“Edward Squire,” Croft said his name. “What can you tell us about him?”
“What is it you want to know?”
“I don’t know,” Croft shrugged casually. “What kind of student is he?”
“Average,” she said.
“Average?” Croft looked surprised. “You gave him a D-minus this quarter. That’s significantly below average, wouldn’t you say, Mrs. Heath?”
“He’s easily distracted. Attention deficit disorder. Not to mention that he’s severely LD.” She saw that he wasn’t familiar with the term. “Learning Disabled,” she clarified.
“So he doesn’t read so good, is that what you’re saying?”
So well, she thought, but only nodded.
“You read this? These are your comments?”
“Mr. Gallagher wanted my opinion.”
“Uh huh. I see.” He put on his bifocals and held up the paper and read her comments. “Far-fetched, implausible, disorganized, poorly structured.” Croft looked at her pointedly. “That’s some critique.”
“I only wanted to help him.”
“What do you think now?”
“What do I think?”
“Now that you know what these dogs are capable of. Do you think you’d still use that word?”
“I’m sorry, Detective. What word?”
“Implausible.”
She shook her head, she couldn’t look at him. “I don’t know. I suppose not.”
Croft took out a cigarette and just as she was about to tell him that smoking was not allowed, he lit it. “This Mr. Gallagher, that’s his real writing teacher, correct?”
The way he said it, his real writing teacher, seemed deliberately insulting. Again, she nodded, noticing that there weren’t any red marks on the story Nate had corrected. “I guess Gallagher had a different take on it,” Croft said, showing her the grade he’d given the boy, an A.
“He was entitled to his opinion,” she muttered. “I’m just wondering what you’re getting at here, Detective.”
“What I’m getting at?”
“Are you suggesting that the boy had something to do with this?”
“I might be.”
“She was attacked by an animal, sir. That’s not exactly something one can premeditate, is it?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised, Mrs. Heath.”
“Forgive me, Detective, but, it sounds a bit—”
“Far-fetched?”
She nodded.
He squinted at her. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not getting graded.”
He handed her back Teddy’s story. “You might want to hold on to this. You never know, it might be worth something one day.”
Croft started walking out, but the shorter detective, Detective Whalen, stopped and thanked her for her time. “Would it be possible to get a look inside the boy’s locker?”
“I think, under the circumstances, it would be all right.” She walked them out into the hall, down the stairs, to the row of lockers designated to the juniors. She stepped into the office to get the boy’s combination. She could feel her heart turning dully. When she returned, Croft was talking on a cell phone, ignoring her. Perhaps she was being oversensitive, but she had the distinct feeling he didn’t like her. She opened the locker for the men and stepped aside. There were photographs taped to the metal door, pictures of Teddy and Willa and Monica and Marco and even Ada, their little incestuous group— like an ad for Abercrombie, she thought with loathing. While Croft talked on the phone, Whalen dug around in the boy’s locker. He found something and held it up.
“Look what we have here,” he said, holding up a dog collar for everyone to see.
48
Claire was in the barn when the cops came looking for Teddy. They pulled their car up to the house and went to the door. She took off her apron and put on her coat. It had gotten cold; it was starting to snow again.
“Hello.” She waved to them and they stood there waiting for her, their faces hard, grim. This can’t be good, she thought.
“Mrs. Squire?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Detective Croft, Stockbridge police. This is my partner, Detective Whalen.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Is your son at home?” Whalen asked.
“He’s at school.”
“We just came from there,” Croft said. “He didn’t show up this morning.”
Claire frowned. “He got on the bus this morning.”
“He must have taken a detour.”
“Is he in the habit of cutting school?” Croft asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“A girl was attacked in the woods the other night.”
“Yes, I heard. They’re saying it was that dog, the one that attacked the little girl.”
“Right.” Croft took out a picture. “Did you know her? Did your son know her?”
Claire sighed. Tears rushed to her eyes. “I gave her a ride once. She was a dancer. I don’t know if he knew her or not,” she lied.
“She was a prostitute, Mrs. Squire.”
Claire shook her head. “I didn’t know.”
Croft’s eyes simmered with judgment. She could already tell he didn’t like her. He’d heard things, she assumed. Rumors. Maybe he knew about Teddy’s dad, that he’d gone to jail and would use it against Teddy, but she doubted it, and anyway Billy’s criminal record had nothing to do with her. Maybe he resented the fact that she lived on Prospect Hill, with all the rich New Yorkers. She used to share the same resentment, but in her father’s case it was different. Her father had earned his money the hard way, and had bought the house way back when, when real estate was cheap. Of course she couldn’t convince the cop of it now. And why should she have to? It was none of his business.
“We have a witness who says your son was her last customer that night,” Whalen said. “Do you have any idea where he might be?”
“He has a cell phone.” She took out her cell phone and dialed Teddy’s number, but he didn’t answer. “Are you saying my son’s involved? ” she asked, finally, not wanting to hear the answer.
“Let’s hope not,” Whalen said.
