The Edge of Sleep

Chapter 17

Jack rode in the backseat of the car along with a rolled-up sleeping bag, a security blanket, and a shopping bag full of books. The books had all been read before, which was why they were selected to come along to camp, they were proven favorites. A steamer trunk of clothing was in the trunk of the car, enough to sustain him without laundry for two weeks. Becker suspected that, in fact, the boy would probably make do with the same pair of jeans and perhaps two of the twelve T-shirts provided. Becker had helped prepare Jack for the adventure, using a laundry pen to inscribe the boy’s name in the collars of his shirts, the elastic of his shorts.

“In case your shorts run off by themselves and get lost, the police will know where they belong,” Becker had said to the boy at the time. Jack had laughed at the notion of his shorts wandering off on their own.

Karen was less amused. “No one’s going to get lost,” she said sharply. “Everything’s going to be fine. This is a very safe camp with excellent counselors.”

“Counselors have to sleep sometime,” Becker said. “Who knows what Jack’s shorts will get up to then?”

“They might go running off all by themselves,” Jack said, liking the idea. “They might go swimming…” Karen silenced them both with a glare.

“Your shorts are not going anywhere without you, and you are not going anywhere without a counselor, is that clear?”

“I was just joking. Mom.”

“I am aware of that.”

“She’s laughing on the inside,” Becker said.

“I’m trying to impress certain notions of safe behavior on Jack. You’re not much help.”

Becker hung his head, chastened. He looked at Jack under his brows and winked. Jack rolled his eyes in playful conspiracy against his mother.

Karen saw it all. “I think you’re both a pair of baboons,” she declared.

It was a cue too obvious to overlook. Becker made a monkey face at Jack, who responded in kind. They were quickly walking like apes, scratching themselves, making hooting sounds. In the middle of their display Karen walked out of the room and slammed herself shut in the bedroom.

“She’s mad,” said Jack.

“She’s sad,” said Becker. “But she doesn’t want you to know it because she doesn’t want you to be sad, too. She wants you to have a wonderful time at camp.”

“Okay,” Jack said, uncertainly.

“Okay what?”

“I’ll have a wonderful time at camp.”

“Good idea,” said Becker. ‘That will make her very happy. The better time you have, the better she will feel.”

“She doesn’t act that way.”

“That’s because she’s conflicted.”

“What’s that?”

“Conflicted? Screwed up. It’s a grown-up thing, don’t worry about it.”

In the bedroom Becker, tried to comfort Karen, who was holding herself just on the teetering edge of crying without actually falling over into sobs and weeping. Her face would periodically turn bright red and puffy as if surely tears must flow, but then, with a physiological control Becker didn’t understand but admired, she would step back from the precipice, her face would clear, and the only residue would be a brighter, moister sheen to her eyes. It was as if she was reabsorbing the tears and having a really good cry inside.

“He’s going to be fine,” Becker said.

“How do you know?”

“He’ll be perfectly safe.”

“I know that.”

“It will be a good experience for him.”

“I know that.”

“It was your idea that he should go to camp.”

“Christ, I know that, Becker.”

She had been calling him Becker rather than John more frequently following the incident with the gun in Jack’s bedroom. They continued to make love with passion and tenderness, but outside of the bed they circled each other warily.

“You want me to tell you something you don’t know?” Becker asked.

“Only if it’s something good.”

“I don’t know anything about this that you don’t already know yourself.”

“I know that,” she said.

“Are you crying because you don’t want him to go… ”

“I’m not crying.”

“Or are you crying because you do want him to go?”

“I’m crying because I’m a mother,” she said.

She allowed him to hold her, but she held herself more tightly. His embrace offered comfort to neither of them.

Now, as they rode north on 1-91 into Massachusetts, Karen seesawed back and forth between a steely efficiency that concerned itself with time and distance and other details of the trip, and a moist sentimentality. If she had been in the backseat rather than behind the steering wheel, Becker felt certain she would have had Jack on her lap. It was probably why she had steadfastly refused Becker’s offers to drive.

The car telephone emitted its muted ring.

“I should have turned it off,” Karen said, reaching for it. “I’m on my way to Jack’s camp, Malva,” she said, annoyed. She listened for a moment, then said wearily to Becker. “There’s another man in a motel with a boy.”

Since Karen had enlisted the aid of the state and local police, the Bureau had been alerted to possible suspects at the rate of six per day. At her request. Karen had been informed of all of them, and after they were investigated she had been immediately informed of the results. On several occasions she had gone to the motels herself. They had discovered fathers and sons, fathers and daughters who were mistaken for boys, men and men, high-school students up to mischief, lovers up to privacy, even a mannish-looking woman and her small dog. The effort had come to seem like an embarrassing waste of man-hours.

