Brad looked around. “Time for Betsy to take you home, Dewar. Before you really put an end to this party.”
Head drooping, Betsy slipped outside and took hold of Ike’s arm. “C’mon, Ike. I’ll drive you.”
He shook off her hand. “I don’t need help,” he said as he turned and looked down at Danny who was sitting up, rubbing his head. “Piece of shit,” he said before he turned and threw the door open, Betsy scurrying behind him.
“What the hell was all that about?” Nick said as the bodies filtered back into the warmth of the living room.
“Old battles,” said Danny shaking his head. “Elephants never forget.”
Nick pondered that thought as the Times Square ball descended and the room exploded into a chorus of cheers.
16
The locker smelled of mold and sweaty jocks. He was alone. Or thought he was. The damp, labored breathing that filled the air outside the metal door was not his. He was afraid to breathe. Afraid that the locker door would swing open and a hand as big as a goalie glove would reach in and yank him out by his hair. And once he was out there in the open, the same hand would push him down until he knelt on the floor. Then it would grab his wrist and make him hold the hard, purply thing that poked from the man’s sweat pants or cradle the back of his head and crush his face into the man’s hot, sweaty groin that stunk like strong piss. Worse still, he might make him crawl on all fours like a dog so the man could thrust himself against Nick’s backside.
C’mon, the voice would hiss. It won’t hurt you and nobody will ever know.
Footsteps dragged across the floor, then stopped. The swish of a parka brushing against the lockers was deafening. A boot crunched on the stray pieces of popcorn left by his buddies.
Playing games now, are we? You know how I like games.
Then there was an ear-splitting crash as a fist pounded the first locker in his row. A few more seconds and it would reach his. He curled into the smallest ball as if maybe a portal might open and he would simply slide through the inside wall of the locker to a place where fear didn’t exist.
“I was gonna say Happy New Year but you’re crying,” said the softest voice in the world, and Nick opened his eyes, suddenly aware that his whole body was curled snail-like and tight, every muscle clenched. Lilah’s face came into focus, her eyes clear and green in the pale daylight. “Bad dream?”
He tried to speak but his throat was still choked with the childish fear that gripped his insides. He nodded and Lilah’s face softened as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled his face to the safe warmth of her body.
“I get it,” she whispered. “Bad dreams, bad memories. Want to talk about it?”
Her voice slid over him like liquid honey and every muscle in his body unclenched itself as he buried his face in the softness of her bosom. Then he heard himself talking. “I loved hockey when I was a kid. Best player on the team. But there was a guy. The assistant coach. It started when I was only eight..”
And then he told the story. All the buried guilt and shame poured out like pus from a festering sore. He was breathless when it was over. Lilah held him tighter and stroked his hair.
“You didn’t report him?” she asked.
“I was too scared. Then one day he didn’t show up. The coach wouldn’t talk about it. I think someone else complained.”
“Those guys often get away,” said Lilah. “They’re so skilled at intimidating the kids they prey on.”
“How could I have been so stupid,” said Nick. “I mean why did I let him do that? Why didn’t I just run away or fight?”
Lilah propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. “These guys are experts, Nick. First he earns your trust and respect. Maybe gives you special treats, showers you with praise and attention. Then the abuse starts so gradually you aren’t even aware of it. He brushes up against you, tries a bit of rough-housing or wrestling, massaging – then before you know it, he’s telling you it’s okay to touch him because that’s what friends do. He was probably grooming other kids at the same time as he was hitting on you. And if you were a kid without a father, you’re fair game to him.”
Nick sat up, the memories flooding back in waves. “You’re right. He came to Dad’s funeral. He hugged me afterwards. That’s when the bastard picked me out.”
“When you were at your most vulnerable – and that’s what makes it even more predatory.”
“How do you know so much about this?” said Nick, stroking back a loose curl of hair that had fallen across her eyes.
