The officers had barely been gone a minute, when the dogs barked again and Claudia went to look out.
“Somebody else is coming. Go see.”
“The newspapers,” Cliff reported. “I recognize Haynes from the daily press. Next they’ll be coming from Kingsley and the county weeklies. Go inside, Claudia, I’ll handle them.”
It’s not enough to suffer, but the whole inquisitive, morbid world has to gape and gawk at your suffering, she thought with a bitterness that was totally unlike her.
On the second day Claudia received a telephone call from an official at the bank, asking whether she had authorized a withdrawal of six thousand dollars from the account held jointly by her and her son.
She almost shouted, “Why, no! Certainly not. That’s his college money. What are you telling me?”
“The day before yesterday, on Wednesday, Ted Marple came in here with a withdrawal slip signed by himself and you.”
“I never signed anything at all.”
“I’m not saying you did, but the signature certainly looked like yours. Still, the minute the transaction came to my attention, I wondered about it. Maybe I had no business to, but—excuse me—in view of the circumstances—”
She interrupted. “It’s all right, you can speak plainly. You wondered about it. But why,” she cried, “didn’t this come to somebody’s attention when he was making the withdrawal?”
“The teller is new on the job, for one thing, and the signature was perfect. I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Dawes. You don’t deserve this.”
She hung up. This seemed to be the universal commiseration: You don’t deserve this.
“He forged your name?” Cliff asked.
“Yes. Add that to his other crimes. Oh, he’s clever, my son. Went to the movies downtown and bought shoes. Nothing about a little side trip to the bank. Planned it for the very last minute so if it should be discovered, he would be safely away. Very clever.”
Silvery sunlight crept across the floor. Only a year ago she had been secure, standing in the same sunlight in this very room, planning her wedding.
Then the police came back, only one of them this time, the lieutenant of the previous day. In a curious way he reminded Claudia of the lawyers, Miller and Raleigh; there were no physical resemblances among the three, yet they all possessed a very marked quality of alertness, of sharp memory and attention to detail. No chance word would get by them unnoticed.
This man’s name was Casper. Without hesitation, remembering the way, he led them into the sunroom, took out a notepad, and began.
“Our check of the bus stations came out zero. At this time of year the buses are loaded with eighteen-year-old boys carrying suitcases on their way back to college.”
Cliff asked, “Even at midnight? I should think anyone using a bus at that time would probably work a shift at the hospital.”
“You’re right. But he could have waited somewhere, hidden, until the morning crowds arrived at the bus station, so he wouldn’t be noticed. This kid is clever, clever enough to have forged his mother’s name so skillfully.”
So that was how the bank had known! And that man had wanted her to believe it had been his own quick thinking. It was almost amusing.
Surprise must have shown on Claudia’s face, because Casper said, “Yes, we checked all the banks. A person planning a getaway needs money. What we’d like to know now is whether you have any relatives who might—I hate to say it—but might hide him? Help him? In other words, is there anyone anywhere in the country that you can think of?”
She made a helpless gesture. “The closest relative I have is a cousin in Colorado whom I haven’t seen in at least fifteen years, ever since I came east. I doubt Ted even knows his name. My grandmother had a sister in California. She’s in her nineties now, about ninety-two, I guess, and she’s in a nursing home. We exchange Christmas and birthday cards. That’s about it.”
“Any close friends Ted might know?”
“All my friends are either in Kingsley or close by.”
“Anybody outside of the country?”
“Not a soul.”
Casper made ready to leave. “A case like this is a challenge,” he said. “It may take a lot of time, but we’ll find him, I’m convinced.”
Cliff observed, “At least he hasn’t had much of a head start.”
“With transportation what it is these days, you can go around the world in forty-eight hours. But we’ll find him. We’ve got to. Those girls—they’re in school with my Maureen. Their parents are on my tail too. It’s been horrible for them.”
Although she had surely given painful thought to the girls and to their parents before this, Claudia was now instantly transposed into their persons; she became the terrified girl attacked on a country road at night; she became the parent who, agonized beyond words, needed vengeance. This sheer reality was unbearable.
“Well, I’ll be going along,” said Casper. “If you hear anything or have any ideas, you have my number. And of course, I’ll do the same.”
“Something tells me we’ll be seeing a lot of Casper,” Claudia told Cliff.
“No doubt. You must be awfully tired. Go lie down.”
Whenever he had that anxious look, she knew he was worried about her heart.
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
“You might even fall asleep.”
“I’m fine, Cliff. I don’t need to.”
“Look out the window. Here’s another reporter—with a camera too.”
“Oh, God,” she said, and fled upstairs.
In the evening Bill came. For obvious reasons he did not seem too happy; no matter how difficult a marriage has been, Claudia thought with pity, the ending of it, the memory of its original sweetness, must be a cruel hurt. For Bill knew, as they all knew, that Elena was not going to come back.
“You look worn out,” Cliff said.
“I just got back. The round trip to Boston wore me out.”
After hearing Cliff’s account of events Bill looked even more gray and exhausted.
“If they don’t find him right off,” he said, “you’ll have to come up with the bond money. We need to talk, Cliff.”