“Where is it?” Becker asked.

“Spencer.”

Becker glanced at the map, which had their route to camp highlighted in red ink.

“It’s on the way, about fifteen minutes from here,” he said.

Karen sighed. “I’m on my way to camp,” she said.

“We’re forty-five minutes ahead of schedule,” Becker said indifferently. “We can spend the time at a motel talking to a man and a midget…”

“Or a ventriloquist and his dummy, or a woman with a small pony

…”

“Who has a pony?” Jack asked from the backseat, lifting his head from his book.

“I was just joking, sweetheart,” Karen said.

“Or we can spend the time waiting at camp for permission to leave,” Becker said.

“Hang on,” Karen said into the telephone. She looked at Becker with raised eyebrows.

“Whatever you want,” Becker said. “It’s your trip.”

“My job, too,” she said, then, into the phone, “Malva, give me directions to the motel. I’ll take this one myself.”

“Guess what,” Becker said, turning to look at Jack in the backseat.

“What?”

“Not only do you get to go to camp today. You also get to watch a pair of supersleuths in action.”

“Hey!”

“It’s actually very boring.” Karen warned.

“It’s usually very boring,” Becker said. “But then, you never know.”

“Is there a pony involved?”

“No,” said Karen. “Just a jackass.” She thought a moment. “Or two,” she added.

Another car followed them off the highway into the Restawhile driveway, going rather too fast for the situation. As Karen came to a stop in front of the office, the other car moved quickly past and skidded to a halt in front of the farthest cabin. An elderly couple stepped out of the office, looking past Becker and Karen to the car in the distance. Becker saw a woman hurry from the car to the cabin door. She tried a key, but the door would not open. She put her head to the crack of the door, said something, then stepped inside quickly as the door opened all the way.

Karen was trying to get the attention of the elderly couple but having no luck. They seemed as engrossed in the distant scene as if it were the stuff of high drama. It was not until Karen produced her identification and announced that she was with the FBI that the woman seemed to notice her.

“You see,” Reggie said to George triumphantly. “The FBI. I told you it was important.”

“You really the FBI?” George asked.

Karen held her identification toward him but spoke to the woman. She could tell already that the woman was in charge.

“I understand that you responded to a state police request for information.”

“Right there,” Reggie said, pointing toward cabin six. “In six. Just what you’re looking for.”

“What did you understand we were looking for?” Karen asked.

“A man and a boy,” Reggie said. “A big man, the trooper said. Isn’t that right, George?”

George was studying the attractive young woman who claimed to be an FBI agent, trying not to stare while still getting an eyeful. He seemed surprised to have been consulted.

“Ah, yeah. That’s what the trooper said. A big man with a boy.”

“Well, he’s in there,” Reggie said, pointing.

“In the bungalow where the woman just went?” Karen asked.

“She claims he’s her husband, but don’t you believe it,” Reggie said. “He believes it, but don’t pay any attention to him.” She nodded her head contemptuously at George, who was drifting toward the car in an effort to disassociate himself from his wife. He had hoped he could study the woman agent from that perspective without being noticed. Jack had rolled down the rear window to hear the conversation and George winked at the boy, pretending not to hear the reference to himself.

“Did the state trooper mention that we were looking for a man and a boy alone?”

“That’s your man in there, believe me. Take a look for yourself, he’s as weird as they come.”

Karen looked at Becker. Becker suppressed a grin.

“We think it’s unlikely that the man we’re looking for would be traveling with his wife,” Becker said, his voice polite and formal.

“She’s certainly not his wife,” Reggie said. “I already told you that. Go look. Just go see for yourself. Something is going on in there.”

“What sort of thing?”

“I’m happy to say I don’t know. My mind doesn’t work that way.”

Becker glanced at George, who was studying Karen’s legs. He sensed Becker’s eyes on him, looked up, grinned sheepishly.

“But it’s something the police should look into,” Reggie continued. She looked back and forth at Becker and Karen, who were obviously reluctant to take any action. “Well, for heaven’s sake, what did you come here for?”

“That’s an excellent question,” Karen said grimly. “Is the man there right now?”

“Unless he dug a tunnel he is. I’ve had an eye on that cabin ever since.”

“Ever since what?”

“Ever since I saw him in it. You would too, if you’d seen him, believe me.”

“Is the boy there now?”

For the first time, Reggie acted less than certain. “I’m pretty sure he might be,” she said.

“But you’re not completely sure?”

