would end up back at the hole in the fence. He had to keep going in the opposite direction; he had to stay behind the man.

  As Davey started out, he listened for sounds of hammering; his entire body was alert to any movement within his line of vision. He shivered, it was getting cold. Now that he was moving again, he realized he still didn’t feel well. If only he could lie down and take a nap, but he couldn’t. It was important to keep going, to find Aunt Lorrie. If he lay down and fell asleep, the man would find him.

  Davey gradually slowed as he trudged around the park, bewildered by the shadows the giant rides created. He knew he had to be quick to hide at the first sound that fell on his ears. He wished he could read better so he would know what all the signs meant. Why couldn’t he find the man with the hammer? Why hadn’t he seen anyone to ask for help? Then he saw Cudge, just ahead, stalking the area in front of a hamburger restaurant. The little round tables and chairs were painted to look like polka-dotted mushrooms and toadstools, and Cudge was bending down, peering underneath them. Davey crouched low. Sometimes, like now, he was glad he was small. When you were little, there wasn’t so much of you to see. He maneuvered his way behind a big red trash can and watched Cudge work his way around the perimeter of the restaurant. His heart hammered in his chest and he felt as though the ocean was slapping at his ears.

  He was getting colder and he was so tired. He stifled a yawn, never taking his eyes from Cudge’s slouched form. He drew back suddenly. Cudge was standing upright now and looking around, deciding which way to go. Davey risked another quick look and saw him head for a low, white building with a red and black sign. He watched as Cudge opened the door and looked inside. He didn’t go inside, just looked. Then he closed the door and moved on. As soon as Cudge was out of sight, Davey ran across the space and into the building. If Cudge had already looked in there, he probably wouldn’t come back there again.

  One wall was lined with lockers, the other with open-stall showers. To the left, in a room littered with cartons and boxes, Davey saw a desk with a push-button telephone sitting on it. Frantically, he dialed 911. He waited and waited but no one picked up the other end. He tried again but achieved the same result. Defeated, he sat down on the swivel chair, his face puckered with despair. Mom had told him to dial 911 if ever he had an emergency. But it didn’t work. There wasn’t anybody there.

  Maybe this telephone was broken. Maybe if he could find another telephone it would work. Outside, in the locker room, he saw a pay phone on the wall. He knew it was a pay phone because he’d been with his mom once when she’d used one to call his dad. For almost a full minute Davey stared at the phone. He couldn’t reach it. Maybe if he dragged the bench over and stood on it . . . He had to try.

  Pulling and tugging, he managed to drag the heavy wooden bench directly underneath the telephone. He climbed onto it, lifted the receiver and listened to the dial tone. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to put the money in before or after he dialed.

  Again, he dialed 911 but, as before, no one answered. He tried it again, putting the money in first. No answer. When he’d gotten out his money, he’d felt Mr. Sanders’s card in his pocket. He would call Mr. Sanders! Mr. Sanders would help him. He would know what to do.

  With shaking hands Davey dialed the numbers on the card. A voice came on the line and told him to deposit fifty cents. He dropped two quarters into the slot and waited. Three, four, five rings.

  “Hello, this is Stuart Sanders,” a voice said. “I’m away from the phone right now but you can page me at—”

  “Hey you,” a gruff voice shouted outside. “What are you doing in here? The park is closed, mister. How did you get in?”

  “I climbed the fence, that’s how!” It was Cudge. “My kid got in here by digging under the fence out by the parking lot. I had to climb over, because the hole he dug wasn’t big enough for me. Are you sure you ain’t seen him? He’s about this high, has blond hair? I gotta find him before his mother takes a fit!”

  Davey put the receiver back on the hook. He wanted to run outside and ask the man Cudge was talking to for help, but he was afraid to because of what had happened at the farmhouse.

  “Mister,” the other man continued, “I haven’t seen any kids around here. I’ve been working all day over by the roller coaster, dismantling the cars and getting them ready for next spring. There’s no kid around here. You’d better be on your way before I call the police.”

  Suddenly the man’s voice changed, as though something had choked off his words. “Now look, mister, if you want I’ll go around and ask the shut-down crew if they’ve seen anything.” He was speaking faster, higher pitched, as though he were scared. Davey knew that the man was afraid of Cudge too.

  “I want to find my kid. I’m not leaving till I do!”

  “I know, I know. I’ve got kids of my own. Come on with me, we’ll go around and ask the other guys. We’ll be punching out for the day pretty soon. Maybe somebody’s seen him.”

  Panic-stricken, Davey dropped the phone and jumped down from his perch atop the bench. He had to get away.

  He looked around—there was no back door! Saliva dribbled down his chin; he was too frightened to swallow. Into the small storage area behind the locker room he ran, hoping there might be a door through there. He saw some double doors with a big red exit sign above them. Silently, he inched open one of the doors and peered out.

