didn’t know where they were or why they were here, only
that Elaine and Bob had spent nearly the whole car ride in
a chilly silence.
When Bob regained his composure, Elaine was out and
opening the minivan’s door. Caroline watched as Elaine
unbuckled Patrick’s seat belt, then picked her child up and
held him fast in her arms. Caroline felt a longing as she
watched this intimate act, and even though both Elaine and
Bob smothered her with kisses and presents, they always
felt somewhat odd, forced. Last night, when Elaine entered
her room with the curt instructions to get ready for a long
car trip, Caroline didn’t know what to think. She was too
confused to be scared, and she hadn’t been in that house
long enough to really miss it. After placing Patrick on the
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ground, Elaine came around to her side. She stroked
Caroline’s hair, her fingers gentle, and Caroline smiled at
the warmth of her fingertips. She gently kissed Caroline’s
forehead, then turned her attention back outside.
“Mommy?” Patrick said.
“Hey, sweetie,” Elaine said. “Did you have a good
nap?”
Patrick nodded, then buried his face back in her
shoulder as she leaned down. Elaine stroked his hair, that
strawberry-blond lock that confused Caroline. Neither
Bob nor Elaine had red hair. She’d asked Elaine how they
could have a boy with different color hair, and she just said,
God makes us all unique.
Elaine turned to Bob, who was digging a pack of gum
from his pocket, and said, “You want to get her?” Caroline
assumed she was the “her” being referred to.
Bob looked at Elaine, then turned toward the van, in no
real rush to say yes. Caroline had noticed that Bob had
become more and more reluctant to spend time with her
over the past few days. In the beginning he came into her
room often, even helped her set up that beautiful new dollhouse. But he’d withdrawn recently, and sometimes even
seemed afraid to touch her.
Thankfully, the coughing fits had passed. Bob and
Elaine seemed relieved at this. Bob had said something
strange that Caroline remembered.
We’re supposed to take care of this girl, not kill her.
Elaine had marched out of the room, slammed the door
and didn’t speak to him until dinner. And now they were
parked at some strange building, after having left that
house in a matter of minutes.
With a great sigh, Bob went around to the passenger
side, climbed in and unhooked Caroline from her harness.
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His fingers weren’t nearly as gentle, as if he were unpacking a box rather than handling a human being.
“Ow,” Caroline said as one of Bob’s fingers accidentally jabbed her ribs.
“Christ, Bob, she’s not a piece of meat,” Elaine reprimanded. “Be careful.”
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“Honey, make sure to bring Boo Boo. You don’t want
to lose him.”
Caroline picked the small brown teddy bear off the seat
and held it fast to her chest. That bear was the only thing
she’d come with. Elaine had thrown together a bag of
clothes, but the bear was the only thing she wanted.
It had a goofy smile and button eyes, fur that was soft
to the touch. Out of all the presents the Reeds had bought
her over the past few weeks, this was by far her favorite.
“Boo Boo,” Caroline said. “He’s scared. He wants to
know where we are.”
“Tell Boo Boo he’s safe and not to worry,” Elaine said.
“And make sure he tells you the same thing.”
Caroline wanted to believe Elaine, but there was something in her eyes that belied the truth.
Bob reached in and picked up both the girl and Boo
Boo, carried them gently out of the van. Caroline blinked
sleep from her eyes, looked around.
“Where are we?” she asked.
Bob didn’t say a word. Instead he looked at Elaine and
shrugged. You can answer this one.
Elaine walked over, put her hand against the young
girl’s cheek.
“We’re staying at another house for a little while,” she
said. “Our home needs a little renovation, so we’ll just be
staying here until it’s ready.”
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“What about my room?” Caroline asked. Even though
she was happy with Boo Boo, she’d be sad if she didn’t
get to play with her toys again. She couldn’t believe all
those brand-new toys and dolls Elaine and Bob had bought
for her. She’d never had a dollhouse. It would be so sad if
she never got to play with it again.
“Hopefully you’ll be back in it soon,” Elaine said. Then
she smiled, gave Boo Boo a peck on the nose and made a
funny grr noise. Caroline laughed.
“Come on, hon,” Bob said. “We should check in.”
“I never thought we’d see him again,” Elaine said. “At
least not until much later down the road. When it was time
to, you know.”
“I know,” Bob said. “But he told us something might
come up. Makes me wonder whether we should have ever
listened to that scarred-up asshole. Sorry, kids, pardon my
French.”
“You know why we did,” Elaine said. They both
looked at Patrick, and for a moment Caroline thought
Elaine might cry.
“Who are you talking about?” Caroline asked.
