Dancing in the Dark (5 page)

Matthew Voigt sat in Diane’s office, listening to her side of the
phone conversation and occasionally mouthing suggestions. As Diane put
down the receiver, he leaned forward. “Well? What did she say?”

Diane shrugged. “At least she didn’t say no. She said she’d think
about it.”

“And?”

“She’s seen me on
Hourglass
and says she admires my work.”

“Good. That should help us.” Matthew sat back. “You can bet we
aren’t the only ones who want to interview Leslie Patterson. If her
mother likes you, it increases our chances of getting a shot with her
daughter.”

“Okay,” said Diane as she stood up and walked to the front of her
desk. “That’s about all we can do from here. When are you leaving for
Ocean Grove?”

“I’m stopping home to pack a bag, and then I’ll head right down,”
Matthew said. “I’ll be there later this afternoon and try to get some
elements lined up. I’ll see you there in the morning.”

Diane nodded. “Who’s our crew?” she asked.

“Gates and Bing.”

Diane rolled her eyes. “Great. Just great.”

“Believe me, I’m sorry too, Diane. I tried for Cohen and Doyle, but
they’re on vacation. We’re stuck with Sammy.”

“God, Matthew. The last time Sammy Gates shot my stand-up, I looked
like a hag. He didn’t bother telling me that my hair was sticking up in
the back, and it was as if he was actually trying to enlarge the dark
circles under my eyes. The guy doesn’t even make an effort to set up
the lighting gear properly.”

Matthew nodded. “I know. But I promise, I’ll be all over him, Diane.
I’ll make sure Sammy makes you look good.”

She knew Matthew would be true to his word. Of all the talented
Hourglass
segment producers,
Matthew was her favorite. He was meticulous in his researching and
planning, yet able to fly by his wits when the situation called for it.
There was no such thing as a predictable shoot, and Matthew Voigt was
skilled at understanding what needed to be done in a changing
situation. Each of the
Hourglass
correspondents had a list of which producers they preferred to work
with. Matthew was on everyone’s roster.

“Okay, if you say so. I’ll be counting on you.” Diane glanced at her
watch. “So, I’m going to go downstairs, grab something to eat at my
desk, and finish some paperwork I had planned to get done before
leaving for the vacation I’m not taking. Then I’ll go home to pack and
face the firing squad.”

Shawn started to pull out his sunglasses but thought better of it.
He knew from experience that Arthur didn’t trust anyone who covered his
eyes.

His bartending job at the Stone Pony paid the bills, but the release
of the mentally ill into the community had been Shawn’s true focus all
summer. He was working on his master’s thesis, and Ocean Grove provided
a good location for research, since at one point, the town had become a
dumping ground for people released from downsizing New Jersey
psychiatric hospitals. The town’s old wooden hotels and boardinghouses
were convenient places to deposit the mentally ill. Ocean Grove became
known not only for having a large concentration of Victorian homes but
for having one of the largest concentrations of discharged psychiatric
patients in the United States.

Shawn had grown up watching the poor souls aimlessly walking the
boardwalk, smoking cigarettes, and drinking coffee. Everyone complained
that the state had made few provisions for their care once they were
living in the outside world. No outpatient clinic was opened, no
activity center or vocational training program was offered. Little
effort was made to assure that the patients took their medication.

The state had given scant thought to the discharged people and none
to the quality of life of the citizens who lived around them. Though
Ocean Grove had a long tradition of tolerance and caring for the less
fortunate, residents were beside themselves as incidents of shoplifting
and indecent exposure infested their lovely seaside enclave. Owners of
hotels and bed-and-breakfast inns saw their businesses decline, and
Ocean Grove property values sharply decreased.

Finally, the townspeople organized and got legislation passed that
limited the number of boardinghouses for discharged psychiatric
patients. Residents were relocated in other communities around New
Jersey with vows that, this time, more outpatient services and
rehabilitation would be provided.

As he looked for Arthur, Shawn recalled the day that had influenced
the rest of his life, the day he had watched a former mental patient
commit suicide by jumping from the roof of a hotel in the center of
town. For a ten-year-old boy, the sight had been scarring, fascinating,
and formative. It had led an impressionable child to wonder about
things he had never really considered before. Why were some people
deranged and others weren’t? Wasn’t there something that could be done
to help the ones who had been so unfairly afflicted? Wasn’t it his
responsibility to try?

His father hadn’t been thrilled when Shawn told his parents he
wanted to become a social worker, but his mother said she was proud she
had raised a son who wanted to help others and contribute to making the
world a better place. As an undergraduate at Monmouth University, Shawn
had majored in social work. Next month he would go back to the New
Brunswick campus of Rutgers University to continue working on his
master’s thesis. Today he was looking for Arthur Tomkins, released from
the VA hospital, tormented by his memories of the Gulf War, and living
in Ocean Grove.

Shawn scanned the boardwalk to the north, actually seeing waves of
heat hovering over the planks. The pathway along the edge of the beach
stretched all the way to the town limits, where Asbury Park’s old,
eerily beautiful Casino, a cavernous art deco building, stood in
virtual ruins. The Casino, once the site of an ice-skating palace and
carousel with hand-carved, gaily painted horses, now stood only as a
reminder of the faded grandeur of Ocean Grove’s next-door neighbor.

Arthur was nowhere to be seen. Shawn started walking toward the
Casino, unable to keep from gazing at the ocean. The dark blue water
teased him, tempting him to forget his research and run into the
refreshing surf. His conscience made him keep going.

