The Man Who Heard Too Much

by Forrest, Richard;

  He refused to believe her story, and perhaps that was a clue to the fault in their relationship. Trained as a skeptic, he simply refused to trust her enough to make the leap of faith that would allow him to accept what she said. There was a barrier that would always remain.

  She finished her coffee and began to search Ray’s study. She found what she needed in a folder at the back of the file cabinet. The tab was labeled “Marshall Training School,” and the folder appeared to contain information forwarded to Ray when he had been hired but had not actually arrived at the school.

  She spread the aerial photograph on his desk. Each building and area had been carefully identified with a dark Magic Marker. She continued studying the photograph and layout of the school until it became familiar.

  Ray had evidently ridden to work with a co-worker, because the ignition keys to the small K Car were on the center of the dining room table. She dressed in slacks, a light blouse, and sneakers.

  It was time to go.

  Martin finished the last of the bread and drank some tepid water from the spigot. He was still unsatisfied. It would be hours before Mickey came again, that is, if Mickey remembered. He settled back on his haunches with his back against the wall and tried to doze.

  The creak of the double doors being forced open awakened him at once. He tensed and reached for the two-by-four near his right hand.

  A swath of bright morning light cut across the shed and then disappeared as the doors were closed. He felt his muscles relax and then the weakness that follows the heavy surge of adrenaline. His eyes flicked shut again.

  A footfall made him tense. Someone was moving quietly inside the building, and he picked up the board and stood with his body shielded by a large mower. He could make out the outline of the intruder.

  “Martin, are you here?”

  The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t wait. He stepped around the far side of the tractor, approached Sara from behind, and wrapped one arm around her neck as he drew back to hit her with the board.

  “Martin!” It was a gasping cry.

  He released her and she nearly fell. They faced each other in the musty maintenance shed. “Miss Bucknell.”

  “The training school is the only place where you’ve felt safe,” she said softly.

  “Yes.”

  “And you returned here to hide. Does anyone know you’re here?”

  “Mickey, but he’ll probably forget.”

  “I want you to come with me.”

  He cringed against the wall. “No. They’re trying to kill me.”

  “I know. They tried to do it to me also.”

  “You can stay with me. Mickey will bring food … maybe.” He laughed and she returned his grin.

  “What have you been eating?”

  “Bread and there’s water to drink.”

  “You can’t live on that.”

  “I won’t live otherwise,” he replied noncommittally.

  “Well, what about … about your bodily functions?” she asked with an edge of embarrassment.

  “I sneak out back when it’s dark.”

  “Come on with me now.”

  “I can’t go back to Meegan House.”

  “No, I have another place where we can stay. It’s only a few miles from here and you’ll be safe.” She reached toward him.

  Martin looked down at her outstretched hand. He hesitated, then slowly slipped his hand in hers. “I have to trust someone.”

  She smiled and squeezed his fingers. “Now, do you know a way we can leave the grounds without being seen?”

  “Sure. There’s a way that runs behind the gym.”

  Ray sounded slightly irritated over the phone. “Those old records are in the basement. It’ll take me an hour to find them.”

  Sara shook her head at the phone and looked over at Martin devouring his third hamburger and second pint of milk. “It’s important, Ray. I want everything you’ve got on Martin Fowler.”

  “Come on, Sar.”

  “Everything.”

  “That sounds like a command.”

  “It’s very important. Please?”

  “That’s better. See you at six.”

  She hung up and sat across the table from Martin.

  Ray Heath hung up the phone and thought about Sara for a moment. She might be a little off the wall, but he liked her. He liked her more than he cared to admit. He turned to face the visitor sitting across the desk. “Sorry for the interruption. Where were we?”

  “We were talking about my magazine article. I feel, as does my editor, that the work you are accomplishing in these halfway houses should be publicized.”

  Ray nodded in agreement. “Once they’re on their own, we often get magnificent results from the educable. It takes time, and we lead them carefully, but, damn, it works!”

  “Do the towns where the houses are located often oppose them?”

  “Yes, and that can cause serious problems. Once a home has been established, we don’t seem to have further difficulties. It’s the initial opening that brings out people’s subconscious fears and prejudices.”

  “Very interesting,” she said as she made notes in her pad. She looked up at him and smiled. “My editor became interested in the subject when he recently visited Camp Mohawk.”

  “I’m not surprised. We send a group of educable kids up there every year to help out with the work.”

  She glanced down at a small note. “He said one man in particular impressed him. I’d like to follow his story if possible.”

  “I’ll do what I can. Who was the student?”

  “Ah … Martin … Martin Fowler. Where can I reach him?”

  Ray gave a perceptible start. For a moment he was at a loss for words. “You’ll have to pardon my reaction; you have embarrassed us.”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Martin is one of our failures. He has run away and is now listed with the police as a missing person.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” She handed him a business card. “If they find him, would you let me know? I’ve checked into a motel here in town and the address is written on the card. My editor is very interested in the case and wants me to follow up.”

