Command of Silence

by Paulette Callen

  On the shining floor was an assortment of blue scatter rugs and a red, white and blue plastic placemat set with food and water bowls emblazoned with the name: BUNGEE. The kitchen was longer than it was wide, and at the far end, taking up almost the whole wall, was a free-standing mahogany china hutch filled with blue-and-white porcelain.

  Oooooooooooooo! Look at that! It’s Delft! It’s blue Delft!

  Yes, I know Delft when I see it, Hester. We’re not here to admire the china.

  Do you know how much that stuff costs? That platter, on the top there. That is over a thousand dollars.

  Yes, seems extravagant just for a chicken carcass.

  You are so crass. No sense of style. Food should be served beautifully. Not eaten out of cartons like we….

  Vin Parrish was sitting at the small table by the window, sipping tea. He greeted me with a nod and returned to watching something across the street.

  I pulled out a chair and sat across from him, issuing a silent warning to Hester and Olive to knock it off about the Delft.

  “See that overhang?” He pointed to the building across the courtyard. “I think there’s a pigeon nest up under there somewhere. We’re hoping to see a chick take its first flight. The boys and I have spent hours here this spring watching. I don’t know if we’re too early or too late. Not too late, I don’t think. But, I don’t know nuthin’ ’bout pigeons.” He was trim, well-muscled but not bulked up. He had on black slacks and a formfitting black T-shirt under a red square-hemmed shirt that he wore loose and unbuttoned. His head was shaved and a silver stud gleamed in his left earlobe.

  “You get on well with Danny and Joey?”

  “They’re the lights of my life.” He took a good sip of his iced tea, tucked in his lips and licked them, looking down at his glass. He noticed a smudge on the table and buffed it with his sleeve.

  “How long have you worked for the Keatings?”

  “Eight years.”

  “How did you meet Mrs. Keating?”

  “I’ve known Claudy my whole adult life, if you assume I became an adult when I was eighteen. We were both at NYU. Saw her at a coffee shop on Fourth Street staring at a copy of Twelfth Night lookin’ like a fawn in the headlights. So I sat down and said I could prob’ly ’splain it to her as I had just played Malvolio to stirring reviews in the Jackson, Mississippi Playersin-the-Round production the summer before. In spite of my keen insights into the comedies of Shakespeare, neither of us finished college, but we stayed friends. When Joey was born I was especially down on my luck—one of New York’s b’zillion out-of-work triple-threats.”

  “What is that?”

  “Triple-threat? Showbiz speak. Actor/singer/dancer.”

  I knew that. Hester knows everything, or at least, she thinks she does.

  “She offered me a job. Said I could still go to auditions and she’d have a clean house without having to supervise anybody. Claudy was born to money, but she doesn’t have any rich-bitch ways. Her cleaning ladies always ran roughshod over her. So, I took the job and she pays me a lot more than I’m worth. She says it’s daddy’s money so I might as well have it.” He took a pull on his glass of tea. “Well, I don’t go to auditions anymore, but Claudy has the cleanest apartment in Gotham.” I had already noted the shiny kitchen and the perfectly organized pantry shelves. I suspected he earned his wage. “I also do some laundry and ironing. Honey, you could slice a turkey with the creases in those kids’ pants! I even do the floors and windows...except for those two-story monsters in the living room. I get the vapors on a ladder. But I do just about everything else. Make up the beds and clean the bathrooms and cook. I’m a mean cook. And I can bake your buns off.”

  He turned his head toward the window again and wiped his eyes with a soggy tissue. He had recited his domestic talents with great sadness, as if none of his abilities had helped Claudia save her husband or child. He had put on a cheerful enough show in front of the family, but what I was seeing now was no show. He was the only one in the house so far who was acting normally under the circumstances.

  Joey came tearing in, his soccer ball under his arm. “Danny got a cookie and I didn’t!”

  “You weren’t here when they were being passed out, buddy. There’s plenty left. In the bear.” The boy went toward the counter and Vin pointed at him. “Hands! Hands! Give me the ball.”

