God Project (25 page)

“Didn’t you even listen to me?”

“I heard you, and it sounds to me like you got suckered in by a couple of hysterical women who don’t want to face reality. What have they got? A bunch of crap out of a computer that probably doesn’t even mean anything to the people who put it ini Know what I read? I read that ninety-some percent of everything that goes into computers is never even looked at again. It’s just stowed away and forgotten. Hell, as far as I can tell, nobody
even knows
what a
in the damn computers anymore. So I don’t want you wasting your time trying to figure out what those numbers you were talking about mean.” As Bronski started to protest, Cantrell held up a restraining hand. “Carl, I’m sorry about Randy Corliss running away, and I’m sorry that other woman’s baby died. Hell, I’m sorry about a lot. But when you talk about Arthur Wiseman maybe ‘doing’ something to his patients, I’ve got to think something’s wrong. Are you starting to get the picture?”

Bronski stood up. “I get it. No more duty time on Randy Corliss, right?”

“Very right.”

Bronski started out of the chiefs office. He had the door half-open when Cantrell spoke again, this time in the soft tones his men referred to as his “off-duty” voice.

“ ’Course, I can’t really be held responsible for what you do on your own time, can I? And you might want to keep in mind that even when you’re not here, the lights are on, the telex works, and nobody really gives a damn about what facilities are used for what case during what hours.”

Bronski turned back. “Did you say something?”

The off-duty voice disappeared as fast as it had come. “I didn’t say a damn thing, Sergeant Now get back to work.”

Bronski pulled Cantrell’s door shut as he left the office and started back toward his own desk. In the far corner, the telex suddenly began chattering, and Bronski changed course to go over and watch as the tape spewed out of the machine.

There was the usual lot of APBs, mixed with some idle chatter among operators who had become equally idle acquaintances over the years. One item caught Bronski’s eye. It was from Atlanta, Georgia, a request for any information about a boy who was assumed to be a runaway. His name was Adam Rogers, and he was nine years old. The message was being sent to Eastbury because the boy’s father had once lived there, and the mother thought the child might be looking for him. The
name of the father and his last known address followed the body of the communiqué.

Carl Bronski frowned, then reread the message. The thing that struck him as odd was that the last name of the father was not Rogers. It was Kramer, Phillip J. Kramer.

Bronski was suddenly uneasy. “Anybody on this?” he asked the desk sergeant.

The sergeant didn’t even look up. “Since it just came in, it doesn’t seem likely, does it?”

“Then I’ll take it myself.” He tore the strip of paper out of the machine and took it back to his desk. After rereading the message one more time, he picked up the Eastbury phone book and flipped to the K’s.

No Phillip Kramer was listed.

Turning to the city directory, he looked up the address. The current occupants were Mr. and Mrs. Roland P. Strassman.

Bronski picked up the phone, dialed their number, and a moment later was talking to Mrs. Roland P., whose name turned out to be Mary.

She and her husband had bought the house from Phillip Kramer eight years ago.

No, Mr. Kramer had not been married. Yes, she was sure. In all the papers she and Rolly had signed, Mr. Kramer had always been referred to as “a single man,” which had struck her as funny, even though Roily had told her it was the proper way to talk about someone in legal papers. So she was sure Mr. Kramer hadn’t been married.

Bronski thanked her for the information, then sat at his desk, thinking.

His mind kept coming back to the telex.

First the chief had mentioned it, and if Bronski knew Cantrell as well as he thought he did, there was a reason. And then this message, which seemed totally irrelevant, yet made him uneasy.

Nine-year-old boy. Father’s name different from son’s.

Unwanted child?

Possibly born in Eastbury?

Bronski looked at the clock once more, then at the closed door of Orville Cantrell’s office. Making up his mind, he buttoned his collar and slipped into his coat As he started out of the building, the desk sergeant grinned at him. “Hot case, or cold beer?”

Bronski returned the grin, though he didn’t feel amused. “Maybe a little of both. But if the chief asks, tell him I’m working on the A&P thing, okay?”

“Sure.”

