The Edge of Sleep

Chapter 9

There were over two dozen witnesses to nothing. The police had gathered that many employees and shoppers who were, or might have been, present at a nonevent.

Interest dulled by repetition, the local police dutifully took down the stories of people who had seen everything except the one thing that mattered. Karen and Becker moved among them. FBI identification displayed, eavesdropping and sometimes adding a question themselves.

It was like interviewing the neighbors after a Mafia murder, Karen whispered to Becker. Nobody knew nothing. In this case, however, they were not being uncooperative. They were like witnesses at a magic show who had seen but not seen, and did not know what the conjurer had done.

“What you got to realize is this place has always got crowds,” said the manager of a doughnut stand whose open-fronted shop gave him a large view of the main floor of the mall. “I’m not saying business is all that great. I’m not saying people are buying much-but they’re here is what I’m saying.” The man sucked on a toothpick, waggling it up and down when he paused.

Becker stood just behind the interviewing officer, watching the man whose name plate identified him as Fred.

“They come in groups, they come in pairs, they come alone. Who can keep track, you know what I mean? This morning they brought people from the nursing homes. You never saw so many walkers and canes and wheelchairs. They bring them every two weeks as an outing. Just coming here is a treat for them, I guess. They certainly don’t buy any big ticket items, you know. At that age, why bother?”

The man called Fred spoke with his teeth clamped together to hold the toothpick in place, giving him the look of a man with lockjaw, Becker thought.

“This afternoon there were the kids from the school. I saw them, sure, they trooped right by here on their way to the scientific toy shop, I guess. I didn’t see where they went. Sometimes it’s the pet store. They look at the tropical fish as part of their science projects, something like that, I don’t know. I know they don’t stop here.”

“Kids don’t like doughnuts?” Becker asked.

The police officer in charge shot Becker an annoyed glance until he noticed the FBI medallion on Becker’s chest. The officer still looked annoyed but said nothing.

“Who doesn’t like a doughnut? But these kids were supervised, you know what I mean? You got a teacher in front of the pack, another one alongside, a school nurse bringing up the rear to get the stragglers. It’s like a cattle drive or something. They’re not about to get loose to come over for a quick doughnut.”

“Did you see any of the kids alone at any time?” the officer asked.

“How’m I supposed to know that? You see individual kids alone all the time. How do I know if they’re from that group or with their friends or with their parents or just here to ride the escalators. They don’t wear signs saying ‘I am alone.’ ”

“Do you pass your shop to get to the men’s room?” Becker asked.

The manager thought for a moment, striking the toothpick with his tongue so that it danced up and down.

“You can, sure, but I’m not that close to the john, if that’s what you mean. You can pass down the whole corridor to get to the john. Or you can get there from the other direction.”

“Did you see any boys in the company of an adult during that time?” the officer asked.

“That time? What time?”

“The time we’re talking about,” the officer said wearily. This was his fifth interview in less than an hour. It was like asking people sitting on their lawn if they’d seen any grass. “Between three-thirty and four o’clock.”

Fred snorted rudely as if the cop were an idiot. “Did I see any boys with adults between three-thirty and four o’clock? When do you think parents take their kids shopping?”

The cop tried to ignore the sarcasm by controlling his breathing. It made him sound more impatient than ever.

“Did you see anything unusual? Any sign that any of these adults was forcing the children in any way?”

“Forcing them? You got kids? You got to force them half the time.”

“What do you mean?” Becker asked.

“Well, they’re like wild animals, ain’t they? You got to control them. So you give them a yank on the arm, a swat on the butt, you know what I mean.”

“Yes,” said Becker.

“Sometimes you grab them by the scruff of the neck and march them along. Is that what you mean by forcing them?” Fred was now addressing himself to Becker, attracted to the FBI initials like a moth to a brighter light than the ordinary policeman.

“Did you see any of that?”

“I see it all the time. Did I see it between three-thirty and four? How do I know? Probably. You see parents with kids, you’re going to see some forcing. Nothing wrong with that, I do it myself. If I didn’t give my kids a yank by the ear every now and then, we’d never get anywhere. Frankly, they need a swift kick every so often.”

“Thank you for being so frank,” said Becker. “Did you notice any men with boys? That’s not as common, is it?”

“No, it’s not. Except on the weekends. Then you see plenty of it, guys pushing strollers, guys with Cub Scouts, you name it.”

“How about today? Between three-thirty and four.”

“Look, I don’t really keep that close track of what I’m seeing when, you know? It all just kind of passes in front of you, people, just lots of people. You notice the real strange ones, or the real good-looking ones, but otherwise…” He shrugged. “I get paid to sell doughnuts, is what it is. I’m a people watcher, yeah, but I ain’t a student, if you see what I’m saying. Now you, you guys in the FBI are trained observers, right?”