  Joey surrendered his soccer ball and dragged a stepstool over to the sink where he climbed up, washed his hands, not very thoroughly. After a cursory blotting with a towel, he pushed the stool over a couple of feet in front of a fat bear-shaped cookie jar. He clambered up again and dipped his hand in, drawing out a good-sized cookie. He took a bite and was about to dip in again. Vin commanded, “One cookie, Miss Thing! I ain’t been slavin’ over a hot stove all day for you to have no appetite for suppah.”

  “Okay.” Joey looked around the kitchen and gave a little sniff. “What are you cooking?”

  “Nuthin’. Yet.”

  Joey smiled and ran out with his cookie.

  His face deadpan, Vin extended his arm with the soccer ball poised on his fingertips and waited. In a moment, the boy ran back in, snatched it and streaked out again.

  “Do the uncle and the father mind that you are a homosexual?”

  “I swannee! You get to the point, don’t ’cha? No, not so I’ve noticed. In the design business, folks like me are coming out of the woodwork, so to speak.”

  “What does Vin stand for?”

  “Alvin. I was named after my mother whose name is Alvinia. I go by Alvin back home but nowhere else.”

  “Did Anna spend any time with you and the boys?”

  “A little. She is...” His eyes filled with tears again and he stopped talking and rattled the ice in his tea. He collected himself quickly. “She’s only three, and they’re older so it’s not like they played much together.”

  “Do the boys seem to like her?”

  “Joey is kind of indifferent, but I think Danny does. Danny has a strong sense of responsibility for his age. I think he took her on as a little sister. He’s nicer to her than he is to his brother.”

  “Is Claudia affectionate with Anna?”

  “Absolutely. She is an affectionate mother and she treated Anna like one of her own.”

  “How did the boys react to the baby?”

  “I would say with curiosity.” He looked at me shrewdly. “Are you wondering if the boys could have done something to the girls out of jealousy or something like that?”

  “Could they?”

  “Not in this universe.”

  “Why are you so sure?”

  “Because I’ve known them since the day they were born into this vale of tears, and neither one of them has a mean bone. They can be wise asses, but I’ve never seen them do anything mean.”

  “Children can be savages.” I ought to know.

  “Some kids can. Little boys can be capable of all kinds of mayhem. But not these boys. You met them. What did you think?”

  “I agree with you.”

  “You’re makin’ them stew down there, ain’t cha?” He nodded backward, toward the living room, where I could hear some voices raised in agitation. Manfred’s, and then Ryan O’Hagan’s trying to soothe.

  I didn’t answer Vin Parrish.

  He emitted a high-pitched, ticklish chuckle. “Do you want some tea? I’m going to have some more. There’s plenty. That’s about all I can do—keep the beverages flowing.”

  “Thank you.”

  He got up, happy for something to do.

  “Tell me about Manfred Burke.”

  He brought out a large pitcher from the refrigerator and took out another glass and the ice tray from the freezer. “Oh, he’s an old drama queen.” He poured the clear amber liquid into our glasses and brought them to the table.

  “Do you mean he’s—”

  “No, he’s not queer that I know of, but who knows anymore? I don’t.” He returned the pitcher and the tray to the refrigerator and then wip
ed up a wet spot off the counter. “I like him. He’s full of hot air mostly, artistic temperament, but I’m used to artistic temperament. Hell, honey, I’ve got artistic temperament. He and Spencer bought this place for Claudy and Dan when they got married. And he’s been good to her since Dan died.” He returned to his chair.

  “Does she have her own money or does it all come from them?”

  “She had a good chunk of her own from a trust fund that came to her when she was twenty-one. But that went to pay for Dan’s education. College and law school took it all. Her dad pays for most of the big stuff like private school for the boys and now all the household expenses, which includes me and Miriam. Manfred buys the kids a lot. Tricycles and then bicycles. All their sporting gear. The most expensive sneakers and stuff like that.”

