The Lost

by Jack Ketchum

  “Come on. You can tell me.”

  “You said I wasn’t in any trouble.”

  “You’re not. I’m not after you. It’s Ray I’m after. You never heard that from me but it’s the truth. I want to know what you and Jennifer Fitch know. Once I’m finished here I’m going to ask her.”

  “I’m not dealing any drugs.”

  “You’re not? Does that mean you don’t mind if I check your room? You mind inviting me upstairs?”.

  “You can’t make me do that.”

  “Are you sleeping with Jennifer too, Tim?”

  “That’s none of your business!”

  “Okay, fine. That about answers that question. But the other question is, how’s Ray taking it? Does he even know about you two?”

  He’d gotten lucky all right.

  “Look, Mr. Schilling . . .”

  “Detective Schilling. See Tim, what worries me is that it seems to me that Ray’s a pretty possessive guy, also that he’s pretty concerned about appearances. That big shiny convertible, those fancy boots—hell, they’re polished so high I could shave in them—that slicked-back hair. I think he worries a lot about what people think. Don’t you? And I know he’s got a temper.”

  He was fishing on that because Ray had never shown him much in the way of temper, not even when he busted the party. But he knew he was dead on the money. Ray would have to have a temper. You couldn’t be wound that tight without one.

  And Tim was listening.

  He didn’t like to do it but it was time to go for the throat with him.

  “I also know he killed those girls, Tim. And I think that you do too. So what worries me and it worries me bad is what a guy like him would do if he found out about you two, if he knew. Like if somebody were to tell him. See, I’m worried about what he’d do to you and Jennifer. Don’t you think that’s something you should be worrying about, too? I mean, I sure as hell know I would. On the other hand, I put him away for the killings, he can’t do anything to anybody.”

  The boy just stared at him openmouthed. Then he shook his head as though trying to remember something that wouldn’t come.

  “Look, Detective Schilling, I don’t . . .”

  “Tim. Look. Here’s my card. You think about this thing and call me. Remember it’s not you I’m looking to nail. Or Jennifer. I will if I have to. I’ve got to be honest with you about that. But I like your mom and dad. I’ve known them both for years. I wouldn’t touch you for dope or anything else unless I absolutely had to. I just want to know what you know. I think it’s to your advantage to tell me.”

  He stood. The boy’s eyes locked into his own. He could tell he’d got him thinking. Schilling turned and walked back into the kitchen. He saw two very worried parents sitting over coffee mugs at the kitchen table. He smiled.

  “Talk’s over, folks. Tim’s been very helpful and I want to thank you for the privacy. I appreciate it. Clara, it’s nice to see you. And Lenny, remember what I said about that kitchen cabinet, will you? The damn thing’s going to fall off and break my toe one of these days.”

  “Sure, Charlie.”

  “Give me a call and we’ll set a time. Thanks again.”

  He turned and walked back into the living room and nodded at Tim, still sitting on the couch and let himself out the door.

  It wasn’t something you could feel good about, putting the kid in this position. But the pot was stirring.

  He fielded their questions with a simple lie. That Detective Schilling had asked him not to speak about it.

  They couldn’t argue with that. Not unless they actually talked to the guy and found out it was a lie. Until then they’d leave it be.

  Upstairs in his room he tried Jennifer’s number but all he got was Mrs. Griffith again saying she wasn’t home and no, she didn’t know where she was. Maybe it was true and maybe it wasn’t. For once he hoped it was. Then Schilling couldn’t get to her before Tim did. He told Mrs. Griffith that it was important, to please have her call as soon as she got in, that it was urgent. He’d never even used the word before.

  She might be over at Ray’s. He didn’t know whether to try to phone her there or not. What could he say to her with Ray around anyway? He knew Ray was expecting a call from him. He’d picked up another block of hash today over at the post office. He’d want to know it had come through okay. Tim hadn’t even gotten around to shaving it yet.