“How about weight lifters?”

“I mean, you’re trained to look at a crowd and pick out the one guy you’re after by the way he’s walking, or something, right? Is it true you can look at a guy and see if he’s carrying a gun?”

Becker looked directly at the policeman, his eyes holding on the holstered pistol on the man’s belt.

“He’s carrying one, for instance,” Becker said.

Fred laughed. “No, I mean…”

“Did you see any weight lifters, any body builders, any men who were particularly pumped up?”

“That’s not uncommon these days.”

“Did you see anyone who looked particularly strong with a nine-year-old boy? That ought to be something a little different that you’d notice, wouldn’t it?”

Fred paused for a moment, his eyes falling from Becker to a point in the middle distance. He even took the toothpick from his mouth.

“No,” he said at last. “I don’t think I saw that combination.”

“Did you see any men who looked like that at all, with or without a kid? Did you see any men out of the ordinary, period?”

The manager shrugged again. “What’s ordinary? We get all kinds in here. We get the whole world through here, eventually. But no, I know what you mean, and no. I didn’t see anybody like that. I didn’t see anybody I’d call suspicious at all.”

Becker started to leave, then pivoted on his heel and came back for one more question. This time the policeman made no attempt whatever to disguise his annoyance.

“Were the people from the nursing home gone by the time the kids from the school got here?”

Fred stared at him blankly for a moment before Becker continued.

“You would have noticed that. Children mixing in with the walkers and wheelchairs. Did you see that?”

The cop turned to Becker and spoke to him for the first time.

“You’re thinking somebody put him in a wheelchair and took him out that way?”

“Seems possible.”

But the manager was shaking his head. “Nah, the old people were long gone. They don’t have that much attention span, you know. Or they get cranky, I don’t know. They never stay more than a couple hours before their nurses wheel them out of here. They were gone before lunch.”

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely. I was hoping to sell them doughnuts at lunchtime. They love sweets, you know.” Fred spoke as if he were referring to 3 different species.

“Who does?”

“Old people.”

“And children?” Becker asked.

“And children. And I didn’t make any sales to either one of them, come to that. Too much supervision. Entirely too much supervision.”

“It’s like that every time,” Karen said as they drove back toward Clamden. “That’s why we call him Lamont; he seems to get around like The Shadow.”

“He’s not invisible,” Becker said.

“Of course not,” Karen said. “There’s probably another word for someone who can come and go unseen.”

“He’s seen,” Becker said. “He’s just not remembered.”

“Because he clouds men’s minds.”

Becker put his head all the way back against the headrest and tried to ignore the speed at which Karen was driving. She used the car as an instrument of her anger, battering space with it.

“We don’t know yet that this was even a snatch,” Becker said.

“It was.” She bit her words as if they hurt. Becker watched her warily.

“Maybe the boy is lost. Maybe he ran into his aunt and went home with her. Maybe…”

“It’s Lamont,” Karen said with finality. “I know him by now. I can’t see the son of a bitch, but I know him. He was there this afternoon and somehow he managed to make off with Bobby Reynolds. And unless we get so lucky it defies all the laws of probability, in two months we’ll find Bobby Reynolds in a garbage bag. And that cocksucker will be free to do it again.”

“So then let’s get lucky,” Becker said.

“What the fuck does that mean?” she spat.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just trying to calm you down.”

“Don’t. Anger is the only thing I’ve got working for me. I sure as shit don’t have any clues.”

“Maybe he doesn’t walk out with him. Maybe he does it long distance in some way. Lures them.”

“How? With a dog whistle? These are children we’re talking about, Becker. They don’t just break from a group and leave the mall. I mean, they might wander off, particularly boys, but not that far.”

“How far would they wander?”

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t get pissed off at me. I’m just trying to help. I admit I don’t know much about kids anymore. You’re the expert on boys that age. It’s a serious question. How far would they stray from the group? Let’s say they saw something fascinating like… like what? What would fascinate your son?”

Karen blared her horn at the car in front of her that dared to be in the passing lane doing less than eighty-five miles an hour. The car jerked back into the right-hand lane as if startled.

“At this age? Something that would pull him away from his friends?… A sports star, maybe? Michael Jordan? But forget that. If anyone that famous was at the mall, we’d know about it. And even then he wouldn’t go without telling his friends and even then he wouldn’t leave the mall itself…”

“But he might go far enough to separate himself from the group? I mean, assuming for the moment he saw something that fascinating in the distance-never mind what that thing might be?”