Claire tried to call Nate at the school, but the school’s machine was on. On principle, Nate refused to carry a cell phone, which was the single thing that infuriated her about him. “We’re living in the twenty-first century!” she’d complain. She pulled on her coat and drove down to the school. She found him inside Walden House, giving a class. She knocked on the door.
Nate grinned and excused himself. “Hey. You okay?”
“Have you seen Teddy?”
“No, he didn’t show up today.”
“The cops came looking for him.”
Nate frowned. “What? They think he’s involved?”
“He was with her the night she died. He was her last customer.”
“Oh, God.”
“They have a witness—they’re trying to build a case.”
“Not because of his story, I hope?”
“What story?”
“The one about the pit bull.”
“I don’t know about that, but he was seen at a dogfight somewhere. One of our neighbors saw him snooping around his property—a week later somebody stole his dog—a white pit bull.”
“Sounds pretty circumstantial to me.”
“It sure as hell doesn’t feel circumstantial.”
“Give me ten minutes to finish up here. Then we’ll go look for him.”
She had found drawings in Teddy’s sketchbook of houses he liked and, if she’d found them under different circumstances, she would have been incredibly impressed. He had talent, she realized. There were several drawings of one house in particular. It was a famous house in the area, up on Lenox Mountain, which had been built by its owner, an architect from Boston. He only used it on weekends. “He told me once he sometimes goes there to think,” she told Nate.
They pulled off the road, down a long narrow driveway. The house was a
glass cube suspended dramatically over the mountain. You could see the reservoir down below. They parked and walked down to the house. A series of decks were stacked up the side. To their surprise, the sliding glass door opened and a man came out. He was Chinese, wearing a crisp white shirt and jeans. “Good morning,” he said, holding a mug.
“Hello,” Nate said. “This is rather awkward, but we’re looking for someone. He’s a boy; apparently he admired your house.”
“He was here.” The man looked distraught. “I thought he was a thief. I’m sorry. He’s with the police now.” The man set down his mug and came down the stairs. He was handsome, Claire thought. He had a kind face. “I’m Fred Chow,” he said. “I live in Boston, this is my summer place. I came back this morning and found him sleeping in my bed. Imagine my surprise. He had a key, apparently. They found it in his pocket. He’d made a copy of the one I left under the flowerpot. I’ll have to admit, he’s clever.”
Claire felt a stirring of dread. “I’m very sorry,” she said. “If there’s anything I can do—if he broke anything . . .”
But the man shook his head. “He liked the house,” he said, almost flattered. “He wants to be an architect. This he told me as they were putting on the cuffs. An interesting boy, your son. He’s done drawings of it, apparently. I’d like to see them sometime.”
“I’m very sorry,” Claire said. “This won’t happen again.”
The man nodded. “I’m not pressing charges. But they took him anyway. I think they wanted to frighten him.”
“Thank you.” Claire took the man’s hand. “Thank you for being so kind.”
The police station was on Main Street, an old-fashioned precinct, almost quaint. An enormous print of one of Rockwell’s paintings, Policeman with Boys, hung in the foyer. Claire wished her business here were so innocent. A cop escorted them down the hall and directed them to a bench outside Detective Croft’s office. Claire could see the detective inside on the telephone. Teddy was nowhere in sight. Nate took her hand and squeezed. “It’s going to be all right.”
Croft stuck his head out the door. “Mrs. Squire.”
He motioned for her to come into the office; Nate had to stay on the bench.
“Take a seat,” Croft said, motioning to a chair. “The boy will be right out. I should warn you that he’s a bit roughed up.”
“What do you mean?”
“He claims somebody beat him up. We’re looking into that now. I’m not going to be coy with you, Mrs. Squire, but I’m going to suggest you find yourself a lawyer.”
“He had nothing to do with this, Detective,” she said, but even she wasn’t so sure.
“We’ll get it all sorted out, Mrs. Squire. I can promise you that.” Croft nodded at her gently, as though he pitied her. She wanted to tell him that her son was kind and good and didn’t have a destructive bone in his body—he wouldn’t even kill a spider when he found one in the house but would gently scoop it up onto a piece of cardboard and take it outside. Through the window Claire could see them bringing him in, Whalen holding onto his arm. He looked awful; beat up. He had a black eye. He had on her father’s leather jacket and his black boots—she regretted letting him buy them now; she regretted a lot of things. He turned abruptly and caught her eye and his face withered somehow, like a wilting flower. A daisy like the ones he’d pull out of the ground when he was little and present to her as a gift. He walked in his loping teenaged way, all arms and legs and feet. She stood up as he entered the office, jaunty, defensive, arrogant. Don’t hug me, his eyes warned.
“Teddy,” she whispered, and then in a stronger voice, “are you all right?”
He didn’t answer her.
“Take a seat, son,” the detective told him.
Teddy sat down and crossed his arms across his chest. It was a familiar pose, one she’d seen many times in the myriad principals’ offices of his youth. Whalen sat down against the wall and Croft sat behind his desk. “I know we got off to a bit of a rough start,” he said to Teddy. “But we’ll try this again.”
Teddy shot Claire a look.
“Tell us where you were on the night of February third, Mr. Squire.”