As he headed toward Lucy Corliss’s house, Bronski made a special point of driving down Brockton Street, past Charlie Hyer’s A&P. And just as he passed it, he noted with a certain amount of pleasure, it turned four o’clock.

He was off duty.

Chapter 20

J
ASON MONTGOMERY WRIGGLED
uncomfortably in his chair and began counting the raisins in his cereal. Usually it was no more than a game. First he’d try to guess the number, then see if he was right. But this morning it was more: He was concentrating on his cereal in a vain attempt to shut out the sound of his parents’ voices.

It seemed to Jason as if the fighting was getting worse. Last week, when he had first become aware that his mother and father were mad at each other, they’d at least waited until he’d gone to bed before they started arguing.

This morning they didn’t even seem to know he was there. It was as if he were invisible. He looked up at his parents, who were sitting at either end of the dining-room table. Neither of them seemed aware of him. They were staring at each other, his mother’s face stony and his father’s red with anger.

“All I want you to do is go see Wiseman this afternoon,” he heard his father say. “Is that going to be so horrible? For God’s sake, he’s been your doctor for years. How can it hurt to go see him?”

“I already saw him,” Sally replied. “And I don’t trust him anymore.”

“But you do trust a woman you hardly know who’s not exactly in good shape herself?”

Sally’s eyes narrowed as she glared down the length of the table. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

Steve sighed. Even though it was only 7:30, he already felt exhausted. “It just means that maybe Lucy Corliss could use some counseling herself.”

“How would you know?” Sally flared, the pitch of her voice rising dangerously. “You’ve never even talked to Lucy! How could you know what her mental condition is? Sometimes you talk like a damned fool!”

Putting down his spoon, Jason slid off his chair and left the dining room. But as he went upstairs to get his schoolbooks, his parents’ voices drifted after him, fighting about things he didn’t understand.

Was something wrong with Randy’s mother?

And why did his father want his mother to talk to Dr. Wiseman. Was something wrong with
her?

He gathered up his books, stuffed them into his green bookbag, then went back downstairs. He looked through the living room into the dining room, and though he couldn’t see his father, he could see the tears on his mother’s cheeks.

Should he go in and kiss her good-bye? But if he did, and she didn’t stop crying, he’d probably start crying himself.

He hated to cry.

Silently, speaking to neither his father nor his mother, Jason slipped out the front door into the warmth of the spring morning. The sounds of his parents’ fight faded away as he started along the sidewalk toward school.

Half a block ahead, he saw Joey Connors. Even though he and Joey had never been best friends, Jason decided to catch up with him. He broke into a trot, and in a few seconds was right behind the other boy.

“Hi,” he said, falling into step with Joey.

Joey looked at him, made a face, and said nothing.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. What do
you
want?”

Jason shrugged. “Nothing.” What was wrong with
Joey? Was he mad too? The two boys walked along in silence for a few minutes, then Joey spoke again.

“Why don’t you walk by yourself?”

“Why should I?” Jason demanded. He hadn’t done anything to Joey. Besides, what was he supposed to do, just stand there while Joey walked ahead of him? What if someone was watching? He’d look stupid.

“My mom doesn’t want me to hang around with you,” Joey replied, facing Jason for the first time.

Now Jason stopped, and Joey did too.

“Why not? What did I ever do to you?”

Joey, stared at the sidewalk. “My mom says there’s something wrong with your mom, and I shouldn’t hang around with you.”

Anger welled up in Jason. “You take that back.”

“Why should I? Ever since your sister died, your mom’s been acting funny, and besides, my mom says something must have happened to your sister.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” But even as he asked the question, Jason wondered if Joey’s mother knew what he’d done to Julie that night “She just died.”

“Bull!” Joey grinned maliciously. “I bet you did something to her. I bet you and Randy Corliss did something to her, and that’s why he ran away.”

Suddenly all the tension and confusion that had been churning in Jason fused together. His right hand clenched into a fist, and almost before he realized what he was doing, he swung at Joey.

Joey, too surprised to duck, stood gaping while Jason’s fist crashed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped, then hurled himself on Jason. Jason buckled under Joey’s weight, falling to the ground with the other boy on top of him. He struggled under Joey, ignoring the fists that were punching at his sides, but when Joey began beating him in the face, he screamed, and heaved himself over, rolling Joey under him. He sat astride Joey, returning the pounding he had just taken, while Joey thrashed on the ground, kicking out and flailing at Jason with his fists.