  The sun was gone now and the sky looked dark. A strong breeze that smelled of rain was sending fallen leaves and paper spiraling along the ground. He could hear voices outside. His heart pounding, he inched the door back into place then ran. Faster and faster—up the incline, past the miniature golf course, around the bend to the haunted house, down the rise to the old-fashioned carousel. Sobbing, gasping for breath, he ran blindly, not caring where he went as long as he was putting distance between Cudge and himself.

  Would Cudge go into the building? Would he notice that the bench had been pulled up to the phone? He’ll catch me! Faster, always faster, Davey staggered onward. He had to keep running away. He had to make himself safe. Safe so Aunt Lorrie could find him.

  Chapter 14

  The police station was located behind the city hall, and it was here that Stuart Sanders found a distracted Chief Allen. The ensuing confrontation added further fuel to the fire in Sanders’s digestive tract.

  “What’s this bullshit you’re giving me about not having any available men? You have a fifteen-man force here—or is that just for the taxpayers’ benefit?”

  “I do have fifteen men, but two are out with the flu, one’s on vacation, and one has a death in the family. That leaves me eleven—count ’em, eleven!” Allen glow
ered at Sanders.

  “Call in for help if you need it,” Sanders suggested.

  “Don’t need it. This is our baby and we’ll handle it. Eleven men, two murders.”

  Sanders remembered the beaten-up prostitute. “When did she die?”

  “Who?”

  “Who else—the hooker your boys are so fond of.” He restrained his rising temper. Discipline, he told himself. Discipline.

  “No, Candy is holding her own. We’re not stupid here, Sanders. We found traces of rotting apples on the floor and bedcovers in Candy’s cottage. All her shoes were clean, so we knew it had to have been tracked in by whoever beat her up. Turns out we were right. A few of these dirt roads leading out from the orchards are littered with dropped apples that bounce off the trucks.”

  “Another little tidbit that didn’t appear in the police report. Just like the mothballs,” Sanders slipped in. He was rewarded by the surprised look on Allen’s face. “So, what did you find?”

  “A pop-up camper. The same one that Balog was pulling, according to the plates. And a woman. Beaten the same way Candy was. Only it’s too late for this one.”

  Sanders clenched his teeth. “Balog. That man is responsible for beating up two women and killing one, as well as the murder of the body you dug up in the campground. He’s involved with the Taylor boy. Wherever Davey is, you’ll find Balog close by. Now, are you going to make a move, or do I have to move you myself?”

  “Forget it, Sanders. This doesn’t involve you. Whatever you do about the kid is fine with me, but stay out of my business. We’ll handle the murders.” Allen reached for his hat.

  “Where are you going now?”

  “Out to the camper. The body hasn’t been removed yet and I want to take a look for myself. Another thing—there’s a storm brewing, due to hit here in the next hour or so. A good rain will obliterate any leads so we’ve got to work fast.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Sanders said. “I’ll follow in my own car.”

  Bouncing down the track behind Chief Allen, Sanders hit a pothole big enough to swallow the front end of the car. The pop-up was parked less than a mile from the main highway; Allen’s men were already crawling all over it.

  “He doesn’t need a rainstorm to ‘obliterate his leads,’” Sanders swore under his breath, “his men are doing it for him.”

  Hopping out of the car, Sanders moved quickly toward the trailer, elbowing through the uniformed men. The pop-up was rocking on its moorings with the extra weight of Allen’s men. The interior was dark and filthy, littered with cartons, discarded cupcake wrappers and empty soft-drink cups. The clear vinyl windows were all in place, keeping the air within stale and close.

  Sanders noticed an odor he couldn’t immediately identify. Whatever it was, it was hours old, and smoking had weakened his sense of smell. He turned to one of the other men. “What’s that smell?”

  “Smell? Oh, yeah, it must be the mothballs. We found a few of them rolling around in here.”

  “No, it’s something else. Ammonia?”

  The young policeman shrugged his shoulders. “Urine maybe. Now that you mention it, it sort of reminds me of my kid brother’s bedroom when he used to wet the bed.”

  That was it—dry urine. Poor Davey, trapped in the camper, no way to get out, not even to go to the bathroom. Sanders could imagine the little boy’s discomfort.

  “There she is, Mr. Sanders.” Allen drew his attention to the form beneath the blanket. “Not a pretty sight, is she?”

  “Seen worse,” Sanders told him, meaning it.

  The girl was small and scrawny; she could only be seventeen or eighteen. The coroner would know for sure. The side of her face was battered, and one arm was twisted at an unnatural angle. From the way she was lying curled on the floor she had probably been trying to defend herself from being kicked. Sanders’s eyes followed the line of her body, coming back again to the girl’s hand, relaxed now, and open. Her nails were bitten down to the quick.

