Prayer for the Dead jb-1

by David Wiltse

  “I won’t.”

  “Because I think we have to talk,” said Dyce.

  She smiled at him, then lowered her eyes. When she looked up, he had gone. Realizing the chair was a mistake because it would not allow him to sit beside her, Helen transferred to the sofa. Like all the other furniture in the room, it was heavy and old, as if it had come from a different age. She sank into it and caught a whiff of mildew. The living room itself was the dumpiest thing she had ever seen, Helen thought. The curtains looked as if they’d been made by hand by somebody’s grandmother. There was practically no light in the room, and what was that thing with the white silk on it, some kind of altar? And the smell! No wonder he was burning incense, although she wondered if that might not go with the altar in some way, too. She hoped he wasn’t religious in some obsessional way. She could deal with it if he was because she had been that way for a time herself She understood it, but the memory of her days in the commune still rankled, and she didn’t want to be reminded if she could help it. God was all right; it was the people that troubled Helen.

  Impatiently she got to her feet and made a circuit of the living room. A little light would do wonders, she decided. Preferably sunlight. The cobwebs on the ceiling caught her attention. She wondered if smoke from the incense turned them that black. At least he seemed to be clean in his personal hygiene. Had he decided to finish his shower? The water was still running. How long could it take to turn it off?

  Pausing by the foyer entrance, Helen thought of extinguishing the fire under the rattling pot on the stove. What could require such a violent, prolonged boiling? Was that the source of the stench? It was all she could do to keep herself from going into the kitchen and taking charge.

  The bathroom was filled with mist and the mirror was filmed over so that Dyce could not see his reflection. He wanted to know how he looked, what she might have seen. His brain was careening; he could not think clearly what to do. How much did she know? Did she know anything? Why was she here, could he believe her reasons, was there something else, what had he left visible in the living room? And if she did see anything, what conclusions could she reach? It all seemed an impossible maze. He needed time to think.

  After a few minutes, Dyce remembered to turn off the shower. He pulled the shower curtain closed, put down the toilet seat, and sat on the toilet. The mist settled on his cool skin and soon rivulets of water ran down his face and his naked legs, but he did not notice.

  It did not occur to him to kill her. Dyce did not think of himself as such a person. He was not a man of violence. The things he did with the men were not done from malice or panic or ill will of any sort. He did them because they needed to be done, but that was only one small segment of his life and certainly not the dominant part of his personality. That was not the way he lived his life, for heaven’s sake. It was not the way he would solve his problems. He would have thought less of himself if he did.

  Helen could contain herself no longer. The noise from the pan lid in the kitchen was driving her crazy and was probably dangerous. Fires could get started that way. She was doing him a service. Helen went into the kitchen. It was the largest pot she had ever seen in a home.

  Fire had blackened the aluminum halfway up the sides, and the carbon was thick enough to scrape off with the edge of a spoon. Two burners were going at high flame underneath the pot, and scum and foam were pushing at the lid and oozing from underneath it. The bubbles of scum came out rhythmically, like gulps or gasps for air that were cut short by the weight of the lid bearing down again. Some of the foam would drift down the side of the pot to meet the flames and then vanish in an angry sizzle of steam as the fire emitted momentary sparks of yellow and green. The smell of it was horrible.

  Helen reached for the burner but turned, frightened, as she realized someone was behind her.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. “You frightened me!”

  “Don’t turn it off,” Dyce said.

  “It’s boiling over. It will be ruined.”

  “It won’t be ruined,” he said.

  “What on earth are you making?”

  Dyce took her by the hand and led her from the kitchen.

  “It’s not important,” he said. He preceded her to the couch, still holding her hand, then sat, pulling her gently down beside him. His manner had changed dramatically. For the only time since Helen had known him, he appeared to be in charge of things. She definitely felt he was in charge of her. Wonderfully, masterfully in control.

  “I was just trying to help,” she said.

  “I understand,” he said calmly. He sat facing her, one leg draped over the other and resting on the floor. Helen realized that he had put on pajama bottoms. but his torso was still bare beneath the robe. The skin of his chest was smooth and hairless.

