Follow the Sharks Page 5

  “Do you know if he left late today?”

  “I was up,” said Sam. “He left at the usual time.”

  Basile made a notation in his notebook. “Which was…?”

  “Six-thirty, like she said.”

  “Okay. And you said that you checked and he finished his route, right?”

  “Yes,” said Jan. “He starts right next door, at the Bradley’s house, and goes all the way down the end of the street, then up Oakmont to Royal Ave. He ends up with two houses down on Maple Street.” Jan smiled at Basile. “See, when E.J.’s sick I do it for him. Anyway, I called all his customers. They all got their papers.”

  “Maple Street’s a main road,” said Basile, talking, it seemed, to himself. “Okay. So then what? He walks home, right?”

  “Yes,” said Jan. “He comes straight home. He always does. The whole thing takes him less than an hour. He’s only got nineteen papers. Seventeen on Saturday, actually, because two of his customers get the Wall Street Journal. They don’t print a paper on Saturday.”

  “Yes,” said Basile, smiling perfunctorily. “How does he usually come home?”

  “He just turns around and comes back the way he went.”

  “Is there a shortcut he takes?”

  Jan hesitated. “He can cut through backyards and end up on Royal Ave. But he’s not supposed to. I told him I want him on the sidewalks, not in people’s yards.”

  “But he might have taken a shortcut today?”

  “I told him not to.” She frowned at Basile. “Yes, okay, I guess he could have. But I don’t see…”

  Basile shrugged, scratching into his notebook. “Okay,” he said without looking up. “Describe your son for me.”

  Jan sighed. “He’s about four-feet ten, eighty pounds. Red hair, like his father. Something like yours, actually,” she said to Basile. “Not carroty red, but sort of brownish.” She put her hand on my knee and squeezed it. I covered it with my own. “He’s got greenish eyes. Impish. He smiles a lot. He’s a happy child, he really is. He’s very cute. He looks just like Eddie. A little turned-up nose… Oh, God!”

  Jan put her face against my shoulder. I could feel her body shake.

  “Take your time,” said Basile.

  Jan sniffed and looked at him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Can you tell me what he was wearing today?”

  “I can,” said Sam. “He had on a yellow tee shirt. It says Brother’s Pizza across the back, and it’s got a picture of a slice of pizza on the front of it. And jeans, I think. And sneakers.”

  “Blue jeans?”

  Sam nodded. “I think so.”

  “What kind of sneakers?”

  “Nikes,” said Jan. “Leather Nikes. He wears them everywhere. Eddie gave them to him. They’ve got this red stripe on the side.”

  “He’s how old?”

  “Ten. Ten and a half, almost. He’ll be eleven in February.”

  Basile was writing into his notebook. “I’ll want a photo. I assume you can get me a photo.”

  Jan smiled. “I’ve got a million photos of my boy. He’s very photogenic.”

  Basile returned her smile. “Yes. Now, what about his friends? Can you tell me who his friends are?”

  Jan reeled off ten or a dozen names.

  “These are neighborhood kids?” said Basile, scribbling into his notebook.

  “No, not all of them. Some are from school. The district is pretty big. I can get you all the addresses. But I’ve already called their homes. All those boys were home, and E.J. wasn’t with them.”

  “Sure,” said Basile. “But we might want to talk with them. Maybe some of them have an idea where he might have gone.”

  “I’m telling you, he didn’t go anywhere. He wouldn’t without asking me.”

  “There’s always a first time,” Basile repeated automatically. He riffled through a few pages of his notebook. “Okay, now I have to ask you some more difficult questions. I don’t want you to get upset. Okay?”

  Jan stared at him. “I’ll try.” Her hand tightened again on my leg.

  “Has E.J. been upset recently about anything? Did you have an argument, or did you punish him? Anything that might have made him angry?”

  Jan looked from Sam to Josie. “I don’t think—”

  “Eddie,” said Josie. “Eddie was supposed to come over last week. He called and said he couldn’t make it. It was Thursday. His day off. E.J. was upset about that, remember?”

  Jan nodded. “Yes, but that’s happened before.”

