by ML Gardner
“She was…well, see…we didn’t mean to, but...she said she wasn’t going to tell her parents she was...”
I decided to put the kid out of his misery.
“She was in the family way? And you’re the father?”
He gave a sharp nod and stared at the floor. “I’m worried he sent her to one of those homes for unwed mothers. We were gonna keep it. I was going to get a job and we were going to get married, Sir. Honest. I was gonna make it right.”
I flipped open the file and jotted down a few notes.
“I see. But you didn’t see Mr. Werner take Helga from the school?”
“No, Sir.”
“Well, I thank you for coming to talk to me, Alex.”
“Do you think it will help? To find Helga I mean?”
“I hope so. I’ll phone over to the school and let the principal know I was talking to you so you aren’t in trouble for being late.”
His mouth and eyes flew open in panic.
“I’ll tell him to keep it strictly confidential, I promise.”
He relented with a nod and left my office. Poor kid. At least I had a decent starting place for the day. I poked my head out and asked Helen to get me a list of all the homes for unwed mothers within four hours of Boston. She glared at me, popped a chocolate in her mouth and turned back to her desk.
For the time being, I decided to take a walk over to the Hilton to talk to Mr. Werner’s employer.
The general manager of the Hilton was tall and skinny and walked as if a cane had been lodged in some uncomfortable place. I glanced around at the posh lobby. I could never relax in a place like this. Too museum like.
He led me to his office and offered me coffee and a smoke. I declined both.
“I have some questions about one of your employees, Mr. Werner.”
He seemed to scan his mental file of employees before a light came on and he nodded.
“Solid worker. Always on time. Gets along with everyone…what else can I tell you.”
“Did he report to work last Friday?”
Pulling out a logbook, he scanned it carefully. “Ah, he did. But he left early that day. Said he had a doctor’s appointment.”
“A doctor, huh. Did he say who with?”
“No.”
“Did he return that day?”
More scanning. “He did not.”
“Does Mr. Werner have a locker or a place where he keeps his things?”
“Yes, all the employees do.”
“May I see it?”
“Certainly.” He led the way with his arms swinging to compensate for his awkward gait. We took two flights of stairs to the basement and entered the staff’s lunchroom and adjoining locker room. He pointed to Mr. Werner’s.
It had a lock on it. “Can I get one of your maintenance men to cut that?”
“Certainly.” His slow formal walk was beginning to grate on my last nerve. He returned in his own good time with someone that could cut the lock.
I peeked inside. There were little notes on the back of the locker from his wife and Helga written in German, a few pieces of fruit on a metal shelf and in the bottom, a pile of clothes that smelled of mildew. They were stiff and wrinkled. I lifted them and found a pair of shoes, waterlogged and ruined with a small waif of seaweed clinging to the sole of one shoe.
My heart sunk. I turned to the manager. “Thank you for your help.”
I went back to the office and Helen handed me the list I’d asked for.
“I don’t think I need it after all.”
She looked irritated.
“I need the addresses of all the back room abortion spots closest to Helga’s address.”
Her face softened.
“Gimme a few minutes, Sloan.”
When she came in and put the list on my desk, along with a fresh cup of coffee, I glanced over the addresses. I had a wall map of the whole city and as I found each address, I put a pin on the map. Seven were clustered close to the Longfellow Bridge along the Charles River. I’d start there.
I walked into the Capitan’s office. “I’m heading down to the Longfellow Bridge. I’m gonna need a couple divers.”
He nodded solemnly. “I’ll have ‘em there in an hour, Sloan.”
“Send someone from homicide, too.” Obviously.
Later, as I paced the narrow, rocky cleft between the grass and the shore, the divers pulled up the body of Helga Werner.
I turned to Fred.
“Send someone to bring her father in. He works at the Hilton.”
“You think her father did this?”
“I think her father knows how she got here.”
“Okay. You’re the boss.”
“Stop kissing my ass, Fred.”
“I’m not. But, say, I’ve always wondered, how come you don’t work with us. Besides the fact that you get your own office. Just seems to me that you’re darn good at cracking cases, you know, after the fact.”
After they’re dead, he meant. Lousy at finding them alive.
I looked out over the choppy water and up at the dark clouds of an impending storm. “I don’t know, Fred.” I sighed.
It had crossed my mind a dozen times to request a transfer. Or quit. I didn’t know why I couldn’t give this up.
“Just go bring in Mr. Werner. I have some questions for him.”
“Got it.”
***
A large bouquet of flowers showed up for Felix from the parents of the missing kid. The delivery guy hung around with his hand out. Damn if I was going to give him a nickel for a delivery that should have been mine. I called for Felix and went into my office. Let him tip his own flowers.
I walked out and went through the motions down to the south side and found nothing.
I ate at the dive diner and watched my back the whole time. Something was brewing and it made my stomach churn. It wasn’t just the fact that if the cop killer kept to his schedule, we had a date soon. It wasn’t even Kimberly or poor dead Helga. Or any of the dead missings that came to me in my dreams. The sandwich suddenly felt like lead in my stomach.
Maggie.