She looked away for a moment, her eyes suddenly troubled. “It happened in my family too,” she said. “I’ll tell you some day.”
Nick cradled her face in his hands. The rush of feelings was so overwhelming he could barely speak. “I love you Lilah.” It was true. At that moment, he loved her so much it hurt.
She smiled and bent forward to kiss him and as they fell back onto the bed, the dark memories dispersed into the air like rain clouds in summer sunlight.
Monday morning Nick grabbed a coffee at The Beanery before dropping in on Brad Brenner. His head was whirling. For the first time in his life, he was in love. Really head over heels, walking on air, wearing rose coloured glasses and all that. Feelings bubbled up inside him like uncorked champagne. He knew if he truly let go, he’d stand in the middle of Main Street like some lovesick teenager and yell I love Lilah Beaumarche, for ever and ever.
Flinging open The Beanery door, his spirits were dampened by the sight of the livid bruises on the side of Danny Johnson’s face.
“Shit – that asshole sure did a number on you,” he said, leaning his elbows on the counter.
Danny’s pale, serious face took him aback. “I’d rather not talk about it,” he murmured in a warning tone Nick had never heard from him.
Nick pulled his elbows away. “Sorry, bud. But hope you enjoyed the earlier bit of the party.”
Danny busied himself at the coffee machine, barely making eye contact. “Sure. Sorry for the uproar.”
“No worries,” said Nick. “Consider it forgotten.”
Danny handed over the coffee and went straight back to cleaning cups. It looked like friendly conversation was not on the cards this morning.
“Where the hell’s my latte?” asked Brad Brenner, swishing some evil looking brew around in his cup. “Made this three hours ago and it’s like gravy.”
Nick settled into the chair opposite. “I didn’t feel like going back to get it. Danny wasn’t too talkative this morning.”
“What the hell was that fighting all about?”
“Some old score between them,” said Nick. “Dewar would be the worst person to cross.”
“Dad told me Old Ike never forgets. His grudges are for life.”
Nick sipped at his coffee. “But what would they fight about? Danny’s the most easy going guy you could meet.”
“Maybe he was a hot head in his younger days. You never know about those old hippie guys with all their free love and drugs and all that crap.”
“As a matter of fact – that’s what I wanted to ask you about,” said Nick, leaning forward. “How long has Silver Narrows had a drug problem?”
“You’re assuming we really do have one,” said Brad, watching Nick through narrowed eyes.
“C’mon Brad. You and I both know that crystal meth has reached our quiet little town. I’ve already seen kids burning their brains out with it. Where’s it coming from? Whose dealing it – or making it?”
Brad lowered his eyes. “I do have some information but I can’t disclose it to you, Nick. It could compromise our ongoing investigation.”
Nick grasped the arms of his chair. “I’ve heard all that official shit before. Anyway – I don’t need the current stuff. Can you give me some older files about drug related inquiries. Around the time of the disappearances – and earlier if you have some.”
“I guess I could look that information up,” said Brad. “Since we’re on the same side, I can
’t see any harm in it.”
“And I still can’t talk to your Dad?”
“Draw up a list of questions. Let me look over them, and we’ll see.”
“He might not appreciate you making decisions for him about his professional life.”
“I do what I can to protect the old guy,” said Brad, pouring the dregs of his coffee into the sad looking plant by his desk. “And I thought coffee grounds were good for them.”
He walked Nick to the door, promising he’d drop the files off at Nick’s office in the next few days. As Nick plunged out into the cold, bright sunshine Brad called to him. “She’s a real keeper, that girl of yours. Don’t screw up this chance.”
