The Edge of Sleep

by Wiltse, David

  Chapter 22

  THEY RULED OUT THE LAKE quickly enough. It was shallow and easily searched for a distance of forty feet out from the dock, and the severity of the hills surrounding the lake elsewhere made entry any place other than the dock difficult. It seemed very unlikely that Jack, with his limited skills, would have, or even could have, swum farther from the shore.

  The combined search party of Karen, Becker, Blocker, and Reese—the two local policemen—and two dozen camp volunteers found no trace of Jack in the mountain forest, and by mid-afternoon both Karen and the locals agreed it was time to summon the state police. She also summoned elements of the Bureau forces from both Albany and Boston, who would not be able to reach them before the following morning.

  Throughout the day Karen acted like a woman very much in control of herself as well as her circumstances while she ordered and organized the searches, conferred politely with Blocker and Reese, consulted Becker with the same diplomatic inclusion, made her decision and the phone calls. Becker saw no signs of either the frantic mother or the hysterical, guilt-ridden woman of the night before. She did not meet his eye directly all day long, but that was a clue to her inner turmoil that only he would recognize. To the world about her, she was a brisk professional set on accomplishing her task. He marveled at her, at the strength she found in her work. Even her skirt and jacket looked as if they had been freshly pressed. It was only when he stood close to her that he smelled the sour odor of her fear. She had showered first thing in the morning, but the stench had already worked deeply into her clothes.

  Following her decision to call in the state police, Karen pulled Becker aside, away from the local cops and the counselors.

  “I’m biased, John, so I need your perspective. If this were anybody else’s child who was missing—would I have enough to declare it a snatch?”

  “I’m biased, too,” Becker said.

  She waved his protest aside with a flick of her hand. No one else’s concern could approach hers.

  “Am I justified in thinking Jack has been kidnapped?” She faced him but her eyes roved somewhere over his shoulder.

  “Does it matter? Do it anyway. He’s your boy; who cares if it’s technically justified or not?”

  She grew very quiet and Becker watched the color slowly drain from her face, then gradually return. Her eyes stayed so steadfastly fixed in the distance that Becker turned to look. A squirrel climbed halfway up the trunk of a tree, then appeared to notice the humans for the first time and skittered around to the other side. Becker studied the squirrel’s antics for a moment, giving Karen time to recover herself. He wondered how many times this day she had gone through the same crisis, battling with all of her inner resources to fight off the powerful surge of despair.

  “You are a very experienced agent,” she said at last, her words measured too precisely. “For the record, I am asking if, in your opinion, I am justified in calling the state police into the case on suspicion of kidnapping. This is an official question. I would appreciate an official answer.”

  “What are you worried about, charges of abuse of power? Just go ahead and do it; if anyone questions you later, to hell with them. It’s Jack we‘re talking about.”

  “I am aware who we’re talking about,” she hissed.

  “Sorry. But don’t worry about it, everyone will understand.”

  For the first time she looked directly at him, her eyes burning with anger. “I don’t give a fuck what they understand! I’m asking you a simple question. Stop being such a contentious bastard and just say yes.”

  “Yes, absolutely,” Becker said. “You are fully justified in calling in the state police on suspicion of kidnapping. That makes it a federal case for the Bureau as well.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? What did you have to be such a prick about it for?”

  “You’re just upset ...” he said.

  “No shit.”

  He reached for her shoulders, but she pulled away and started toward the others.

  “Do you want me to make one of the calls?” he asked.

  “I called them both ten minutes ago,” she said. “Now we have to decide what to do when they get here.” Blocker and Reese looked on as Karen spread maps of Massachusetts and the adjoining area of New York on the hood of one of their squad cars.

  “At least it’s less populated here than in New Jersey,” Karen said. “That should help some.” Her minor explosion at Becker had been contained. She was now the working professional again.

  She turned to the two cops, who were watching her with curiosity. “The state police should be here in a few minutes,” she said. “Now you know how they are, they’ll want to take over.”

  “Pretty much assholes,” Blocker said. Reese nodded confirmation.

  “Well, exactly,” Karen agreed. “They’ll want to push you guys right out of the case even though it’s your case, your territory, your right to be involved.”

  Reese kept right on nodding agreement.

  “Well, I hate that,” she said. “I want to keep you involved, for my own benefit. You know the area better than anybody, you’ve been in on the case since the beginning. I want you on my team and I don’t want any state cop pushing you aside.”

  Becker watched Karen’s manipulations work their effect on the cops. He knew she would later apply much the same kind of flattery to the state people. It was good policy to keep everyone happy, but in the case of the local cops, he knew she had a further motive. It may have been true that they knew the area better, but it was also true that they were much easier to bend to her will than the state police. Karen was oiling them up now so that later she could twist them into whatever shape she needed. And coming from an attractive woman, this kind of blandishment was even easier to believe. Both cops harbored a secret hope that she really wanted them around because of her ardent desire to tear their clothes off. They were not fools enough to do anything about it, hoping as they did that this sort of passion would blossom spontaneously without any particular nurture on their part, but Karen was aware of their fantasies, perhaps more objectively than they were, and if she made a point of smiling at each of them as she appealed for their help, it seemed to Becker just good police work.