  “Tell me what brought you here,” he said.

  Helen pulled her knees up under her. She felt so comfortable with him when he spoke to her like this. So secure. She was his, if only he knew it. Helen was glad the lights were dim because she had applied the purple eye shadow during her frantic phase and she thought she might have overdone it.

  “I wondered at first if you knew who I was,” she said. “I mean, seeing me out of context, sort of Without my uniform.” She was wearing her robin’s egg blue blouse with the scoop neck that accentuated her cleavage. She could see his eyes wander to the edge of the neckline. She leaned forward, revealing just a bit more of her flesh.

  “I knew you… Helen. My mind was elsewhere for a while, that’s all.”

  “I understand,” she said. “You weren’t expecting me.”

  “In a way, I think I was,” he said.

  His arm was resting atop the back of the sofa. With a show of pushing the hair from her face, Helen moved her own arm to the sofa back and let her hand come to rest inches from his fingertips.

  “I’ve been thinking about this afternoon, so much,” she said. “So much.”

  Dyce moved his fingers the few inches until they touched the tips of hers. Helen could feel the electricity of it. She gasped slightly, then laughed nervously.

  Dyce smiled at her again with that peculiar smile. His eyes were alive with a life of their own.

  Chapter 5

  She just started talking on the telephone, assuming she would be recognized. It was one of Becker’s pet peeves and he played with the notion of asking who the hell she was. There was no particular reason for him to recognize her voice-but he did. And how had she known he would? Or did she usually start like this, as if she were always in mid-conversation?

  “I’ve been trying to reach you for the past day and a half I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. I was in Washington, yesterday.”

  “Really? Washington?”

  She paused, waiting for him to explain, which also annoyed Becker. “I went there to see a shrink.”

  “That’s a long way for a shrink.”

  “He’s a special shrink.”

  “Does that mean you’re a special guy, or that you’re especially screwed up?” She had seemed so sympathetic when he was dangling upside down on a rope. Maybe that brought out the best in people. On the other hand, she had taken the trouble to find out how he was feeling. Nosy but concerned. Not the worst trade-off, he thought.

  “It means I’m screwed up in a special way. How about you?”

  “Just the usual way, I suppose, but I’m kind of proud of it.”

  “Let me guess,” he said. “Does it have to do with the way you relate to other people and your feelings of guilt and aggression and codependency and your inability to form a truly lasting bond with another human being?”

  “No. My fear of heights. Alan and I are going up again today. I just thought I’d let you know if you wanted to join us.”

  “I got the impression last time that Alan was a little annoyed that I spoiled the party.”

  “Alan was just upset because during your three minutes of crisis he wasn’t the center of attent
ion. We’re starting around two so the sun won’t be in our eyes. Okay?”

  “If I’m not there, start without me.”

  “We will.” She hung up without saying good-bye. Another thing that annoyed Becker.

  Alan had found a new route that obliged him to hang upside down for a distance of five feet before restoring himself to the merely vertical. Going straight up at ninety degrees was bad enough, but one hundred twenty seemed to be pushing beyond stupidity into lunacy. Becker was not even sure that a fly could handle an outcropping like the one Alan was negotiating as Becker arrived. Cindi was halfway up the rockface, spread-eagled against the stone as if she’d been staked out for torture, but calmly watching Alan perform. Becker was relieved to see Tee’s cop car parked alongside the highway; if he talked to Tee long enough maybe Cindi and Alan would get to the top and Becker could tackle the more conventional route up. If he went up at all. His bones ached just thinking about it.

  As he approached Tee, Becker realized there was someone else in the car.

  “Mick Seeger’s wife,” Tee said with a great show of innocence.

  “Oh, subtle. Widows and orphans.”

  “I didn’t know you’d be here, did I? We were just passing by. I saw your friend hanging up there like a chandelier; it’s free entertainment, and I don’t know how it’s going to come out. I didn’t think you’d be here after that spill.”

  “Uh-huh. How long have you been waiting?”

  “Just got here. Swear to God, John…”

  “Good thing God isn’t listening to you anymore. Tee. You’d be in big trouble.”