  The man who had done this was an animal. And every instinct told him that Davey was marked as his next victim. Sanders went back to the campground to call in for additional men.

  Mac Feeley knew better than to utter a single word when he saw Sanders stride into the camp office. He had that look that said he was at the end of his rope.

  Sanders grabbed the phone and punched out the section chief’s number. “Buzz, there are some new developments here and I need help.” Quickly, he reviewed the situation.

  “Can do, Stu,” his chief responded, “but they won’t get there till around five this afternoon. It’s the best I can do. Take it easy—we’ll get him before it gets dark. If the kid’s in the park and moving around under his own power, we’re okay. Sounds like your theory was right. I want to meet that kid when this is all over.”

  “You and a lot of other people. Talk to you later.”

  Sanders turned to Feeley. “A second body’s turned up. Have Delaney . . . Forget it, he’s being recalled. Where is he?”

  “He left just before you arrived. The body you’re talking about was found on the other side of the highway in a pop-up camping trailer. According to Delaney, there was no positive identification, but it seems likely that the woman was traveling with Balog. I don’t understand where this guy is, or what happened to his pickup. Beats the hell out of me why we haven’t come up with something on that rig. From the description I’ve heard, it should be easy to spot.”

  “I need someone to stay here by the phone.” Sanders chewed his lip. “Hey, wait a minute—I’m forgetting Dr. Ryan. Go get her, Feeley, and bring her back here. She can handle the phones. You camp out in Allen’s office in case something comes in and he’s not generous about passing it on. I’ll go to the park myself. It’s the best we can do till five, when Buzz’s troops arrive. Doesn’t this remind you of the time we were in Birmingham and only had three men, working around the clock for four days?”

  Feeley’s eyes were dreamy. “There was this waitress that made the best damn goulash I ever ate. She had other talents too, but the goulash was her specialty.” He shook himself back to the present. “I’ll call and see if I can get the park opened up. And if it comes down to Allen being the only one with authority, I suggest you storm the gates. Let Buzz take the heat.”

  Lorrie burst through the door, out of breath from running. Sanders quickly filled her in, ending by showing her the Reebok he’d found. Lorrie collapsed on to a chair and let her tears flow as she held the muddy shoe. “Is it a positive or a negative sign?” she asked eventually.

  “I think it’s safe to say it’s positive. I’m going back out there now—I’m convinced Davey’s somewhere inside the amusement park. I’m taking Duffy with me. I’ve called in for more men but it’ll be a while before they get here. If you could handle the phones—”

  Lorrie stood up. “No! I’m going with you.” Sanders shook his head but Lorrie went on. “I mean it, I’m going with you. You forget, I’m a doctor and Davey is a very sick little boy. The sooner I get to him, the better chance he’ll have of coming through this.”

  Sanders knew she was right, but it was against everything he believed in to take her with him. If Balog was still in the park too, things could get dangerous.

  “All right, but there are conditions,” he said finally. “You have to do as I say. No going off on your own. We stay together—you hear me?”

  Lorrie smiled. “I hear you.” She started for the door. “Let’s go!”

  Davey was tired of running. He leaned back against the rough bark of a tree in a sheltered grove overlooking the entrance to a giant flume ride. He knew he wasn’t safe here, that he should keep going, but his knee hurt and he needed to rest a little while.

  He was so tired. He wanted to just curl up somewhere and fall asleep. And he was hungry—hungrier than he’d ever been before. Spaghetti would taste good now. He would suck the long strands through his teeth and not care if little drops of the sauce splattered all over his cheeks and shi
rt. Mom was always showing him how to roll it on the fork. His mouth started to water. Suddenly, a sound behind him made his heart leap in his chest. He relaxed again when he saw it was only a fat, gray squirrel searching through the trash cans.

  He couldn’t go much farther. He needed to find a place to hide so he could take a nap, but everything was locked up or out in the open. He needed somewhere enclosed. The sky was getting blacker by the second. A streak of lightning tore across the sky, making Davey’s heart pound in his chest. A rumble of thunder echoed around him, frightening him still more.

  It was almost dark when he thought of hiding beneath the carousel’s platform. He dropped to his belly and crawled underneath the circular structure; there was more room than he’d expected. Torrents of rain beat against the colorful carousel, and the heavy thunder and lightning made a Fourth of July display.

  Davey curled into a ball. Embraced by the darkness, he was shielded from the warring elements overhead.

  The storm was building as Lorrie and Sanders pulled up in the parking lot just outside the gates of Wild Adventure. Duffy sat between them, her nose keen for Davey’s scent.