  “So I think it’s a good thing if we can get you actively working before they get here, don’t you?” She continued without waiting for their response. “What we’ll need is a list of all the motels or houses for rent within a thirty-minute drive. Any place a transient could get a room and have some degree of privacy. A boardinghouse with a separate entrance even. Any place this guy might have taken a child to hole up if he wasn’t a local resident.”

  “Thirty-minute drive?”

  “It’s not that far. It takes a good fifteen minutes just to wind down off this mountain, and there’s a lot of empty territory around here. If thirty minutes isn’t enough, we’ll go farther out, but let’s start with that.”

  Blocker said. “It’s going to take us a little time to think about that.”

  “Well, yes. That’s why I think you want to get started before the state guys show up.”

  “We can do more.” Becker said when the cops had moved off to start their list.

  “Tell me.”

  “I think we got lucky this time ... I mean because of where Lamont—or Ashford; I still think of him as Lamont, I’ve been calling him that so long—because of where he chose to go. There aren’t nearly as many places to hide in the first place and not many to run to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve spent a day walking through these woods. How many rabbits did you see?”

  “Rabbits? None.”

  “And how many do you think live in there? Dozens? Hundreds? More? The reason we didn’t see them is because they were just sitting still, hidden. But how many do you think we’d see if we went through there beating the bushes and getting them to run?”

  “Go on.”

  “Lamont has made it
to his hiding place. All he has to do is stay very still, and we won’t find him unless we step directly on him. He’s had practice at this; he chose his own spot, he’s got the advantage. But if we can make him run, the advantage is ours. And this is the kind of country where we can do it. There aren’t that many places to run to once he’s flushed out of cover.”

  Karen studied the map, her mind racing.

  “How do we get him to run?”

  “We’ve got to scare him, make him think we’re coming right at him. That’s the only thing that will make him break from his hiding place. Announce on the local radio and television that we’re starting a house-to-house search, that we’re concentrating on transient housing. Maybe he’ll run.”

  “Maybe. But we couldn’t possibly get the manpower to do a house-to-house unless we knew where he was.”

  “He doesn’t know that. If he hears it on the radio he’ll believe it. Why shouldn’t he? Can he afford to take the chance?”

  “So he runs. He’s not a rabbit; he’ll be in a car, he can go anywhere.”

  “We’ll funnel him. Say the search starts along a line from here to here ...” Becker jabbed at two dots on the map. “He’ll run this way. Once he’s running we can funnel him even further. Look, there aren’t that many roads through the mountains. Put a cop car at this intersection, another one here, and you force anyone trying to avoid the cops to Route 21. Put a roadblock”—he studied the map for a second more, his forefinger hovering over it like a bee above a blossom—“here. A real one, full search of every car that goes through it. We can get enough men for that.”

  “There are ways to avoid it,” Karen said.

  “Yes, there are,” Becker agreed. “If he’s smart enough, if he knows the country, if he suspects a trap.”

  “Or he could be on the other side of the search line to begin with. He could ignore the bluff and stay where he is. He could turn north and head to Canada.”

  “In which case we’re no worse off than we were. Look, Karen, it’s not a great plan, but it is something positive, something we can do immediately. We have no time to lose.”

  Karen was silent, still staring at the map.

  “Bobby Reynolds lasted only three weeks,” Becker said. Karen winced. “Lamont is getting faster and faster. Jack may have ...”

  “I know.”

  “Of course,” he said. He put his hand on her back, but she stepped away from him.

  “All right,” she said.

  “All you have to do is convince the state boys to go along,” Becker said.

  She snorted dismissively. “That I can do,” she said.

  As they started toward the others, she said, “Do you know what really scares me?”

  “What?”

  “This is the first time you’ve admitted that it’s Lamont.” Becker sighed. “I seem to hurt you no matter what I do,” he said. “Every way I turn. I’m wrong. I’m sorry ...”

  She slipped her hand into his and gave him a brief squeeze.

  At least it was contact. Becker thought. She gave me that much at least.

  In the camp office, after conferring with the state police. Becker and Karen settled in for the night in silence, Becker on the cot, Karen resuming her place at the window. A few hours before dawn she slipped onto the cot and spooned against him, the two of them barely fitting on the stretched canvas. Becker realized she had taken off the holster as well as her blouse and skirt. He put his arms around her and waited to see what else she required, but it was all she needed.

  “I don’t know what else to do,” she whispered, lost. “I’ve done everything I know how to do.”

  “We’ll find him,” Becker said.

  “I know,” she said. “And when we do. I’ll kill him.” Becker was startled. He had meant they would find Jack. Just before dawn he awoke again and knew by the tremors of her body that she was crying, but she did not make a sound. When she got up at first light her eyes were dry but so red they looked painful. The bags under them extended downward almost to her cheeks a spreading smudge of charcoal.

