“It’s just—it’s just—” She gasped, struggling to catch her breath. “It took us so long to get a child. We went through such hell. If something happens to Abie—I don’t think I could bear it. I don’t think I could go on living. I don’t think I’d want to live.”
Gabrielle interrupted. “Mr. Rutherford?”
Rutherford looked at the maid crossly. “Not now, Gabrielle.”
“But, Mr. Rutherford—”
“And for God’s sake, get off the phone. We’re expecting a very important phone call.”
“But, Mr. Rutherford—”
“Gabrielle, I gave you an order and—”
“But, Mr. Rutherford!” she shouted. “It’s about Abie!”
The room fell deathly quiet.
“What about Abie?” Mike said quickly.
Gabrielle pointed toward the phone. “This’s my good friend Corrine. She’s the maid over at the Crenshaws’ place. She’s got a little boy about Abie’s age. He comes over sometimes to play.”
Rutherford’s eyes widened. “My boy plays with the son of a—”
“Shut up!” Mike commanded. The look in his eyes made clear that he would brook no more interruptions. “What does Corrine say about Abie?”
“Well, I knows it sounds crazy, but she was taking her boy out to that big park this afternoon, you know, that Celebration Station place out at—”
“I know where it is,” Mike said. “Go on.”
“And she says she saw Abie there. With some man with big red hair.” The maid frowned at Rachel. “Do we know anybody that looks like that?”
“How long ago was this?” Mike asked urgently.
“About an hour or so.”
Mike grabbed the phone and pumped Corrine for more details, but there were no more to be had. All Corrine knew was that when she left, Abie was still there.
Mike tossed the phone back to Gabrielle. “Thank your friend for me.” He started for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Rutherford asked.
“Celebration Station, of course. Come on, Ben.”
Rutherford stepped in front, blocking the way out. “Wait just a minute. I still want to know—”
Mike shoved Rutherford out of the way. “I don’t have time to answer stupid questions.”
Rutherford looked as if he had been slapped in the face. He stood frozen in place as Mike and Ben raced from the house. The last thing Ben heard as the front door closed was Rachel’s uncontrolled sobbing, the agonized sound of her loss, her pain. And her fear.
Her profound fear that they would be too late.
37
ABIE TRIED AS HARD as he could to keep his eyes open as Sam dragged him from the apartment to … someplace else. Abie couldn’t remember ever being so tired, ever having to fight so hard just to keep his eyelids up. Every so often he would lose the battle. His lids would fall and his body would droop, but a swift jerk on his arm from Sam would urge him onward.
He didn’t have any idea where they were. He knew he should try to find out, should try to look for landmarks, but his dazed mind simply wasn’t capable of it. Maybe he could run to a phone, he thought fleetingly, or stop someone on the street. But Sam selected their route too carefully, weaving in and out of alleys and crossing through abandoned buildings. They never passed anyone, and they never came near a phone.
A few scattered, blurry images were all Abie could distinguish. He was certain they had left Sam’s apartment. As they passed through one building he saw numbers, lots of yellow numbers. No, not yellow numbers—numbers on a yellow background.
They headed toward a dark opening, not a door but … a hole. Through the hole … it was dark inside. Forbidding. Abie was afraid that once he was in there, he might never come out.
They passed through the opening, and then plunged into the darkness. It became dark, and cold. At times Abie could barely see anything at all. Then they walked through a wall. …
His mind rebelled at the thought. Walk through a wall? You can’t walk through a wall, unless you’re a ghost, and Abie didn’t think he was, at least not yet. But that’s what they had done.
And there were airplanes. Abie definitely remembered seeing airplanes. Were they up or down or …? He was so confused.
They emerged from the dark building. The glaring light made his eyes water. They walked for a long time—how long he wasn’t sure. Minutes? Hours? He still had no coherent sense of time.