Shawn knew that Arthur had come to enjoy the time the two of them
spent together. But when Shawn had brought Leslie along with him, and
the other day, when he’d introduced Carly to Arthur, the poor guy had
seemed to alternate between enthusiasm and sadness. Shawn could tell
Arthur enjoyed meeting the young women, but there were times during the
conversations when Arthur would shut down and stare out to the ocean.
Shawn knew enough about Arthur’s past to suspect that he was thinking
about his old girlfriend who’d dumped him while he was in the service.

Just when he was ready to give up, Shawn spotted Arthur in his
military fatigues coming around the side of the Casino, heading for the
nearest boardwalk bench and circling it three times before sitting down.

Shawn picked up his pace, went directly to the bench, and took a
seat beside Arthur. He noticed the man needed a shave and could use a
haircut too.

“Hey, buddy. Where you been?” Shawn asked.

“Oh, you know, Shawn. Here and there.”

“Been taking your meds, Arthur?” Shawn put his hand on Arthur’s
shoulder.

“Sure, Shawn.” Arthur nodded three times. “You know I always do what
you tell me to do.”

As he brought the couple and their baby back to their car, Larry
Belcaro couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. How were young people
supposed to afford a place at the beach? The prices had gone through
the roof. Though that was good for Surfside Realty and therefore good
for him, Larry believed it wasn’t all that good for the area in
general. The Jersey Shore was meant to be a place where families could
come to enjoy the ocean and one another. To his mind, those simple
pleasures should be available to everyone, not only to those with hefty
incomes.

As he was steering his beige sedan onto Webb Avenue, a memory
flashed, uninvited, through Larry’s mind. A little girl with dark,
curly hair sitting under a brilliant blue sky, digging in the sand. A
tiny nose and soft, white shoulders turning pink in the bright summer
sun. A contented smile spreading across the face of his angel as she
called to him to look at her castle.

Larry pulled to a stop in front of the salmon-colored turreted
Victorian and shook his head, trying to clear the visions from his
mind’s eye. He never got used to them. Sometimes the memories came
flooding back, catching him totally off guard, like now, after he’d
been with a happy young family, a family just as his had once been.
Sometimes the recollections were predictable in their arrival. They’d
come when he’d hear someone talk of a kid’s college graduation. They’d
come at a wedding when the father of the bride danced with his
daughter. They’d come at a niece’s or nephew’s christening party.
Whenever a life event signaled something Larry had never had a chance
to experience with Jenna, the memories haunted him.

How had it all gone so desperately wrong?

As he forced himself to get out of the car, Larry wondered why he
even bothered asking himself that question anymore. It had been almost
two years since Jenna had passed and a year since her mother had
followed her. Larry had played and replayed it all in his mind, day
after painful day, night after sleepless night. He always came up with
the same answer. It was his fault.

He should have done more for Jenna, found better help for her. He
shouldn’t have been so trusting of that despicable charlatan who called
himself a therapist. He should have insisted that Jenna stop seeing the
quack when not only didn’t they see any improvement but she actually
seemed to be getting worse. But Jenna had begged to be able to keep
going to her sessions with Owen Messinger. She was convinced that she
needed him to get well. Finally, both her parents had given up, not
knowing what else to do.

That was no excuse, Larry realized now. Sure, they had been
desperate to have someone help Jenna, but they should have acted on
their instincts. Deep inside they sensed that Owen Messinger was
hurting, not helping, their daughter. They should have moved heaven and
earth to make him stop. They could have quit paying his bills or moved
away or even locked Jenna up for her own good. Anything to protect her
from that evil man.

Instead, they’d been accomplices in her death. Twice a week Larry
and his wife had driven their daughter to the appointments. He would
never forgive himself for that. Jenna’s mother was consumed by guilt
too, and that, along with her broken heart, had led her to take her own
life—in effect, anyway. Marie had been drinking way too much in the
months after Jenna slit her wrists. Finally, one night in her
inebriated state, she crashed her car into a telephone pole.

Now, it was just him.

Noticing the pink and white geraniums brimming from the flower boxes
strapped to the railing that circled the front porch, Larry was fully
aware there wasn’t anything he could do to change all that had
happened. But he was determined to do something that would help other
people in the same tortured boat as his family had been. Around Easter
time, he had taken the first step, when he’d followed a thin young
woman as she came out of Owen Messinger’s office, tailing her right to
the house he stood in front of now.

For weeks, he’d repeatedly driven by the house, catching sight of
Leslie from time to time as she entered or, better yet, when she exited. He’d tailed her, and when the
time was right, he’d seen her going into Lavender & Lace. He’d
followed her inside and acted like a customer. He’d struck up a
conversation with Leslie and her mother and mentioned that he was
looking for help at his office. Now, Leslie worked for him and he could
watch out for her.

Audrey Patterson answered the door. “It’s so good of you to come,
Larry. You’ve been a wonderful boss to Leslie, and a good friend as
well.”

After leading Larry into the living room to see her daughter, Audrey
went to the kitchen to fix some lemonade. Larry turned to the young
woman and spoke gently.

“I’m so glad you’re all right, Leslie,” he said, sincerity in his
eyes as well as his voice.

“But no one believes me, Larry,” Leslie said. “Someone took me and
held me against my will. Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

“It doesn’t matter what they think, Leslie. It only matters that you
take care of yourself and get well. Nothing is more important than
that.”

As tears welled in Leslie’s brown eyes, Larry was reminded again of
his own daughter. He was fiercely determined to make amends.