  “What were they going to do?” asked Basile.

  Jan shrugged. “I don’t think there was a plan. Eddie can only take E.J. away on weekends. He’s only come to see him a few times in the past couple of years. This was nothing new.”

  “But he was upset,” said Josie.

  Jan nodded. “He’s always upset when that happens.”

  “That was Thursday?” said Basile.

  “Yes. Thursday.”

  “And where does Eddie live?”

  “Medford. Do you want the address?”

  “Yes.”

  Jan told him, and he wrote it down.

  “Anything else?”

  Again Jan appealed to Sam and Josie. They both shook their heads. “No,” she said. “I haven’t punished him or anything. He was fine last night. We watched TV together. He was fine.”

  Basile nodded, then peered at Sam. “Difficult question for you, but I’ve got to ask it.” He paused, and Sam nodded. “A wealthy man like yourself is bound to make an enemy or two along the way. Can you think of anyone—?”

  “Who’d kidnap my grandchild?” Sam frowned. “What a question,” he muttered. “No. No, I can’t think of a soul that evil. Nobody I know.”

  “Well, if the FBI gets involved, they’ll want to talk to you about that, so think about it.”

  I felt Jan sag against me. “The FBI? Oh, Jesus!”

  Basile regarded her benignly. “We have a lot of resources.”

  “But that means…”

  “One step at a time. Ninety-nine percent of the time the kids show up. Look. Just last week I went through exactly this same thing. Boy was missing. Friday afternoon. Know what happened?”

  “No,” Jan whispered.

  “He spent the weekend in New Hampshire. Swimming, water skiing, having a grand old time. He was with friends of the family. Didn’t get home until Sunday afternoon. The mother was absolutely frantic. We were about ready to call the FBI. Turns out the kid had talked to her about it and she said it was okay and then forgot about it. So when he kissed her good-bye she just thought he was going out to play. It just slipped her mind. It can happen.”

  “I wouldn’t forget,” said Jan.

  “I’m not saying that. Just that boys, especially, seem to be missing and there are almost always logical explanations. If he’s missing for twenty-four hours we can call the FBI. Depending on the circumstances, they might get involved right away or not. And we have the State Police to help, too. I just want to have as much information as possible, so that if we do have to involve these others, we’ll be able to give them what there is and save you the trouble of going through this all over again.”

  “I can’t think of enemies,” said Sam. “I really can’t.”

  “What about the father?”

  “Eddie?” Jan snorted. “The problem with Eddie is that he doesn’t care about his son.” She hesitated. “Is that what you’re thinking? That Eddie…?”

  “It happens,” said Basile. “The non-custodial parent takes the child. Yes.”

  Sam was shaking his head. “That’s not Eddie. He did a lousy thing, running off. But he wouldn’t do something like this. Not Eddie.”

  Basile cleared his throat. “Has anybody spoken to Eddie today?”

  Jan shook her head.

  “I’ll call him,” I said quickly.

  Basile closed his notebook. “Do that, will you?”

  I went out into the kitchen, found Eddie Donagan’s phone n
umber in the little book I carry in my hip pocket, dialled it, and let it ring a dozen times before I slapped the side of my head. Eddie worked on Saturdays. I found a phone book on a shelf beside the phone and looked up the number for the Herman’s store at the Burlington Mall. The girl who answered was reluctant to get Eddie for me until I told her that it was police business. Several minutes passed before I heard Eddie’s voice say, “Yeah?”

  “It’s me,” I told him.

  “The lawmaster himself. How’re you doin’, man?”

  “Okay. Just wondering if you’ve talked to E.J. today?”

  “No. ’Course not.” He paused. “Why? Wait a minute. What the hell’s going on?”

  I decided not to beat around the bush. “I’m at Sam’s. E.J. didn’t come back from his paper route yet. Nobody knows where he is.”

  “What the Christ do you mean, nobody knows where he is? What happened?”

  “We don’t know. I hoped you might.”

  “Well I don’t. Jesus, Brady. I don’t understand.”

