I sat myself down on the sofa and faced Mrs. Saunders. She stood there and asked me, “Would you care for something to drink or eat?”
I requested a cup of coffee just to have something for my hands to hold. A ceramic shield from the awful stillness of the place.
She returned with coffee, creamer, sugar, a spoon, and some cookies on a plate. I prepared my coffee and leaned back on the sofa. “How long has your husband been missing, Mrs. Saunders?”
“Just overnight. He wasn’t here when I came home from work. That was unusual. He hasn’t been outside the house for days. I thought he’d gone for a walk or a drive. He does that sometimes. Used to be he’d ride for hours. Now he’s only gone a little while. So I expected him home. Well, when he wasn’t home for dinner, I called some places he’d gone to in the past. Nobody’d seen him. Well, it got later and later. I couldn’t sleep. I just sat up looking out the window for him. I was sure every car I heard would be his. But they weren’t. I began to get frightened.”
She looked away from me.
“It was just like before all over again. I just couldn’t take it.”
She clasped her hand over her mouth and bit into herself. It didn’t help. The tears just rolled down her cheeks.
“Oh God, oh God. Please find him for me. He’s all I’ve got left. I just can’t go on alone. Please.”
“I’ll try. I’ll give it my best shot. I really will.”
They were weak words I hurled into that hurricane of sorrow. Like going to throw the javelin and finding only a toothpick in your hand.
She turned away.
Please excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
She got up and walked swiftly from the room, her hand again in her mouth.
I took a deep breath. Why wasn’t I a florist? Something optimistic, upbeat. Hell, florists sell funeral wreaths too. There’s no escaping it. I stood up and walked around. The dining room was dark and empty. The only thing missing was a large spider spinning a web with everyone entangled in it, waiting silently until it was complete. I heard the sink drain from upstairs and Mrs. Saunders’ returning steps.
I returned to my seat. She looked at a piece of paper in her hands. It was hard to pretend that I hadn’t seen her distress. I decided to stop trying.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Saunders. This must be a hellish reminder.”
“Reminder? Everything’s a reminder. Every child I see, every parent. Everyone who is anywhere, present and accounted for, is a reminder.”
She looked around the almost empty rooms.
“You know, we had everything. We had it all.” She shook her head. “We had nothing. It was all on loan.”
The foreclosure must have been hell.
“The girls. Christina and Molly? Isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any other children?”
“No.” She looked down at the paper again. “We talked about it. Herb wanted to. To start over. Recreate a family. I wasn’t too old. We tried. I guess deep down I couldn’t go through it again—loving them and losing them. I never could get pregnant again. After a while we stopped trying. It’s too late now.” She looked down at the paper again. “That’s why you’ve got to find Herb for me. He’s all I’ve got left. I couldn’t make it for a minute on my own. I only made it because I had him to take care of.” She nervously fingered the paper.
“May I see that?”
“Oh, yes. I think Herb must have written it yesterday before he left. He hasn’t sounded like that in quite a while. It was upstairs on my pillow.”
It was a letter. No envelope. The postmark would have been the far side of hell.
Dear Maggie, Dearest Maggie:
The Devil spoke today. He did. I swear it. He tried to dance on me and he slipped and fell. He think’s he’s so smart. Well, he fell far from grace once, and he’s done it again, and I have him. This time I do. I know it. We’re brothers and he doesn’t know it. He’s so proud, so proud. I’m going to get the girls back. I swear it. I promise you, Maggie girl, it will be all over. We’ll sleep at night and have our dreams in the day. Please hold on. Please wait for me. I’m sorry to do this to you. I know I haven’t been much of a husband or a comfort to you. I just want you to know I could never have made it this long without you and I love you beyond words. I’m ready. All this time I’ve made myself ready. I am pure, I am white hot. I am hard. I will not fail. I will return with the girls. I promise you. We’ll be young again.
Love, Herb.
“You said he hasn’t sounded like this in a while?”
