by Lee Hays
Reacting she leaped back and then took a deep breath and relaxed.
“Peter! My God! You nearly scared the life out of me! Why didn’t you say something? I thought Barbara was the only one in the house.”
Tossing his coat casually over an idle chair in the hallway, Peter walked into the living room, saying, “Yeah, well you scared the hell out of me, too. What was all the yelling about?” He picked up a nutcracker and a few pecans from a bowl and began to shell them as he talked. “I was taking a nap. I hope you don’t mind but it was cold outside waiting for you. I came in through the kitchen. The front door was locked. I was going to sit here under the tree like a present but it was uncomfortable as hell. Finally I got sleepy so I went up to your room and flaked out on the bed.”
“I’m sorry I was late, but—”
“Yeah.”
He cracked another nut in studied indifference. Firmly she said, “Clare is missing. She hasn’t been seen since last night. There was a search party. I was with them, out looking for her.”
She had to call from the hall as he had disappeared in the living room. He came back just as a voice on the telephone spoke to her. “Yes,” she said into the receiver. “Hello?”
“How noble,” Peter said smugly, from the doorway.
Ignoring his caustic behavior she said into the phone, “Hello? What’s going on down there? I want to report something! No, I don’t want to hold! I’ve been holding.” She shook her head in exasperation and seeing Peter standing there she said, “How did the recital go?”
“How do you think it went!” he snapped.
Once more he disappeared into the living room and she could hear the cracking of another nut.
“What kind of a game are you playing?” she called out. “I thought you wanted to talk? So why don’t you sit down and quit attacking me and we’ll try to have a rational conversation—as soon as I can get these idiots at the police station to take my complaint. Yes? Hello. Stay on the line, goddamn it!”
The man at whom Jess was yelling had a throng of people milling about his desk as he spoke to her. Sergeant Nash was trying as best he could to cope with an extremely unfamiliar situation and to handle all of the phone calls that were pouring in since news of the discovery of Janice Quaife’s body had leaked out.
“Okay, lady,” he shouted, anything but calm himself, “calm down now. Let’s have the story. Oh, yes? All right. What’s the address? One-o-six Belmont Street. Uh-huh. How many calls?”
Across the room from him, Chris, Phyl and Mr. Harrison, bunched together, heard the sergeant mention the familiar address and they moved as a group closer to his desk as he continued to talk to Jess.
“Yes? How many calls did you say? Well, did you call the phone company? Oh, yeah? Well, miss, we’re very busy here. There’s been a child murdered in the park. Yes. yes, we found . . . Anyway, you should notify the phone company. We can’t . . . Look, lady, I don’t know when we can get a man on it. Were the calls threatening? Oh, yes? Well, I see. Maybe it’s not so serious. Maybe it’s one of your boyfriends playing a little joke. Yeah, well, I’ll report it and we’ll get a man on it as soon as possible. I’m sorry, miss, but that’s the best that we can do at the moment. We’re swamped down here.” He looked up at the crowd of people as he listened to Jess continue to express her concern. Finally, when she stopped, he said again, “We’ll do the best we can okay. Goodbye.”
Hanging up, he wrote a few words on a form, took another piece of paper from his desk and stapled the two papers together, tossing them into a wire basket beside his desk.
Back at the house Jess put the receiver back in its cradle and covered her face in exhaustion and frustration. When she looked up Peter was standing there waiting. She walked toward him and together they went into the living room. As they walked he spoke.
“Look, Jess, I’ve done a lot of thinking and I’ve come to some conclusions.”
“Hmmm! I’ve been thinking, too.”
“Wait. Hear me out. I’ve decided I’m leaving the conservatory.”
Stunned, she said nothing and then, after a long pause, “Peter! What about your music? Your future, everything you’ve—”
“Look, just hear me out, will you?” When she stopped, he added gently, “Okay?”
She nodded and he sat down beside her, speaking in a low voice.