“It’s possible, I suppose, but at this age he lives for his friends. It’s just so unlikely that he wouldn’t at least tell one of them what he saw…”

“My point is, he wouldn’t necessarily have to leave the mall by himself, would he? Or with Lamont for that matter.”

“Then how does he get away?”

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Becker said.

“Shit!” For a second Becker feared she was going to slam on the brakes, which at their speed would have meant disaster, but she held the car on line despite her agitation.

“Just a thought,” Becker said. “I don’t have much hope for it, but

…”

“You’re saying he might still be in the mall somewhere?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to check. He could be under a counter, in a closet…”

“Every shop there has to have a storage room of some kind. How much space does it take to hide a nine-year-old? Not much.” Karen had the telephone in her hand, at the same time slowing and easing into the right-hand lane.

She continued to talk to Becker as she punched in the number of her office.

“What do you think. Lamont lucks them away somewhere until everyone clears out and then slips out with them at night?”

“I don’t think that, no. But I do believe it should be checked out,” he said.

Karen told Malva in her office to wait, then turned her attention to Becker once more. “Why don’t you think that?”

“How would he immobilize his victims for that long? That mall doesn’t shut down until nine o’clock. He’s got to keep the kid quiet for at least six hours.”

“And then leaves with the cleaning crew.” Karen spoke into the telephone, “Malva, first, call the Chief of Police in Bickford, tell him to search the mall thoroughly. He’ll tell you he did, but I want him to go over it with a full body scrub, look inside every space at least… oh… say a foot and a half square. Tell him to start now, the entire mall, then you get as many men up there as we have to spare to help out. Put the arm on the state police to get their men over there, too. Tell him I want it done thoroughly, Malva, thor-ough-ly. I want the mall strip searched, understand? The missing boy might still be there… right… Then have Elias go to work on the cleaning crew that comes in at night. It must be a big one, the mall is huge. I want him to check the backgrounds of all of them to see if any of them worked at any of the other places where any of our victims went missing.” She glanced at Becker. “Anything else?”

Becker screwed up his lips, thinking.

“I’ll call you back, Malva,” Karen said into the telephone. “I’m on my way home now. I’ll be there by seven if you need me.”

“It’s no good, though, is it?” Karen said as soon as she hung up.

“You got to try,” said Becker.

“If he drugged them to keep them quiet there’s bound to be a fuss of some kind. If the drug takes effect immediately he’d have to carry them to the hiding place. If it has a delayed effect, the boys would struggle… Unless they walked straight into the hiding place and he drugged them there. But how would they even know where the hiding place was? What is he, the Pied Piper? And why wouldn’t someone notice a boy walking into their storage rooms or wherever? He could not use drugs. He could bind and gag them, but that’s hardly an activity no one would notice-again, unless they walk right into his lair and it’s big enough for both of them-it just doesn’t work, does it?”

“Still, you have to check it out,” said Becker.

“Of course.” She banged the steering wheel with the flat of her palm, then wheeled the car into the passing lane again, accelerating until Becker squirmed nervously in his seat.

“I thought for a second we might have something,” she said.

“Could I make a request?” Becker asked.

“Of course. What?”

“Could you slow down?”

“Slow down?”

“The car. Could you slow down the car?”

Karen glanced at him and laughed. “Scared?”

“Spitless.”

“I took the course in defensive driving, too, you know,” she said, smiling. “Or is it that you don’t trust a woman driver?”

Becker noted that she did not slow down.

“I don’t trust the speed,” Becker said. “Where in hell is a cop when you need one?”

Karen looked at her watch. “I’ll just make it by seven as it is,” she said. “Close your eyes and think clean thoughts.”

“I’m trying to remember my prayers,” he said.

“I’m surprised you know any.”

Becker’s tone turned darker. “Oh, I used to pray a lot,” he said. “A lot.”

Karen noticed the change and let the topic drop. It was so easy to say the wrong thing with Becker. He could sail through the worst of incidents with his spirits up, joking and buoying those around him in the midst of horrors enough to depress anyone else, but when he looked inward, into what Karen thought of as the rat’s nest of his personal memories and emotions, he could turn sorrowfully ironic in a second. Words took on a double meaning with him then, his frame of reference shifted baroquely, and every sentence uttered by another became to him a referendum on his past.

Karen’s sympathy for him at such times was matched by her growing impatience. The best cure, she had discovered, was to just be quiet. Becker did not enjoy the episodes. He did not relish self-pity, and he willed himself out of it as soon as he could. It was his resilience, in fact, that had most impressed Gold, the Bureau psychiatrist with whom Becker had spent so much time.

