Secret, Silent Screams

by Joan Lowery Nixon

Karen hesitated before she wiped the cover of the album and handed it to Marti. “Memories are painful,” she cautioned.

  “It must be more painful not to have them,” Marti answered.

  Karen's glance was both surprised and appraising. “I'll have to give that one some thought,” she said.

  Marti hugged the album, carrying it to the edge of the bed, where she sat and opened it on her lap.”

  There was a very young, skinny, knock-kneed Barry at the beach, squinting and grinning into the sunlight, his two front teeth missing. She rapidly turned the pages, watching Barry grow older and fill out. Same grin, though. The same sense of mischievous fun consist tently fame through. Marti was in some of the photos, There was the one in which she wore her first formal. Pink taffeta. Ninth grade, wasn't it? Her fingertips grazed the edge of the photograph. Oh, Barry, she thought, I didn't know you had kept this picture.

  The photos were of Barry in high school now, but there were gaps on the pages, and some of the photographs were out of alignment. “Karen,” Marti said, “thereare some pictures missing from this album.”

  Karen sat beside her and turned a couple of the pages. “They weren't removed neatly,” she said. “Whoever did it was in a hurry.”

  “Why would he do it?”

  “The person who did it had a reason. It's up to us to find out what it was.”

  “How? We don't even know what pictures he took.”

  Karen climbed off the bed. “Maybe you do. Go through the whole album,” she said. “Guess what might be missing. That may be our only clue.”

  Her heart aching, Marli scanned the rest of the pages. Barry in his tennis whites, Barry getting a trophy, Barry smiling at the judges, Barry and that brunette airhead in the eleventh grade. What was her name? Barbie? Barry had lost interest in that girl in a hurry, and Marti was glad. He was much too good for her.

  She closed the book and tried to think. “All that's in here is a collection of photos of Barry and his friends.” Marti suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth and gasped. “Except for the Cuatros!” she cried.

  Fumbling in her eagerness, she flipped through the pages of the album again and looked up at Karen in triumph. “There should be a lot of pictures of the Cuatros in this book because they were, always taking pictures of themselves, but there aren't any. Someone's removed all of them.”

  “Do you have copies of any of the missing photos?”

  “No, but Charlie and Tony ought to. I can ask them.” She stood up and carefully placed the album on Barry's bed. “Or Mrs. Miller,”

  Karen snapped the lock on the small case she'd brought in and looked at Marti. “Mrs, Miller? Who's she?”

  “Thad's mother. His family lives in Farrington Park.”

  “I thought you told me they had moved away.”

  Marti shook her head, “No, I just said that Thad didn't live here anymore.”

  Karen glanced at her sharply. “Are we playing guessing games? Is there some reason why Thad left and his family didn't?”

  Marti shrugged, uncomfortable at having to talk about it. “Two years ago Thad was convicted of armed robbery and sent to a juvenile detention center near Martinglen.”

  “Why didn't you tell me this earlier?”

  “1 didn't think it was important” Marti shifted from one foot to the other and looked down, not wanting to meet Karen's eyes.

  Karen was silent for a moment, then said, “I think you'd better start at the beginning and tell me this whole story about Thad—-and the other Cuatros,”

  At this Marti's head snapped up. “The others had nothing to do with the robbery. Thad was wild. He always wanted to do something daring or crazy, and most of the time the other guys would go along, like the time when Thad dared them all to jump off the railroad trestle over the Brazos when it was swollen after a big rain, and Tony almost drowned, and—”

  She stopped, unaccountably shivering, then said, “This time Thad wanted to rob a store. He really didn't care what kind of a store, but he finally settled on a small jewelry store—the one in that little shopping center that faces the freeway. Iliad's plan was for all the Cuatros to wear ski masks and wait until there weren't any customers and burst in and grab watches and diamond rings and stuff and get out fast.”

  As she stopped for breath, Karen asked, “Did the others go along with it?”

  “No!” Marti said. “They tried to talk Thad out of it. They told him he was crazy. They thought they'd changed his mind.”