“Nobody,” Elaine said. “Just a scary man that hopefully
you’ll never have to meet. Now, come on, let’s get you to
your new new room.”
25
I got to work at six o’clock in the morning. I had to get
out of my apartment, where all I could do was think about
who burned down that house. And any moments I was able
to forget about that, my thoughts turned to Amanda.
I’d spent half an hour the previous evening on the phone
with Rent-a-Wreck, trying to explain how their car had
disappeared from the scene of a massive fire. Thankfully
I’d taken out insurance, but I wasn’t looking forward to the
paperwork. Still, with that car gone, the company was out,
what, a buck ninety-five?
The cops had ushered us from the fire immediately. Before
leaving, I saw the two cops who’d been questioning us. They
were standing in the driveway, interviewing several people
I presumed to be neighbors. There was fear on the cops’faces.
They saw us as we left, but this time their attitude was gone.
I wondered if this would finally get them to investigate.
Wallace drove us back to New York. He made it very
clear that I was to stay on the Linwood investigation. I felt
a swell of pride at this. Not only because I’d been right all
along, but because now I wanted, needed to know what
had happened to those children. And why someone
seemed willing to kill to keep it quiet.
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I spent the first part of the morning reading var
ious
newspapers from Hobbs County over the past few years.
The archives of the Hobbs County Register were available
online, and it was easy to see that this was a city on the
verge of tremendous change and tremendous gentrification.
At around ten o’clock I stood up to grab a cup of coffee
from the pantry, when I looked over at Jack’s desk and
noticed that the old man wasn’t there. It was curious, since
most mornings he was in the office before the sun rose,
and I knew today wasn’t his day off.
Walking over, I noticed that his computer wasn’t on and
the red message light on his phone was blinking. His caller
ID read sixteen missed calls. I checked the log. He hadn’t
checked a single message since the previous night. That
wasn’t like Jack, who I knew carried his work home with
him, often calling his voice mail to see if a source had
gotten back, or if there was a juicy new scoop from one
of his many contacts around the city.
Since my nerves were already a bit frayed from the
previous few days, I half jogged over to Wallace’s office to
see what the deal was. He was reading, looked up expectantly.
“Parker. How you holding up?”
“Been better,” I said. “Just doing some background
work on Hobbs County right now. Hey, have you seen
Jack recently?”
Wallace shook his head. “Not since last night. He filed
his story, then left. Haven’t seen him since.”
“Well, it doesn’t look like he came in today, and I just
wanted to make sure everything’s all right.”
“Isn’t Jack off today?”
I shook my head. “Not till Friday.”
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Wallace picked up a pen, twirled it as he thought. “I
don’t know what to tell you. I’ve known Jack for nearly
thirty years, and I’ve seen him go through some of the
toughest times of his life. Three or four wives, a near
bankruptcy. Missing a day of work at this point in his
career, at this point he’s playing with the house’s money,
so I won’t make a stink.”
“Sir, if you don’t mind, I just want to be sure you’re
right. He hasn’t been himself for a few months now. I’m
going to swing by his place, make sure the status quo is,
well, safe and sound.” And sober.
Wallace shrugged. “Do what you must. If he’s there, tell
him we’ll consider it a sick day.”
“And if he’s not there?”
“He’s a grown man. Check the nearest coffee shop or
cigar lounge.” Or bar, I longed to add, but didn’t.
“I’ll be back soon,” I said. “Hopefully he’s on the couch
watching old Archie Bunker episodes or something.”
As I was leaving the office, I heard Wallace say, “Henry?”
I turned around. “Yes?”
“Give me a call if you, well, find anything out of the
ordinary.” The look in his eyes admitted that as much as
he wanted to think Jack was at home watching TV or at a
cigar lounge burning through a Macanudo, we both knew
that wasn’t likely.
“I’ll call as soon as I find him.”
After grabbing my bag and cell phone, I hopped a cab
to Jack’s apartment. It was one of those brand-spankingnew NYC cabs with the video monitor in the divider. Some
hairsprayed goon was gushing over a musical comedy set
to open that week. I put it on Mute, then when I got tired
of seeing the primped-and-coiffed anchor I turned the
screen off.
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I’d never been to Jack’s place. He’d invited me over
once or twice for a drink, but I always had to decline for
one reason or another. He’d stopped by mine a few times,
though not in a while. Though I’d considered the man an
icon and a mentor, someone without whom I wouldn’t
have a career, my refusal to spend time with him outside
of work seemed like an artificial boundary I’d recently had
to create. I couldn’t think of spending a night in better
company, hearing Jack’s thousands of stories about his
career, what the news used to be like. I had to deprive
myself of that, though, for his own sake.