  “I’m just telling you what I know. The police are here now. I guess they’ll look for him. Listen, if you talk to him or anything make sure you let us know, will you?”

  “Of course I will. God! He’s missing?”

  “Right now he’s missing. That doesn’t necessarily mean…”

  “He’s been kidnapped or something, hasn’t he? That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know, Eddie. The police don’t seem too concerned. They seem to think he’ll turn up. He might’ve just gone somewhere to play and didn’t tell Jan. Or maybe he decided to run away.”

  “Run away?” I heard him take a deep breath. “God damn it, Brady. What’s the matter with them, anyway?”

  “What’s the matter with who? Whom?”

  “Jan. Sam and Josie. Can’t they keep track of a ten-year-old kid?”

  “I really don’t think it’s useful for you all to start blaming each other.”

  “They’re blaming me, right?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Yeah. Right. I understand.” He sighed. “I can’t get off. I gotta be here ’til six.”

  “That’s okay. There’s nothing you can do. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have him with you. And I wanted you to know what was going on.”

  “Yeah. Thanks, man. Look, let me know, okay? No one else will. So keep me posted. If—when they find him, call me. Okay?”

  I assured him that I would, and went back into the living room to report my conversation. Basile suggested that no one use the telephone, and nobody seemed inclined to ask why. He went out to his car, saying he’d be back in a minute or two. Josie wandered into the kitchen to make sandwiches, a knee-jerk reaction for her. Sam and Jan and I remained sitting. We didn’t have much to say. It reminded me of a hospital waiting room. There we sat, the three of us together on the sofa, dreading the moment when the surgeon would come out, his mask lowered from his mouth, tugging at his rubber gloves and avoiding the eyes of the next of kin.

  After a few moments I excused myself to go outside for a cigarette. Josie had cleared all the ashtrays out of her house a few years earlier, having issued an edict to Sam and his cigars, and I wasn’t about to challenge her.

  Basile met me on the porch.

  “I’m just going in to say good-bye,” he said. “I’ve called the station, and they’re getting the boy’s description around. They’ll let the Medford and Woburn and Lexington and Arlington police know, too.”

  “What about the State Police?”

  “No sense of telling them anything now. If he doesn’t turn up by tomorrow…”

  I nodded and shook a Winston from my pack. I offered one to Basile. He hesitated, then took one with a sheepish grin.

  “I quit five weeks ago, damn you. Still can’t turn ’em down.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. After a session like this I need one.”

  I held my lighter for him while he lit up. He dragged deeply and exhaled with a loud, contented sigh. “Oh, man, is that good.”

  We sat on the porch steps. “What do you think?” I said.

  He grinned. “You mean, what do I really think?”

  “Yes.”

  “I really think what I said in there. We have this kind of thing all the time. Kids will be kids, as the man said. This boy’s probably playing ball somewhere in town. We’ll find him.”

  “But that really isn’t like E.J., you know.”

  Basile squinted at me through the smoke of his cigarette. “It never is. Look. You know kids. I mean, at some point they start doing things they didn’t use to do. They get more independent. Or just more irresponsible. It’s all part of growing up.”

  I nodded. I had helped to raise two boys of my own. Like Eddie, I had to do a big part of it as an absentee parent. I had experienced the agony of seeing them grow up and grow away from their parents. What parent hadn’t gone through some version of what Jan was experiencing?

  “But there are other possibilities,” I said.

  “Sure. Sure there are.”

  “You think he might’ve run away?”

  Basile shrugged. “It’s common. It wouldn’t surprise me if a cruiser picked him up as he was trudging toward Medford to visit his Daddy. Or found him in a bus station or trying to hitch a ride on Route 3A.”

  I nodded. “I guess that would make sense.”

  “Does he know where his father works?”

  “Sure. At least, I assume he does.”

  “So he’s headed for the mall. Or maybe he’s already there, wandering around looking for his old man’s store. I’ve already had the Burlington police alerted. Those guys’ll keep an eye out. Hey, there are close to two million kids reported missing in this country every year. The statistics say that between ninety and ninety-five percent of them are runaways. Okay?”