“Yes. Right after the girls disappeared, Herb really fell apart. He was depressed, paranoid. He drank a lot. Made a lot of accusations. To our friends, to the police. When he drank, he would talk like that. But it hasn’t happened in a long time. I checked to see if he had bought any liquor. We don’t keep any in the house, and I couldn’t find any bottles. Frankly, he hadn’t been out of the house for, oh, three or four days so I would have been surprised if he had gone out.”
“Was that typical for him?”
Typical. I don’t know what’s typical anymore. Herb went through fairly discrete stages. He’d seem to get an idea fixed in his mind and hold on to it, and then just as suddenly he’d give it up. Act normal for a few days or weeks and then get another idea that would dominate him. He’d become obsessed by it. That hasn’t happened in a while. Recently he’s just settled into a quiet watchfulness. No grand ideas, no tension.”
She shook her head. “This just took the heart out of him. Herb was just ruined. That’s how he lost his job. He just couldn’t work. He couldn’t think about anything but the girls. Mind you, I don’t blame him for anything. I’m just thankful he hasn’t killed himself. His habits changed. He stopped sleeping. He was sure he’d miss a phone call or a knock at the door. He didn’t eat and lost a lot of weight. He’s had a lot of phases. This sitting around the house seemed a lot like his waiting stage.
“He used to dig up people’s lawns, go barging into houses. You could never tell what he’d think was a clue. Then he gave up on clues. That’s why this outburst surprises me. Why now? And I’m worried about him. I’ve often thought that I’d lose Herb to insanity as surely as I’ve lost my children, and I’m afraid that’s what this letter is. Please bring him back. He thinks I’ve helped him make it. If I didn’t have him to love and care about I’d have had nothing and I’d have killed myself. Bring him back to me. Please. He’s all I have left.”
“I’ll try. May I have this letter?”
She stood up and went to a small secretary in the corner. “I went out and had a copy made this morning for you. I’d prefer to hold the original. I also have a picture for you. It’s not very recent.”
I took it from her hand. “How different does he look?”
“Well, he’s still clean shaven, but now, he keeps his head shaved too.” She looked back at the picture. “Other than that his cheeks are more hollowed out, but that’s pretty much what he looks like.”
“You said you’d called his friends to see if he was there?”
“No, not his friends. Herb has no friends anymore. Rather, I called the old bars he used to go to when he sounded like that letter and the police station. Nobody has seen him.”
“What kind of a car does he drive?”
“It’s a 1977 Dodge Aspen station wagon.”
“License number?”
“Uh, BHA 313.”
I’d ask about credit card numbers if the trail got cold. “Did he pack anything?”
“No, nothing.”
“That fit with his promise that he’d be back soon. Okay, who else knows him very well or was involved in the case that might help me understand him better? He may really be lost in a landscape of his own. If I can map that at all it’ll help me find him.”
“Well, there’s his old therapist, Dr. Prentice, and of course, Sergeant Peter DeVito. He’s been in charge of the investigation from the beginning. He may know Herb best of
all.”
I wrote down the names and addresses. I tried to find a soft side to my next question, but there weren’t any. “Mrs. Saunders, some of your husband’s behavior is a little unusual. Does he have any other, uh, eccentricities?”
She thought for a second and then said, “Yes, let me check. Please come on down to the basement.”
I followed her down the stairs to a large basement, largely empty except for the far corner. We went over to it, and she pulled on the overhead lamp. There was a map full of red pins, and stacks of notebooks. Mrs. Saunders was rummaging in a pile of boxes along the wall. Looking up she said, “Herb kept his own maps and notes of each lead in the search.” I looked over at the boxes. They were full of books on survival skills, martial arts, wilderness crafts, and detective and military operations manuals. She stood up and looked at me, hands on her hips, “It’s gone.”
“What is?”
“The bag. The black bag. It’s gone.”
“What black bag?”
“Herb had a black bag he carried with him everywhere for a while. He even handcuffed it to himself.”
“What was in it?”