  He’d been just about to do that when his dad knocked at the door. It was sitting unwrapped on the bed right out in plain sight with his dad’s fucking razor blade lying next to it and when he heard the knock he’d almost shit. Then Schilling asks to come up and take a look around.

  Jesus!

  Their conversation kept looping around in his head.

  What if somebody tells him? Schilling had said.

  Was that some kind of threat?

  Was he saying that he, Schilling, might tell him? Would even a cop stoop to that?

  But he was right about Ray’s temper. And Tim was a little worried what Ray might do if he found out. It had nagged at him ever since they’d slept together. Wanting so much for it to happen again, that had just overcome the worry, that was all. He told himself that Ray didn’t seem to care so much about Jennifer anymore since Katherine came into the picture. Katherine was all Ray talked about. He told himself Ray would figure it was no big deal.

  But Ray had this thing about holding on to what was his. However much or however little he really wanted it.

  What would he do?

  Everything seemed all mixed up inside him now about Jennifer. He still wanted it to happen again with her but now he had to be worried about it happening again because that increased the odds that Ray would pick up on something.

  It wasn’t fucking fair.

  What if somebody tells him?

  She could easily be at Ray’s. He could phone there, report on the hash, ask to talk to her. But for what reason? And then what would he say to her with Ray standing right there listening?

  There was just no way to do this right. He couldn’t even drive over to her place and wait for her to come home. For all he knew she was home. And there was no way for him to ask to borrow his dad’s pickup or his mother’s car anyway. Not so soon after some mysterious conversation with a cop. They’d want to know where and why. They weren’t stupid.

  He just had to wait. Hope she really wasn’t home. That Schilling would miss her and have to try again tomorrow.

  It wasn’t fair. He hated this.

  Come on, Jennifer. Call me.

  Schilling got the address from the dispatcher, 362 Poplar Avenue. A twenty-minute ride a third of the way around the lake through stands of fur and pine and middle-class residences that were one cut up from the Bess place. Not yet into the luxury of the hills or lakeside but nicer. It had been a long hard winter and the road around here still needed lots of patching. He drove around potholes and rehearsed what he’d say to the Griffiths.

  But the Griffiths weren’t there. Jennifer opened the door herself. They’d gone to the movies, she said, the eight o’clock show over in Hopatcong. It was what they always did on Saturday nights.

  An old married couple who still regularly dated. How about that.

  She let him in.

  He sat in his second overstuffed armchair of the evening while she sat rigid on a wooden one, her hands clasped tight in her lap. He noticed the ring on the middle finger of her left hand. A bright, clear stone in a gold setting. Somewhat at odds with the T-shirt, jeans and scuffed leather sandals.

  She looked far more composed and adult than Tim had. He got right to it.

  “I think you’re living dangerously, Jennifer.”

  “What?”

  He sighed. “Four years ago my partner Ed Anderson interviewed you in connection with Ray Pye and his possible involvement in the shooting of Lisa Steiner and Elise Hanlon. You told him that you and Ray were friends, you knew him from school, that he seemed like an okay guy but you didn’t really know him
all that well. You remember any of this?”

  “A little. It was a long time ago.”

  “You told him that the night of the shooting you were here, alone in your room watching television.”

  “That I remember.”

  “Why?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why do you remember it?”

  “I don’t know. I just do.”

  “Okay, let’s say you do and you were. But why did you lie to him about the other thing?”

  “What other thing?”

  “You were already sleeping with Ray, right?”

  “I was not.”

  “Sure you were.” He smiled.

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Tim Bess doesn’t think so. He says you were.”

  “That’s not true. Tim wouldn’t say that.”

  “He also says you’re sleeping with him now.”

  “Jesus! I slept with Tim once!”

  “Once counts, doesn’t it? But the thing is, Jennifer, Tim told me you’d slept with him. So why would he lie about you and Ray? Doesn’t exactly make him look good, having to share you with his best buddy. Why would he lie?”

  She was halfway out of her chair by now, starting to protest, looking for the words. Schilling cut her off with a gesture.

