Embrace the Wolf

by Benjamin M. Schutz

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “Okay. He says that’s fine. When are you going to go over?” he asked me.

  “Right now, if she’ll see me. Otherwise as soon as possible.”

  “How about now, Ingrid? Okay. Yeah, he’ll be there in about thirty or forty minutes. Name’s Leo Haggerty. About six feet, two hundred pounds, brown on brown, cookie duster …”

  I took off my jacket, turned my arm over, and pointed to my elbow.

  “Big horseshoe scar outside of the left elbow. Okay? Fine.” Lester hung up and wrote the address on a piece of paper, tore it off, and handed it to me.

  “Here, meeting is adjourned. Don’t make this a habit, Leo. I just might decide to test how tough you really are.”

  “Ta-ta, Lester. Believe me, I hope I never have to see you again, too. I’ll let myself out.”

  “Use the back door.”

  I turned to leave, and Lester was on the intercom, “Kurt, please escort our guest out. Now.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “That’s unnecessary, Lester, really.”

  Kurt materialized like a lost hope and smiled at me. “Let’s go. Move it.”

  Chapter 9

  Jocelyn and Ingrid lived in Georgetown, in one of the old row houses on 38th above the University. I pushed the buzzer on the pebbled glass and wrought iron door. A voice came over the intercom. “Yes?”

  “This is Leo Haggerty. Lester Kroll, uh Count Karoly, called and said I was coming.”

  “Step into the vestibule.”

  The door clicked. I turned the handle and stepped into an airlock foyer. The door behind me locked again. A ceiling camera scanned me like a lab animal. “Roll up your sleeve.”

  I did and rolled my elbow over. The nasty keloid horseshoe was slick and rubbery. Courtesy of a twelve-year-old’s rainy day handlebar header into a culvert.

  “Unlock the door.”

  I stepped into another foyer. Ingrid, I presumed, stood halfway up the stairs. Her round face was without edges or bones, streaked blond hair piled on her head like a soft golden ice cream cone. Her eyes were lavender and as direct as lasers.

  “Are you one of the count’s cronies?” Her slightest sneer tipped the scales, and I let the truth tumble out.

  “Not by a long shot. He owes me a favor. That’s why he told me how to find you, or rather, Jocelyn.”

  “What kind of favor?” Hands on hip.

  “One time I didn’t bring his whole house down when I could have.”

  “Too bad. What do you want with Jocelyn?”

  “I’m a private detective, looking for a missing person. I believe Jocelyn once knew a man who can lead me to that person.”

  She didn’t look impressed. “How do you know that?”

  “I understand that she was hurt once by a man. Beaten up. It’s that man I want to find.”

  “Good bye, Mr. Haggerty. We have nothing to discuss.” She turned abruptly and began to climb the stairs.

  “Wait a minute. Hold on. I don’t know what happened back then, but there could be lives at stake here. Children’s lives.”

  Ingrid turned slowly and spoke slower still. “There is a life at stake here, Mr. Haggerty. A very painfully rebuilt life. One whose core your questions threaten. I will not let that happen. Leave now.” A Beretta’s round black snout punctuated our discussion. Period. The end.

  “Okay, I’ll leave. I don’t know what you are to Jocelyn. You sound like her keeper, not her friend. But I’ll be back. One way or another, I’ll have my talk. You can’t keep the world away forever, and I am persistent. Know that. I don’t want this to be an ordeal. But two small girls’ lives and possibly their father’s ride on my finding the man who I believe hurt your friend. You can stay and watch everything. Christ, I don’t want to hurt your friend at all if I can help it. But she’s the only lead we’ve got, and I just can’t pass it by.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Haggerty. But it’s just not possible. You see—”

  “Inky. What’s going on. Who’s here?” A tremulous voice in the dark.

  “Jocelyn, my name is Leo Haggerty. I need to talk with you very badly. It’s very important. If I could just have a few minutes of your time.”