A few months ago, Jack had told me that to become a
legend in any line of work, you had to rid yourself of
outside distractions. Focus on the ball, put in your time,
and greatness would come. He frowned on taking long
vacations, having friends and even giving yourself up to
a lover. Jack was thrice divorced and had admitted to me
that though he enjoyed the companionship, at least the
physical aspect, he’d never allowed himself to become a
real husband. He never offered the emotional companionship his lovers needed, and never desired to. To Jack, the
perfect relationship was one where he could come home
to a delicious meal, talk about his day, make love and fall
asleep. He knew he wasn’t able to give to someone else
the same things he required, and that never bothered him.
Most of his wives were aware of it before they met him.
Yet they married him either in spite of this or with the misguided belief they could change him.
But Jack would never change. Not for anyone or
anything. He was often wrong, but never in doubt. And
that’s what alarmed me.
Jack lived in a condominium in the Clinton area of
New York at Forty-Eighth and Ninth. Floor-to-ceiling
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windows, he’d told me, and an unobstructed view that
looked over the West Side Highway, where you could see
past the Hudson River. A killer view. And since he’d
bought it as a new construction, he regaled me about his
brand-new appliances as though they were grandchildren.
As far as I knew, Jack’s brand-new Viking stove had been
untouched in two years, to the glee of the numerous takeout restaurants in the neighborhood who would have a hard
time paying the rent each month if Jack ever decided to
take a cooking class.
A colleague once looked up Jack’s purchase on
streeteasy.com, and learned that he’d bought the apartment for a cool $1.5 million, while also putting down a
higher-than-usual twenty percent for the place. It gave me
hope that at some point in the future, continuing in this line
of work might enable me to afford such luxury. For now,
my crummy rental with the friendly rodent staff and unfriendly super would have to do.
We pulled up to his building and I paid the driver. I
walked up to the lobby, slightly embarrassed that I was
even doing this. Who the hell was I to have any doubts
about Jack? The man had built a career any newsperson
would die for, and here I was like the parent who thought
his kid was playing hooky. That this child was in his sixties
with a monthly mortgage payment likely larger than my
college tuition was beside the point.
The doorman was an elderly gent with a wisp of gray
hair and teeth slightly yellow and askew. He opened the
door for me and smiled pleasantly
.
“I’m here to see Jack O’Donnell,” I said.
“Just a second.” He picked up a black phone that looked
to be connected to some amazingly fancy and complicated
intercom system. He fiddled with the buttons for a minute,
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then flipped through a Rolodex. “Who may I ask is
visiting?”
“Henry Parker.”
“Just a moment, Mr. Parker.”
He pressed a buzzer, held the phone to his ear and
waited. After a minute he put the phone down. “I’m sorry,
sir, nobody’s answering.”
“Hold on one sec,” I said. I took out my cell phone,
dialed Jack’s home phone, then his cell phone. Both went
to voice mail before anyone picked up. Odd. “Would you
mind trying one more time?”
“Certainly, sir.”
He pressed the buzzer again, held the phone to his ear. A
few seconds later the man’s brow furrowed. “Yes, yes, hello?
Mr. O’Donnell?” The doorman seemed either confused or
concerned. “Mr. O’Donnell, is everything all right? There’s
a Mr. Parker here to see you. Hello, Mr. O’Donnell?”
The doorman hung up,
“What happened?” I said, concern seeping into my
voice.
“I don’t know, it sounded like Mr. O’Donnell, but he
sounded, well, I don’t mean to judge, but how should I say,
out of it?”
“Out of it? Like how?”
“I really don’t know.” He looked concerned, then said,
“How do you know Jack?”
“I work with him at the Gazette. ” He seemed unsure
of whether to let me up. “Look, Jack didn’t come in to
work today and that’s not like him. I just want to make
sure he’s safe.”
“Is that right,” he said, not as a question. After considering this, he said, “He’s on the fifth floor, the second
elevator bank on your left.”
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I thanked the doorman and walked swiftly to the
elevator. I rode it to five. Jack occupied the whole floor.
Not a bad deal. I approached and rang the doorbell. Immediately I could sense something was wrong. Not from
the door itself, but because the entire hallway stank of
booze and some sort of rot.
I pressed the bell again, then banged on the door, my
heart racing.
“Jack!” I yelled. “Jack, are you in there? Come on,
buddy, open up.”
I heard a shuffling, and froze. The shuffling came from
behind the door, and it was getting closer. I backed up, didn’t
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