  “Jennifer, listen, I’m not here to hassle you. I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Tim. I know about Ray. I know he deals dope. I know he’s dangerous. I think he’s killed people. I think you know more about Steiner/Hanlon than you’re letting on. And I suggest you think it over and tell me what you do know. Because you’re playing with fire messing around with Ray. That’s all I have to say to you. Call me. Think it over and phone me. But do it soon.”

  He stood up and handed her his card.

  “Nice crystal,” he said. “Ray give it to you?”

  “It’s . . . it’s a diamond.”

  He smiled. “Nah. Austrian crystal. Fairly high-quality cut glass. My grandfather was a jeweler. Try hitting it with a hammer. Glass shatters. Pretty, though. So maybe you better not.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Jennifer

  The first thing she did when it was possible to unglue herself from her chair was phone Tim. He picked up on the first ring.

  “Jennifer, thank god.”

  “Jesus Christ, Tim. What did you tell him?”

  “Shit, he was already there?”

  “Yes, he was already here! What the hell did you say to him?”

  “Nothing. He just . . .”

  “You didn’t tell him I fucked you, Timmy? You didn’t tell him I was fucking Ray?”

  She was so furious with him she was trembling. She could almost hear him wince on the other end of the line.

  “I’m trying to tell you, Jen. I didn’t say anything to him. He just guessed! He comes over here, he throws all these questions at me, about you, about Ray, about me, are we dealing dope, who’s fucking who. It’s like he knew everything already. I didn’t have to tell him. I tried to warn you, for godsakes. I called you and Mrs. Griffith said you weren’t there.”

  She sighed. It was impossible not to believe him. She was afraid to ask the next question but she knew she needed to ask, she couldn’t stand to feel alone about this.

  “Did he say anything . . . you know . . . about those two girls to you?”

  “Yeah, jesus, he said he knew Ray did it. Just like that. Isn’t that some kind of fucking slander or something? And he said we’d better watch it, me and you, or he’d wind up doing the same thing to us.”

  “That’s total bullshit.”

  “Yeah. Sure it is. I dunno, though. I mean, maybe we should think about it a little. What would Ray do? If he found out about us, I mean.”

  “He’d be mad. He’d be mad as hell. But he’d get over it. It was only just the one time. You’re his best friend, for godsakes.”

  “I guess.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  “Did he seem to know . . . I mean, that the two of us, you and me . . . jesus! that we were with him that night?”

  “No. I don’t think so. Man, I gave that a lot of thought. Just that we probably knew something. Like maybe something Ray told us ’cause we were his friends and all. Something we weren’t telling.”

  Thank god for that much, she thought. There was a pause, both of them considering. It was Tim who broke it.

  “So how come you won’t talk to me, Jen? How come they keep saying you’re not home every time I call you? I know you’ve been there. I thought it was nice, what we did. I thought you thought so too.”

  She’d known it was coming. She guessed it had to sooner or later.

  “It was nice, Tim. But see, it can only be that one time, you know? I didn’t want to get your hopes up that it would be anything more than that. I mean, I’m still with Ray.”

  “I don’t get it. Why? What in the hell has Ray done for you lately? All he does is give you shit all the time. I’m the one who’s got . . . I’m the one who’s got feelings for you. Ray’s all weirded-out over Katherine.”

  “Katherine’s just another one of his flings. My god, he’s had a dozen Katherines! It’s me he always comes back to. You know that, Tim. I’m still his number one. Nothing changes that.”

  “How do you know? This thing with Katherine Wallace looks pretty damn serious from where I’m standing, I gotta tell you.”

  She almost couldn’t believe what she was hearing. That Tim would take it this far. That he was willing to betray Ray this way. He’d never done anything like it in the past. She couldn’t believe he ever would. But she had to be patient with him.

  “Tim, is Katherine Wallace wearing his ring?”

  “Hell, I dunno. Why? What’d he do, give you a ring?”