Instead of heading back to his office, Nick took a right turn off Main Street and drove in the direction of the mall, Brad’s words resounding in his head. He couldn’t let her slip through his fingers. Not now, not ever. Deep in thought, he parked his car and was soon walking the tiled hallways. It was pretty dead considering the sales were on, but at night the place would be jam-packed with shoppers. He preferred the quiet daytime ambience anyway. Eventually he found himself among the glass shelves and glistening halogen lights of the mall’s newest jeweler’s store, a smart, glossy place done out in silver and black. A bored sales clerk dressed in black, polished the shiny shelves, but when Nick walked in she was onto him in a matter of seconds. Luckily he didn’t recognize her. Her eyebrows rose as she trotted out the usual greeting. Nick slouched over the cabinets looking at the vast array of diamond rings.
“Are you looking for a specific type of ring?” she asked.
Nick couldn’t believe the words that fell out of his mouth. “An engagement ring.”
Her whole face lit up. “A new start to the year. So romantic,” she gushed. “Let me show you a few.”
Within fifteen minutes he’d seen princess cuts, emerald cuts, solitaires, three-stone arrangements, marquise style, pear style, promise rings. He didn’t have a clue until he saw a pretty oval one surrounded by smaller diamonds. He imagined it on Lilah’s finger.
“I’ll take that one,” he said, his heart rising to his throat. All it took was one swish of his credit card and it was done. He was the proud owner of a two and a half carat, marquise cut diamond ring and he clutched the small velvet box in his hand as he walked through the mall towards the parking lot wondering when and where he’d propose to her.
But when he pulled up at his office he had to shove it in the glove compartment because Lilah was waiting outside his door, her hands thrust deep into her pockets and her face knit in a frown.
“What’s happened?” he said, clambering out from the car.
“Those kids I almost ran over, Nick,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “The cops found them camped out among the trees near the lake. They hadn’t been home for a couple of days. The girl was so loaded she was comatose. The boy had been looking after her. He was too scared to leave her to get help. I heard this afternoon from one of my customers. Everyone knows.”
Nick pulled her to him. “How did the cops find them?”
She shook her head. “From the other kids that hang out round the lake. They realized she was in a serious state and they called the cops.”
“How’s the girl doing?”
“Last I heard from Tracy Ross, she’s still in a coma. The guy – her friend is OK but he’s so terrified he hasn’t said a word since they picked him up
17
Nick moved some of his things over to Lilah’s. After the latest troubles he felt a surge of protectiveness and barely wanted to let her out of his sight. They drove to work together. He picked her up at the end of the day. They shopped for groceries, cooked, cleaned, kicked their feet up to relax and made love with a passion he’d never felt before. She was the one. His soul mate. He knew every inch of her face and body. Knew the smell of her – the faint scent of jasmine and pomegranate. The scars that glinted like tiny, silver fish down the side of her abdomen. The slim, velvety thighs and the large second toe on each foot that caused her so much grief with shoe size. This was true intimacy. Real love. All that remained was to ask the question. To flip open the small, blue box and his whole life would spread out before him – glorious, golden and filled with promise.
These positive feelings spilled over into his work and he became a dynamo. Cranking out a weekly edition of the paper in record time so he could concentrate on his masterpiece. The wall chart had swelled into an intricate map of details, dates, facts, observations and impressions, while the feature article had grown into a full-length piece of investigative non-fiction. And now he had the latest drug troubles to follow up, which would fill the later chapters, as well as a box full of old reports related to the earlier drug scene in Silver Narrows. Brad Brenner, looking pale and drawn with shadows ringing his eyes had dropped them off. He’d been working on about three hours sleep a night since they’d found the kids and was waiting for the arrival of special vice squad officers from Minneapolis.
“We won’t leave any stone unturned,” he said. “Whoever the sicko is that’s cranking out this meth and feeding it to these kids – we’ll find him.”
“How’s your Dad taking this news?” said Nick, flicking forty years of dust from the top of the box.
“Matter of fact he doesn’t think it has anything to do with those disappearances. And I’m not ready to make the connection yet, either.”
“Can I interview him?” said Nick seizing the moment. “Anything’s worth a try and I have a feeling about this case.”