“Why don’t we take a look and find out? He could be in the bathroom.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, ma’am. Did you see the boy in there earlier?”

“Not in so many words,” said Reggie.

“You didn’t see him in so many words?”

“I saw his toothbrush. I saw the way the man acted, he was hiding something, I saw him carrying something at night…” She trailed off, losing steam as she was forced to voice her circumstantial case aloud.

“You mean you’ve never actually seen the boy in person?” Karen struggled to keep the annoyance from her tone.

“Not exactly… but I don’t have to see something to know it’s there.”

“Have you seen his clothing?… His playthings?… His books?”

“His toothbrush.”

“Nothing else?”

“I’ve seen the man! That’s enough.”

Becker turned to George and asked him if he had seen the boy. George put both hands in the air, palms open, disavowing any connection with the whole business.

“I haven’t even seen the man.” he said, not looking toward his wife.

“Why don’t you just go see him.” Reggie demanded, “instead of standing around, calling me a liar.”

“Nobody’s calling you a liar, ma’am.” Karen said soothingly.

“Then why don’t you go see the man for yourself and ask him? Don’t rely on him.” She indicated George with a gesture that was at once both designatory and dismissive. George grinned at Becker, inclining his head ever so slightly back at Reggie, trying to involve Becker in man’s universal understanding of women.

“We’ll just have a word with him, then.” Karen said, turning toward the cabin.

“Ask him about the bedspread, let’s hear him explain that,” Reggie said, falling in step with Karen.

“I think it’s best if we conduct the interview ourselves,” Karen said.

“I know how to deal with him.” Reggie said.

“I’m sure you do, but it’s normal procedure for us to conduct an interview in private. I’m sure you would want the same consideration.”

“If I’m not there, how will you know if he’s lying?”

“We usually do this alone.” Karen repeated. “If we need further confirmation, naturally we’ll ask you.”

“I can tell you everything you want to know,” Reggie said, but she fell back, letting Karen and Becker proceed alone.

Karen leaned into the open rear window of the car to speak to her son. “Just stay here.” she said. “This shouldn’t take very long.”

“But… ”

“If there’s a pony in that room. I promise I’ll let you know,” Becker said.

“This might be easier to take if I didn’t get the impression it amuses the hell out of you.” Karen said to Becker as they started toward the cabin. “You have a very strange sense of humor.”

The woman came bustling out of the cabin before Karen and Becker were halfway there. She wore a starched white nurse’s uniform, white stockings, white orthopedic oxford shoes. Contrasted to this snowy field, her eyes seemed to be blazing an unnatural blue. The blonde hair on her head had been piled into a bun to fit within a cap, which she was not wearing at the moment, and strands had fallen loose around her head, giving her a scattered look, even in repose.

But she was not in repose. She came at Karen and Becker with the zest of someone greeting old friends, eyes flashing happily, her toothy smile another element in white.

“Is she crazy, or what?” Dee asked merrily. “A nice old woman at heart. I’m sure, but alone too much, you know? You should talk to her husband about her, he’ll give you an earful.”

“I am special agent Crist with the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Karen said, pulling out her identification.

“Is that right? Good for you.” She paused long enough to size up Becker from head to foot “I’ll bet you’re special, too, aren’t you?” And then to Karen, “Don’t want to make him feel bad. He’s trying his best.”

Dee grinned at Becker to let him know she was teasing. There was a quality to everything she said that was so familiar in tone that Karen wondered fleetingly if they already knew each other.

Then Dee was past them, walking briskly toward the office, speaking over her shoulder and forcing them to follow.

“My husband has eye problems. You know what that’s like. I didn’t ask for much, just for him to be left alone during the day? Is that so much to ask for? I don’t think so. Now the old lady has gone in there, scared the poor dear half to death, apparently scared herself to boot-well, you’ll straighten this out, won’t you. That’s what makes you both special, isn’t it?… Oh, look! Oh!”

Dee veered toward Karen’s car, gushing and exclaiming as if she had stumbled upon treasure.

“What’s your name?”

“Jack Hollis,” Jack said.

“You can call me Dee. And whose little boy are you?”

Jack pulled away slightly from the face coming at him through the rear window and pointed at his mother.

“Oh, he’s beautiful, he’s just such a beautiful boy!” Dee said to Karen. “You are a very lucky momma.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you.”

“And you…” Dee leaned into the car even farther. “You are so precious. I could just eat you up.”

Jack tried to smile at the strange woman, at the same time edging away until he was stopped by the sleeping bag on the seat beside him.

“How would you like to come live with me?” Dee asked. “Would you like that, would you like to live with me for a while?”

