Kidnapping.
Crazy. No damn basis for that kind of speculation. Except that kind of thing happened, more and more often these days. Kids snatched off the streets on their way to or from school, off playgrounds, in malls, from dozens of other places. Kids taken for ransom, for even more inhuman crimes. Kids that disappeared and were found dead or never found at all; faces on police reports and posters and milk cartons. And the sick fucks that preyed on them came in all shapes and sizes and races, from all kinds of backgrounds, and held all kinds of jobs and lived in all kinds neighborhoods including quiet ones just like this.
It was possible. Anything was possible. Working for Bill the past five years had taught her that.
Bill. She wished she’d talked to him about what she’d seen. Started to this afternoon and then both of them got distracted. Too much for her, trying to handle this kind of thing all by herself-she just didn’t have enough experience. But he’d know what to do. Call him right now? Better do it. He Her cell went off.
The sudden rackety noise startled her enough so she banged her knee on the bottom of the steering wheel. Another ring. She must’ve forgotten to switch it off. What if it’d cut loose while she was out on the street, or wandering around the property at 1122? Stupid, Tamara. Got to be more careful.
She fumbled her purse open, rummaged around, came up with the phone in the middle of a fourth ring. “Yeah, hello?”
“… Tam? Is that you?”
Oh, great. Vonda. “Who else’d be answering my cell?”
“You sound funny. Out of breath.”
“What you want?”
“Well, you don’t have to jump down my throat.”
“I can’t talk now. I’m on a job here.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I really need to talk to you. I just saw Ben, and he-”
“Who? Oh, your white horndog. Listen, Vonda-”
“He’s not a horndog. And he’s not gonna be anybody’s white man if he doesn’t pay attention. Got it in his head he wants to meet my folks, tell them about us. I told him what they’re like, the black-white thing, but he thinks he can handle it, he says-”
“Black, white… mercy! Got a half-and-half I’m trying to deal with here myself, all right?”
“What? You met someone?”
“No, and I hope I don’t meet him.”
“Huh?”
“What I’m saying, race doesn’t always have to be an issue. Knamean?”
“It does in my family, you know how they are-”
“Later, okay? Are you home? I’ll call you later.”
“I’m home, but-”
Tamara’s thumb came down hard on the disconnect button. And then just as hard on the off button.
Lord! Of all the damn times!
She jammed the cell back into her purse. Thirty seconds of back-and-forth babbling… Vonda probably thought she was stoned or something. Never mind, explain it to her later. Right now she was so creeped out, so twitched she couldn’t sit still, thoughts running around inside her head bumping into each other like when you were on a speed rush. Don’t keep trying to think it out, do something. Yeah, but what? Call the boss man, call Jake Runyon… no, not yet. Any more words coming out her mouth would just stumble and bump together like her thoughts, same kind of babble as her conversation with Vonda. Too wired to make sense. Too wired to keep on sitting here like this worrying about how wired she was.
Do something!
Next thing she knew, she was out of the car again and locking the door. And then up on the sidewalk, heading straight for 1109.
Oh, listen now, you better not do this, you don’t know what you might be walking into…
Random thought, bumped away by all the others. Didn’t even put a hitch in her stride. Up the front path, remember to go slow and look straight ahead like she belonged here. Climb the porch steps, step up close to the door. Quiet inside, nobody moving around that she could hear. Thumb on the bell… here we go.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Relief and disappointment in equal measures. She left the porch, hesitated at the foot of the steps to look both ways along the street. No cars, no people walking around in the dark. She sidestepped to her right, into the empty drive. Between the house and the garage was a narrow, shadowed areaway that led to the rear of the property. Her legs carried her that way, into the areaway and halfway along to where a side door opened into the garage. She paused long enough to turn the knob: locked. Relief and disappointment again, and another random thought- Don’t go any farther! — that got bumped away. She kept on going into the backyard.
Big shade tree, heavy shadows that moved and rustled in the breeze. Shrubs, dead grass that crunched under her shoes. Crooked board fence at the back end. Lights in the house on the other side, but no lights in the one here. Her mouth felt dry as toast; she tried to work up some spit, but her saliva glands wouldn’t cooperate. Man oh man.
She went a few steps to her right, across more dead grass toward a platform porch tacked onto the rear of the house. She wasn’t thinking at all now, and too deep into her prowl to quit on instinct. Half a dozen warped steps led up to the back door; she stopped at the foot of them, squinting, holding her breath. Door was sure to be locked, and even if she could get inside she didn’t dare do it. Breaking and entering, criminal trespass What was that?
Noise inside somewhere. Sounded like…
There. Again.
She moved away from the steps, in close to where a window made a black rectangle down low in the pale white wall, almost at ground level. Stood still again and flapped her ears, hard. And the hair went up on her neck, her scalp crawled, her pulse kicked and fluttered.
Crying.
Child crying in there.
Tamara squatted and leaned an ear against the cold glass. No mistake. And not just any kind of crying-lost, scared, maybe hurt. Little girl? Couldn’t be sure. She tried to peer through the window, couldn’t even see her own reflection, and realized that the blackness was more than just night-dark-it was paint, there was black paint all over the glass. Her fingers dug at the bottom of the sash; it wouldn’t budge. Nailed or painted shut, might also be barred in some way.
Now what? Make some noise, try to attract the child’s attention? What good would that do? Little kid left alone this way, must be locked up in a room.
Flash of herself breaking in, rescuing the kid. Oh no you don’t. Who you think you are, Superwoman? Movie stuff, Hollywood bullshit. No clue what’s going on, blunder in there and you’re liable to make a bad situation worse. And it was bad. She could feel the bad coming out from behind that black-painted window, negative energy as heavy as pulses of heat. Her skin tingled and crawled with it.
Smart thing was to stay cool. Get off this property, fast. Then.. talk to the next-door neighbors, use some pretext to make sure that kid in there didn’t belong to a new girlfriend of Robert Lemoyne’s. And then quit the neighborhood, get hold of Bill and convince him, and after that go find the nearest cop house. She’d have to talk long and hard, and downplay the trespassing thing, but with the boss man for backup she’d convince the law too. Then…
Yeah, then. Better be right about this, Tamara.
I am. Listen to that kid crying, remember the way things went down last night. Bad, all right. Bad as it can get.
She stood and backed off from the window, retraced her route across the dry grass toward the garage. Full of purpose now. Hurrying some as she headed into the areaway.
Car on the street.
She was opposite the side door to the garage when she heard it. Couldn’t see it or its lights yet, but it was in this block-engine sound getting louder. She pulled back against the wall of the house, where the shadows were deepest. Nothing to worry about. Early yet, cars passing by all the time. The street brightened ahead with the approaching lights. Just stand still, wait for them to pass by.