Missing Boy

by Rick Polad

  “It’s for you, Spencer,” Samantha said. It was a cheap intercom system.

  I picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Manning?”

  I didn’t recognize the female voice. “Yes.”

  “This is Barbara Reid.”

  That surprised me. “Yes, Miss Reid.”

  She was obviously nervous. “I really don’t know what to say, but I’d like to talk to you about the… well, what you asked me about.”

  I tried not to sound excited. I needed to find something besides dead bodies. “Go ahead.”

  “Not on the phone.”

  “I can be there in fifteen minutes if you…”

  “No, not here. I’m sure someone is watching.”

  I could hear the fear in her voice. “Then where would you feel comfortable? You can come to my office.”

  “I really don’t know. I feel like we should meet in a bookstore or something.”

  Samantha appeared in my doorway with a questioning look.

  “Whatever you say, Barbara. But I think my office would be fine.”

  “They’re probably watching your office too. They had a meeting last night that…”

  “I know about the meeting. I think you’re safe here with me.”

  She was silent for a minute before answering. “Okay, but what happens when I come home? I don’t feel safe here.”

  I didn’t have to think at all about my next suggestion. “Can you take some time off?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then pack a bag with enough for a week and I’ll get you somewhere safe.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know you. I…”

  “I understand. I’ll do anything you want. But we need to talk.”

  “Where is somewhere safe?”

  “You ever been to Door County?”

  She hadn’t, but she knew about it. I explained about Aunt Rose’s inn. She asked how much it was going to cost and didn’t believe me when I told her it was free. Eventually, she accepted. I thought she must be pretty worried to trust a complete stranger.

  “Would you like me to come and get you?”

  She quickly answered no. “I’m taking a chance just calling you. I don’t really know you’re who you say you are. You could have been sent by them just to test me.”

  Her mind had dug a deep hole.

  “Well, if that’s true, Barbara, you’re already in trouble by making this call. Since you took that chance you might as well trust me.”

  “Okay, but I’ll take a cab. I can be there in an hour. How can I be sure it’s a real office? I might be walking into a trap.”

  I rolled my eyes at Samantha. “Here’s another suggestion. If you’d feel better we can meet at a police station where I’m pretty well known.”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll just come to your office.” She sounded a little less frightened. “Do you have a sign on your office?”

  I started to tell her my name was on the window, but it obviously wasn’t. I explained that it used to be but the glass cracked, and it had to be boarded up. I was sure the truth would have meant the end of our conversation. We hung up with me wondering if she’d really show up.

  From the doorway, Samantha asked, “What the heck was that all about?”

  I briefly explained and told her I’d be gone for a bit. “The glass company is coming sometime this afternoon. Would you stay till they get here?”

  “Of course. I’m looking forward to having something to do.”

  “Great. And the stenciling person is coming tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay.” She hesitated. “Spencer, is it safe here?”

  “Yes. The people who did this are cowards. They’re allergic to daylight.”

  I took care of some case notes while waiting for Barbara. When the phone rang again ten minutes later I worried that Barbara had changed her mind.

  “Spencer, it’s Lieutenant Powolski,” Samantha said.

  I picked up. “Hello lieutenant, a fine day for…”

  “Yeah, can it. I’ve got somethin’ on those names. All of them have a record.”

  The first piece of what I was trying to put together clicked into place. “That’s what I was hoping.”

  “Okay. I’m not gonna ask, but see if you were hoping for this. All of ‘em except for one have the same arresting officer—detective Bringman.”

  “Okay, but lots of people have the same arresting officer.”

  “Uh-huh. Guess who Walters’ partner was.”

  “How many do I get?”

  “None. Come on over tonight and we’ll chat.”

  “I can’t.” I told him about Barbara.

  “Thank goodness for Aunt Rose. It’s like an underground railroad you’ve got going on up there. Be here for breakfast at eight.” He hung up.

  The rest of the hour dragged by with me wondering if any of Barbara’s paranoia was real. I was relieved when a cab pulled up almost exactly an hour later.

  A middle-aged woman who looked like she hadn’t slept in days got out and hesitantly looked at my boarded up window. I met her at the door and took her suitcase. It didn’t look big enough to hold a week’s worth of clothes. She was obviously nervous but seemed to relax a bit when Samantha introduced herself. Her eyes darted around the room.

  I told her we had a six-hour drive and asked if she needed the washroom. She said she didn’t, but I was willing to bet she wouldn’t make it all the way without a stop. My friend Maxine needed two. I was looking forward to seeing Maxine and Aunt Rose. I hadn’t been up to Door County in months.

  I asked if she had let the park know she wouldn’t be in. When she looked flustered, I suggested she call and tell them she was feeling sick and would be off for a few days. I offered the phone in my office.

  We left after I gave Samantha a few more instructions.

  ***

  In the car, Barbara stared straight ahead and held onto her purse with both hands. Short brown hair to just below her jaw framed a thin face with a scar on the left side of her chin. Her jaw was firmly set and I could see muscles in her neck. It was like a face carved in granite. She certainly wasn’t relaxed, but she had no reason to be. I felt sorry for her. If trusting a complete stranger was your best option, your options weren’t that good.