I took the rest of the day off.
***
I came through the door too quickly and it startled her. She was sitting on the sofa, knitting.
Knitting…what?
I craned my neck to see as she set it aside.
“Hello.” She brushed my cheek with her obligatory kiss.
“How are you?” Tell me everything is fine.
“Fine.”
“You’re okay?” Tell me you’re not pregnant.
“Yes. Tired. I was just working on a Christmas present for my sister.” No booties. I’m not pregnant.
I wanted to tell her everything, Helga and Felix, the list and the kid that found his way home. But that wasn’t my victory and I didn’t think I could lie to Maggie. She put on some water for tea. I could smell a chicken slow cooking in the oven. I followed her into the kitchen.
“I hope you’re hungry. I made too much.” I’m starting to want to take care of you again.
“Starving. I can’t wait.” But I will, as long as it takes.
The color was coming back to her cheeks and I could see she’d been to the hairdresser. She looked beautiful.
“How was your day?” Stop looking at me.
“Average.” You have no idea what I’m carrying right now.
“Anyone new? Anyone we know?” I won’t ask if you found anyone. I already know the answer.
“No one we know.” Ask me dammit! Ask me and I’ll lie to you for the first time in our married life. I’ll steal the thunder from Felix and lie, just so you’ll have faith in me again.
“Maybe tomorrow you’ll get a break,” she said as she patted my arm in passing. I can wait a little longer. Just a little.
She went back to her knitting and I stood in the kitchen staring at the blue flames under the tea kettle. My mind drifted.
It wasn’t the whistle of the tea kettle that
woke me, but the sudden stop when Maggie yanked it off the stove tossing me a dirty look.
“Didn’t you hear it?” No wonder you can’t find anyone. You can’t hear the boiling water right in front of your face!
“Sorry, I’m tired.” I’m so tired. And scared. I stared at her as she worked.
She handed me a teacup and left the room. I took a sip and it burned my lip. Jumping, it spilled on my shirt front. I yelled.
Maggie flew into the kitchen.
“Are you alright?” I’m angry at you. I hate you, even. But you’re all I have.
I hid my grimace as my chest burned. I dabbed at the stain, so hot it was steaming. “Fine. Just a little spill.” I can take the pain. Both yours and mine.
She nodded but her furrowed brow remained as she turned back into the living room. It wasn’t Maggie that had me so distracted. She was fine. Or, what I’d come to accept as fine.
We ate dinner in silence with the wallet digging into my thigh.
Aryl stared at Sloan with glassy, red rimmed eyes.
“So in just over twenty four hours, you found out you were on a list to be killed, your rival found one of your missing cases while you found Helga dead and you couldn’t talk about any of it to your wife?”
“It was, without a doubt, one of the worst days of my life.”
“You had enough wine?”
“Oh, yeah. I don’t think there’s any left even if I wanted more,” Sloan said with a grin.
“There’s isn’t. We drank it all.”
“How are we going to get these dishes out of here without being noticed?”
Aryl rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Just after lunchtime.”
“I’ll take care of it tonight after we wake up. I’ll sneak it all back up to first class.”
“Time for sleep?” Sloan asked.
“Yes. Time for sleep.”
They both stood and stretched, dragging their feet to their respective beds and fell onto them fully clothed.
“Aryl?”
“Hmm?” His eyes were already closed.
“When we wake up, I want to hear more about your life with Gina and Mickey.”
“Okay,” he mumbled as he drifted off, thinking about his wife, Claire. But like nearly everything else in his life recently, his mind was traitorous. He didn’t dream of Claire though he desperately wanted to. He dreamed about being on the ocean. Being scared.
Chapter Fifteen
Somewhere on the Atlantic Ocean
When he woke he stayed very still, sensing others around him. They whispered to each other, huddled a few feet away. He felt like a child; if he didn’t open his eyes, they wouldn’t see him. With one barking syllable, he jolted, looking up fearfully. One of the sailors stepped forward, not too close, and poked him. His gibberish was demanding and all John could think to do was hold his hands up in surrender.
The sailor, who appeared just as John had pictured him with darker skin and slanted eyes, motioned for him to get up. John tried, holding onto the sacks for balance. They saw dried blood and collectively gasped. Their tone was curious now as another sailor motioned for him to lift his shirt. He inspected from a distance and then spewed long winded directions at another, who gave a bowing nod and scurried away.
They motioned for him to sit down. He did and they squatted across from him, swaying in silence, staring. The sailor tried to communicate again; John could only hold his hands up with a look of confusion. After a few moments a shadow filled the stairwell. He heard slow deliberate steps. When this man stepped around the sacks he had the universal grace and stature of a ship’s captain that needed no translation. John felt the need to stand up.
Slender eyes regarded him for a long moment. “American?” The word startled John. He was relieved at finding someone who spoke English.
“Name?”
John shook his head. “I don’t know.” His voice was hoarse as he tried to clear his throat.
The Captain cocked his head and asked again. “Name?”
Again, John held his hands up. They were scraped and bruised.
“Hurt?”