“Jess, I’ve lived in one room for eight years. I’m tired of sharing the ‘john’ with six other people. I really have had it with the artist starving in the garret routine. I’m quitting the conservatory, and we’re getting married.”
Still in a state of shock she could only look perplexed as she stared at him and then away when his eyes met hers.
“Well?” he asked. “What do you say? That’s a proposal of marriage, you know? Not the most poetic one ever devised, I know. Maybe I should be on bended knee. But it’s a genuine proposal, from the heart.”
“I know, Peter. I know it is. Now, will you just listen to me calmly ’cause I have something to say, too. Remember last year, when we met? You told me about wanting to be a concert pianist, how it was your greatest dream. And I believed in your dream, I wanted you to have it. At the same time I told you some of the things I wanted to do? Do you remember?”
When he nodded she continued, “Well, I still want to do those things. I don’t know why your dream has gone sour, if it has. Maybe it’s just the idea of being a father has made you jump to some sort of a conclusion. But whatever, I respected your dream and I thought you respected mine. Anyway, mine hasn’t gone sour. You can’t ask me to drop everything I’ve been working for and give up all my ambitions just because your plans have changed. It isn’t fair, and it makes my dreams, well, insignificant to you. And it shouldn’t be. It should not have been. Be realistic, Peter. I can’t marry you.”
“Sure you could. What would it change? Because I’ve decided to leave the conservatory doesn’t mean that you have to drop out. We could be married and you could do anything you want.”
“With a baby? It just wouldn’t work. I know it. Oh, I know. You’ll say you can do both but I know how much time and trouble a baby is. I know that sooner or later I’d compromise. I’d stop my work and become a full time mother and housewife, and I’m not ready to do that yet.”
He stood up and began to pace the room. Finally he turned to her and asked, “Well, what are you going to do about the baby?”
“I’m going . . .” She waited until he stopped pacing and was facing her. “I’m going to have the pregnancy terminated as soon as possible.”
“Merry Christmas,” he said bitterly and resumed his pacing. “How do your like your present? A dead fetus.”
“Oh, Peter, for God’s sake!”
Interrupting her, he said, “That certainly makes it all sound very tidy. But what I want to know is how you can justify getting your degree and working in the ghetto and all those marvelous liberal, altruistic things you talked about, at the expense of a human life? At the expense of killing, of killing my baby!”
She stood up and crossed the room. “Peter, don’t be dramatic. I’ve never heard you speak out against abortion before, when it was something you wanted. Well, never mind. I told you this afternoon that I really didn’t want to discuss it. I listened to you and heard what you had to say, and I’ve told you my decision. Because the decision is mine, Peter. It’s my body and my future. I’ll do what I want with both of them. Oh, Christ, I knew I should never have told you about it.”
Before she got to the doorway he grabbed her and spun her around. “I’m not going to let you do this, Jess! Do you hear me? I’m not going to let you do this!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Chris was finally able to get through to Lieutenant Ken Fuller and the four of them, Fuller, Chris, Phyl and Mr. Harrison were in the lieutenant’s office. Sergeant Nash stood diffidently in the doorway, half in, half out, as Fuller held up the two papers that Nash had thrown into his complaint basket.
For a while no one spoke until Nash f
inally said in a defeated voice, “I didn’t want to bother you with it.”
Sarcastically Ken Fuller said, “Oh, you didn’t? Didn’t want to bother me.” He turned abruptly to Mr. Harrison. “Is this where your daughter lives, Mr. Harrison. Tell the nice sergeant.”
“Yes, it is.” Mr. Harrison was angry but he also felt something akin to pity for the hapless man standing first on one foot and then the other as he was being chewed out by his superior in front of all of them.
“Sergeant, a high school girl has been murdered in the park. Mr. Harrison’s daughter is missing and now the house where she lives with a dozen other girls is getting obscene phone calls. In fact, has been getting obscene phone calls for some time according to this rather incomplete report you filled out. It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to tie these things together. Now, don’t you think we’d better check it out, Sergeant?”