  “Laurie, come on out here and say hello to John Becker. John’s the man I was telling you about.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. Becker. Thank you so much.”

  She was about Cindi’s age, maybe a year or two younger, but she seemed to be from a different generation, one in which innocence still existed. Mick Seeger had married a baby, thought Becker.

  “I’ve been so worried, I just can’t tell you. Mickey and I haven’t been apart for even a day since we got married and now…”

  Her face quivered with the effort to keep from crying. Becker thought she was the kind of woman for whom tears were never very far away.

  Becker looked angrily at Tee, but the policeman was innocently watching the climbers.

  “Tee tells me you’re so good at it,” Laurie said.

  “Tee doesn’t really know what he’s talking about.”

  She laughed, as if the notion of Tee not knowing everything were hilarious. So young, Becker thought. Married, a mother, and so young.

  “Have you been watching these climbers long?”

  “Not long,” Tee said quickly.

  “Only about twenty minutes,” said Laurie. “Tee said you’d be here soon.”

  “I was driving Laurie to the gynecologist. My wife and I didn’t think she should be alone at a time like this.”

  “Nothing wrong at the doctor’s, I hope,” Becker said, knowing he shouldn’t.

  Laurie looked shyly away. “No,” she said.

  “Laurie’s pregnant again,” Tee offered happily, watching Becker.

  Becker rolled his eyes to the sky. It was bad enough being manipulated, but Tee was so clumsy at it he made Becker feel like a puppet with some strings broken. Tee was tugging like crazy at the ones that remained.

  “Oh, I wish you hadn’t told him. Tee,” Laurie said. “I wanted Mickey to be the first to hear the good news.”

  “Sorry, honey,” said Tee. “But Mickey will be just as happy to hear it.”

  She started to cry again. “I just hope he isn’t hurt. If he doesn’t want to be with me anymore, I can… I just can’t stand the idea of him being hurt somewhere.”

  “I’m sure he’s okay, Laurie,” said Tee.

  “Maybe he just lost his memory. That happens, doesn’t it? People just forget who they are for a while? Doesn’t that happen, Mr. Becker?”

  Not in my experience, Becker thought, not that he cared to share that with Laurie, particularly given her condition.

  “That happens sometimes,” he said.

  “Do you think it will take you a long time to find him?”

  “That depends on Tee.”

  “On Tee?”

  “He hasn’t given me the records I need to get started,” said Becker. “Tee-ee!”

  “They’re in the car,” said Tee, grinning and opening the back door of the sedan.

  Laurie touched Becker’s arm. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said.

  “I haven’t really done anything. I may not be able to.”

  “You will, I know you will. Tee says you’re the very best there is.”

  “It isn’t a good idea to believe absolutely everything Tee tells you.”

  Laurie strained up on tiptoes and kissed Becker on the cheek.

  “Thank you, Mr. Becker. Thank you.” She was crying again as she got into the car.

  Tee tucked a file folder into Becker’s hands but avoided his eyes. “I’ll call you,” said Tee.

  “No. You won’t. You’ll leave me the fuck alone until I contact you. In fact, you’d better give me plenty of room for quite some time. Tee.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Yeah, you got me, but I don’t like the way you did it.”

  “I understand,” said Tee. “You’re a good man, John.”

  No, thought Becker as Tee’s police car pulled away. No, I’m not, which is why I couldn’t tell that child I wouldn’t do it. Maybe a good man could have been honest enough to break her heart. But a bad man could not take that chance, Becker thought. It would be entirely too revealing.

  Alan had reached the top of the palisade and now Cindi was creeping her way under the overhang. For a moment her face was turned directly toward Becker and he thought she smiled at him. With a movement, he realized it was a grimace. Even an expert was struggling against her fear on this particular route.

  Becker felt the file folder in his hand and was suddenly glad for it. At least it was something he could handle. I’m like an alcoholic with a bottle in front of me, Becker thought. Sure, it will kill me, but at least it’s something I know how to do.

