Command of Silence

by Paulette Callen

  “Hester, if things start to go south, you’ll let me take over.”

  Isadora, if things go south, you’ll go souther. You know you can’t handle this. Let us do it. If things go bad, I’ll let Olive take over, okay?

  “Fine by me. Can you handle this, Olive?”

  Don’t be ridiculous. I get a fair price out of Robin Bartholome— the biggest skinflint in the art world. Not to mention getting us away from Jimmy. I can do anything.

  She had a point. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  The Lawman won’t like it, offered Cootie.

  No, but he’ll be watching, and if things get out of hand, he can charge in like the cavalry. He’ll like that.

  “Another good point, Olive. You’re on, Hester.”

  Hester looked at herself in the mirror. She took the lipstick that I’d promised to always have there, out of the blazer pocket, filled in her lips and used a little to add some color to her cheeks. She put water on her hands and fluffed up her hair and pushed the left side behind her ear.

  When she returned to Leo’s desk, she tore a sheet of paper off his notepad and scribbled on it, folded it in half and showed it to Feeney. “Deniability.” He looked blank. She sighed in frustration. “What you don’t know, Detective, Leo can’t blame you for. I’m going home. Got it?” She stared meaningfully into his eyes.

  “Sure. You’re going home.”

  “When Leo comes back, give him this note.” She tucked it deeply into his suit pocket.

  The junior detective squirmed. “Sure.”

  Hester walked away. Instead of taking the door out, however, she ducked down the hallway to the interview room, flashing her incandescent smile at the officers posted outside the door. “Hey, Krupkies, how are you?”

  They laughed. “Hey, Shiloh. What’s up?”

  “Leo’s giving me a crack at our subject while he takes a break.”

  They nodded, and Hester went in.

  “Hello, Spencer. I’m Hester.”

  She pulled out a chair and sat across the table from him, keeping her big smile and bright eyes fixed on him.

  “Hello. You’re Shiloh…what…”

  “Spencer,” she chided him, “you were told what we are before you met us. Did you think it was a joke? Some therapist’s way to a book deal?”

  “No, I’m sorry—Hester, you said…?”

  He was scrambling to get his own smile back as he readjusted himself in his seat.

  Hester folded her hands on the table top in front of her. “Okay, sweetie. Talk to me.”

  Spencer Burke wasn’t used to being called sweetie. He was speechless.

  “You should talk to me or you might get someone else in the Company, and none of them like you. But I don’t have any issues. I’m just me, Hester.” She propped her chin on her hand, elbow on the table. “So tell me about this Garden Club. Oh… did Leo tell you? They found the one who took Anna, and they found Anna.”

  “Yes. No. I already knew. Yesterday, Michael called. My daughter’s brother-in-law...the priest... We are all so relieved.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “And I’m more than willing to help. More than willing. But I’ve told them everything I know.” He rubbed his forehead, perplexed. “I don’t know why they are so fixated on me.”

  “You don’t.”

  He shook his head and shrugged.

  Hester smiled and shrugged back. “You fit the profile.”

  “What profile is that?”

  “The profile of a perv.”

  More vigorous head shakes. “No, no no.” He uttered a congenial little chuckle.“They won’t find anything in my life. I’ve led a quiet life—a good life.” Spencer was under no obligation to talk to her, but he babbled on. “I don’t smoke. I don’t drink. I don’t gamble. I’ve provided well for my family. I’ve given my fair share to charity. I...I donate blood.”

  “I’m growing fonder of you every minute. Keep going.”

  “I’ve never hurt anyone.”

  “What about your daughter?”

  He sighed hugely, exchanging his helpful, slightly hurt smile for the mask of self-disappointment. “I could have been a better father. After her mother died, I tried my best. She never wanted for anything. But I—”

  “You gave her to other men to use.”