“I don’t know. It was always locked. I’ll tell you the truth, I didn’t want to know. In those days Herb was very close to getting committed. He’d gotten into some fights and damaged some property, like I said. Anyway, I didn’t want to know. I just wanted it to go away. He calmed down and put the bag away. It’s been, oh, three years now.” She stood looking imploringly at the boxes hoping to coax the bag home by the sheer intensity of her will. I took her by the elbow and turned out the light. In the darkness I slowly guided her to the stairs and up. When we came back to the sitting room I helped her to a chair.
“I’ll let myself out, Mrs. Saunders. I’ll keep you informed of anything I learn.” I reached into my coat and gave her my card. “Call if you want to. Anytime. I’ll return the calls as soon as I can.” I turned to go.
“Mr. Haggerty, what about your fee?” Her chin was up.
I thought about it. I had some money in the bank. My bills would get paid this month. This guy could be so lost in himself as to be unfindable, or he could be sitting on the stoop. I could look for him for a while without feeling the pinch or needing to split time with another case. “Tell you what. I gave you a lot of stuff about how good I am. That’s why you asked me out here, right? Give me a chance to prove it. If I don’t find him by the end of the week, then there’s no charge. Maybe I’m just not as good as I’m cracked up to be. If I find him, then we’ll talk about a fee.”
I didn’t give her a chance to argue. I wasn’t about to dicker nickels and dimes with this lady and so I went deaf and blind on my way out. At my car I turned back. I thought of the woman trapped inside. A scream looking for a voice.
Chapter 4
Judgement Day. Judgement Day. Our father who art here on the doorstep is gonna cut your heart out Satan and release all those from your domination. Open up.
Chanting that mantra to himself, Herb Saunders hopped from foot to foot, a hyperactive flamingo. The black bag jingled as it hung from his wrist. Using the reverse directory in the public library to get the address, he wondered what the hell a guy from Rockville had been doing in his neighborhood. He’d soon find out. He’d rung the bell twice. No answer. He hoped Maggie wasn’t too upset. It would be over soon. He thanked God the mailman came early. After he’d gone he rifled it and gotten enough: a name and a pretext. Mr. Justin Randolph, hi-tech computer whiz. We’ll plug you into my bag, Herr Randolph, and see how many functions you’ve got. He unlocked the bag, slipped his hand in, and closed it around his greeting. The door locks turned. Saunders was vertiginous, pulled through the portal by his own frenzy.
The door was opened by a woman in a uniform. Saunders leaned forward. For a moment she shrank back ever so slightly. “May I help you, sir?”
Saunders closed the bag and smiled. “Uh, yes. Of course. Mr. Randolph please. I’m Mr. Herbert, Sanford Herbert, from the computer company. We were going to discuss the new terminals he wanted installed.”
“Oh, there must be some mistake, sir. Mr. Randolph left today for a week.”
“Was he alone?”
“Pardon me?”
“I mean, was he travelling with anyone? Our Miss Parsons was supposed to meet us here. I wondered if they left together. She may have gone with him. Perhaps it was to be a working week.”
“No. He left by himself.”
“I see. Could you give me the address or phone number where he was going? I really must contact him. The deal on this hardware must be completed right away or there’ll be a 10% escalator added. He’d be hopping mad if that happened.” He smiled at her sending her a telepathic message: We wouldn’t want that now, would we little Miss Starch ’n Glow.
“I’m sorry. I just come in and clean once a week. I stay over when he’s out of town. All I know is that Mr. Randolph has a house in North Carolina. He goes there for vacations.”
“Do you have a phone number there?”
“No. There’s no phone there. He says he likes the privacy. Calls it his retreat.” She smiled at him like a doting auntie explaining her favorite nephew’s latest prank.
“I see. Well where in North Carolina is it? I really need to be in touch with him.”
“Let me think. I usually don’t pay attention to these things. You know—come in, do my job, and leave.”
“Has he ever mentioned anything about the place, you know, anything unusual, memorable, that sticks in your mind?”
She squinted in thought. “Well, his place is at the beach. There’s always sand around when he comes back. It’s in everything. I think the town’s name is Beach something or something Beach.”