Dee turned again to Karen. “Just for a little while? Can I have him?”

“Not right now. I’m afraid. He’s going to camp today.”

“Are you? Are you going to camp? Where are you going?”

“Camp Wasaknee.” Jack said.

“You must be so excited… You’re not scared, are you? Don’t be scared, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Good boy… Oh, you’re so beautiful.”

Dee turned to Becker and Karen again. Her eyes had become teary, dimming the brilliant blue.

“You are so lucky,” Dee said, touching Karen’s arm. “You have no idea. Oh, I wish he were mine.”

“He’s a wonderful boy,” Karen said.

“I hope you appreciate him,” Dee said. “You shouldn’t leave him locked in the backseat with the windows closed, by the way.”

“I do know that, actually,” Karen said quickly, offended. “And he’s not locked in. And the window’s open.”

“It’s hard to think of everything,” Dee said, patronizingly. “Especially if you’re a working mother and have to take him to work with you.”

“I’m not taking him to work. We were on our way to camp…” Karen stopped, thinking her only hope for dignity was to remain silent.

“I’m sure you try your best,” Dee said. She squeezed Karen’s arm dismissively, then turned abruptly to Becker. Her tears seemed to have evaporated within a second.

“And just what are you contributing to all this?” Dee asked, smiling.

“Just standing around,” Becker said.

“That’s what they do best, isn’t it?” Dee said to Karen.

Karen, still smarting from the implied criticism of her parenting skills, refused to be drawn into Dee’s conspiracy. The woman was a reflexive flirt, Karen thought, turning on her overwrought charm for everyone she encountered, man or woman. It was heavy-handed as a club with women, but it seemed to work with men. She was annoyed to see Becker smiling as broadly as the woman.

“Well then, come on in and help me out,” Dee said to Becker, and again she was on the move, skipping up the steps and into the office before Becker or Karen could react.

“She seems to have her own agenda,” Becker said, still smiling.

“You find her funny, too?”

“I think she likes me, what do you think?” Becker said.

“I think she needs a Valium.”

“She’s more fun than a midget, though.”

Becker and Karen followed Dee toward the office and heard her already engaged in a shouting match with the woman owner before they reached the door.

“Is it too late to just turn and run?” Karen whispered. Becker grinned sardonically and with a low, sweeping bow, ushered Karen into the office before him.

Ash washed the boy meticulously, wearing the plastic gloves as Dee had taught him. He sat in the tub with the boy, holding his body with one arm and soaping and scrubbing with the other. Using one of Dee’s nail files, he cleaned under Bobby’s fingernails. He scoured the boy’s ears, laved away the last of the tears, the scent of fear. When he had finished. Ash left the boy in the tub to let the water soak away the last traces of his earthly ordeal.

Ash dressed himself and waited impatiently for Dee to come home in response to his phone call. He was unable to lose himself in the television stories, his mind wandering again and again to the boy in the bathtub. He held Bobby’s good luck charm in his hand, squeezing it for luck, hoping that somehow it could change things. The boy had insisted that it had always worked for him; perhaps now it would work for Ash. He rubbed the coin between his thumb and finger, looking at the face of the man embossed on the metal, wondering who he was that he could bring such good fortune.

Ash was at the door when Dee arrived. She took in the situation in a glance and her voice was crisp and authoritarian. Ash had known she would be certain of exactly what to do.

“Put your gloves on and put him in the bag,” Dee said. She peered through the drawn blinds at the small convocation outside the motel office. Reggie was talking and pointing at Dee’s cabin.

“When I get everyone inside the office, you get that bag out of here, understand?”

“Yes, Dee.”

“Get it to the edge of the highway, but out of sight. We don’t want anyone finding it now. We’ll pick it up tonight when we leave.”

“Are we leaving for good?”

She gave him a harsh look. “Stop sniveling now, Ash. We have to act quickly. Put your gloves on and hurry up. When I get them all into the office, you get out the door and into the woods as fast as you can with the bag. Got it?”

“Yes, Dee.”

She looked at him again, holding him with her fiery eyes.

“Who do you love?” she asked.

Ash smiled. “I love you. Dee.”

Dee slipped out the door. Ash pulled on another pair of plastic gloves and picked up the trash bag from the floor and entered the bathroom. When he came out, holding the bag gently in both arms, he saw the good luck charm lying where he had dropped it on the bed.

It did not seem right to keep it. Bobby had loved it so much. And maybe it would continue to bring him luck, Ash did not know. But it belonged to Bobby, no matter how much Ash wanted to keep it.