  “That story.”He shook his head sorrowfully.His head seemed to have its own separate battery pack. “I don’t know where she came up with that. She stayed over with friends occasionally when I was traveling, but nothing ever happened. This is just her being upset and depressed. You see, she had nightmares as a child. To her they seemed real. I should have taken her to a therapist. I admit that. That was my fault. I thought she would get over them. Grow out of them. I didn’t think she’d remember them.”

  Hester kept smiling. “Claudia remembers you blaming her for her mother’s death and telling her—no—programming her to never tell. And she never has. Isadora figured it all out.”

  He kept that head shake going and the smile on his face. No sign yet that his batteries were wearing down. “No, no, you see that’s all part of her nightmares. Of course small children feel guilty when a parent dies. They all do. I tried to tell her it wasn’t her fault. I didn’t do enough, that’s clear. I take full responsibility.”

  I knew that by now Leo would have come back, yelled at Feeney, read Hester’s note:

  Dear Leo,

  Let us have a try. We can’t make it worse. Don’t yell at Feeney.

  Love,

  Hester

  and would be outside to watch her every move. She knew it too and changed her tack, leaving her chair and circling to perch casually on the side of the table, speaking in an even friendlier, disarming manner, her hands clasped loosely on her lap. “Well, you can understand why the police are interested in you, can’t you? You are a well-positioned man with artistic sensibilities and tastes and the means to indulge them. In that, you must admit you do fit the profile. You can’t blame them.”

  “No, I know they are just doing their job. But you understand it is difficult to be called in here and questioned again when I’ve already told them all I know.” He played for her sympathy and she responded.

  “I do understand. And that’s why I wanted to talk to you. I think they’ve been very heavy-handed with you and are missing an opportunity to…” She paused while he waited hopefully, expectantly, “…avail themselves of your expertise in this affair.” She had found a phrase right out of one of Lance’s novels, and Spencer, who probably didn’t read those kinds of novels, released a genuine smile, like a mouse who thinks the cat has just extended the paw of friendship.

  “We need insight into the workings of the mind of a man of your class, your sensibilities. Could you help me with that?”

  “Yes, certainly, I’ll try.” His eyes welled with modest confidence.

  “Because as you and I both know…” She leaned toward him a little, casting a quick glance around the room, mentally cursing the turtleneck I made her wear and wishing she had some cleavage to show, lowering her voice, indicating that what she was about to say, she wanted to be below the range of the mikes. Of course, the mikes in the room were sensitive enough to pick up a whisper, which she was well aware of. “As you and I both know, the police—they try with their profilers and all that, but they’re, you know, so blue-collar. They can’t really know... I thought you could help us develop a better, more refined profile of the man we’re looking for. The person who took your granddaughter—”

  “Do you think it was the same man who took Anna?”

  “Do you?”

  “Oh no, not the same kind of person at all. She’s too young.”

  “Too young for what?”

  “Too young to fit the profile of the group you’re talking about.”

  “Is she? We only profiled the kidnappers, not the children.”

  “I just mean…”

  “We’re looking at many other people.”

  “Of course
, I’ll be happy to help. Any insights I can offer…”

  “Good. Thank you.” Hester rose and circled the room slowly, still casual, still amiable. “You see, your average perv knows he’s a perv. These guys, these fellows in the Garden Club think they are epicures. Let’s say—hypothetically—a man with your sensibilities wouldn’t consider himself a monster. Would you?”

  “Of course not.”

  She sat on the edge of the other side of the table. Spencer readjusted himself so he could look up at her comfortably. “You would consider yourself a gentleman with special tastes.”

  “I would imagine so, yes.”

  “You would.” She nodded, taking a moment for reflection. “I would imagine that all of the members of the club come through personal referrals only. Wouldn’t you imagine that?”

  “Yes. Yes, I would.” He nodded in hearty agreement.

  “You make every effort to keep a certain kind of person out and only let in a person of discretion, affluence no doubt, and of course, patience. And most importantly, a person who you know will play by the club’s rules. Am I right so far?”

  “Yes, yes. Absolutely.”