  “Of the two Burkes, who has the most money?”

  “Well, now that I don’t really know. Spencer’s quieter. Not such a loud mouth. So he might have more money than anybody knows about. He’s the bean counter. Manfred is the artsy fart. And he seems to spend more money on showy things. He takes vacations in exotic places and buys art to fill up his houses. Come to think of it…I would say Manfred, because there’s a whole big pile of money that Claudia mentioned to me once, that to get it, they both have to sign something. So, they both have that whenever they need something big, but as far as personal money…Manfred probably has more. You’d have to ask them.”

  “Who bought all that?” I turned in my chair and nodded to the china hutch.

  “Spencer. Claudia’s been collecting it since she was little. He brings her a piece every once in awhile when he travels. She never uses it though.”

  I tasted the tea. It was delicious with a hint of fresh mint. “How well do you know the doorman—Victor?”

  He shrugged. “On speaking terms.”

  “How about the other doormen and the super?”

  “The same.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “I inhabit an overpriced, squalid fourth floor walk-up dump in the Village. I’m staying here now. After Dan got sick, Claudy asked if I could bunk in and of course, I can. Where’s the hardship? I mean look at this place! I’m in the guest room, down there.”

  “I saw it.”

  He made a quick mental adjustment as he realized that I had examined his room like everyone else’s. “Well, it’s been my room for a while. Claudy has asked me to stay before. Right after each of the boys were born, I stayed for a few weeks and once when she had the flu. So I sort of did the room. It used to be the maid’s room. Guess it still is.” He didn’t smile.

  “So what happened here? Do you have any ideas?”

  He shook his head and lifted his glass to his lips again.

  “Do you think the same person took Anna and Charlotte?”

  “Well, it would have to be. It’s really too much of a coincidence, isn’t it? Maybe they took Anna by mistake. Maybe they thought they were getting a Keating kid and then realized it was a mistake and came back for the baby.” He shrugged helplessly. “I’m just a dumb boy from Jackson. I can’t figure it out.”

  I didn’t think Vin Parrish was dumb at all. “I might like to speak with you again. Somewhere else. Outside the apartment.”

  “Sure. Call my cell.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black card with red raised lettering: VIN PARRISH and a phone number. “I used to entertain at parties and stuff. I still have these. Trying to use ’em up. Can’t bring m’self to throw them away.”

  I put the card in my pocket. “Is there another room where I can talk to people alone?”

  He jumped up. All of his movements seemed spring-loaded. “The den. Used to be Dan’s home-office, but now it’s the family room. TV and such-like.”

  I trailed him back to the landing. Instead of going down the stairs we turned right into a dark room. He switched on the light. “This do?”

  A sofa and a wingback chair shared space with some oversized beanbag chairs and a game table. A large television set was ensconced in a shelf system that took up an entire wall and also housed, none too tidily, games, books, DVDs, CDs and videos. On a low table in one corner was a jumble of Legos. Pale sage carpet looked spanking new. The even paler sea-green paint looked fresh, the shelves and drapes new. Everything had been done to make over this room. The colors were subtle and exquisite, with upholstery in the right accents of darker blue and brown and green patterns and stripes. On the walls were fantastical pictures in vibrant colors to appeal to children’s whimsy. I saw Manfred Burke’s hand here, a light, sure hand that created a welcoming family space. I realized that he had probably made a lot of money because he was a good designer.

  “This is fine,” I said.

  “It’s not too comfortable is it? I know you want to keep people on edge.” He sliced the air with the side of his hand in a quick, precise horizontal motion.

  “I keep them on edge enough. I don’t need help from the furniture.”

  He laughed his high-pitched cackle. “I’ll leave you to it then, Cruella.”

  Ryan O’Hagan was the only one who welcomed my return. Living room conversation had ceased as soon as Vin and I appeared on the landing. I wanted to speak to Miriam, but it was obvious she was not going to be lucid any time today. Mrs. Keating asked to take her back upstairs, and I turned my attention to Spencer Burke. He watched his daughter lead the nanny up to her room.