“He just refuses to be defeated,” Gold had told Karen. “By his memories or his demons or anything else. Believe me, anyone else would have sunk into clinical depression or psychosis long since. They’ve been tipped over by a lot less than Becker’s had to carry. The concept of the will is not in great favor in my business, but that’s the best way I can think of to explain it. He can’t prevent the flashes of-sorrow, rage, pain-he can’t prevent them from happening, but he seems to be able to shut them down almost immediately by the strength of his will. What you have to remember most of all about Becker, Ms. Crist, is that above all else, John Becker wants to do the right thing. There is a certain kind of person he wants to be, and he keeps willing himself to be that person, despite continual setbacks. We should all come as close to our goals, believe me. He’s a remarkable man.”

Remarkable in other ways, too, Karen thought. Ways that Gold knew nothing about. She reminded herself of that during the moments when his most overriding characteristic seemed to be that of a pain in the ass.

“Another thought,” Becker said, already out of his funk. He tried to keep his eyes focused on the dashboard so he wouldn’t have to watch the traffic that Karen continued to pass with undiminished speed.

“Go ahead.”

“Have you done any investigation of the victims’ backgrounds?”

“The usual. Any relatives who might have taken the boys, any family enemies, that kind of thing.”

“You might try to find out if there’s any history of physical abuse prior to the kidnappings.”

Karen looked at him sharply.

“Why?”

“Studies show that women who have been sexually abused as children are more apt to be rape victims than those who have not. Right?”

“So?”

“So maybe Lamont is picking on those who have been preselected.”

“And he can tell in some way?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

“What are you doing, blaming the victim?” she demanded angrily.

Becker noticed that she slowed the car.

“Some boys might make themselves more available.”

“So they can be beaten to death? Jesus, Becker.”

“I mean they might be more docile. I know I was an awfully good little boy.”

“You, John?”

“I was so good it makes my teeth ache to think about it.”

“Hard to believe.”

“Trust me,“ Becker said dully. “I did everything I was told-but instantly.”

Karen remembered that Gold had said that most of all Becker wanted desperately to be a good man. Still, it was difficult to reconcile the contradictory facts that this man whose reputation within the Bureau for independence was matched only by his reputation for lack of tact had ever been a child trying to curry favor with anyone.

“Why were you like that then, if you’re not that way now?”

“Because I was under the impression that there were rules I could follow that would make me safe-if I could only figure out what they were. I assumed I was being beaten because I was bad and, believe me, I would have done anything to keep it from happening again… There wasn’t anything I could do, but it took me a long time to realize it

… And you?”

“And me what?”

“Weren’t you… Wouldn’t you do anything to keep it from happening again?”

“God damn you, Becker.”

“Didn’t you do exactly what you were told? You kept quiet, you didn’t tell anyone, you were afraid what would happen to your family, you knew no one would believe you, anyway…”

“God damn you! Leave me out of this. You don’t know anything about me, nothing.”

“Who was it, Karen? Your father, your brother, some ‘uncle’… ”

“Just stop it!”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Becker said softly.

“I won’t be linked with you, John. Stop trying to do it.”

“You already are, it’s nothing I’m doing, it’s your past.”

“You’re just guessing, just flailing around in the dark. You want there to be some connection so you’re making it up.”

“I don’t want that kind of connection. I don’t wish it on anybody.”

“You’re doing it with me and I won’t put up with it.” Becker studied the traffic for a moment, allowing Karen to cool down. He tried to estimate whether they had accelerated or slowed without looking at the speedometer. “What kind of child were you?” he asked after a time.

“I was a fucking tomboy, all right? I was a holy terror. I used to chew up the boys and spit them out again.”

“What did you have against the boys?”

“They were jerks. Still are. Gold is better than this, isn’t he?” Karen asked. “He must be.”

“He’s had more practice,” Becker said.

“Why don’t I just go to Gold when I have a psychological problem, then, all right? He doesn’t have anything better to do than listen to agents whine about their parents, but you do, John. You’ve got a case to work on, and so do I, so let’s keep it to that. Okay?”

“This has to do with the case,” Becker said.

“I don’t have to do with the case. My history has nothing to do with it at all. And neither does the history of these boys. They are not asking to be kidnapped and tortured and killed. They are not wearing signs on their forehead saying ‘I am submissive, I have been abused before, come and get it.’ ”

“You’re sure of this?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m positive.”

“Why?”

“How long has it been since you’ve been with a child. John? How long since you spent any time at all with one? Especially a boy.”

“Not since I was one. I guess.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said. “You’re just working on theory, not reality.”

“That’s my exit,” Becker said, glancing back as the sign for Clamden receded in the distance.

“I don’t have time to take you home,” Karen said. “I’ll be late. And besides, it’s time you met a real boy.”