  “So, I have to wonder what went wrong with the dentist. It was a dentist, you know, who took Anna. What do you think went wrong with the dentist?”

  “I don’t know.” Spencer puckered his forehead in deep thought. “Perhaps he didn’t return Anna as soon as he would have, ordinarily, because of all the attention brought on by the disappearance of Charlotte.”

  “Yes, that certainly makes sense. A missing child belonging to a nanny would not draw the same attention as the missing child of a wealthy Upper West Side family…”

  “Yes, taking Charlotte was certainly a mistake.”

  “A mistake?” Hester’s voice was like whipped cream.

  “For the club, no doubt. It doesn’t seem to be their profile to keep a child for more than a few hours, or at most, overnight. I imagine all the children are returned promptly. I’m just offering an insight here. A possible insight.”

  “Yes, that’s good. This is just what I hoped for. We are getting somewhere here.”

  “Do you think they are getting this?” He gestured toward the mirror, which he knew was a one-way glass.

  “I’m sure that they are. So you are saying that the rules of the club would mandate—can I say ‘mandate’? Or ‘suggest’…”

  “Mandate, I would expect.”

  “The rules of the club mandate that a child be kept only a few hours…one could then simply assume she wandered off or something when she turns up again on her own.”

  “Yes, yes and they are always returned unharmed.”

  “Unharmed?” Hester reflected on that word. “Unharmed. Oh, you mean, what happens to them in a few hours in the company of one of these gentlemen, would not hurt as much as say—a vaccination…or a fall from a swing.” Her voice remained smooth, one reasonable person in dialogue with another about a subject on which they might disagree, but striving all the same to see the other’s point of view. “Is that what you mean?”

  “If you put it like that, it—”

  “And, if the child isn’t kept, it isn’t really kidnapping, is it? It’s just borrowing. A child goes for a little visit, spends a little time in the company of one of these gentlemen and before you can say ‘Bob’s your uncle’ she’s returned. Is that how you imagine it is?”

  “I suppose so, yes.”

  “And the children are all so young, they can’t really describe what happened to them or where they’ve been, or who took them, and there’s no physical evidence, of course. I’m sure these gentlemen are all very conscientious about that. No bruising.”

  “Bruising? Oh, of course not! Nothing like that.”

  “Yes, nothing like that, and no DNA, but even if there should be, if someone slips and is careless, it’s untraceable to anyone the child knows, or anyone known to the family of the child. Because she was borrowed by a complete stranger, someone who probably lives miles, maybe hundreds or thousands of miles away. That’s really the point of the club. Don’t you agree? To match gentlemen with children who cannot be traced to them by any means. Am I right?”

  “Yes, I would think so.”

  “And, really, like you say, none of them are really hurt. All these beautiful, borrowed children.” Hester’s voice had become more soothing, rhythmic, hypnotic. “All these beautiful, borrowed children. Little children. Little flowers. Beautiful little flowers. Vulnerability and beauty create desire. It’s only natural, don’t you agree?”

  “Oh, yes. We are born sexual beings. Freud proved that. Children are sexual beings,” he replied, lulled by her voice, intoxicated by his own memories. His face relaxed, his eyes took on a faraway glaze as he looked at her and said, “You must have been a lovely little girl.”

  Hester had time for only a moment’s regret and wistful thought, Just when I was getting somewhere, before she went hurtling into the gyre, the rest of us were steamrolled, and Hawk was lifting him up by his shirtfront, kicking his chair over, pushing him against the back wall and snarling through her teeth, “Children are not plants!”

  “Hester..!”

  “Do I look like Hester?” She bounced him against the wall, keeping her hold on his shirt. “Now you tell me why your daughter gave up her own child.”

  “What?”

  “Pay attention,” she snarled again and rapped him once more against the wall. Her arms were long and he flailed his own, shorter arms uselessly, like a cartoon figure. In Hawk’s fire, he was straw. “In spite of everything you did to her, Claudia is stronger than her mother was. She protected her daughter. She gave her away.”

  “She what?”