“Well, uh, Lieutenant, yeah, sure. I guess so. I mean, sure we should.”
“Good.”
Mr. Harrison said to Ken, “Thank you, Lieutenant. I know you’re busy so we’ll get out of here.”
“Yeah, thanks, Ken,” Chris said as he led Phyl from the room followed by Mr. Harrison.
As Sergeant Nash turned to go, Fuller called to him. “Oh, Sergeant, could I see you for minute? Come here, please.”
“Yeah, sure, Lieutenant, what can I do?”
Holding up a slip of paper, waving it at Nash, Fuller asked, “Sergeant, what is this?”
“Uh, that’s the number of the sorority house.”
“The number?”
“The telephone number, Lieutenant.”
“Fellatio?”
“Yeah, it’s a new exchange. F—E—.”
“New exchange, huh?”
“Yeah, right.”
“How did you happen across this piece of information?”
“Uh, one of the girls, this afternoon, when they came to report that missing girl. I asked for the number, the telephone number of the sorority house and one of the girls, the other one, she gave it to me.”
“She gave it to you, did she?”
“Yes, sir.”
Fuller carefully ripped the paper into a number of pieces and let them float slowly to the floor of his office.
“Nash, I’m going to have you put in a home.”
Peter Smythe’s fist slammed into one of the ornaments on the Christmas tree, making it fall to the floor where it broke while the whole tree shook on its base. Jess watched his tantrum in wonder.
“You’re a selfish bitch,” he said. “You’re talking about killing my baby like, like you were having a wart removed!”
“Now can you see why I didn’t want to tell you in the first place? I knew you’d react, but I didn’t think—”
“What the hell are you trying to do to me?”
“What are you trying to do to yourself?”
Wheeling on her furiously, Peter exclaimed, “Let’s get one thing straight! You are not going to abort that baby. Do you hear me?”
“I could hardly not hear you, Peter. Probably most of the campus can hear you. But no matter how loud you yell it won’t change my mind. You are not going to tell me what I can and cannot do.”
“Jess, if you try to get an abortion—”
“Peter, let’s just drop the whole thing, huh? It’s late. I’m tired, you’re tired. I think you’d better go.”
They heard noises at the front door and Peter lowered his voice.
“Jess, if you do this, you’ll be sorry.”
“I said I think you’d better go!” Weary and distraught she let her anger rise to the surface as she added, “Get out!”
Raging, Peter rushed past her into the hallway where he almost collided with Ken Fuller. He didn’t even acknowledge Phyl, who was standing between the lieutenant and another man, but pulled open the front door and angrily slammed it shut behind him. Ken Fuller watched him curiously as Phyl hurried into the living room calling out, “Jess?” Jess was standing by the tree, staring into space when Phyl came into the room.
“Hi,” she said.
“Are you okay? Peter seemed . . .”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Any more news?”
“You heard about the high school girl?” When Jess nodded, Phyl said, “There are some people here to see about the phone calls. Out in the hall.”
She led Jess back into the hallway where Fuller and the other man were looking at the phone and the wire that led from it and was stapled to the wall. They looked up when the girls came into the room.
“Jess, this is Lieutenant Fuller. Jess is the one who called the station, Lieutenant. And this is, I’m sorry—”
“Graham,” the other man said, “Bill Graham.”
“Hi.”
“You’re the one who called the station?” Fuller asked. “Miss—”
“Jessica Bradley. Yes, I’m the one. I guess I’ve gotten more of the calls.”
“Just a second,” Fuller said. “Graham, why don’t you get started down here.” He turned to Jess and Phyl. “We’re going to put a tap on your phone. And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look at Clare Harrison’s room.”
“Sure,” Phyl said as the two men took off their coats.
“This the only extension?” Graham asked.
“Yes. It has a long cord. Normally,” Jessica answered, “it’s in the living room but if you want privacy you bring it out here. Sometimes we forget and leave it here in the hallway.”