  I had no idea what to talk about. How do you make small talk for six hours with someone you just met who is afraid of her own shadow? I decided to just say what was on my mind.

  As we turned onto the expressway, I said, “So, I’m wondering why you called me.”

  She glanced at me quickly and then looked back to the front. I thought she wasn’t going to answer, but then tears welled up in her eyes.

  “I thought about it a lot, Mr. Manning. I just couldn’t bear it if something bad has happened to those kids.” She paused, turned her head away from me, and wiped her eyes with her fingers.

  I had several questions but thought it best to let her talk at her own pace. But when she didn’t continue, I asked what she knew about the kids.

  After a big sigh, she said, “I work at the Skee Ball booth. There was a boy there named Terrence Jacobs. Nice kid, polite, nice smile. He told me he lived in a foster home with six other kids. It was his fourth since he was eight. Before that he lived in a county home. Over a few weeks we talked about what that was like.” She tensed and stopped again as a car switching lanes cut right in front of me.

  When we both recovered, I asked, “So, how was it?”

  Shaking her head, she said, “Not good. Lots of yelling and anger. Why would anyone take on six kids?”

  “Because they get paid by the kid. It’s not a good system but better than being on the streets.”

  She rolled the window down a bit. “I suppose.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her looking out at the scenery rolling by. She had a strength about her, but also hesitation and fear.

  “So what happened?” I asked.

  “Meyers came up to me one day and told me s
he wanted me to bring Terrence to the little office under the Bobs roller coaster. I asked why and she told me he was going to work on one of the other coasters, the Fireball. That’s every kid’s dream who works there. I was thrilled, and so was Terrence.”

  We merged onto I94 and continued north. I settled back into the right lane.

  “Sounds great,” I said.

  “Yeah, I thought so too. But I stopped at the Fireball the next afternoon and Terrence wasn’t there. Gerry, the fellow who runs it, said he didn’t know any Terrence and no kid had showed up for work.”

  “Maybe it was his day off.”

  “I didn’t think so, but I thought maybe they changed it, so I stopped the next day and the next, but no Terrence. So I went to the police station and asked Mrs. Meyers. What do you think she said?”

  I had a guess. “What?”

  “She didn’t remember any Terrence and said she had never asked me to bring anyone anywhere.”

  That was my guess. “So what did you say?”

  “I told her she was mistaken and wondered what was going on. She told me to mind my own business and that if I continued she’d have to check my file. Then she asked if I had ever had any problems with the police.”

  “And had you?” I knew the answer to that too.

  “Well, yes.” She held her hands tightly together on her lap. “I had some trouble a few years back, but I was let go. The policeman was very nice. He even offered to help me get me the job at Riverview. He said he knew the chief there.”

  Another piece fell into place. “So that’s how you got hired?”

  She nodded. “But Mrs. Meyers said that old case could always be looked into if I didn’t cooperate.”

  “So you cooperated by shutting up?”

  “Yes.” She looked down sheepishly at her hands. “Then a week or so ago we got told about missing kids and that we weren’t supposed to talk to anyone but Walters… and especially not you.”

  “Nice to be special.” I smiled. She didn’t.

  “But I really wondered about Terrence and if something bad had happened to him.”

  We passed the exit to Kenosha and I resisted the urge to head east and take the scenic route along the lake. I had a lot of driving to do before the day was over so I stayed on the expressway.

  “What did you think happened?”

  “I thought he had an accident. They’re really proud of their ‘no accidents’ record and I figured they’d cover it up if something happened. But I figured they’d take care of Terrence. I forgot about it until last night when we had a meeting after work by the carousel.”

  “Yes, I heard about that. What happened?”

  “Walters and Meyers were there but Walters did all the talking. He just told us again not to talk to anyone, especially you, without talking to him first. And he made it seem like we were all being watched.” She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it away from the side of her face. “He doesn’t like you.”

  I smiled. If someone doesn’t like you, you’re doing something right. “I got that impression. Was that all he said?”

  “It was going to be, but then someone asked about Benny, the guy who died in the Tunnel of Love.” She tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Walters seemed flustered. He said the police had looked into it and not found anything so it must have been an accident.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe. But it’s probably not going to be anything Walters has to say.”

  “Probably a wise choice.” I passed a semi and slowed down to sixty-five.

  “Do you mind if I ask you some questions, Mr. Manning?”

  “Not at all.”

  Turning sideways in the bucket seat, she asked, “You said you knew about the meeting. How did you know?”

  I was impressed. She had paid attention. But I also felt put on the spot. I wasn’t sure I wanted to share that information, but I also realized that if I wanted to keep her at ease I couldn’t appear to be hiding anything.

  “I’ve been chatting with a few people at the park… one in particular.”

  She nodded slowly. “Yes, I know. Harvey.”

  I tried to hide my surprise.

  She laughed. “Not many secrets there. Word spreads fast.”