  Jocelyn came down out of the shadows. She was tall and thin, almost anorectic. She wore a black and white mid-calf skirt and crisp white ironing board blouse with a shoestring tie. Her face was utterly without lines and almost entirely covered with makeup, a white pancake with splotches of color. Her video blond hair, now black, fell on her shoulders like rain. She stepped slowly down the stairs, past Ingrid, who put a hand on her shoulders. “You don’t want to talk to this man, Jocelyn. He wants to talk about that night.”

  “Miss—I don’t know your name.”

  “Drake.”

  “Miss Drake, I don’t want to cause you any upset about whatever happened to you, but I do want to know anything about the man who hurt you. It’s terribly important.”

  “I really don’t remember anything at all about that night. I’m sure I can’t be of any help.”

  “Well, perhaps we don’t need to talk about that night. Had you ever been with that man before?”

  “Really Jocelyn, you know this isn’t good for you.” Ingrid’s grip grew tighter on Jocelyn’s shoulder. If looks could kill, she’s have been the gorgon of Georgetown.

  Jocelyn looked up, “Yes. You’re right. Go away. That’s my past. It’s over. I don’t want to talk about it. I just don’t care. Leave me alone. All of you.”

  “You can’t just walk away from it. It goes with you everywhere. It’s why you’re holed up in this house. Whoever hurt you will hurt others. I think he already has, and I’m trying to stop that before it goes on and there are more scared people like you who’s lives he’s played havoc with.”

  She turned on the staircase and bent at the waist, her white knuckled hands gripped the railing. Through clenched teeth the words fell out slowly, like bricks of despair. “Leave me be. Go away. I have forgotten that night. It’s all gone. I can’t go back there. I won’t.” Ingrid looked ready to gut and filet me.

  “You let the bastard win then. You may be alive, but you ain’t livin’.”

  “Don’t you say that. You don’t know. I’m doing all the living I can.”

  “He’s got you holed up in this dark corner of the world, and he walks in the sunlight.”

  “Who cares about the sunlight?” she barked hoarsely. “That’s my price for living. Don’t you know? That’s why he let me live. He fixed me good.” She put her hand to her face and when it came away, so did her left eye. She held it out to me. “That’s why I’m alive. Here. Take it, you bastard. It’s my good one.”

  It was hard to look at her lopsided face. “Please help me bring him down. Before he does this to anyone else. Fight back. If you couldn’t then, do it now.”

  She slipped the eye back in. “It’s too late. Don’t you see, it’s too late. I have my life. It’s what I have. I won’t upset that for anyone. Not even your guilt trip. It’s all I have left. I escaped. I’m alive. It’s what he left me. What he gave me. I don’t have anything else. I escaped my past, my memories. They’re gone, thank God.” She sat down on the steps. Her legs were in the light, her face in my shadows.

  “There’s nothing to fight for. This is what he left me with. He took everything else that night. Everything. You say fight. I fought. I begged. I pleaded. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He did what he wanted.”

  She slowly stood up. “Don’t you tell me how much living I’m doing. You don’t know what it took to get this far. Well, I’m not giving this up for nobody. Nobody. I’m sorry. I’d really like to help, but I can’t. I really can’t, mister. It just takes too much, and I don’t have it left to give. I’m all used up.”

  “All right. I’ll go. If we find him and catch him, do you want to know? I’ll let you know. I promise.”

  “I don’t know. Just let me be. Go.”

  I went back to my car. My brain felt like whip
ped shit. I was going to have to tell DeVito about her. He might not get anything more from her, and he might do her more harm than good. And then again, he might get a lead that would save a life. And then if we knew how things would turn out we’d all live forever.

  Most of us die in little pieces, our illusions go first, then our dreams, then our stamina, and we just come to a halt. For some, death visits in a firestorm and there’s no time to accommodate, to make the best of it. If the blasted stump survives at all, blackened and twisted, the shape it takes is usually beyond control. If you’re lucky, life is a holding action. Cutting our losses, pruning back what we’ve lost to preserve what we’ve got. There’s no way out but through. First the bad news. Then the good news. While it’s a hell of a trip, straight ahead is the shortest route.