  He waited until Cindi had pulled herself around the overhang and was pressed safely-or as safely as her ego would allow-against the vertical face before driving off.

  The contents of the file were spread across the dining room floor in a semicircle around Becker’s chair so he could see them all by twisting his head. The dining table was littered with more papers and scraps of scribbled notes surrounding the computer and its terminal.

  “Technically, that’s police property,” said Tee, gesturing at the strewn files. “So?”

  Becker was bringing his aging computer to life. The seconds it took to perform its more complex functions had come to seem interminable to Becker.

  Tee was standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen, drinking a beer he had taken without comment from the refrigerator. It was a bottle from the same six-pack he had brought to Becker’s house two days before. Leaving beer and finding it untouched later was something novel in Tee’s experience.

  “So you should treat them with respect.”

  “I give them all the respect they deserve. It’s pretty slack work, Tee.”

  “We don’t have the Bureau standards in Clamden.”

  “No, you don’t. I spent the last two days running around and filling in the gaps.”

  “Sorry. I spent the last two days holding Laurie’s hand and maintaining law and order.”

  The computer signaled its readiness and Becker gave it new instructions. The screen filled with columns.

  “How do you get it to do that?” Tee asked. “Do they sell a missing-persons software?”

  “I programmed it myself”

  “You did? Jesus. How do you know how to do that?”

  “What age are you living in, Tee?”

  “The Iron Age, isn’t it? I don’t know how to smelt ore, though.
Fortunately, you do. Did you find out anything?”

  “Would I ask you over for social reasons?”

  “My wife has been asking me the same thing. About you, I mean. She thinks you don’t love us enough. You’ve got the house, you’ve got the refrigerator. Why don’t you entertain? Why not have friends over, Gloria wants to know.”

  “I have no friends.”

  “You’ve got at least one.”

  “And he takes advantage of me.”

  “I meant the human fly, what’s her name, Cindi. I ran into her in the Crossroads the other night. She asked about you.”

  “The Crossroads?”

  “A restaurant, bar, whatever. It’s where you single people go to arrange your nasty liaisons.”

  “I know what it is. What were you doing there?”

  “Official drinking. She’s gorgeous, you know, if you take her out of her climbing gear-and wouldn’t I like to. She was asking lots of questions about you: Are you married, why not, what are your sexual preferences, how do you spell that-that sort of thing.”

  “What is it about marriage that makes you so horny. Tee? They have an operation that will cure that problem right up, you know. Your local vet could probably take care of it for you.”

  “I don’t think so. My local vet’s a man.” Tee drained the beer and crushed the can in his hand.

  “Whew,” said Becker. “How do you do that?”

  “Scary, isn’t it?”

  “Now, Chief, if your testosterone level has settled down, tell me about Mick. Did he fool around, too?”

  “I don’t really fool around. I just want to. No, he didn’t. Not that I know of”

  “Would you know?”

  “I think so. We talked a lot.”

  “At the Crossroads?”

  “Yeah, some. I’d see him there sometimes, having a beer after work, you know. He’d be at the bar, though. He wasn’t off in a corner with a girl.”

  “That’s the last place he was seen before he disappeared.”

  “I know. Nothing unusual about his being there, though.”

  “There was nothing unusual about him at all,” said Becker. He pointed to the screen. “There was nothing unusual about most of them. At least not at first glance. Or second glance, either. You’ve got to study it for a while. First of all, it’s not fifteen men missing in four years. Not for our purposes. Under normal circumstances in a population of one hundred thousand in this kind of New England situation- non-isolated, small communities, close to major cities-you’d lose five or six in four years. Running out on their wives, skipping out to avoid alimony and child support, just starting over, whatever. So what we have is an aberration of nine or ten disappearances, not fifteen. The question is which nine or ten are unusual, which of them make a pattern. You can’t begin until you see a pattern. So I had the computer try to eliminate the five or six normal disappearances for me, and it went at it a number of ways; annual income, marital status, number of kids, type of work, age, place last seen, you name it. It took awhile because I ran out of questions to ask the computer. Then it took awhile longer because I had to find out more about the missing men, which meant interviewing a lot of people.”