  “Yes, Tim. He gave it to me Wednesday night.”

  “Jennifer, I hate to tell you, he’s got a drawer full of rings. He showed me. He’s given out half a dozen of the damn things. Some diamondlike thing? They’re fake, for chrissake!”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  But she already did. He was just affirming what Schilling said. She felt her face flush. Her heart was pounding.

  He sighed. And then his voice went all sad and lost-sounding. “I wish you did believe me, Jen,” he said. “About everything. Not just Ray. But about you and me. I just wish you did.”

  And then he did something else he’d never done before.

  He hung up on her.

  She replaced the receiver and looked at the ring, turned it between her fingers. She felt like crying but she couldn’t cry. All she could do was turn the ring and turn it again, the feel of it already familiar and comforting to her. She walked into the kitchen and poured some dish detergent on her finger and turned the ring some more and removed it over the knuckle and rinsed her finger.

  In the utility drawer next to the refrigerator she found an old claw hammer amid the pliers and screwdrivers and batteries and she took it out and closed the drawer. She set the ring on the Formica counter next to the sink and covered it with a frayed white dish towel and raised the hammer and brought it down and removed the towel.

  And looked at the ring. And then she did cry.

  It was one-thirty in the morning when she drove the Griffith’s car through the winding streets down to the lake. She parked in the lot of Tony’s Fish and Bait Shop, dark now and closed and walked down to the pier and sat down at the end of it. She could feel the rough gray weathered wood beneath her jeans. The night was cool with the wind off the water and she hadn’t brought a sweater. She sat with one arm wrapped around in front of her, cupping her elbow tight against the breeze and smoked a Viceroy, one of two she’d taken from Mrs. Griffith’s pack on the coffee table.

  How weird, she thought. The lake is so beautiful and we hardly ever use it. Tourists use it. Little kids use it like we used to once but now we hardly ever do. Like the lake would have to be a novelty, something fresh and new the way it would be to some tourist or you’d have to have the innocence
of a little kid to bother. She felt stupidly old and tired and wasted. Wasted even more than when she was drunk or stoned. She stared out at the water, starlight glinting on the waves and black and deep beneath and wondered who was out there if anybody was out there at this hour, sitting on a dock like she was across the distant shore.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Katherine

  Such a strange thing watching her father. So strange the choices people make and why they make them. She’d known all this week now why he’d never gotten involved with another woman. Never even so much as dated. He still loved her mother after all these years, loved her deeply. Loved her crazy or not. It was simple as that. It had never even occurred to her that he might. But then it had never occurred to her that she might either, that it was possible to love the person someone once had been while hating and even fearing what that person had become. It was as though the mother she loved had been trapped inside Katherine all this time just as her mother was trapped inside the insanity, a pair of flies in amber.

  Strange too to be doing all these things for him. She’d arranged for Etta to come in tomorrow morning but tonight it was she who made him dinner, a salad and spaghetti in red sauce and she who served it and cleaned up afterwards and earlier, she who poured him the unaccustomed glass of single-malt whiskey, who sorted through the stack of mail, opened the windows to let some air in, cleaned a week’s worth of dust off the kitchen table and counter. He stayed mostly in his study with the door closed. Whether he was working in there or not she didn’t know but did not disturb him except to call him to dinner. Afterwards they watched TV until ten. He got up and kissed her on the cheek and smiled and said he was going up to bed. They both were drained and exhausted. She lingered in the flickering light until the news came on at eleven. She didn’t care to watch the usual parade of wars, crimes and politics, the smirking talking heads. Not tonight.

  She went upstairs to her own bed and sat there staring at the phone.

  The phone felt like the enemy.

  What to tell him. How to handle Ray.

  There was no denying she had to handle him one way or another, and do it right away. He’d already called once in the middle of dinner. She’d had to promise him yet again that she’d call him. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t put it past him to come over for a visit in the middle of the night. The guy was starting to sound obsessive, that was the only word for it and obsessive from him was a little scary.