  I pulled my collar up and slid into the car. I had no place to go. Nobody to see but my office. I drove to a phone booth and called my answering service. Maggie Saunders had called. Twice. I ought to check in with her. She probably shouldn’t be alone at this time. I dialed her number.

  “Hello, Mrs. Saunders?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was tight with anticipation.

  “This is Leo Haggerty. I’d like to stop by and fill you in on my progress and ask a few more questions, if it’s not too late.”

  “Please do. No, it’s not too late.” She laughed bitterly, “I hope it’s not at least.”

  “I’ll be there in about half an hour, okay?”

  “Fine, Mr. Haggerty, have you eaten, by the way?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Would you care to eat here? I hate to eat alone. Frankly, I’ve done that too often in my life.”

  “Thank you. That would be very nice.”

  “What do you like?”

  “Anything and everything. I’ll see you shortly.”

  Hanging up I looked up at the late afternoon sky. When I was young I’d lie on the front lawn and look up at the twinkling darkness and try to imagine the universe’s end beyond the stars. And then what was outside that and when that ended, what was there and so on without end. I remembered a friend of mine showing me that if you put two mirrors facing each other and looked into the infinite regress of your image, just as you are about to behold infinity your head gets in the way. We’re God’s idiot children in quarantine here. Just on the cusp of consciousness, evolved enough to ask the right questions, but unable to grasp the answers.

  Chapter 10

  The front lights were on in the Saunders’ house. I went up and knocked on the door. Mrs. Saunders let me in. I had my case notes with me and still no appetite. The dining room table was set.

  “Would you care to eat first, Mr. Haggerty?”

  “That would be fine. Thank you, Mrs. Saunders.” I felt terribly stiff and formal, like I was visiting one of my maiden aunts—the ones that cleaned house for fun.

  I sat at one end of the table, probably in Herb Saunders’ place, and Mrs. Saunders went into the kitchen. I was getting very edgy.

  Mrs. Saunders returned with a piece of baked chicken, mashed potatoes, and a small caesar salad.

  “What would you like to drink?”

  “Ice water would be fine. Coffee later, if that’s okay.”

  “It’s already set up.” She left and came back with a matching meal. We ate in silence. Again like at my aunt’s, I detuned my inhaler from 78 to 33⅓. Not eating frequently with other people, I tend to feed rather than dine, and I’m usually done inside of five minutes. I try to slow down when I’m with others. Leaving them to finish alone make them edgy. Dinner ended in a photofinish, a simultaneous orgasm of good manners.

  “Thank you. That was very nice.” There had been very little conversation during dinner. The only real things to talk about were absolute appetite suppressants so we held them at bay until we finished.

  “It was. I hate to eat alone and I won’t cook for myself. It was nice to have company. Would you like that coffee now?”

  “Please.” When she left I got my folder, pulled out my notes, and went through my questions. I realized I had very few and didn’t even know why I was here.

  Maggie Saunders returned. I looked at my notes trying to find something to ask her. There wasn’t much. But then again I told her I’d call if I had any news. I thought I’d roundabout it. She might not even want to know. Prolonged suffering teaches you to have respect for your defenses. That’s all that’s between us and night never ending.

  “I’ve helped flesh out a lead for Sergeant DeVito.” Which reminded me I needed to call him. “Do you want to know about it?”

  “Frankly, no. I’m very cautious. I don’t want to get my hopes up. The disappointment is just too much. I learned that early on.” A shudder passed through her.

  “It sounds like your husband could never do that.”

  “I think that’s true. Herb could never let go of anything. He courted me as if he was running a marathon. He just kept up the pace until I gave in. Mind you, I’m not complaining. I needed the pursuit. I said yes when I’d gotten enough of it.”

  She sipped her coffee. “You know when you described yourself on the phone as persistent and imaginative, it occurred to me that that’s how I’d describe Herb. He can be driven and creative, but now he’s only making demons. He just can’t turn the engine off. I know that. He doesn’t know how to rest.”

  “How about you? You said you lived to take care of your children and husband. And as your guest, I would say you did that well. How about yourself?”