  Ray took the card and shoved it in his pocket. “I’ll call you as soon as he turns up. It won’t take long.”

  “Do they always come back?”

  “They have no other place to go,” he answered.

  Sara continued talking as she poured their third cup of coffee and sat back across the table. “And so that’s it. We went back to the house and there was an older couple there who seemed to be completely innocent.”

  Martin nodded. “Uh huh.”

  “Do you know the redheaded woman, Martin?”

  “I don’t think so,” he replied with a flat intonation.

  “Are you sure?”

  He stirred restlessly in the chair as if agitated. “When they attacked me … the people on the motorcycles … I turned when I was running. She had her helmet off and her hair was red.”

  “It could be the same person.”

  “Lots of people have red hair.”

  “Lots of people aren’t attacking you and me.” She leaned eagerly forward and nearly elbowed her coffee cup off the table. “There’s a clue here somewhere. Something you’ve seen or done has set these people off. We’ve got to find out what it is.”

  “I can’t think of anything, Miss Bucknell.”

  She slapped the table in frustration, the sound causing him to start. “We aren’t getting anywhere. Why am I telling you this?”

  He looked directly at her, and she saw the hurt in his eyes. “Because it concerns both of us,” he said simply.

  They froze in a silent tableau for a few moments until she heard a car in the drive. She went into the living room and glanced out the window to see Ray slide from his co-worker’s car and lope toward the house. He carried a fat briefcase in one arm, holding it in his large hand as if it were a football and he were a
running back making an end sweep. She had the front door open when he came up the steps.

  “Hello, darling,” Sara said as she put her arms around him. He threw the briefcase on the couch and kissed her.

  “I like that,” he said when they were finished. “I knew there was a reason I asked you to stay here. You’re good to come home to.”

  “Do you have the material on Martin?”

  “Sometimes I think I buy you.”

  “Of course. There’s a little of the whore in all of us.”

  “What’s an hour of my time in the storage bins worth?”

  “I’ll tell you after I see the files.”

  “Oh, no.” He held her and kissed her again.

  “I have to pay first?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She slipped out of his arms and opened the briefcase. “What do you have?”

  “Not that much, nor is it that unusual,” he answered. “But a strange coincidence did occur today.”

  She looked at him expectantly. “I think you had better tell me.”

  “A reporter came in to see me and said she wanted to do a story on our halfway houses.” He pulled the card the blond woman had given him from his pocket and handed it to Sara. “She asked about Martin Fowler. It seems that her editor has an interest in him. She’s staying in a motel in town.”

  Sara glanced down at the card and read the motel address and unit number. “Virginia Cunningham,” she read aloud. “Did she have red hair?”

  “Your bogey lady again—no. She was a knockout blonde with a body that wouldn’t stop. If I hadn’t been otherwise engaged, I might have taken her to dinner.”

  Sara flicked the card back and forth between her nails. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “You’re the historian. They do happen.”

  “Maybe. What about the files on Martin?”

  They sat on the couch together with their knees touching as he aligned the papers from the case. “How about a drink?”

  “Coming up.” She hurred to the kitchen. Martin was still sitting at the table and looked up at her for a command. She held her finger over her lips. “Later,” she whispered. She poured two shots of vodka into a glass, added ice and orange juice from the refrigerator, and returned to the living room.

  Ray began talking before she placed the drink in his hand. He recited Martin’s background in a didactic, professional tone, as if lecturing a class.

  “Twenty-two years ago, in Albany, New York, as a result of an anonymous child abuse call, Martin was picked up in a rooming house. The initial police report states that he was tied to a bed and his body was covered in welts and burns. He appeared to be autistic.”

  “What happened to his mother?” she asked.

  “Cindy Fowler, a known prostitute, was picked up the following morning when she returned to the room. She was arrested, charged, and released on bail. She skipped and we have no record of her after that.”

  “She never visited her son?”

  “No.” Ray flipped over several pages. “Martin was initially taken to Albany General Hospital for treatment of the burns and bruises. He was also suffering from malnutrition, and X-rays revealed several bones that had previously been broken.”

  “My God, what animals people can be.”

  “Not very pretty, is it?” He continued. “Martin would not communicate with any of the hospital staff, and he was evaluated by a social worker before routine placement in a foster home. The report made at that time indicates that he exhibited flat emotional reactions and extreme withdrawal. The recommendation was made that he be placed in the training school.”

  “Wasn’t he tested?”

  “Not until he arrived up here.” He picked up a test booklet. “The Wechsler-Bellevue individual standardized IQ test was administered. The psychologist entered a score of fifty.”

  “That’s practically imbecilic.”

  Ray glanced at her. “Not a word we use, hon. But it comes out about the same. A barely functioning mental defective.”

  “But the child had been through hell.”

  “The tester made a note that the subject was unresponsive and that the results therefore were not to be considered conclusive.”

  “That was over twenty years ago. Surely he’s been tested since then?”