  When his eyes met mine,I said,“Come with me.Please.”He scrambled to get out of the overstuffed chair he had sunk into. “I’ll do anything to help. I told the police, I’d do anything.”

  Anything but leave a meeting early enough to be here on time, Olive commented dryly. Less energy was required to ignore Olive and Hester than to force them back to the gyre. And Sugartime didn’t interfere unless the little ones were involved or things got hopelessly weird. We weren’t there yet. But the gals were seriously trying my patience.

  Manfred Burke sighed loudly and sucked at his teeth. “If you wanted to speak to us all separately, why did we have to gather here? Are you enjoying torturing us?”

  “This is not torture, Mr. Burke. This is simply waiting.”

  I allowed Spencer Burke to step into the den first. He picked the wingback, sliding the footstool to the side and sitting forward. I pulled out a straight-back chair from the game table and faced him from a few feet away.

  “My brother overreacts. He’ll forget all about this in a few hours. He doesn’t hold on to things.”

  Like we care.

  “I’ll do anything to help. You can ask me anything.”

  As if we wouldn’t, Olive snorted.

  “Do you know what happened to Anna?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Charlotte?”

  “No...I...” He shook his head in perplexity. “I don’t understand it. I can’t imagine what happened to Charlotte.”

  “I want you to look at some names.” I leaned forward and handed him the list that Ryan O’Hagan had given me. “Is there anybody who is not on this list that should be? People that know your daughter, even indirectly—through you or your brother— an enemy either of you has made over the years? Someone who would want to hurt you through your family?”

  He shook his head as his eyes went down the list. “I told the police…we make designs for towels and ice buckets. Not the sort of business where one makes enemies. It’s just fluff.”

  “Expensive fluff.”

  He handed the paper back to me. “We have made a good living, but compared to an oil company or a retail chain, it doesn’t amount to much. Certainly nothing to warrant a kidnapping. We had money from our father and uncles who were merchants in Russia. We’ve invested well. But we’re not Rockefellers or involved in shady deals. We’re audited regularly. You can check with—”

  “The police already have. I just wondered if they missed anything.” We stared at each other in silence for six thumps of Joey’s soccer ball. “Call me if you think of anything you haven’t told t
hem. If there is something you don’t want the police to know, something that will help me find the children, the police won’t hear about it from me. I don’t care about your business dealings, good or bad. My loyalty is to my client. Your daughter. I care about finding the children.”

  His face took on an even more confused and wondering aspect before it flushed red and the veins in his forehead bulged. “Do you think I would put any business interest ahead of finding my granddaughter?”

  “I don’t know you, Mr. Burke. I don’t know what you would do.”

  He deflated as quickly as he had puffed up. “Of course, there is nothing. Nothing I can think of. Do you think we’ll find her?”

  “Chances are not good.” He put his head in his hands. “Not for her or for Anna.” The Burkes kept forgetting about Anna. “Are you married?”

  He dropped his hands but kept his head down, looking at the floor. “You must know that I’m not.”

  “I ask you the questions because the answers lie in the person who answers, not in the facts. If the facts were all I needed, I would rely only on the police file.”

  He stared at his hands for a long moment.

  I repeated the question. “Are you married?”

  “I am a widower.”

  “How did your wife die?”

  “She committed suicide.”

  This was news. The police file said his wife had passed away. Heart failure.

  “When.”

  “Nineteen eighty.” That matched the file.

  “How?”

  “She took pills.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “She was depressed.The pharmaceuticals weren’t as sophisticated then as they are now.”

  “How did that affect Claudia?”

  He raised his head. “What in the name of God does this have to do with my granddaughter?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, it didn’t make her a happy sunny child as you can imagine. We had some difficult times. We got through it. She doesn’t need this now on top of that, does she?” He was careening back and forth between subtle but clear states of anger, frustration and real concern. He was now almost plaintive. “Can you help find her child?”