“Yes, yes. Go on.” Come on, think dammit.
“I remember something he said. There is a ferry there. Goes out to some island. He was late returning one time and said the ferry had been delayed and he was stuck on the island for hours. That’s all really. I usually don’t see Mr. Randolph to talk with. I just do my work and leave.”
“Listen. Thank you. You’ve been very helpful, really. I’ll try to track him down from what you’ve said.” Saunders gave her his best conspiratorial smile. “This deal means a lot to me. Commission on sales, you know. Tell me, how long has Mr. Randolph had his beach house, do you know? I might try to interest him in some terminals for there if the wiring isn’t too old. I know he likes to stay on top of things.” C’mon, just one prole helping another.
“Well, let’s see. I’ve been cleaning for him for ten years now. Is it ten? Harry died in October of ’73. So, yes, it’s ten years, almost eleven. He bought the place, I’d been here, oh three years, I guess. That’d make it 1977. That’s about right. Yeah, 1977. My grandson, Tommy, was born then and I asked to take off a week to go see my daughter. He said it was okay. He was going down to settle on the place and wanted to give it a last look-see so he didn’t need me here to clean.”
“Well, again, thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Have a nice day.” They exchanged smiles, and she slowly pushed the door closed. Saunders started back to his car, stopped, and looked up at the house. Small decals warned that the house was wired with an alarm system. So much for the idea of returning at night to ransack the place and get an address. Too risky. He needed to get on his way.
Sitting in his car he began to plot. He too wanted to disappear. No trails. He’d need a new car, a rental one, and cash to pay for things. Leave this car in a lot at National, then get a rental nearby. First the bank for some cash. He needed to move fast. DeVito’d be on to him any time now. Opening the glove compartment he took out a map of the southeastern U.S. After folding it over to the North Carolina coast line he began circling towns with the word beach and looking for the black dotted line indicating a ferry. He worked up from the South Carolina border. There it was. Bogue Beach and the Pamlico Ferry. Gotcha! He could barely sit still. He was in a frenzy of anticipation and euphoric with hatred. He started the
car with a vow: Mr. Justin Randolph, when we meet you’ll wish you’d croaked with your first cry. I swear it.
Chapter 5
I walked back to the car and got in. First stop: Dr. Prentice. I pulled away and headed for his address on Wisconsin Avenue. It was a converted home on the edge of Chevy Chase, not the comedian. The brass plate said Randall Williams, Ph.D. and Charles Prentice, Ph.D., P.C. I went inside. The secretary looked up and said, “May I help you?”
“I hope so. I’m here to see Dr. Prentice. It’s rather important. It’s about a patient of his.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Dr. Prentice is out of town. He’s giving an address at a convention in Tampa.”
“Is his partner, Dr. Williams, available?”
“Let me see.”
She buzzed him from the switchboard. The intercom crackled, “Yes, Sydney?”
“Dr. Williams, there’s a man here to see Dr. Prentice. He said it’s very important, about a patient of his.” She looked up at me earnestly.
“I’ll be right up. Thank you.”
Dr. Randall Williams was short and solidly built. His pointed beard mirrored the arch of his eyebrows. His smile was warm, and there was a touch of elf in the man.
“Randall Williams.” We shook hands.
“Leo Haggerty.” I fished out my license. “I’m a private investigator looking for Mr. Herbert Saunders. I understand he was a patient of Dr. Prentice’s. I wanted to talk with him about Mr. Saunders’ emotional state. To help me locate him.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Haggerty. I don’t know the case well enough to give you any useful information. However, even if I did I would not be at liberty to reveal that to you. Professional ethics forbid it. A recent court decision here in Maryland made it clear that even if you told me Mr. Saunders was an imminent danger to himself or anyone else, neither I nor Dr. Prentice could reveal anything about him. Without his consent, of course. And if you had that you’d have found him and not need our help anyway. I’m sorry I can’t be of any further help. Now if you’ll excuse me I have a patient coming in and I need to do some preparing. Good day.”
Embrace the Wolf Page 2