“I was home. My mother was out.”
She tried to think: She was over at Nate’s. “Yes, that’s true.”
Teddy explained how Joe Golding had called and told him about Willa, how she’d climbed out of her window. “Rudy and I went out to look for her.”
“Rudy?” Whalen said. “I’ll need his full name.”
“I don’t know it. Rudy. He works up there, for the Goldings.”
“He’s the barn manager up there,” Whalen clarified.
“Rudy Walsh. He’s got a record, don’t he?” Croft asked his partner.
“Aggravated assault. He did four years.”
“He had nothing to do with this,” Teddy said.
“Do you want to tell us what you were doing over in Spencertown?”
“I told you. Looking for Willa. We thought Pearl might know where she was.”
“They were friends?”
Teddy glanced at Claire, warily. “Willa had met her at Sunrise House.” He explained her community service project. Whalen and Croft exchanged a look.
Croft said, “Gotta love that community service, teaching us all to be real good citizens.”
“They were friends,” Teddy went on. “But Willa wasn’t there.”
Abruptly, Teddy started to cry. “I was worried about her.”
“All right, son. Settle down.”
Teddy admitted that he’d slept with Pearl on several occasions, but he’d never done anything to hurt her. “She was just a girl I knew, all right? She was in a bad situation.”
“You could say that.”
Teddy looked confused.
“I guess she didn’t tell you she was pregnant?”
Her son expelled some air. “No.”
“Let’s hope for your sake it isn’t yours. I don’t think a jury would be too happy to hear that.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with this,” Teddy said. “Why don’t you ask Dale? He’s the one who was with her! He’s the one who did this.” He pointed to his eye. “He’s the one who stole Luther Grimm’s dog, not me.”
“Oh, yeah?” Croft dug around in his files and pulled out a dog collar. “Then what was this doing in your locker?”
Claire shot a look at her son, his face white as paint. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t answer the question.
“I’d like to call my lawyer,” Claire said.
The detective picked up the telephone and placed it in front of her. “Be my guest.”
Claire dialed Lubin’s number. When the secretary answered, Claire had to make a concerted effort to push the words out. When she told her it was an emergency, Lubin came right on. “What’s the matter, honey?” he said and she was suddenly Teddy’s age, pregnant and broke and begging him for a loan. “It’s Teddy,” she said. “He’s in trouble. We’re at the police station.”
"I’m on my way.”
49
The next morning, Joe got a call from Claire, asking him to meet her somewhere, anywhere. They met at the lookout on the mountain and walked the trails. Just being around her, alone, stirred his senses. His memories of being with her were still fresh. Almost immediately she started to cry. “What’s wrong?”
When she spoke, her words came in spurts, breathlessly. “Teddy. They’re charging him, Joe.”
“With what?”
“Conspiracy to commit murder.”
“On what basis?”
“They have evidence. A witness. They found a dog collar in his locker.”
“So what? That doesn’t make him a criminal.”
“The girl was pregnant. They’re claiming he had a motive.” She shook her head, nervously lighting a cigarette.
“What motive? She was a prostitute. That sort of thing comes with the territory. Whatever happened to damage control?”
“Apparently she
wanted to keep it.”
“How do they fucking know what she wanted?”
“One of the girls in the house. I don’t know.” She shook her head. “It’s a mess. His arraignment isn’t till Monday and I can’t make his bail. I don’t want to leave him in there all weekend.”
He knew she was going to ask him for money and he also knew that he was going to give it to her. “I’ll figure out a way to pay you back,” she said.
He reached out for her and she put her head against his chest. He held her there, breathing in the smell of her, which was at once disarming and familiar. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll get your boy out. We’ll get him.”
She looked up at him through her tears.
“I’d do anything for you,” he told her. “You know that.”
And the crazy thing was he would.
50
She went to pick Teddy up on her own. When they let him out, she wept with gratitude. They stood there in the large hall and she held on to him, crying into his neck. “It’s okay, Mom,” he said. “I’m okay.”
He was hungry, so they went to the small café in town. He ordered a hamburger, but didn’t eat very much. “I can’t believe she’s dead,” he said. “Somebody killed her. It just wasn’t me.”
They were sitting in a booth near the big windows. He sat there with a toothpick in his mouth, staring sullenly into the dark. Then his face went pale. “There’s the car,” he said. “We have to go.”
She paid quickly, leaving too much money on the table, and followed her son out into the night. He was walking quickly across the street to the market. The car in question was parked in the lot, the owner having gone in to shop. It was a vintage car of some sort, a big old sedan from the forties; it looked harmless enough. Teddy went up to it, trying to see in the windows. From the looks of it, the car was completely empty. “You’re gonna have to go in there, Mom. Go in and see if you recognize anyone. I’ll wait out here.”
“All right. If that’s what you want.”
He waited in the shadows while she went in to look around. It was a small market, with narrow little aisles overflowing with merchandise. She wandered cautiously, pretending to shop, and turned into the pet food aisle, surprised to see a familiar face at the end of it. It was Jack Heath. Putting cans of dog food into his cart.