Finally, when he thought he couldn’t walk any farther, they approached another crumbling ruin of a building. Sam slowed as if they were going inside. Abie eyed Sam carefully. For the moment Sam was intent on his destination, eagerly marching toward the building with Abie firmly in hand. With the least movement possible, Abie quietly dropped his book bag onto the sidewalk. They entered the ruin and walked up an old wooden staircase. The stairs creaked and swayed beneath their feet; Abie felt as if the whole thing might give way at any moment.
They stepped through a door at the top of the stairs. And then. …
“Here we are,” Sam said.
For the first time since they left the apartment, Sam released Abie’s arm. Abie moved away from him and concentrated as hard as he could on seeing. There was something lying on the ground, something flat and white with brown spots.
A mattress.
And there was something beside the mattress. Something standing on three long spindly legs. It looked to Abie like a monster, a giant spider, or one of the Martians in Abie’s illustrated edition of The War of the Worlds.
He stepped closer, reached out, touched the long thin legs. No—it wasn’t a monster and those weren’t legs. It was a tripod. And on top—
A camera.
“I’m sorry for the delay,” Sam said, smiling. “I know that was a long walk. I’m afraid I wasn’t as prepared as I should have been. I had to stop by my place to get some film.”
But you already have my picture, Abie thought. Something inside told him to keep the thought to himself.
“All right,” Sam said, placing both hands firmly on Abie’s shoulders, “now we’re going to play a little game. I think you’re going to like it. I know I will.”
Back in the Trans Am, Ben said, “You know, Mike, as soon as Rutherford gets his head together, he’s going to start calling your superiors. He probably knows Chief Blackwell personally. Probably plays golf with him.”
“Screw it,” Mike said as the car careened onto Harvard. “I’m not going to sacrifice that little boy just because his dad is a major asshole.”
Mike slapped the flashing red light on top of his car and kicked into high gear. A few minutes later they were in the Celebration Station parking lot.
“We haven’t got time to waste,” Mike said curtly. “The more we mess around, the colder the trail gets. I’ll hit all the food-and-game employees inside the main building. You quiz everyone outside running the rides.”
Ben nodded. He had often admired Mike’s facility for taking charge of a dire situation. It was a facility Ben knew he lacked. When the going got tough, his brain turned to mush.
Ben systematically worked his way through the outside amusements—the go-carts, the miniature golf course, the train, the bumper boats. The questioning was problematic, to put it mildly. The number of kids and adults passing through every day made recollections of particular individuals almost impossible. Moreover, virtually all of the employees were teenagers—those least likely to notice unusual pairings, or to remember them even if they did.
The young man running the bumper-boat concession was the best contact Ben made.
“I do kinda remember a dark-haired little boy with a tall man with red fuzzy hair. I thought that was such a weird contrast—fair dad, dark kid. And there was something weird about that hair. Something weird about that guy, too.”
“Weird in what way?” Ben asked.
The boy frowned. “I’m not sure I can put my finger on it. Just didn’t seem right. The kid loved being here at the
park, but the dude seemed kinda uncomfortable.”
“Did you notice anything else about the man?”
“Nothing comes to mind.”
“Please try. It’s very important.”
The young man’s forehead wrinkled. “He was wearing a light sport coat—blue, I think. Yeah, blue, and a T-shirt beneath it.”
“Do you remember anything about the T-shirt?”
“Well, it had this funny black face with a green helmet. …” He snapped his fingers suddenly. “Marvin the Martian.”
“Who?”
“Marvin the Martian. You know, the cartoon character. The dude was wearing a Marvin the Martian T-shirt.”
Now that was something that might help them make an ID, if they could ever find the man. “Do you remember when you saw them?”
“Not exactly. But it’s been at least an hour.”
“Any idea where they went?”
“Sorry. I was running my ride. I just saw them pass through the line several times, that’s all.”
Ben took down the boy’s name and address and thanked him for his assistance. He finished interviewing everyone else working outside, but he didn’t get any more information of value.