  “He committed the robbery alone?”

  “Yes. And it went the way he planned it, except that when he tried to sell the things he took at a pawn shop, the shop owner turned him in to the police. Thad tried to pretend it was just a prank, sort of like a hazing stunt, but nobody- believed him.”

  “Why was that?”

  Marti took a deep breath before she answered. “Because Barry, Charlie, and Tony—the other Cuatros—all testified against him.”

  CHAPTER • 7

  Marti walked with Karen to her car. “They felt terrible about it,” Marti said. “Barry even cried when he told me they'd be called by the prosecuting attorney to testify. But they had to tell the truth.” She paused, then asked, “Are you going to talk to Charlie and lony?”

  “Yes,” Karen said, “but not now. I'm on duty, and—as I told you—this isn't a case we're supposed to be working. I'll get to Barry's friends as soon as I can manage it. I do have questions for them, and there are other questions I'll have to find answers for.”.

  “I could help you.”

  Karen nodded. “With Tony and Charlie, yes, but some of the information I need will be easy to get through routine procedures.” She climbed into the car and shut the door, but before putting her key inthe ignition, Karen rolled down the window in her door and called, “Marti? There issomething you could tell me.”

  “Sure,” Marti said. She hurried to the driver's side of the car and bent toward the window. “What is it?”

  “You said Thad was convicted of armed robbery. Off hand, do you remember what kind of a gun he used?”

  “Thad claimed it was a toy gun—a water pistol, but the jewelry-store owner said he knew the gun was real. He was just too upset to pay attention to what kind of gun it was.”

  Karen gave an impatient toss of her head. “Didn't they have the gun for evidence? Where was the gun?”

  “Thad said he'd thrown it into one of the bayous. He didn't remember where. No one ever found it.”

  “Was it possible that it really wasn't a toy? That it had been owned by his parents?”

  “No. They claimed they had never owned a gun.”

  Karen looked so dubious that Marti felt defensive. “It could have been a toy gun,” she said.

  “Yes, it could,” Karen admitted.

  “There are so many questions.” Marti sighed.

  “I'm used to questions,” Karen said. “The ones I don't like are the ones without answers.”

  She brushed back the short red ringlets that were damp against her cheeks and moved to roll up the window, but Marti cried, “Wait! Talking about guns has made me think of something. What happened to the gun they found with Barry?”

  “I don't know off hand. It was sent to HPD Ballistics for testing. If the Logans want it back, it will probably be given to them.”

  “It wasn't the Logans’ gun,” Marti said. The sun scorched through her thin shirt, and drops of sweat rolled down her backbone. The side of the car was hot where she leaned against it “Mrs. Logan's afraid of guns. She never wanted one in the house.”

  “Barry's, then?”

  “No,” Marti said. “I know for sure that Barry never owned a gun.”

  “I'll find out if they traced the one that was found” Karen said.

  “When?”

  “You'll have to be patient. I'll do this when I can.”

  Marti straightened, taking a step away from the car. “Thanks for helping me, Karen. I appreciate it. I really do.”

  “You don
't need to thank me. If s part of my job to investigate, to try to firid the truth.”

  “But you're doing this as a favor to me.”

  Karen shook her head. “No,” she said. “I'm doing it because if there's even a particle of doubt that Barry didn't kill himself, then I have the responsibility to look for the truth.”

  “Thanks,” Marti whispered. Tears rushed to her eyes, and Karen's face became a blur.

  “We're going to have a tough job, partner,” Karen said, “and we may never be successful in proving our case, but we'll try.”

  Karen rolled up the window and started the ignition. Marti watched her drive away. She rubbed the back of one hand across her eyes and went into the house to start dinner. Partner,Karen had called her. She liked that. Well, there was one thing this half of the partnership could do—and do this evening, as soon as dinner was over. She was going to Charlie's house and ask to see his pictures of the Cuatros.

  Charlie started when he opened the door and saw Marti. “What do you want?” he asked, a frown creasing a V between his eyebrows.

  “Is that your polite way of inviting me in?” Marti leaned against the doorframe and stared up at him.