  “How many of them are found?”

  Basile took a long last drag on his cigarette and snapped it toward a clump of bushes. “Most of ’em. Especially the young ones, like E.J. When they’re fourteen or fifteen they sometimes have the savvy—and the real desire—to get away. The little ones, they tend to chicken out. Or else they just go to a friend or a relative.”

  I flipped my butt in the same direction Basile had. “What are the other possibilities?”

  “Well, of course, there are sickies out there. We like to think we know who they are, but…” He shrugged. “There are the ones, the women, who just want to have a kid. You know, they go around with a pillow tied onto their belly pretending they’re pregnant. The ones who dress their poodle up in diapers and feed it through a bottle. Sometimes they’ll snatch a child.”

  “A ten-year-old?”

  “No. Usually a lot younger. Then you have the bastards who do it for profit. The guys who make porno movies. And the baby sellers. Very lucrative black market for babies. Not ten-year-olds, though. The porno moguls, they like ten-year-olds, though. Kiddie porn. Ever see kiddie porn?”

  “No,” I said.

  “You’re lucky,” he said. “And then we’ve got the old-fashioned ransom kidnappers. Since the FBI got itself involved, there’s not so much of that any more. But it happens. Or kids are held hostage. That’s usually a political thing.”

  “God,” I muttered.

  “Then, of course, we have the pedophiles,” he continued. “Sex nuts. They’re the worst of all. They usually murder the kids. Like the one in Florida a few years ago. Maybe you read about it. Six-year-old boy. Disappeared in a Sears store. They found his head in a canal two weeks later.”

  “I can see why you didn’t go into all this inside,” I said, gesturing back toward the house.

  “There’s more,” Basile said softly. “Let me have another cigarette, will you?”

  We both lit up again. “The Atlanta case awhile back,” he said. “Twenty-nine black kids disappeared. All murdered. They convicted a guy on two of them.”

  I shivered. “So it could be anything, could
n’t it?”

  He nodded. “It could be, sure. But, understand, I still think it’s going to work out. It usually does.”

  We finished our cigarettes in silence, then went back into the house. Basile told Jan he had to get back to the station and that he’d keep in touch with them, and then he left. I watched him go, wishing I could go with him. I wanted to get back home before Sylvie left. And I guess I’m flawed as an attorney, because I’m just not that good with other people’s tragedies. I hoped this wasn’t going to be a tragedy, but it didn’t feel good to me.

  So I stayed for the afternoon, sipping the beer that Josie brought out and ignoring the platter of sandwiches she had made. Nobody seemed to have any interest in food. My own stomach felt as if it had been whacked with a Louisville Slugger. The beer helped a little.

  We waited for the telephone to ring. It did, a few times. Business for Sam, which he dispensed with quickly. Jan stared out the window while I held her hand. Josie kept moving. Sam sat on the sofa with his head thrown back against the cushion, his eyes closed. He looked like he might be sleeping, but I knew he wasn’t.

  It took me all afternoon to summon up the courage to leave. I didn’t get back to my apartment until nearly seven. Sylvie was gone. As I had requested, she hadn’t cleaned up at all. The coffee pot was still plugged in. It smelled like burning rubber.

  I poured myself half a tumbler of Jack Daniels, dropped in some ice cubes, and found the Chicago Symphony playing Beethoven’s Sixth on WCRB-FM. Somehow the music failed to conjure up pastoral images of sheep grazing on verdant pastures. I kept seeing Jan Donagan’s haunted eyes accusing me, it seemed, of all the evil in the world.

  The booze settled in my stomach like a handful of buckshot. I realized that I hadn’t eaten all day. I found a glob of hamburger in my refrigerator, which I beat into a couple of patties and fried. They tasted like Brillo pads—not that bad, with lots of catsup.

  I was fiddling with the dial on my television, looking for an old Charlie Chan movie to get me through another Saturday night, when Eddie Donagan called me.

  “You drunk?” I said.

  “Not yet, old lawmaster. The night is young. You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on? I called Jan. All I got out of her is E.J.’s still gone and it’s gotta be my fault.”