Ben met Mike inside the main building, where pizza was, served to a host of kiddies watching Audio-Animatronic animals sing and joke onstage. “Any luck?”
Mike shook his head. “A few people kinda sorta vaguely remember seeing someone like that, but no one knows who they were or where they went. Nothing useful.”
“Why on earth would a child molester bring a kid to such a public place?” Ben asked as they returned to Mike’s car.
“It’s part of the seduction,” Mike answered. “He’s trying to become Abie’s friend, to make what lies ahead all the easier. He’s courting Abie.” Ben felt a wave of revulsion rush over him. Of all the disgusting things he’d come into contact with over the years, this had to be the worst. The absolute worst.
“Excuse me. Are you gentlemen with the police?”
Ben looked up. Someone was calling to them from inside a Sno-Kone cart. As they approached, Ben saw that it was an older man, in his sixties at least, in a green camouflage jacket and khaki slacks.
“I’m with the police,” Mike said. “Why do you ask?”
“I saw you askin’ a lotta questions to everybody and their dog inside. Thought eventually you’d get around to askin’ some to me.”
“We’re trying to gather information about a young boy who was here earlier with a red-haired man wearing a blue sports coat and a T-shirt,” Mike explained. “Did you see them by any chance?”
“I sure as the world did,” the old man said. “They bought two Sno-Kones from me. Cherry. That’s the most popular flavor, you know. Some days grape will have a nice run, but cherry is—”
“Excuse me for interrupting,” Mike said, “but I need to know about this red-haired man. As quickly as possible.”
“ ’Cept he weren’t red-haired,” the old man replied. “Least not really. He was wearing a wig.”
Mike leaned forward. “Are you certain?”
“Shucks, yeah. I wasn’t born yesterday. I know a natural-born redhead when I see one. It’s more than just the hair, you know. Their whole complexions are different. He weren’t no more a redhead than you or me. And then there was the resemblance between the man and the boy.”
“What about it?”
“There weren’t none. Not in the least. And the man didn’t know what flavor Sno-Kone the boy liked. Didn’t even know when his birthday was. Mighty suspicious.”
“You’re awfully observant. …”
“For a Sno-Kone vendor?” The old man chuckled. “Let me tell you something, sonny. I been driving this cart for fourteen years, since I hit retirement. I’ve worked LaFortune Park, the River Parks, the Fair. I know when things look right and I know when things look wrong. And when a man wearing a disguise shows up with a little boy who don’t favor him in the least, that’s when things look wrong.”
Ben nodded. He was convinced. “Can you tell us anything else about the boy?”
“Yeah. The man called him Abie.”
Bingo. “This is very important,” Mike said. “Do you have any idea where they went after they left here?”
“ ’Fraid not. They didn’t say. I don’t think the man took much of a cotton to me. He took his Kones and moved off in a pretty big hurry.”
Ben was disappointed. For the briefest moment it had sounded as if they might have a lead that would help them find Abie.
“I did take a precaution, though,” the man continued, “just in case it turned out the police were lookin’ for Mr. Fake-Red-Hair. Which, it turns out, you were.”
He opened the drawer of his cash register and withdrew a scrap of paper. “As the man drove off I took down his license-plate number. Here.”
Mike snatched the paper from him. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Always happy to oblige,” the man said, pleased. “Now, can I sell you two fellers a Sno-Kone?”
“Sorry. We’ve got to run. But if this lead pays out, I’ll come back and buy your whole damn cart. Come on, Ben. Let’s move.”
38
“BUT WHY DO YOU wanna take my picture?”
Abie tried not to slur his words, but he was finding it as hard to talk as it was to stay awake, or to resist—to do anything other than follow Sam’s lead.
“So I can see you when I’m not with you,” Sam replied, smiling calmly. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Abie still thought it smarter not to tell Sam about his doubts. But he had to slow Sam down somehow. “Don’t you already have a picture of me?”