  “Cut out the sarcasm,” he grumbled. “It's just that you didn't call or anything. I wasn't expecting you.”

  “So?”

  For a moment Charlie looked puzzled, until Marti said, “I'm here, whether you want me to be or not. Aren't you going to ask me in?”

  Charlie looked up the street, which was empty except for a few cars parked in driveways, and moved back to make room for Marti to pass. “I'm sorry, Marti,” he said. “I've got a lot on my mind.”

  “And you were expecting somebody.”

  He whirled to face her. “It's not what you think.”

  “How do you know what I think?”

  “Look, Mom and Dad are in Houston tonight. They went to a play at the Alley Theater. It just seemed like a good time to get in some extra studying, so I asked—uh —somebody to come over.”

  Marti followed Charlie to the den and plopped onto an upholstered rocker. “Who is she?”

  “It doesn't matter,” Charlie mumbled. He went to the telephone on the bar counter that separated the den from the kitchen and dialed a number. His voice was low, but Marti could pick up the words “Later. Call you back.”

  “I don't know why it's such a big secret,” Marti said. “Is it that tall, blond girl who just moved here from California? I've noticed her noticing you.”

  Charlie sat on the sofa across from Marti and leaned forward, forearms resting ojn his legs, his hands clasped in front of him.! “I thought you didn't want to talk. You didn't want to hear what I had to say after lit class.”

  Marti tried to smile, “Let's start over. We're both having a lot of trouble getting our lives back together. I'm sorry I was rude to you today. That's one reason I'm here.”

  “It's okay, I guess.” Charlie kept his eyes on her. “It depends on what the other reason is.”

  “I'd like to see your photograph album.”

  He looked bewildered, as though he'd expected something else. “I haven't got an album,” he answered.

  “You have pictures, don't you?”

  “Sure. But I toss them all in a big box. I never did get around to putting an album together.”

  “It doesn't matter, as long as you've got photographs of the Cuatros.”

  Charlie sat upright, and suspicion narrowed his eyes. “What do you Want the photographs for?”

  Marti stood, crossed the space between them, arid sat riext to Charlie. She t6ok one of his hands. “Because of Barry, we've been friends for a long time,” she said, “and now we're acting like enemies. I don't know why you mistrust me, and I don't want you to, so I'm going to be very open with you and tell you what I know.”

  She described the way she'd found Barry's room and told him how Karen had taken photos and fingerprints arid how she, Marti, had looked through Barry's album and found all the pictures of the Cuatros were missing.

  During the telling, Charlie's fingers had been tense in hers, but at that point he pulled his hand away and shifted riosition so that he ended up a few inches away from her. “Do you know who took them?” he asked.

  Marti shook her head.

  “Or why?” His voice was low, as if he were talking to himself. “Why the Cuatros?” He suddenly put his head down in his hands and groaned. “It makes everything worse.” he said.

  “I don't understand,” Marti said.

  He slowly sat up and looked at her, his features twisted with pain. “That's right. You don't. And all this stupid playing detective, insisting that Barry was murdered … why can't you just back off and accept things the way they are?”

  “You can't understand me,”Marti said. “I wonder if you even understood Barry.”

  “Of course I did!” Charlie shouted at her. “We were close friends! Don't you think that when he killed himself it tore me apart?”

  “I keep telling you—he didn't kill himself.”

  “Who would kill him?”

  “I don't know!” Marti found that she was shouting too. She flung herself against the back of the sofa, slumping, her chin almost on her chest, and quietly asked, “Charlie, why are we doing this to each other?”

  “Because you won't let go.”

  They were silent for a few moments, until the silence became oppressive, pounding at her ears. Marti broke it. “Could I see your photographs?”

  Charlie rested his elbows on his knees again and put his forehead into the palms of his hands. “I don't know where they are,” he mumbled.

  “They have to be somewhere around here. I'll help you look.”

  His words were deliberately spaced, as though he were talking to a child who couldn't understand. “I… don't… know… where… they … are.”