“Clare’s room is up there,” Phyl said to Fuller, starting up the stairs. Fuller followed and Jess, after a nod from Graham went with them.
“How many girls live in this house?” Fuller asked.
“Usually ten, plus Mrs. Mac. But there are only three of us here tonight. Christmas holidays.”
As they disappeared up the stairs, Graham picked up the receiver and started to dial.
Silently Phyl led them to Clare’s room, opened the door and switched on the light.
“Here we are. All of the rooms are about the same. Not very fancy as you can see.”
Fuller nodded and moved about the room, picking up a hanger from the floor and tossing it on Clare’s bed, looking at the suitcase, opening drawers, peering into the closet.
“Tell me about the calls,” he said.
Phyl nodded to Jess who cleared her throat and began. “They’ve called several times before but usually they don’t say anything.”
“They?”
“A figure of speech. I suppose I should say, but I’m not sure actually if, oh, I guess it has to be a man. But, this afternoon there was a call, a woman’s voice. I thought at first it was a wrong number. But then she started screaming at me and she wouldn’t listen to anything I said.”
“So you’re not sure if it’s a man or woman?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a man. More of the words and the awful things are said in a man’s voice.”
“Not two people, or more?”
“I don’t think so. The voices are different, but they’re the same in a way. Oh, I don’t know. It’s so scary when it happens, so fast and you get all confused.”
“Who was the last one to see Clare Harrison?”
“Well, I think I was. Unless . . .” She turned her head away.
“Now I don’t want you to misinterpret this or get upset but I’ve got to ask. Is there any chance at all that Clare was seeing anyone besides Chris Hayden?”
The two girls looked at one another, both shaking their heads. Jess answered him. “No, I’m sure of that.”
“We both are.”
“Clare have any emotional problems, anything like that, anything that might make her run away and not tell anyone she was going?”
“No,” Phyl said.
“Is this the way she left her room, as far as you know?”
“Yes,” Jess answered.
Fuller picked up a glass from the night table and sniffed it.
“What’s this?”
Jess took it f
rom him and smelled. “We were having a party last night. Leftover punch.”
“Did Clare drink a lot?”
“No,” Phyl said. “Hardly at all.”
He went back to the closet as he asked, “Did anyone see her this morning?”
“Not as far as I know. The others had all left and I know that I didn’t . . . she wasn’t down at breakfast.”
“The others leave yesterday?”
“Yes. All but the three of us.”
“Can you give me a list of the others, the other girls’ home telephone numbers?”
“I can’t. But I think there’s one in Mrs. Mac’s room.”
“Who’s Mrs. Mac?”
As they went out of the room, Jess said, “She’s the house mother. Her room is down the hall.”
She led the way and when they went into Mrs. Mac’s room she said, “I know she keeps a list somewhere in here.”
She moved about the room and Fuller followed the pattern that he adopted in Clare’s room, browsing through the room, careful not to disturb anything.
As he studied the picture of the two showgirls taken so many years before, Jess asked him, “Do you think there’s any connection between Clare and the girl they found in the park?”
“I don’t know. Where is the house mother anyway? What’s her name? Mrs. Mac?”
Phyl said, “She was going to her sister’s for the holidays. Leaving tonight.”
At the same time, Jess called out, “I found it.”
“Good.” Fuller picked up the telephone and said, “You said there were no extensions. This isn’t the same line as downstairs?”
“No. It’s Mrs. Mac’s private line. She needs it. We keep the other one tied up a good deal of the time.”
Dryly he said, “I don’t doubt that.” He thanked Jess as she handed him the list of numbers and then asked, “Did any of the threatening calls come through on this line?”
“No,” Phyl said as they left the room. “They were all on the house phone. At least as far as we know. Mrs. Mac never said anything about getting any, and knowing her, I’m sure she would have.”
They went down the hall and started down the stairs where they could see Bill Graham working on the downstairs telephone line.