A tiny bit of the placid smile disappeared from Sam’s face. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw it. In your apartment. You had my picture on your wall.”.
“Ye-es,” Sam said slowly. “I got that from, um, an acquaintance at the country club. I like to have pictures of all my friends.”
“Then you don’t need any more.”
Sam rubbed his hands down Abie’s shoulders and firmly clasped his wrists. “But that was such an … impersonal picture, Abie. You’re my special friend, and I want a special picture of you. A personal picture. One that’s just between you and me.”
“Don’t—wanna!” Abie tried to twist away from him, but he didn’t have nearly enough strength.
“Abie. This is very unfriendlike. Didn’t we have fun at Celebration Station? Didn’t I buy you a Sno-Kone?”
“That—doesn’t—”
“Come on, Abie. Be a grown-up. Grown-ups don’t mind doing favors for one another.”
Abie’s eyes dropped down to the floor. “What kind of favors?”
“Like letting me take pictures of you.”
“What kinda pictures?”
“Well … like these.” Sam released the boy’s arms and walked back to the camera equipment. He began rummaging about in a black bag.
Abie glanced at the door they had come in through. He wanted to run, to get away from Sam and go home to his parents. But could he make it to that door without being caught? And that staircase outside—it was so old and dangerous; Abie wasn’t sure he could get down by himself.
And if he didn’t get away, if Sam caught him, what would Sam do to him? It was too risky. Too impossible. He wasn’t even sure he could find the door—his eyesight was so blurry.
“Here we are,” Sam said triumphantly.
The loud voice startled Abie out of his reverie. The opportunity was lost.
Sam handed Abie a magazine. “See? That’s what I had in mind. Just silly little pictures. Harmless.”
Abie thumbed through the magazine. It wasn’t a nice magazine with slick paper, like the ones his mother got in the mail. The paper was rough and coarse.
Abie glanced at the pictures. All of them were of little boys about his age. But they weren’t wearing any clothes, or at least not many. Some of them were posed in strange positions or with
chains and black leather stuff Abie didn’t recognize. In some of the pictures, a little boy was posed with a grown-up man. They looked like they were doing really weird gross things to one another. Why would anyone want to do stuff like that?
Abie closed the magazines. The pictures were making him sick. He didn’t even know why. They just did.
“Doesn’t that look fun, Abie? Wouldn’t you like us to have some fun like the people in the magazine?”
Abie didn’t answer. He didn’t want to say yes, but he couldn’t think of any answer that wouldn’t infuriate Sam. It was so hard to think.
“Answer me, Abie. Wouldn’t you like to take some pictures like that?”
There was something new in Sam’s eyes, something that frightened Abie. If he could run through that door now, he would, no matter what the chances. But Sam had clamped his hands down on his shoulders again. Abie couldn’t move.
“Answer me, damn it!” Sam literally picked Abie up off the ground and shook him violently back and forth. “Don’t you want to pose for the goddamn pictures!”
Abie felt tears welling up in his eyes. He didn’t want to cry; his dad had told him that only babies cry. But he couldn’t help himself. He was so scared. So so scared.
“You’re being a bad boy, Abie!” Sam was screaming now. He shook Abie again and again, harder and harder. “You shouldn’t be a bad boy. Bad boys have to be punished! Don’t you understand?”
“S-sure,” Abie said, voice cracking. “What—whatever you want.”
Sam took a deep breath, then released it. The color returned to his face.
“Well, good,” Sam said finally when he had sufficiently recovered himself. “That’s very good indeed. Let’s take some pictures, then. Now, do you want to take your clothes off yourself”—he leaned forward and pressed his face into the boy’s hair, drinking in his scent—“or should I take them off for you?”
Mike drove Ben up and down the streets of the abandoned Richfield section of north Tulsa. Ben scanned the streets on both sides of the car. It was all unfamiliar to him. Richfield was a district Ben had never had any occasion to visit. As far as he knew, no one ever came here.
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