  She touched her mouth. “How about me. How about me.” As she repeated the phrase the inflection changed, a slight rotation of meaning, as if she were checking the facets of an alien crystal. “I can let go of things. I have always been able to. I’m always prepared to. Secretly I know things won’t work out. It’s never if, but when.”

  “Have you let go of this?”

  She bowed her head as if she were praying. “I could never tell Herb this. I don’t know if I could ever tell myself this, but yes, I’ve let go. The girls are dead. I know it in my heart. I couldn’t carry the burden Herb does, and I know he’d never understand that. It would have cost us our marriage if I’d told him. So I just grieved silently for them. I’m not sure now whether we aren’t as far apart as we’d have been if I’d have told him. But I still have him to care for and I love him. And he does love me, as he knows me.”

  She looked at me. “I don’t know why I told you that. I guess I’ve needed to say that to someone for a long time. And in some ways, you remind me of Herb. It’s probably as close as I’ll ever get to telling him. Maybe that’s why I asked you here tonight. I don’t know.”

  “Maybe that’s why I came,” I offered.

  “Anyway, thank you for listening.” Her eyes were bright and wet.

  I started to get very uncomfortable again. “Listen, let me call DeVito up. He’ll want to know what I found.”

  “Okay. I’ll go into the kitchen to get dessert. Is pie okay?”

  “Sure. Fine.”

  I pushed away from the table and went into the living room, sinking into the recliner. I put the phone in my lap. When it rang, DeVito growled a greeting. “Yeah.”

  “Sergeant DeVito? This is Leo Haggerty. Listen. I, uh, wanted to …” a new thought popped up. “To ask you about something you’d said before about Saunders. You said he hadn’t sounded like this in years. Not since something.”

  “Yeah. The kooks and weirdos. The crazy letters and calls. He’d get all churned up, but he was also drinking a lot back then. That’s when he sounded like that letter.”

  “Okay. Thanks. I’ll let you know if I turn up anything.” That lie didn’t set well with me, but I thought Jocelyn Drake might get a little peace out of it, for now.

  “Mrs. Saunders, you said there was no alcohol in the house. Did you check the house thoroughly and the trash?”

  “Yes. I knew all of Herb’s hiding places.”

  I pulled out the letter and reread it. He said the Devi
l spoke today. Perhaps a kook, but not one with a theory on how to find the girls, but the one who took them. He spoke to him. How? Not in person. He’d be in pieces everywhere. How then? Mail? Telephone?

  “When you went to work yesterday, had the mail arrived?”

  “Yes, It comes early here.”

  “Anything for Herb?”

  “No. Just the usual junk and coupons. I went through it all at work and tossed it out. Why?”

  Maybe Herb’s letter wasn’t the result of Jack Daniels’ amnesia mouthwash. Maybe he did speak to the kidnapper by phone. How to trace it? If it was long distance, there’d be a record—if not a tap—perhaps.

  “Was there a trace put on your phones?”

  “Oh yes, right away. It was on for a long time. We got so many calls. I think it’s still on. Why?”

  “Don’t ask. You don’t want to know.” I started to get that unscratchable itch of desire. Something emerging, coalescing just beyond my reach. Come on, baby, come clean. I called the phone company security and asked for a supervisor.

  “Yes. This is Mrs. Ramsey. May I help you?”

  “I hope so. My name is Leo Haggerty. I’m a private detective, and I’d like to know if the tap on the Herbert Saunders’ line is still on?”

  “That’s very curious. That’s the second inquiry we’ve gotten in two days on that trace, after all this time. Yes, it’s still on, but we already turned the information on the call over to the police.”

  That’s what you think, sister. Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas. He called, and Saunders got the number and traced it. I thanked her, hung up, and called DeVito back.

  “Listen, Pete, I think whoever took the girls called Saunders yesterday. Saunders somehow got the information off the trace from the security office and he’s after whoever called.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Listen. Who has access to the trace information?”

  “I do. I’m officer in charge.”

  “Well, call phone security and I’ll bet you dollars to donuts you were given the information on the calls. Go ahead.”