  As we approached Racine, a food sign caught my attention.

  “Are you hungry?”

  She was.

  I pulled off 94 and into a McDonald’s. She suggested we go through the drive-through and eat in the car. We picked up a chicken sandwich for her, hold the mayo, and two cheeseburgers and fries for me.

  As I handed her the bag of food, she said, “Do you know that Harvey is Mrs. Meyers’ cousin?”

  It was a good thing she had a grip on the bag because I would have dropped it.

  We were back on the expressway in three minutes. Four hours to go.

  Chapter 27

  After we got the food arranged, fries between my legs and Barbara in charge of the drinks, she said, “I’m guessing your answer is no.”

  “Correct. How do you know that?”

  “The place is a great gossip factory. Like all gossip, you have to weed through what’s true… but that is. I take it he didn’t mention that.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  We finished eating in silence, but my thoughts were racing. Cousins! This threw a whole new wrinkle into whether or not I trusted Harvey. But since he hadn’t told me, he would have no reason to think I knew, so I could just keep playing it like I trusted him. This certainly increased the chances that he was a stooge for Walters and Meyers.

  After Barbara collected the trash, I spoke. “You said you have questions… you’ve only asked one.”

  I noticed that she had relaxed since getting into the car. I could no longer see her neck muscles.

  “Okay. How did you get involved in this?”

  I explained about Martin and gave her some background about Johnny and the Blue Note. Talking about jazz for a few minutes relieved some more tension. She was a John Coltrane fan and suggested that Giant Steps was the best jazz album ever made. I said she’d get some arguments from Miles Davis fans who swore by Kind of Blue. We agreed to make it a toss-up.

  “So you’re working for Mr. Ray?”

  I laughed. “Well, working isn’t quite the right word. That implies pay. But if I heard about this I’d probably be involved even if I hadn’t been asked. I played Don Quixote in Man of La Mancha in high school.”

  She laughed. “Knight in shining armor, eh?”

  “Well, a bit tarnished perhaps.”

  We were silent for a few minutes.

  “Do you think Benny’s death is connected to the kids?”

  Rule number three—pay attention to coincidences... they usually aren’t. “I’d be very surprised if it wasn’t. That happened after I started asking questions.” I decided not to tell her about Gertrude and Harold. That would only scare her. As I started to tell her more, I looked over and she was asleep with her head back on the rest and her mouth slightly open. I figured she hadn’t had much sleep lately and was happy she dozed off… I needed to think about what was going on.

  My dad had a list of rules and each one had a number. When I was a kid I thought he was just making up numbers as he told me the rule. But after I started paying attention, I remembered the rules and they always had the same numbers. I asked him for a list and he told me the list was in his head. There were over twenty, but I only remembered the ones that had the most significance for me. And I had added some to the list.

  ***

  Barbara woke up with a start as we crossed over the canal at Sturgeon Bay and entered the peninsula of upper Door County. Only a half hour left.

  “Well, you had a nice nap.”

  She glanced at the clock. “I guess so.” Looking out at the rolling farm land, she said, “This is lovely.”

  I agreed. “Wait till you see the inn.”

  “When will we be there?�
� she asked as she stretched.

  “About a half hour.”

  She nodded. “I have another question, Mr. Manning.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you ask if you call me Spencer.”

  She looked concerned. “Do you… are you…?”

  That much hesitation between two relative strangers usually meant something personal, like are you married or do you kiss on the first date. “Try just spitting it out.”

  She took a deep breath. “Do you have a gun?”

  That surprised me. “I do.”

  “With you?”

  “Yes.” It was in the glove box but I didn’t want to tell her that.

  “Do you think it’s necessary?”

  I smiled. “Well, I’ve tried saying bang but it just doesn’t have the same effect.”

  She just stared out the window, leaving me wondering why she had asked, and why my wit had fallen flat. I finally asked.

  “Just wondering. I guess I wanted to know how serious this all is. Must be pretty serious.”

  I took a left fork and continued on Highway 42 toward the west side of the peninsula and Green Bay. “I think it’s serious, and so do you—you were a prisoner in your own house.”

  She nodded quickly. “Are you a good shot?”

  “Yes. If it’s me or the other guy, the one on the ground will be the other guy.” I was hoping that would make her feel better. “But I don’t like to carry a gun. I rarely do.”

  “What kind do you have?”

  Talking with her about guns made me uneasy, but I decided to answer. She must have been asking to make herself feel better.

  “I have several. I have a Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum, a Smith and Wesson snub-nose .38, and a 9mm Glock.”

  “Why all the guns?”

  “Do you know anything about guns?”

  “I know they kill people.”

  “Well, we could argue that point, but remember my statement about me or the other guy.”

  “So why all the guns?”

  I took a deep breath. “Well, the .357 is heavy but it’ll shoot through a brick wall. I mostly have it because it’s a showpiece… blued-steel barrel and engraved grip. It was my dad’s. The other two are working guns.”

  “Why two?”

  “Because sometimes two are better than one.”