Suddenly Jason heard sounds, and looked up to see
two other children running toward them. Joey used the distraction to wriggle free, but he was bleeding from the mouth, and his left eye was already swelling. He was crying, partly from pain and partly from anger, and as Jason lay on the ground, Joey began kicking at him. Jason grabbed at Joey’s foot, caught it, and jerked the other boy off balance.

Again, they became a tangle of churning arms and legs, but suddenly Joey, realizing he was getting the worst of it despite his larger size, sank his teeth into Jason’s arm.

Jason screamed at the sudden pain, jerked free, and stood up. “You chickenshit!” he yelled. “You bit me!” Then he leaped onto Joey and held a threatening fist over the bigger boy’s face. “Give up,” he said. “Give up or I’ll bust your nose.”

Joey stared up at him, his eyes wide as he watched the fist. His arms were pinned to his sides by Jason’s legs, and he realized that if he tried to move, Jason’s fist would crash down into his face.

“I give,” he said. Jason hesitated, then climbed off Joey. He waited while Joey got to his feet, then took a step toward the other boy.

Joey hesitated, tears streaming down his face. “I’m gonna tell,” he yelled. “I’m gonna tell my mother, and you’re gonna be in trouble.” Then he turned and began running back down the street toward his house.

Jason watched him go, then faced the other children who were watching him uneasily. Jason sensed that they, too, had heard things about him.

“Whatcha gonna do?” someone asked.

Jason glared at his questioner. “Well, I’m not gonna run home to Momma like some people,” he said. Turning his back on the others, he started down the street. No one tried to follow him.

He walked another block, then stopped, wondering if maybe he should go home after all. His clothes were torn and covered with grass stains, and his face was bloody.

But what if his parents were still fighting? Wouldn’t they get mad at him too?

He stood indecisively for a minute, then made up his mind.

He wouldn’t go home, but he wouldn’t go to school either.

Instead, he’d play hookey for the day, and go off by himself.

At least if he was by himself, no one would be mad at him.…

   “You’ve decided I’m crazy, haven’t you?” Sally’s voice reflected the fear that lay like a caged beast within her. As she spoke, she could feel the beast begin to stir, begin to wake into pania “The two of you have decided I’m crazy.”

“Sally, it’s not that at all. We just think you’ve had too many problems bearing down on you, and you need someone to talk to. It won’t even
be
Wiseman. He said himself that he’s not qualified, but he thinks he can find someone who can help you.”

“Someone who can help me to do what? Help me find out what happened to Julie, or help me try to pretend that nothing happened to her at all?”

Before Steve could answer, there was a loud knock at the back door. Steve threw down his napkin, disappeared into the kitchen, and was back a moment later, followed by a furious Kay Connors clutching her son by her hand. When Sally saw Joey’s bruised and swollen face, and the bloodstains on Ins clothes, she gasped.

“Joey, what hap—”

“Your son happened,” Kay interrupted, her eyes blazing with indignation. “Look at him. One eye’s black, his cheek is cut, he’s bruised all over his body, and his knee is bleeding.”

Sally dabbed at her own eyes with her napkin. What was Kay talking about? What did Jason have to do with all this? “But Jason’s here,” she said. “He hasn’t left for school yet.” She glanced around, sure that Jason would be standing in the door to the living room.

He wasn’t.

Her gaze shifted uncertainly to Steve. “Isn’t he here? He must be. He didn’t say good-bye.”

“He must be upstairs.” Steve crossed the living room and went into the foyer to stand at the foot of the stairs. “Jason? Jason!”

Upstairs, the house was silent.

“If he’s there, he’s in the bathroom cleaning himself up,” Kay Connors said angrily.

“Kay, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sally protested.

“I’m talking about Jason. He picked a fight with Joey, and then proceeded to do this to him.”

Steve came back into the dining room, looking puzzled. “He’s not here. I checked his room, and his books are gone. He must have left without saying goodbye.”