Ash undid the tie of the trash bag and gently placed the Kennedy half dollar and its chain inside. He tied the bag once more, then peeked through the blinds to watch the people outside the office. Dee was leaning into a car, then she was talking to a man and a woman whom Ash had never seen before, then she was moving rapidly into the office.

The man and woman talked to each other and Ash willed them to follow Dee. It worked, they went into the office, too, and Ash wondered if it had been Bobby’s charm that made it happen. One last favor of good luck.

Ash picked up the bag in both arms and slipped out the door and into the woods that waited for him only a few steps away.

From the backseat of the car Jack saw the hulking man come out of the cabin and glance anxiously toward the office before hurrying into the thin stand of trees. The man was carrying a trash bag, but not as if it contained trash. He cradled it in his arms as if it were a treasure. Or a baby, Jack thought. A baby in a bag. Jack liked the sound of the phrase, the silliness of it. It was the kind of nonsensical notion that Becker liked to joke about with Jack. Poo on your shoe, baby in a bag. Jack vowed to remember and tell Becker, but by the time he and his mother returned to the car. Jack had forgotten.

He watched the big man hurry through the trees, heading in the direction of the highway, the bag held delicately in front of him. The man disappeared for a minute behind a squat building that adjoined the motel property. When he came back, he no longer carried the bag.

The big man glanced furtively at the office again, and then rushed back into his room. To Jack, he looked exactly like someone playing hide-and-seek, except that he was an adult and, in Jack’s experience, adults did not play games. The man never looked at the car, never noticed Jack, which did not surprise the boy at all. So many people never noticed kids. Jack thought. Like they didn’t exist, or something. Like they were invisible. Or else they did notice and made a huge fuss, like the nurse who had come from the same cabin. Jack hoped she wouldn’t make another pass at befriending him when she came out of the office. Given the choice, he would rather be ignored than made too much of, but, being a kid, he was never given the choice. When accosted by a gusher like the nurse. Jack tried to be polite and not withdraw because that made his mother proud, but inside he tried to make himself as small as possible, to pull his spirit into the tiniest ball and disappear.

Dee led them all out of the office, irrepressible and determined. Karen had given up trying to take control of the situation between Dee and Reggie. It was a mare’s nest of charge and countercharge and of interest only to the participants. What surprised her was the continuing high spirits that Dee showed even after the shouting match with the motel owner. She marched along the drive toward her cabin with an impatient stride, looking back at the others to see why they were lagging behind.

Only a sense of duty forced Karen to play out the farce to its conclusion, a duty held not to the Bureau because this was clearly a tenant-owner dispute and of no concern to the FBI, but duty to herself not to appear a fool in public. She would look less foolish seeing this business to the end, going through the proper motions, than she would if she did what she wanted, which was to throw her hands in the air, declare it all a mistake, and drive away. How much time did she waste in her life, she wondered, trying not to appear foolish? Becker did not seem to care; he freely acted the fool for Jack, and won Jack’s affection in the process. If he were in charge of this operation, he would have cut and run already, she thought. He would flirt with the woman as much as amused him and then just leave, not caring about anyone else’s opinion but his own. He would make a very poor woman, Karen thought.

Ash sat upon the edge of the bed, his eyes cast down toward the floor, his hands folded neatly in his lap. Like a pair of bear paws, thought Becker. The man’s size was remarkable, but he was not in any way intimidating; he seemed as docile as a cow, and just about as bright. He was breathing heavily, as if he had just been running, or exercising. Becker tried to imagine spending all day, every day, in a room the size of the motel cabin. It was better than a prison cell, but not a great deal better. The battle against cabin fever must be a difficult one, and the man’s arms appeared pumped by regular, strenuous exercise. Becker imagined the man doing pushups before the surprise visit by two FBI agents. A lifetime spent in a darkened room, hiding from the painful light, then two intrusions in the same day, the first from the landlady, contentious, aggressive, seeing kidnapped boys under the bed and in the shadows, and then two more authority figures, compelled by duty to ask questions and look stern. No wonder the man seemed stunned and dazed.

That did not explain the mud on his shoes, however.

Becker asked if he might use the bathroom and started for it without awaiting a reply. He squeezed past the nurse, who seemed to be whirling and turning even as she stood still. Confinement would be hell for her. Becker thought. Why had she chosen to spend weeks at a time in a holding pen like this when the same rent money could probably have afforded a small house somewhere?

Dee made a show out of getting out of his way, arching her back and leaning into a wall that wasn’t there, as if she stood in a narrow corridor with dimensions known only to her. Her breasts brushed against Becker and she touched his upper arm with her hand, as if to guide him past her.