Brad stroked his chin and looked down at Nick. “I guess it can’t hurt,” he said. “I’ll set it up when I’ve got a moment - which will be tricky when those vice squad guys get here. I’m gonna be working flat out. In the meantime I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Anything,” said Nick. “Mutual cooperation. That’s the best way. We work together, we’ll smoke this guy out.”
“I want you to start publishing some pieces on the disappearances. Just short articles. Get the town talking – looking around, asking questions. I wanna make people feel a little uncomfortable. Throw in your drug theories too.”
“I’ll start this week,” said Nick, his heart leaping. “And I promise – if anything important turns up, I’ll call you.”
Now, his brain racing after the morning coffee, he began to empty the dusty box and sort the yellowing papers by date. He’d never really looked at too many pre-computer era documents with their crude typewriter font and the smudgy places where errors had been corrected with erasers or correction fluid.
The reports started in 1969. Forty five years ago was more than Nick’s lifetime and yet here was Herb Brenner’s report on incidents of mischief surrounding The Lake Land Love In Rock Festival. Nick scanned the page. There were the usual dope busts, some public nudity around the lake. Wasn’t surprising there was plenty of skinny dipping happening under the hot July sun. A few minor assaults involving beer bottles, many drunk and disorderly charges, some vandalism of local shops, a heap of under age drinking and some trespassing. His eyes opened wide at the sight of a name that seemed to crop up plenty of times. Ike Dewar at the tender age of 21 had been caught buying beer for minors, as well as accumulating some minor drug charges with marijuana and LSD. Nick sat back in his chair when he saw the name of the under age kid who’d received the beer. Seventeen year old Aaron Castle had been picked up, drunk as a skunk and thrown into the local drunk tank. Another name seemed to crop up a lot. Ed Schuler, ex-local quarterback star of the high school football team. Cole’s dad, who was around twenty one at the time and part of Ike Dewar’s crowd, had received a warning about public nudity after a late night party at the lake, together with a young stranger from out of town named Danny Johnson. No wonder Danny had such a good time that summer.
Herb Brenner’s notes indicated there was some concern about under age sex, but when he questioned the girls present, they claimed nothing had happened. Castle was at the party too as well as the you
ng Jake Hardy who, according to the notes, was out cold at the time the cops arrived. It seemed that all these future fine, upstanding citizens of Silver Narrows had been very keen to keep their wild youth locked away in the dusty town archives. Nick chuckled to himself as he considered writing a historical piece entitled Silver Narrows in the Sexy Sixties: Small Town Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll .
As he lifted the last paper from the box, a small news clipping fluttered out. It was a grainy picture of a pretty girl with long, billowing hair and hoop earrings. The date of August 1969 was circled in black. Nick read the article about Susan Jonas, an eighteen year old from Minneapolis, who hadn’t returned home after the Lake Land Love In Festival. Due to attend college in Grand Forks in September, her parents had been shocked when they received a handwritten note saying she’d fallen in love at the festival and followed the guy to India and planned to devote her life to meditation.
Quotes from her parents claimed this was totally out of character and they’d asked the cops to comb the Silver Narrows area in case something had happened to her there. Nothing was found. At the bottom of the article, Herb Brenner had scrawled another date which Nick recognized. He hastily checked the previous report about the late night party. It was the same date and Susan Jonas was one of the women questioned by the police. Herb had circled her name. He’d seen the connection. Nick sat back, his heart thumping. He was finally onto something.
At supper that night he couldn’t stop talking about his new discoveries. Lilah flitted around the kitchen stirring sauces and checking the oven while Nick chopped tomatoes and cucumbers and tossed them in a salad bowl.
“I’m convinced that festival is the key to this whole disappearance thing. That’s when at least one of those guys started his career in abduction, kidnapping and maybe murder. Herb Brenner had his suspicions otherwise he wouldn’t have made a note on the newspaper article.”
Lilah Page 13