  “Are you deaf? Charlotte is where you will never get your hands on her. Now you tell me exactly what you did, because I am tired of talking, and if you don’t, I’ll kill you.”

  “The police…are watching this.”

  “I’m sure they’re enjoying the show.”

  “You can’t kill me in a police station.”

  “If they were concerned about your nasty ass, they wouldn’t have let me in here in the first place.”

  He stared at her, speechless.

  Hawk whispered, “The first time you kill, they say, is the hardest. The second time, it’s easier. But I confess, the first time I killed somebody, it wasn’t that hard.”

  “You killed somebody?” he warbled in fear.

  “It’s a fond memory. Now, speak to the microphones. Loud and clear. Enunciate. What you did, or I will kill you. I have nothing to lose. You see, according to some experts, I don’t even exist. Tell me first what you did to Claudia.”

  He said nothing. She released his shirt and her hand closed on his throat like a mouth, her nails dug into his flesh like teeth.

  Now, he couldn’t talk and he stank of fear. He could breathe but only enough to stay conscious. I knew if he didn’t start confessing, she would kill him slowly, painfully, and he’d be conscious till the very end.

  “Tell me what you did.” She released the pressure enough so he could take a breath.

  “I didn’t do anything.” She closed on his throat again and shook him. And gave him a breath.

  He gasped, “I had to. I owed the club. I couldn’t find anyone else and my time was running out. Everyone in the club has to supply information, or a child at least once a year. That’s the rule! She wasn’t hurt. She was too young to even remember.”

  She squeezed tighter, cutting his air off. His arms flailed uselessly, pawed at her arms uselessly. “How many times?” She allowed him a breath.

  “Not many—only a few times—”

  “Now, what did you do to Anna?”

  She eased her hold again, just enough for him to get a deeper breath to speak. “I just supplied the information. For the Web site. That’s all.”

  “Louder.”

  “I supplied the information.”

  “And someone called you?”

  �
�Yes.”

  “Louder!”

  “Yes! Someone called me.”

  “And you gave them Anna’s schedule and told them she would be wearing a certain outfit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you,” Hawk growled and, shifting her position slightly, placed herself in the line of sight between his face and the observers, she began her deadly squeeze of his throat, watching silently as the life drained from his face.

  He’s on me so heavy my hands pinned to my sides weak against his strength helpless…………………………………... I am Hawk I strike my teeth sink into his neck a sickening crunch tear and bite again deeper and rip he has not even screamed blood fills my mouth must swallow to breathe I shut my eyes and bite deep and tear his throat out…blood spouts like a fountain over me fills my mouth up my nose in my ears. I choke try to spit but I must swallow or choke he has thrashed and twitched bruising me but is quickly still I am drenched in what I did not swallow tides of his blood the sheets are slick with his blood my hair my nightclothes I will never get the taste out of my mouth the smell out of my nostrils the devil’s blood my father’s blood.

  Then, a hand slipped over hers, and a dark, molasses voice crooned, That’s enough now sweetheart. Let it go, honey. This is not for you. Let it go, baby.

  Hawk let go. Spencer collapsed on the floor, gasping and choking and clutching his throat. Sugartime left. Hawk stayed.

  Leo barreled through the door muttering shit shit realizing he might be too late. Feeney was right behind him. Hawk lifted her eyes from Spencer, wheezing for air on the floor, to Leo.

  “You’re Hawk,” Leo said, relieved that he still had a live suspect.

  “You’re Leo.”

  “Nice t’meet ya.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Leo yelled through the open door, “Somebody bring the bastard a glass of water. Feeney, take his statement. Hawk, come with me.”

  Leo and Hawk paused outside the room and watched as Feeney tossed a yellow legal pad on the table and helped Spencer get to his knees, then into the chair. Spencer was rasping, “She killed someone. Did you hear her?”

  “Old news.”

  An officer came back with a paper cup full of water, set it in front of Spencer Burke and left. Feeney placed a pen on the pad.