Claudia stood up, offering to leave them to themselves. “You’ll want to be private,” she said.
Simultaneously, they objected, “Not at all. Sit down. You’re part of this.”
Indeed she was. And not only part of the catastrophe, but central to it. And she, who was unused to feeling humble, who had always borne herself with confidence and pride, now sat down humbly to listen.
“I can sell the house and still have something to spare,” Cliff said.
“Sell this house!” Bill cried. “I won’t hear of it. It’s—it’s the family’s house.”
“I know. But I have to face facts. We don’t have the mill running anymore, Bill, we don’t have the cash flow or the borrowing capacity, and I don’t have a fortune lying around. If they don’t find him by the end of this week, which is almost here, I’m in big trouble.”
Cliff stood, walked to the window, looked out, and returned, jingling keys in his pocket. It crossed Claudia’s mind that she had never seen him do that; he was not given to nervous habits.
“And if they do find him,” he continued, “there will be some very hefty legal fees before we’re through.”
“You can’t sell this house,” Bill repeated.
They were in the den, where Cliff had lighted a fire, the first of the season. All the connotations of fire were spelled out in its leap and crackle: heat, light, cheer, family, home. Old, old home. Never having had such a one, Claudia was nevertheless able, perhaps even more deeply able, to comprehend its meaning. These two men and their parents before them had been born here, had seen the trees grow, had selected the books on the shelves.…
“No,” Bill said for the third time.
Speech, as always, was coming hard to him. When he spoke, you had to pay attention, hearing behind his words what was left unsaid. I
t was all too much for him, Charlotte’s tragedy, Elena’s departure, and now this trouble. His world was undone.
“I’ve thought and thought, and this is my conclusion. It’s this way,” Cliff explained. “I could maybe find someplace to borrow the four hundred against the income from the lease on the mill. But there’s no guarantee that I could, and even if I could, the interest would be ruinous. I’d be loaded with debt that would take half the rest of my life to get rid of.”
“And where will you live if you sell the house?” Bill demanded, his voice rising with the flush that had risen to his forehead.
Cliff shrugged. “I’d get a smaller place somewhere, that’s all.”
“You would, would you? After you paid up the bail bond, then capital gains on what was left from the sale of the house, how much do you think you’d have? You’re not making any sense, dammit!”
“Then you figure it out, Bill. You were always better at numbers than I am. Calm down. Look at yourself and figure it out.”
“I have figured it. Anyway, it might take months to sell the house. For God Almighty’s sake, what makes you think that they’ll wait for that? They’ll be grabbing the place by the end of this week.”
Cliff got up to poke the fire, which did not need poking. And Claudia knew he was hiding his wet eyes. She felt, as she sat with her nervous, helpless hands in her lap, like one of those guilty women who, after a war, are paraded with shaven heads as punishment for having consorted with the enemy.
“I don’t know what to do,” Cliff murmured. “And you’re not helping. I’ve never seen you so upset. I’ll just have to think about it myself.”
“Don’t think too hard. Listen to me, I’ll calm down. Let me do the thinking. Between us we can come up with the four hundred. We can sell some stocks. And that’s that. If they find him in time for the trial, we’ll get our money back. And if they don’t find him, we’ll survive.”
“It kills me to take from you. You’ve got your own troubles.”
“My expenses will be somewhat lower from now on.” Bill’s half smile was sardonic. “No more country club. The monthly bill from there could have supported a family, one with far lower expectations, of course. Seriously, Cliff, we can work this out. We have the income from the lease. The governor’s asked me to stay on the state commission for environmental studies, and I’ll have a small salary from it. So you can sit down to work on your book and get rich.”
“Oh, sure. A history of textiles, bound for the top of the best-seller list.”
“Well, if it doesn’t, maybe I’ll move in here with you and pay rent. You’ve got plenty of spare rooms.”
Cliff managed to smile, and Bill clapped him on the back, saying with a hearty manner that was more typical of Cliff than of himself, “Come on, kid. We’ll drive downtown tomorrow morning, go to the brokers, pool our stuff, and survive this mess. Claudia, I don’t mind telling you I’m hungry. I drove back from Boston nonstop. Have you got anything to eat?”
This was the old Bill, taking charge. He was trying to pull himself together, Claudia saw, trying to hide his agitation. And she stood up at once. I may not be able to undo the damage that’s come to their lives because of me, but at least I can feed them well, she thought ruefully.
Oh, Ted, wherever you are, I would give ten years of my life if you would only come back now. Come quickly. Don’t you know what you’ve done? Can it be possible that you don’t even care?
ELEVEN
Seven girls piled on the bed and the floor of Charlotte’s tiny room on the top floor of Margate Hall. It was one of only two such dormer rooms that were too small for more than one occupant, and that was precisely the reason why Charlotte had chosen it. There was a certain uncomplicated peace in the economy of bed, desk, and chair, with just enough space, and no more, to move among them. There was, however, a broad window seat on which valued possessions like stuffed animals could lie, or where Charlotte herself could sit and look out through the trees to the hills. This spring a sparrow had built a nest on the window’s ledge and was now sitting on her eggs; the presence of the little brown bird was, in an indefinable way, a comfort.
