Dancing in the Dark (13 page)

“Wow,” said Diane. “Think we should add something about Carly’s
being followed to the script?”

“I’d feel better about it if we had the police comment on it,”
Matthew replied, “but nobody is returning my calls.”

“I wish you’d had the crew with you, Matthew. Think your witness
would say it all again for the camera? If we had him on
t
ape saying that he saw someone following
Carly, the piece would be stronger.”

“It’s worth a shot. Send Sammy and Gary over, and I’ll see if I can
get the old guy to say it again.”

“And guess what?” Diane asked after jotting down the address.
“Leslie Patterson talked to us.”

“You’re kidding. That’s great! Good stuff?”

“Enough. I think we’re in good shape for tonight’s story. But I’ll
want to get her later for the Hourglass segment. Once we see what
happens with Carly Neath, we’ll need more reaction from Leslie.”

After instructing the camera crew to go to Surf Avenue, Diane looked
at her script again and made the adjustments necessary to include a
sound bite from Carly’s neighbor. She also wrote an alternate line of
track, explaining what the witness had seen, in case Matthew was
unsuccessful in securing another interview. The extra narration could
be edited in at the last minute if necessary.

Satisfied it was set to be read by the executive producer at the
Broadcast Center, Diane clicked the send icon on the computer and sat
back to wait for script approval.

It wasn’t long into the police questioning that Shawn realized he
should have brought an attorney with him. So he waited for another two
hours until the public defender arrived at the station house. The guy
was dressed in a golf shirt and Bermuda shorts, as if he’d been called
away from a round of golf or a family barbecue. After getting up to
speed on Shawn’s version of what had happened so far, the lawyer
signaled that the officers could come back into the small interrogation
area.

“My client came in here of his own free will,” the attorney began.
“He’s told you that he was with Carly Neath last night, that she walked
out on him at the Stone Pony, and that that was the last he saw of her.
Unless you have something to book him on, we’re outta here.”

“So it’s just a coincidence that the young woman who was abducted
earlier this week happened to be a girlfriend of his as well?” one
detective asked.

“That’s sure the way it looks,” the lawyer said, keeping his face
expressionless.

The other detective shook his head, knowing that, for now anyway,
their hands were tied. They needed to get some solid evidence on the
guy. “All right, Ostrander,” he snarled. “Get out of here. But don’t go
anywhere we can’t reach you.”

“The old guy won’t talk again,. Diane. We’re not going have his
sound bite for the piece.”

“All right. We’ll go with Plan B. Thanks, Matthew.”

Diane flipped the phone closed and picked up the lip mike. Holding
it close to her mouth, she began recording the approved track.

“For the second time in less than a week, a young woman has gone
missing in an idyllic New Jersey shore town. Twenty-year-old Carly
Neath did not return home last night after finishing her babysitting
job in the quiet, picturesque town of Ocean Grove.”

She paused to give the instructions on inserting a sound bite from
the police news conference. “Use the bite we’ll feed you after the
track. It’s Chief Jared Albert, J-A-R-E-D A-L-B-E-R-T, Neptune Township
Police Department. The sound bite is: ‘Coming on the heels of the
disappearance of another Ocean Grove resident earlier this week, the
Neptune Township Police Department is investigating this situation
immediately and is appealing to the public and the press for help. “

Diane cleared her throat. “Track two: Police and volunteers are
scouring the town known as ‘God’s Little Acre,’ a square-mile community
an hour from New York City, as they did just days ago for
twenty-two-year-old Leslie Patterson. After a three-day search, she was
found, bound and gagged, on the grounds of the Ocean Grove Camp Meeting
Association. There was speculation that Leslie might have staged her
own abduction to get attention. But this latest disappearance changes
things. Leslie spoke exclusively to KEY News today at the site where
she was discovered early Friday morning.”

Diane stopped to consult her notes on Leslie’s interview. “Okay. The
sound bite is: ‘I was walking on the boardwalk late Monday night when
someone came up behind me and knocked me out. When I came to, I was
blindfolded and bound, and there was some sort of rag tied around my
mouth so I couldn’t call for help. I didn’t know where I was.’ “

Going back to the script, Diane continued. “Track three. Tonight,
the search goes on for Carly Neath.

