“I’m sorry,” she says, “I know you told me you didn’t want him here, but I thought you might need him.”
“Me? Need him?” I sneer. “You must be kidding.”
Laurie just smiles and goes out to the ambulance, as Madeline is being loaded in. Laurie leans over, squeezes her hand, and kisses her on the head. She whispers something to her, but I can’t make out what it is.
Then Laurie and Parsons go back inside to attempt to interview Marcus.
Lots of luck, guys.
• • • • •
MADELINE BARLOW has gone through more than anyone should have to. She has seen her sister and friends murdered, and she cannot get anyone in her town, including her mother, to understand the continued danger that lives among them. She has been threatened and kidnapped for simply talking to someone trying to learn the truth. Now she is away from her home, from what’s left of her family, and she remains in fear for her life.
Fortunately, her physical injuries are quite minor, just a few bruises from her fall. Emotionally, she is trying to put up a good front, but she is one damaged young lady. She has adamantly refused to see her mother, though Jane Barlow has spent considerable time in the hospital lobby, hoping she will change her mind.
Stephen Drummond has called me to express outrage at my intervention in the affairs of his community and the Barlow family. He started to launch into a denial that Madeline was in any danger in Center City, claiming that we coerced her to leave. Not in the mood for any more of his bullshit, I suggested that he file a complaint with the police, and I hung up.
Laurie has assigned Cliff Parsons to investigate and try to apprehend the two men who terrorized Madeline before themselves being terrorized by Marcus. Three days have gone by, and if any progress has been made, I haven’t heard about it. Center City is a tough place to crack, and though it’s part of the area Parsons has always covered, he’s very much an outsider there.
Laurie has gotten Madeline placed under the control of Wisconsin Child Protective Services, even though Madeline is only five weeks from her eighteenth birthday. Legally, it makes it possible for us to find a safe place for her to stay, and I took care of that yesterday. Richard and Allie Davidson generously offered to let her share their home, and Madeline agreed, at least for now. Part of her going along with it was my promise that Marcus would help watch over her. After his performance the other day, with Marcus at her side Madeline would feel safe in Jurassic Park.
I’ve been visiting Madeline every day and have taken occasion to gently probe to see if she can provide any more helpful information about the case. She cannot, a fact that causes her obvious frustration.
Laurie has seen her every day as well, and she was there yesterday when I arrived. They have established a remarkably close relationship, and Laurie obviously feels very protective of her. Her motherly instincts have come to the fore, and they are impressive indeed.
The events at the picnic area have made me more anxious than ever to nail the people who killed Liz, Sheryl, Eddie, and Calvin and tried to do the same to Madeline and me. If my knowledge matched my motivation, I might even succeed.
All I really have to go on is my belief that the airstrip is central to the solution. And the only way I’m going to find out for sure is to execute a stakeout there.
I have been told by a number of cops, Pete Stanton and Laurie among them, that there is nothing more boring than working on a stakeout. It can be endless hours of having to stay alert while absolutely nothing happens. I don’t mind the endless hours or the nothing happening; you can put me in front of a TV showing sports and I’ll sit there until a week from Tuesday. It’s the staying alert that’s the problem; I prefer drinking beer and occasional dozing.
Fortunately, I’m very rich, and it is “so not chic” for multimillionaires to do stakeouts. I call Dave Larson and tell him that I need his help, with a stakeout of the airport as his first assignment. He’s very enthusiastic about getting the work; the private eye business in Findlay has apparently experienced a bit of a slowdown these last hundred years or so.
We discuss his hours, which I suggest should be as many as he can handle. He tells me that he has an associate who will be on the scene when he can’t. We also discuss his pay, and I increase what we earlier agreed upon by twenty-five percent. It’s still half of what I would pay in New Jersey, but the raise makes me feel less guilty about turning him into a frozen snowman.
He asks that I inform the Findlay police about what we’re doing, and I have no problem with that, especially since I’ve already told Laurie. Dave wants to have someone know his whereabouts in case of sudden trouble, and for some reason he doesn’t consider me a significant enough emergency lifeline.
“What is it we’re looking for?” he asks.
“I’m not sure… something bad.”
“How bad?” he asks.
“Bad enough that four people got killed over it.”
“Oh.”
“So be careful,” I say.
“You got that right.”
• • • • •
I KNOW THE Bible says otherwise, but Christmas must have been invented in Wisconsin. It just looks the part. The streets remain white for days after it snows, not turning dark and dirty like what happens in the city. Virtually every house is decorated with colored lights; after dark Findlay in December becomes a frozen Vegas strip.
Laurie and I have been quite out in the open about our relationship, now that the case has been over for a while. And with Jeremy cleared of the murders, the portion of townspeople that resented my appearance on the scene seem to have gotten over it. They are making me feel welcome, though I suspect most of them are wondering exactly why I’m still here. It’s a terrific question.
I’ve seen Madeline Barlow a handful of times, and she’s doing quite well with the Davidsons. She’s homesick for her mother and friends, but not yet willing to see any of them. Laurie has seen her much more often and is struck by Madeline’s unwillingness to say anything negative about Keeper Wallace or the Centurion religion. Madeline considers this to be about a few bad apples, and not in any way a reflection on the lifestyle. Belief runs deep in Center City.
I’m now three weeks into the Dave Larson airport stakeout, and absolutely nothing has happened. No planes have taken off, and none have landed. The only sign of life, other than Dave, is a snowplow that arrives daily to plow the landing strip and keep it functional.
Cliff Parsons has reported no progress in finding the two guys who grabbed Madeline. No one in Center City will admit that they even exist, and there simply is no way to locate them, given the lack of cooperation within the community.
To make the futility complete, Laurie’s investigations into the murders of Liz, Sheryl, and Calvin have gone nowhere as well. There has been no new evidence, no discoveries, no nothing for a while now. Short of a confession, the chances for solving these cases are looking as bleak as the terrain around here.
Yet Andy the Idiot Lawyer continues to persist, hanging around in the frozen north and waiting for something to happen. It reminds me of the old joke… I think I heard it as a lawyer joke, but it could have been about any group or nationality. “Did you hear about the lawyer who froze to death at a drive-in movie? He went to see Closed for the Season.” Well, Findlay has been closed for the season for a while now, but I’m still sitting in my car waiting for the coming attractions.
Making my mood even worse is all the holiday cheer I’m surrounded by. I tag along with Laurie to about four hundred parties, though in Findlay the word “parties” may be overstating it. They’re more pleasant get-togethers with smiling people who talk about good health and toast with eggnog. It’s enough to make me nauseous, with or without the eggnog, yet Laurie seems to revel in it.