Once in the bathroom, with the door closed, Becker could still feel the touch of the woman, the sensation of moving against the soft resistance of her breasts, the grip of her hand. There was something electric about the experience and it was there, he knew, because she wanted it to be there. The contact had been unnecessary; she had done it deliberately, and the result had been what she wanted, Becker realized. With the simplest of stratagems on her part, he was no longer thinking of her as just another person, but as a woman. As a woman to be desired.

Becker looked into the mirror and grinned at himself. You jerk, he thought. Despite the years, despite the experience, despite being very actively involved with another woman who was immensely satisfying sexually, he still had the indiscriminate sexual response of an adolescent. Huge and irredeemable jerk, he thought, but he continued to grin at his reflection. He did not hold it against himself.

At first glance the bathroom was unremarkable. There was a clutter of feminine cosmetics and appliances for her, a razor that might have served both of them, a woman’s hair brush, a brassiere hanging from the towel rod along with a moist towel that had been used recently. A few drops of water still clung to the shower curtain where it had been tucked into the tub, a few more that had spilled onto the floor had not yet evaporated. The man had obviously taken a bath or shower within the past hour or so, since the woman had only just arrived at the motel at the same time as Becker and Karen. It seemed an odd time of the day for bathing, but then living a life indoors might well change your sense of time entirely, Becker thought. Except for the man’s shoes, that is. He didn’t get fresh dirt on the soles of his shoes by staying indoors. So he had taken a shower, gone outside and scuffed his shoes in the dirt, then come back inside. Or had he run outside and back in again, which would account for his breathing hard? And what difference did it make? Becker wasn’t here to fathom the secrets of the man’s life; he was looking for a boy, and there was no sign of a boy in the motel, and, indeed, scarcely any sign of the man except his physical presence. There was no comb-did he use the woman’s? There was a tube of woman’s cream for shaving her legs, but no shaving cream for him. Did he use hers? Did he use soap? It was as if the man had been slapped onto the relationship like an afterthought. As if the man were totally dependent on her for the simplest comfort.

Becker flushed the toilet to maintain the fiction that he had needed it and glanced into the wastebasket. There were tissues blotted with lipstick, several Band-Aids that had been used and discarded-the man was a lousy shaver, and why not with nothing to soften his beard-and along the side of the basket, as if it were thrust into it rather than tossed, was the tip of something bright blue. Becker pulled it out and held up a child’s toothbrush. The brush had been used, but not much, the bristles were still firm, the ends whole, unsplit by wear and tear. The old woman had been right about that much, Becker thought. There was a toothbrush-which could have been used by either the man or the woman, of course-but if a child had ever been in this room, he had left no other sign of his passing.

As he returned to the main room Becker realized that the old woman had been right about something else as well. There was definitely something weird afoot in this cabin; the occupants seemed as mismatched as possible, the passive, hulking dimwitted giant, the bright, animated, sexually radiant young woman. Ash was still sitting on the bed as Becker had last seen him, studying the floor. The woman was engaged in an animated but one-sided conversation with Karen, who seemed beleaguered and seeking a fast way out. She wore the pained expression of someone forced to be polite for too long. As nearly as Becker could tell, the woman was talking about men and the impossibility of ever teaching them to be truly civilized. Her husband, for instance, was responsible for the sloppy housekeeping in the room. Alone all day, you’d think he could extend himself to tidy up, wouldn’t you, she wanted to know. Becker thought that, all things considered, the big guy did pretty well in the housekeeping department. If Becker were cooped up all day in this cell, he’d be writing on the walls with the woman’s lipstick. Or out kicking his feet in the dirt when the woman didn’t know about it. Or maybe sitting on the edge of the bed with the woebegone look of a boy whose dog has just died, Becker thought. Living like this, he would have to be depressed.

Karen caught his eye with a frantic look and together they left the room, apologizing for taking up their time, although the woman had appeared delighted by the diversion and the man had scarcely seemed to notice.

Dee followed them to their car, where she once more leaned into the rear window and gushed over Jack. She reached in and touched his cheek.

“You’re precious.” she said. “Just perfect.”

Jack pulled back from her touch and Becker was reminded of an illustration from his childhood of the witch reaching into the cage to test whether Hansel was yet fat enough to cook. Hansel had held up a stick, which the near-sighted crone had mistaken for his emaciated finger, Becker remembered. Jack had been forced to surrender his cheek.

Karen drove off with Dee still standing by the window.

“You take good care of my little boy, now,” she called after them.

Becker could see her in the rearview mirror, watching and waving for much too long.