“Sound bite, Chief Albert again. ‘She is five feet, one inch tall
and weighs approximately one hundred pounds. She is blond, blue-eyed,
and has a birthmark on the inside of her left wrist. She was last seen
wearing a pair of white hip-hugger slacks,
a blue-and-white-striped halter-type shirt, and white leather sandals.
Anyone with any information that might help in finding Carly Neath
should notify the Neptune Township Police immediately.’”

Here was the spot she would have liked to include a sound bite from
Carly’s neighbor. Instead, Diane recorded the alternate lines she had
written. “KEY News has learned that a witness has come forward with
information that may provide a clue. A man was seen following Carly
last night as she walked near her home. Whether that man had anything
to do with Carly Neath’s disappearance is unclear. But Leslie Patterson
says she feels sorry for Carly and what she might be facing.

“Okay, pick up Leslie’s sound bite in the middle of her sentence.
Start with: ‘whoever it was never spoke to me,’ and then just continue
on. ‘Left me lying there, wherever “there” was. He would come back once
in a while to bring me something to eat, but I ate very little. And
each time he came back, he would pull me up and want me to dance with
him.’

“Last track. Dancing a sick dance that family and friends pray Carly
Neath is not performing now. Diane Mayfield, KEY News, Ocean Grove, New
Jersey.”

The minute he walked through the door, Larry loosened his tie and
kicked off his shoes. It had been a long day, but it had been worth it.
Today was no different from every other Saturday this summer. He’d made
a sale. Knock wood. Larry knew from painful experience that it was
never truly a sale until the closing. When all the documents were
signed and all the money had changed hands, then, and only then, did
the real estate agent get paid his commission.

But Larry had a hunch this deal was money in the bank. The buyers
were prequalified for their mortgage, and they had already lost two
other houses in the heated market. They weren’t going to make waves
about anything that came up in the physical inspection of the property.
They just wanted to secure their own place at the shore.

Larry popped open a beer, shuffled across the living room to switch
on the television set, and settled back on the couch. He wished he had
someone who would talk about his day and celebrate his success. This
was when he missed his wife and daughter most. Going off to work in the
morning from an empty house was bad enough, but coming home at night to
face another dinner by himself was worse. Sitting alone, evening after
evening, watching the boob tube, gave him too much time to think.

Propping his feet up on the coffee table, he aimed the remote
control at the set and clicked. Golf was just wrapping up on KEY, and
the network news was about to begin.

The first story was about the war in Iraq, the second about the
president’s day. Larry got up and went to the refrigerator again. As he
uncapped another beer, he heard the words “Ocean Grove” and hurried
back to the living room.

He watched the piece with its pretty pictures of Ocean Grove and a
smiling Carly Neath, and listened to Diane Mayfield’s narration. But he
was especially interested in what Leslie had to say.

“He would come back once in a while to bring me something to eat,
but I ate very little.”

For Larry, those words, and the sight of Leslie’s sharp jaw-line and
thin arms, brought back the pain that never went away. The memories of
Jenna and all the times he’d tried so unsuccessfully to get her to
nourish herself. Larry had spent countless hours trying to think of and
procure any morsel that might tempt his daughter. But nothing had
worked. Jenna went from thin to skinny to gaunt to emaciated.

Leslie was his chance to make up, in some way, for his mistakes with
his own daughter. He had to help Leslie, make her see that while her
eating disorder was extremely serious, it was solvable, and the
solution lay within her. Not with that quack therapist. Owen Messinger
had ruined Jenna, and now he was having his way with Leslie as well.

Burping as he switched off the set, Larry wondered why Leslie
couldn’t see what she was doing to herself. She had to learn that there
were much bigger problems out there, problems that people could truly
do nothing about. Being held against one’s will was certainly a good
example. If that didn’t scare a kid straight, what would?

Larry held out the hope that Leslie had learned something from her
terrifying experience and that it would lead to a real change in her
self-destructive behavior and outlook on life. He was looking forward
to Monday. Leslie would be back at work, and he could keep an eye on
her again.