It was not often that visitors mounted the stairs to this quiet part of the house; the noisy social life of the school went on below, and Charlotte existed far from the center of that life, anyway. In fact, as she well knew, she would have been, if not for a single factor, a reserved and bookish nerd. That factor was her exceptional skill at swimming and diving, which she owed to both of her parents. As the best swimmer on the team she had already won medals for her new school, and was therefore treated with respect.
I was never in my life a nerd, she thought, but I have changed.
Today the crowd was here because another large package had arrived from Elena in Italy. “An embarrassment of riches,” Charlotte thought, having somewhere read or heard the expression. There was always more food than she could eat: biscotti and cheeses sent by extravagant overnight air express, and, always, her favorite chocolates or marzipan, which, after she had secreted enough for herself, were to be shared out with the first comers.
And there were always gifts, from handmade sweaters to leather-bound books of poetry, so many gifts that the closet was crammed with them. Today’s present was a blue velvet housecoat, a lovely garment, absurdly out of place in a school dormitory.
“Your mother must be rich,” someone remarked.
“I don’t know.”
“You must know!”
“Well, I guess she is.”
Unlike the others, most of whose parents were divorced, Charlotte did not want to talk about her parents. But they pinned her down, forcing her into their own frank discussions.
“What about your father? Is he rich too?”
“He used to be, I think, until his business went bad. But he takes care of me,” Charlotte said, defending Dad.
Another girl said somewhat sadly, “It’s good your mother has money. It’s awful when you live with your mother and all she does is complain that your father doesn’t give her enough. My mother’s so scornful about Dad. She says he’s a loser who couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag. Sometimes I hate her. I wish she’d shut up.”
Complaint, as in a fugue, passed from one voice to another.
“Sometimes I hate my father. He’s always asking me what Mom’s doing, what she’s buying, and whether she goes out with anybody. She plays around, but I don’t tell him. Why should I? He’s doing it himself.”
“I always know when some guy’s been staying all night, even though he doesn’t stay when I’m home for vacation. It’s disgusting.”
Disgusting, like Elena and Judd. I remember.
“You’re lucky your mother’s in Italy, Charlotte. At least with the ocean between them they can’t fight.”
For a few moments no one spoke. The atmosphere was suddenly dejected. They are probably all like me, thought Charlotte, imagining a home where people live together without anger.
“But Charlotte’s parents aren’t divorced,” somebody said.
“Are they going to be, Charlotte?”
“I don’t know. She left last summer, and nothing’s happened. I wish they’d make up their minds.”
“Maybe it’s better never to get married. Just have sex.”
Everyone laughed, and another girl remarked, “Don’t laugh. My sister, who’s eleven, was asking me things you wouldn’t believe. She’ll probably be doing it soon. She’ll have plenty of opportunity. Mom’s never home. She’s out every night with her boyfriend.”
“A kid like that is liable to be raped.”
“Did you read about that guy who raped those girls and ran away? They think he’s in Europe. Isn’t he from your town, from Kingsley, Charlotte? Did you know him?”
“No,” said Charlotte, “I only read about him.”
“A guy like that is a creep. I wonder whether those girls got pregnant. They probably had it taken care of right away, though.”
“Th
ere was a girl at my old school who got raped and then had an abortion. She had a fight with her parents and then tried to drown herself in the bathtub.”
“Oh, God, rape. It makes you sick to think about it.”
“I guess it really changes you. I mean, you would never forget it.”
They talk, Charlotte thought, but they don’t know anything. They don’t know. You wake up in the middle of your nightmare. His nasty, scrabbling hands … His breath in your face … But you have to try to forget it. You have to.…
When they had all left, she closed her door and took the box of marzipan from where she had hidden it under her sweaters. Always a quick study, especially in math, she had finished her assignments and now had nothing to do except perhaps take her sketch pad and draw plans for the house that she liked to imagine, a little white house with a garden and space for two or three loving, big dogs. So, with the pad and box on her lap, she sat down on the window seat looking out.
The long spring evening was not yet over, and the watery light that comes after rain laid a green mist upon the hills. The sparrow had come to rest for the night, drowsing over her eggs. She knows I won’t hurt her; she’s quite at rest, Charlotte thought. And she sat there very still until she had finished the whole box of marzipan and it was too dark to see.
“Is Charlotte happy in school?” asked Claudia. “You never say, and I’ve hesitated to ask.”
“It’s hard to answer that,” Bill replied. “Teenagers don’t tell you much.”
Then he realized that to Claudia, of all people, he should not have made such a remark about the foibles of teenagers. But his mind was filled with the burden of Charlotte’s unhappiness, and he had simply not been thinking.
He had fallen into the habit of visiting Cliff’s house once or twice every week, since his own house had emptied out. For a while he had considered the wisdom of moving, but Cliff had convinced him that in his heart he really did not want to move.
“You’ve had to face too many changes as it is,” he had told him.
Indeed that was true, Bill reflected on the short drive home. And as bad as changes could be, uncertainties could be even worse. Well, he thought, at least one uncertainty has been removed: Elena has fallen in love.