  “He wasn’t for ten years. Although during that period various staff observation reports indicate that he acclimated well to the school and seemed adjusted. A few years ago they began periodic testing of all inmates and Martin was retested. Three times since then, in fact.”

  “And?”

  “Scores of fifty and one of eighty.”

  “Isn’t that too large a variance?”

  “I would have thought so, but these things get lost in the shuffle.”

  “A man’s life, more than twenty years of a person’s life, and it gets lost in the shuffle?”

  Ray responded defensively. “When I finally found him, I immediately assigned him to the work program at Camp Mohawk and afterward the Meegan house. I didn’t give a damn what the tests indicated, any man who could run that lawn machinery like that could function on the outside.”

  “I’m not blaming you, Ray. It’s just that I think Martin is brighter than any of those tests indicate.”

  “It’s more than tests, Sara. As a kid he suffered extreme emotional trauma. He’s probably compartmentalized his life and now considers the school his only home and refuge—which, by the way, is why he’ll eventually return.”

  “I have.” Martin entered the living room and stood before Ray.

  The other man jerked to his feet and spilled his files across the floor. “My God! What in hell are you doing here?”

  “Miss Bucknell found me.”

  Ray turned toward Sara in anger. “You could have told me.”

  “I intended to.”

  “When? Next week?” He turned to glare at Martin. “And just where in hell were you?”

  “At the school,” Martin replied.

  “Where?”

  “I found him hiding in the maintenance shed,” Sara replied.

  “Why didn’t you notify me?”

  “Because you would have come gallivanting out here with a couple of attendants in tow to take him back to that place.”

  “That ‘place,’ as you call it, is the place of my employment. It happens to be one of the best institutions of its kind in the country.” He bent to stuff the files back in their case. “All right, I’m sorry I blew my top. But I wish you were more truthful with me, Sara. The important thing is that Martin has returned, safe and sound. He’ll be back in his own room in half an hour.”

  “He’s not going back,” Sara said.

  “What do you mean, he’s not going back?” Ray finished retrieving his papers and slung the briefcase on the end of the couch.

  “I want you to give him the Heath Apperception Test … tonight,” Sara said.

  “You know my test isn’t even properly standardized yet. The results can’t be considered conclusive.”

  “I don’t want to take any tests,” Martin said firmly.

  Sara stood in the center of the room and glared angrily at both men. “Then I’ve had it! I have been run off the road, almost killed, arrested, and framed to the point where I lost my job; and you two won’t cooperate.” She pointed a finger at Ray. “You don’t believe me.” She swiveled and pointed at Martin. “And you know something that’s causing all this and you won’t tell me.”

  “I don’t remember,” Martin replied softly.

  “That could well be the truth,” Ray said. “Martin has so encapsulated his life, and compartmentalized all unpleasantness, that he could justifiably say he doesn’t remember something.”

  “Will you give him the test?” Sara pressed.

  “All right, I know when I’m beaten. Martin can go back to Marshall in the morning as well as tonight.”

  “What kind of test?” Martin asked suspiciously.

  Ray seemed
to calm and automatically assumed a professional mantle. “It’s an intelligence test specifically designed to be administered to people whose first language is not English.”

  “That’s not me.”

  “No, but the basic problems are the same. You know, all things considered, I’m curious as to how you’ll make out on the test, Martin. It would be a great help to me if you took it.”

  “All right.”

  Ray spoke softly to Sara. “I’ll give it to him. I suppose the author is always vain about his own creations, but it might indicate some interesting variations. If Martin was phonying the routine tests, this one is different enough to break through that habit. In any case, in the morning he’ll have to go back. I have my job to consider.”

  “Do it right now.”

  He nodded. “The kitchen will be the best place. Ready, Martin?”

  Martin shrugged.

  Sara walked over to him and put her hands on his upper arms. She felt his body tense and his biceps swell. “I ask that you do well, Martin. I want you to concentrate on this test as you have never concentrated before. Will you do that for … for me?”

  He looked down at her and their eyes met. “Yes, Miss Bucknell. I’ll try.”

  Sara shifted restlessly on the couch, the book on her stomach unread. She could hear the low drone of their voices in the kitchen. She glanced at her watch. They had been at it for nearly two hours.

  She was concerned about the blond woman in the motel. The coincidence of another interest in Martin Fowler was more than she could believe. Her impulse was strong enough to force her to swing her feet from the couch and search her pocket until she found the car keys.

  The kitchen door swung open, and Martin shambled into the living room. He had a smile on his face. “I tried, Miss Bucknell.”

  “Thank you, Martin. I’m sure you did your best.”

  Ray stuck his head out the door. “It’s going to take me a while to correct this thing. Remind me to develop a self-marking key next week.”

  “Okay,” she said gaily. “Listen, I’m going downtown and see if I can scare up some pizza.”

  “Great,” Ray replied. “I’m famished.” The door swung shut as he went back into the kitchen.

  “I’ll go with you,” Martin said.

  “No, that’s all right. I’m just going to dash down and back.”