  Chapter 23

  ASH FOUND DEE’S PILLS IN her purse and painstakingly counted them onto the counter of the bathroom sink. She hadn’t taken any in the longest time. He heard her voice from the other room, high, bright, and animated as she told the new Tommy how lucky he really was that she had found him. Ash wondered if he could force Dee to take a pill. He had managed to do that in the past when she was in her sadness, lying inert in the back of the car. He had been able then to put the pill far back on her tongue and hold her jaw closed until she swallowed. But that was when she was too weak to resist him.

  He had never seen her this high, this long, and it frightened him. She was different this time; she seemed to need more, as if Tommy wasn’t quite enough anymore. She was talking more and more about the workers who had taken her boy away, about how she had gotten him back just in time. In the past she had seldom talked about anything but the boy. Now she seemed as interested in revenge on the workers as the boy himself, and the change frightened Ash. He didn’t dare to think it, but it seemed almost as if Dee wasn’t really in control. And if she wasn’t in control of things, where did that leave him? He knew he certainly wasn’t.

  If he tried to make her take a pill now, she would fight him and he knew he couldn’t fight back. He could never hurt Dee, no matter what. It wasn’t even thinkable. He would hurt himself before he would ever hurt his Dee.

  Ash returned to his position by the door, facing the television set, which sat atop the dresser opposite the bed, the screen canted toward Ash. The new Tommy sat naked on the bed, covering himself with his hands as Dee talked to him. The boy looked frightened, but Ash detected defiance in his face, too. He had already demonstrated his courage by running for freedom. Ash hoped he didn’t try anything else that stupid, because Dee seemed close enough to an explosion as it was, without provocation.

  “Dee,” Ash said, abruptly. “Look, Dee.”

  He pointed to the television where a morning show had just been interrupted by a special report. The new Tommy’s face filled the screen.

  “It’s Tommy,” he said. That made her look and she turned the sound up immediately. “Look, Tommy, you’re on television.”

  Jack’s face was replaced by the image of Karen Crist, soberly intoning plans for a manhunt. Her face was so gaunt and drawn, her appearance on television so unexpected, that it took Jack a few seconds to be sure it was her.

  “My mother,” he said, amazed.

  Dee stood close to the set, her face screwed up as if it gave off poison.

  “The bitch,” Dee said.

  “That’s my mother,” Tommy said again.

  Dee slapped him so hard he fell back onto the bed.

  “That’s the bitch who took you,” she said. “Don’t you ever call her your mother. She’s not your mother, she’s one of the caseworkers. She saw you, she saw how wonderful you are, how precious you are, and she wanted you for her own, so she made up all those lies about me so they’d help her steal you.”

  Karen’s image was replaced by a map with a curved red line drawn across it and triangles like arrowheads pointing in the direction of advance. It looked like the chart of a military campaign.

  “The bitch, the bitch, the bitch!”

  Ash struggled to make sense of it all while Tommy slowly came upright on the bed again, holding his face where she had struck him. He had forgotten his modesty.

  “She’s coming.” Dee said. “The bitch is coming, she’s going to try to steal you away.”

  Dee hurled the suitcase on the bed and threw her clothes into it.

  “Well, she’s not going to do it. She won’t get you again.” The regular program had returned to the television screen and Dee snapped it off.

  “Dress him,” Dee spat at Ash. “We’re leaving now.” Dee was packed in two minutes. She knelt in front of Jack, who stood in the center of the room, his pants on, his shoes untied.

  “Don’t y
ou worry, I won’t let her take you again.” She took Jack’s face in her hands. “You are so, so precious to me. I couldn’t stand it if she took you away again. You couldn’t stand it either, could you. Tommy? It would hurt you just as much as me. Don’t you worry. She won’t get you again. I’ll see you dead first.”

  Dee stood and nodded, and Ash lowered the bedspread over Jack like a net.

  They drove west, away from the red line on the television map. At a junction outside of Becket, two state police cars were parked perpendicularly across the highway, slowing the traffic as troopers peered into each passing car. Dee veered away from the troopers and headed northwest, into the mountains. She listened to the radio as she drove—something Ash had known her to do but rarely—and when another report of the manhunt was announced, she began to mutter darkly again about “the bitch.” Ash could hear her from under the bedspread, but he hoped that Tommy, covered by both the bedspread and Ash’s body, could not.

  A few miles later Dee shunted away from troopers at another junction, taking the only unobstructed road left open to her, straight into the eminence of Mt. Jefferson.

  On the steepest grade, she rounded a tum and saw before her a long line of cars parked in the ascending lane. As she braked to a halt, muttering an obscenity, she could see the rear taillights of the car at the top of the road change from red to blank as the car inched forward. The shifting red made its way downhill like a slow wave as one after another the automobiles released their brakes and advanced one car length. By the time Dee moved forward, the line was solidly red once more and a beige Subaru station wagon had pulled into place behind her.

  “Ash, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, Dee,” he said, his voice muffled by the bedspread over him.

  “Listen carefully.” She glanced in her rearview mirror and saw the driver of the car behind her, a handsome, full-faced man with the look of Viking ancestors. He looked idly at Dee’s car, then patiently at the line in front of him, the woods to either side.