Owen Messinger stared at the television set long after the KEY
Weekend Evening Headlines
concluded.
He had been stunned to see Leslie Patterson speaking in the report. Her
mother had told him only yesterday that Leslie didn’t want to go out of
the house.

But with Carly Neath’s disappearance, Owen supposed Leslie felt
vindicated and wanted to say so. Perhaps all this ugliness would end up
being a good thing for Leslie. It might, in some bizarre way, make her
feel better about herself. If the community saw that they had misjudged
her and that she had been telling the truth, sympathy would flow her
way and Leslie would get positive attention. She could use that.

God knew, he wasn’t getting anywhere with her. All these years and
Leslie was still anguished about food and still cutting herself. His
therapy wasn’t working at all with her on the cutting score. He was
worried about that.

Owen went to the bar in his dining room and poured himself a double
Scotch. He studied the amber liquid in the glass, unsure what he should
do next. He had been working on his innovative approach to treatment
with enough success that he was almost ready to publish. But Leslie was
the fly in the ointment. His results with her negatively skewed the
predicted outcomes of his study.

“Here, Cleo,” he called out. “Where are you, baby?” Owen walked over
to his desk while he waited to see if the cat would appear. He sat
down, determined to do something about the stack of mail that had been
accumulating all week. First he sorted out all the catalogs and tossed
them in the wastepaper basket. That act alone made him feel he’d made a
nice dent. Next he separated out the bills. That left a couple
magazines and just one envelope.

The black-and-white feline jumped into Owen’s lap as he took the
letter opener and sliced open the envelope. He stroked the cat’s fur as
he read the message inside.

YOU ARE A CHARLATAN.
THAT THERAPY OF YOURS HAS HAD TOO MANY VICTIMS.
IF THE POLICE OR THE MEDICAL COMMUNITY WERE TO
FIND OUT WHAT YOU DO TO THESE POOR WOMEN, YOU WOULD LOSE
YOUR LICENSE. BUT, IF YOU DECIDE TO GO TO
THE AUTHORI-
TIES, HERE’S MY CARD. I CAN”T WAIT TO TELL THE POLICE ALL ABOUT YOU.
OR, IF YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME, I’D BE GLAD TO TAKE YOU ON
DIRECTLY. COME ON OVER.
LET THIS BE A WARNING To YOU. CEASE AND DESIST BEFORE
YOU DESTROY ANOTHER LIFE.

Owen picked up the white business card that had fluttered to the
carpet. It read “Surfside Realty” and had Larry Belcaro’s name
emblazoned on it.

When Diane got back to the Dancing Dunes, she found Anthony and
Emily playing Scrabble in the parlor.

“I can see what you guys did today.” She laughed. Both her son’s and
her sister’s faces reflected the time spent out in the sun. “Does it
hurt?”

“Quit worrying, Mom, will ya? We put on sunscreen.”

“Where’s Michelle?” Diane asked as she looked around the room and
through the entry to the dining room.

“She’s upstairs.” Emily didn’t take her eyes off the Scrabble board.
“Queen, q-u-e-e-n, and the Q is a triple-letter score,” she said
triumphantly.

Anthony’s face fell, acknowledging the gap between himself and his
aunt was almost insurmountable now. “I’m starving,” he said. “When are
we going to eat?”

“What are you in the mood for?” Diane asked, although the last thing
in the world she wanted to do after the long, hot day she’d had was go
out to dinner. A nice cool bath and long stretch on the bed in her
air-conditioned room sounded infinitely more appealing. But this was
their first night here, and she knew the kids and Em had been waiting
for her.

“Pizza?” Anthony suggested.

“Em?”

“Fine with me.”

“Great,” said Diane, grateful that they wouldn’t have to sit through
a two-hour dinner service somewhere. “Anthony, run up and get your
sister, will you?”

While she waited for her children to come downstairs, Diane pulled
out her cell phone and finally left the message at Dr. Owen Messinger’s office that she would like to
interview him about women’s health issues for the
Hourglass
piece.