“The woman is crazy,” Karen said with relief to be away finally. “She had me confused with a long-lost friend. But if I ever had a friend like that, she wouldn’t be my friend. Where does she get off, trying to tell me how to take care of my own son? Did you hear that? ‘You mustn’t leave him in the car with the windows up.’ It was all I could do to keep from slamming her against the wall and reading her her rights.”

“Got under your skin a little, did she?”

“And she didn’t affect you, I suppose? I’ve never seen a grown man bat his eyelashes like that.”

Becker laughed.

“What did you think of her, Jack?” Becker asked. “She acted like she wanted to eat you up.”

“Gah,” said Jack.

“She showed good taste in boys, though, to give her credit,” Karen said. “I can’t think of any boy I’d rather gobble up myself.” She reached into the backseat and patted Jack. “You put up with it very politely. I’m proud of you.”

“Strange taste in men, though,” Becker said.

“Meaning you?”

“I was thinking of her ‘husband.’ ”

“One thing’s certain,” Karen said after they had regained the highway, “that is no average married couple.”

“Certainly not average.”

“Not married either,” Karen said.

“How do you know?”

“Apart from the fact that he has one hanger in the closet and she has eight? That he has no other shoes? I don’t know what there was in the bathroom, but there was practically no sign whatever that he even lived there.”

“Nothing in the bathroom, either,” Becker said. “Except for two toothbrushes. And a child’s toothbrush in the wastebasket.”

“The old lady had that much right, at least.”

“She had it all right,” Becker said. “She said they were a strange couple, and she was right, she said the man was something spooky, and I’d have to agree with that, she said there was something odd going on in the room, and I’m certain that’s true, although I’m not sure I know what it was.”

“So she was right on all counts except the one we came for,” Karen said.

“There’s no law against being strange, however,” Becker said.

“Or none we care to enforce,” Karen said. “I don’t know what those two get up to together, but I’m sure it’s in violation of some code or other.”

“Flagrant weirdness,” Becker volunteered.

“Worse than that. Something… I don’t know, unclean. I left feeling as if I wanted to wash, as if I have oil on my skin… No sign of a child other than the toothbrush, I suppose?”

“None,” said Becker. “But there was the toothbrush.”

Karen grinned and shook her head.

“What?”

“Feminine secret,” she said.

“Terrific.”

“Okay. I have a child’s toothbrush, too. I use it to brush my eyebrows sometimes.”

“You do?”

“You men have no idea what we go through, do you? I put hair spray on the brush, then sort of comb them up so they don’t go every which way.”

Becker stared at her., Karen moved uneasily behind the wheel.

“Some-times,” she said. “Only some-times.”

Becker continued to look at her, exaggerating his bafflement.

“Stop it,” she said sternly, after a moment. “So I think, in the absence of any other evidence, we can forget the toothbrush.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Becker said.

“We had to do it, though, right?” Karen said.

“Oh, sure, we had to check it out. And it wasn’t a total waste of time.”

“Why not?”

“Well, Jack gained an admirer.”

“Great.”

“And it got me thinking.”

“You found that visit intellectually stimulating?”

“Well, it didn’t make me start thinking about the Great Books. But the woman’s nurse uniform did make me remember something. After the Bickford snatch I stood in on a couple of interviews. One of them was with a guy who made doughnuts. He said he had seen the outing of kids when they came to the mall.”

“Yeah?”

“He said-I think he said-he saw the teachers, he saw the kids, he saw the school nurse. Did he say she was bringing up the rear? I don’t remember, but I think so. I have that image in my head.”

“Yes, so?”

“So does a uniformed nurse usually go along on every school outing?”

“I don’t know. It seems like a good idea.”

“It does. But does it happen?… Jack? When your class takes a trip, does the school nurse usually go along? Does she wear a uniform?”

Jack hesitated long enough for Karen to speak impatiently. “Jack, John asked you a question.”

“I don’t think I’ve even seen her in it,” Jack said thoughtfully.

“You mean you’ve never seen her on an outing?”

“Oh, she doesn’t go on those. Because what if someone at school gets sick? But I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in her uniform. She just wears clothes at school.”

Karen and Becker drove in silence for a moment, both thinking. Karen broke the silence as she reached for the phone.

“Of course that’s just Jack’s school.” Karen said, punching in the phone numbers. “They might do it differently at other schools.”

“Or a nurse just happened to be going in the same direction,” Becker said.

“Just a coincidence,” Karen said.

“Most likely.”

“Probably… Malva? Deputy Director Crist. I’m in my car. One, check with the principal of Bobby Reynolds’s school. See if a uniformed nurse went along on the outing to the mall on the day Bobby was”-she glanced back at Jack-“when he went on the outing. Two, have Hemmings go through all the interview notes of the other Lamont cases and see if there are any mentions of nurses.”