  The house was cool with air-conditioning, but Marti saw beads of sweat popping out oil Charlie's forehead and on his hands. “You've thought of something, haven't-you? What are you afraid of ?” she asked

  His voice was a hollow whisper as he raised his head to stare into her eyes. “Right now,” he said, “I'm afraid of you.”

  Charlie's house was on the street behind Castle Lake Drive, but Tony's wasn't within walking distance; so Marti walked home in the darkness, puzzling over what Charlie had said. It didn't Make sense. She sighed. Maybe Karen could figure it out.

  Once inside the house she went to the telephone in her bedroom and dialed Tony's number.

  Busy. She should have known. The fruhute she left Charlie he had probably telephoned Tony. She waited a few minutes and dialed again, but the number was still busy. She sighed. Wait five minutes, then dial again. If she still couldn't get Tony, she'd call the Millers.

  She didn't want to talk to Mrs. Miller. She could still remember the woman's face, so stiff-lipped and pale when she and Mom met her in the supermarket after the trial atod Mom tried to say something comforting about Thad. But how about Thad's brother, Emmet? They never had much to say to each other in lit. class, but she didn't mind calling Emmet.

  Emmet was the one who answered the phone, which Marti thought would make things easier, but after she had identified herself, Emmet just mumbled, “Yeah?”

  Marti decided to get right to the point. “Emmet,” she said, “if you have any photographs of the Cuatros, I'd like to have them.”

  He made a quick, explosive sound. His words were so garbled she couldn't understand them. “Emmet?” she asked. “Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you,” he grumbled. “What makes you think Fd want pictures of those guys?”

  “Well, I didn't mean you,exactly. I really meant photographs that belong to Thad. Does he have an album or a box of photos, anything like that?”

  “You've got to be kidding. He trashed them. Burned them up, as a matter of fact.”

  Marti gasped. “But the Cuatros were friends.”

  “Friends? That's what you call them? None of them stood by him.
They couldn't even tell a couple of white lies that would have kept Thad from getting that sentence.”

  “They were under oath. They couldn't lie.”

  “They were as guilty as Thad was,” he snapped. “Thad did it as a joke, and the guys knew he was going to do it. They could have stopped him, but they didn't; so he had to prove he could do it.”

  “You're wrong!” Marti began, but Emmet had hung up.

  The telephone rang the moment she pressed down the button to break the circuit. She jumped and held the receiver away from her body as though it were a live thing.

  “Hello? Hello?” she heard.

  Marti gulped and brought the phone to her ear. “Hello,” she answered.

  A woman's voice asked, “May I please speak to Marti Lewis?”

  Marti recognized Miss Dillard's voice and grimaced into the phone. “This is Marti.”

  The voice picked up speed and volume. “Well, Marti, this is Elizabeth Dillard. Didn't you get my note? I waited for fifteen minutes after class, but you didn't show up.”

  “I had another appointment, Miss Dillard. With Dr. Emery.”

  “Then it was ray fault in assuming you'd be free.”

  Marti didn't answer, and after an awkward pause, Miss Dillard asked, “Will you be able to meet with me tomorrow after class?”

  “Tomorrow is Friday.”

  “I know how all of you kids are about Fridays and getting away for the weekends, but Dr. Granberryis eager to meet you. He's very interested in what you told me about Barry. I promise that we won't keep you long.”

  For a moment it was hard to breathe, and Marti could feel her heart beat faster. “You mean he's interested in what I said about Barry not killing himself?”

  “Oh. Oh, no.” Miss Dillard began to apologize. “I mean what you said about Barry's lack of depression and all his plans for the future, and so forth. You know there are so many studies being made right now, so much need for input and information, and I feel that Dr. Cranberry's on the right track, that the information he puts together could be of immense help to so many families of troubled young people.”

  “He's dealing with suicides. Barry's death wasn't a suicide.”

  Miss Dillard's voice was strained. “Please, Marti. Dr. Granberryjust wants to talk to you, and he's asked me as a favor to arrange it. Please? I think a meeting will be of benefit to you both.”