John realized that the Captain had limited English at best. He pointed to his head, where a large gash healed slowly beneath thick brown hair.
The Captain stepped closer, inspected and stepped back, nodding to another sailor. This one was very small of stature and so fair he could have been mistaken for a woman.
He held a tray with medicine, bandages and herbs in front of him and nodded deeply, hoping the supplies would communicate what he wanted to do. John sat down with a thump.
His eyes lolled, wanting desperately to sleep as the sailor began to work. He nearly passed out from pain as the edges of the deep scalp wound were lifted and cleaned. Fresh blood ran down over his ear and neck. From the corner of his eye he saw the glint of a small sewing needle and moved, covering his head.
The sailor calmly set the needle down and lifted a small cup in offering. John was hesitant to take it. After several urgings with words he didn’t understand, he sniffed it. It smelled like spicy tea. He took a small sip and the sailor shook his head, making a motion to drink it quickly. John watched the movements and swallowed the tea in one gulp. It was bitter and he made a face.
The sailor fought a grin and brushed his hand away, attempting to sew his head wound back together. John reluctantly lowered his hand and moved back into the light. He stared at the small sailor for a moment, opened his mouth to say something and fell flat on his face.
Aryl came bolt upright in the bed with a screaming gasp. He touched his nose, feeling for blood. He wondered when the last time was that he’d woken peacefully. Just slowly opened his eyes and greeted the day without adrenaline coursing through him.
He was still staring at the ceiling wondering as Sloan stood, groaning.
“I desperately need a bath,” he said after taking a sniff of himself.
“The storm’s passed,” Aryl said. The curtains were closed and it was late at night, just past midnight the clock said, but he could tell the sound of light wind outside held no rain. That and there was almost no movement of the ship.
“After we clean up do you want to go back up to the deck? I could use some fresh air,” Aryl asked.
“That’s a first class deck, remember? We’ll get thrown out again.”
“We’ll have to be sure not to fall asleep before sunrise. And if they do throw us out, who cares? We’ll just come back to our room. Or raid the kitchen again.”
“Sounds good,” Sloan said with a smile and began rifling through his bag for a change of clothes. Aryl stayed where he was and Sloan glanced at his bag. Doubtful he had any extra clothes with him. He’d literally left France with that bag and clothes on his back.
“Say, I have some extra clothes if you’d like…until you can get yours washed.”
“Thanks,” Aryl said, continuing to stare at the ceiling.
“You want to come with me?” Sloan asked.
Aryl’s eyebrows rose as he craned his neck to look at him. “To bathe? Sorry, not my cup of tea.”
Sloan scoffed, embarrassed. “Not to bathe…together. Just to…never mind.” He flustered as he turned away. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
Aryl laughed to himself. He didn’t mean to embarrass him. He knew exactly what he meant and knew he didn’t mean anything by it. The combination reminded him of something and he sat up, put on his shoes and wandered out into the corridor.
***
Sloan had just settled into a steaming tub in the bathing room when Aryl threw back the privacy curtain.
“I…thought you said this wasn’t your cup of tea,” Sloan said with a surprised smirk.
“It’s not mine any more than it’s yours. I want to know how you found out Daniel was Arianna’s brother. But first, you asked about the first time I met Mickey.”
“I wait…with baited breath,” Sloan said, settling back.
Chapter Sixteen
Gathered In
I settled into the long tub. The warm water stung the deeper wounds on my back but the cool metal was soothing as I rested against it. How long had it been since I’d taken a real bath? I didn’t know.
A plate with five candles burned on the wash table; a rough wooden workbench with a pitcher and basin, cologne and hair oil, and a fresh change of clothes Gina had set out for me. The plaster walls were dirty and crumbling. She had apologized for the accommodations, but assured me the loo flushed.
I stared at the flickering light, trying to decide what I thought of her. She was a working girl, no doubt. But unlike the masses of prostitutes I had seen hanging around the docks, she was different.
She didn’t have that worn out look to her. Maybe she was new to the profession? Or, maybe she was a favorite of Mickey’s. I remembered how Mickey’s voice had changed when she walked into his office. The others seemed to step aside when she walked by as thugs do when they show respect and acknowledge position.
She was a complex little thing and I didn’t entirely trust her. But I wanted to. I was grateful, of course, that she had taken me in. But why? I was no one. Literally. Remembering her whispered words as she pleaded with the boss to allow me in, He could be useful, she’d insisted.
Useful how? If I had any skills or talents I couldn’t remember them. Whether I was a healer, a keeper of law, or even a simple craftsman, my mind was a blank slate. I knew to breathe, to eat and sleep, and when Gina bent over and nearly popped out of her low cut dress, I felt a deep tingling urge in my groin. I had no conscious memory of sex—I wished I had—but the animal instinct was strong. My body remembered the carnal, especially around Gina.
My mind wandered again, wondering how I could be useful to anyone when I seemed to have been reduced to nothing more than a human animal. Food, sleep, sex, those were the only things familiar to me. I washed myself absentmindedly.
After a short knock, Gina opened the door. I scrambled to cover myself and she laughed.