Karen paused, looked at Becker, and arched an eyebrow.

“Do the malls have their own nurses?” Becker asked.

“And Malva, find out if the malls in question have uniformed nurses on duty… That’s right. I’ll be in the car until around six. I want answers before then… Thank you.”

“Let’s not get excited yet,” Becker said as Karen returned the phone to its cradle. “A, there are virtually no cases of women being involved in serial killings except the one in Florida. B, a woman could not have disposed of the bodies from a moving car with one hand.”

“That would require a man with great strength.”

“Or… Christ, or two people. One driving, the other sitting in the backseat and using both hands. What’s wrong with that?”

“Two people. Serials don’t work in teams, they’re loners.”

“Although the Hillside Strangler was actually two people.”

“And Braun and Rosenbloom committed those atrocities in New Haven.”

“Yeah, for years.”

“You had something to do with that case, didn’t you?”

“Not enough… So, it does happen.”

“Not often, but it happens… but never with a mixed couple, that I know of.”

“It wouldn’t have to be mixed. Sitting in the backseat, using two arms to lift. A woman could do that.”

“Two women?”

“Why not? Just because we’ve never seen it?”

“The woman in Florida, she had another woman with her part of the time.”

Becker took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“How much did you talk to that big guy in the motel?” he asked.

“Hardly at all.”

“And why?”

“Because… I’m stupid, I guess.”

“No, you’re not stupid, Karen. Why didn’t you talk to him? Really.”

“Because once a woman entered the picture, there didn’t seem to be any point.”

“Why no point?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Why no point in interviewing him?”

“Because a man and woman together didn’t match our profile.”

“And who gave us the profile?”

Karen paused.

“It’s not your fault, John.”

“Who came up with that profile?”

“Lots of us, all of us. It was a consensus long before you entered the case. This kind of thing is done by male loners…”

“Who went out driving on the Merritt tossing bags out the window? Who convinced us all that it was, that it had to be a strong man, so we all stopped looking at or even considering anything else? Who was that genius, Karen?”

“John, we all agreed. I agreed. I’m still in charge of this case. If anything stupid was done, it’s my responsibility.”

“Your responsibility, maybe. My fault.”

“Nobody’s fault. And you were probably right. It probably is a lone male. Nothing has happened to change that.” Becker was silent.

“At least wait until we hear back from Malva before you beat up on yourself. There will be plenty of time for self-recrimination for all of us.”

“After we get Jack installed at camp…”

“Of course.”

“We could just swing by the motel again…”

“It’s on the way,” she said. “Do you have something specific in mind?”

“I’m going to ask that big guy for help in pulling my head out of my ass. I got it jammed up there so far this time I don’t think I can get it out by myself.” Becker glanced at Jack, then at Karen. “Sorry for the anatomical reference,” he said.

“What, because of Jack? He likes it. He thinks you’re clever.”

Becker turned and looked at the boy in the backseat. Jack was grinning behind his hand.

“Face it, Becker,” Karen said. “You’re a natural-born father figure.”

“Every kid needs one,” Becker said. “Whether he needs it or not.”

“Oh, look,” Karen exclaimed suddenly. “Look, Jack. There’s your mountain.”

Mt. Jefferson loomed abruptly alongside them, a sudden bulging disturbance in the landscape. Like most mountains in Massachusetts, Mt. Jefferson stopped ascending well short of the tree line, and to the jaundiced eye accustomed to snow-topped Alps or Rockies it presented the aspect of an ambitious hill. To Jack, it seemed enormous.

“Your own mountain,” Becker said. “How about that?”

“Are you looking. Jack? Do you see it?”

“I see it,” Jack said. He wanted to add a note of impudence, telling his mother that he wasn’t blind, but his throat was constricting and he found it easier not to say anything.

“You’re going to love it there,” Karen said. “It looks so fresh and clean, doesn’t it?”

Becker, his eye on Jack as much as the mountain, had noted the boy’s rising discomfort. It was going to be a tearful parting. Becker looked back at the mountain, giving it his full attention to keep from tearing up himself. The chord Jack touched in him surprised him. When did I get like this? he wondered. He glanced at Karen to see if she had noticed how choked up he’d gotten, but if she had, she was tactfully keeping it to herself. Her attention was also exaggeratedly fixed outside the window.

All three of them stared at the mountain, keeping their thoughts to themselves, as they drove parallel to it for several miles, then began the slow and winding ascent to the camp.