Hello, Darkness (25 page)

“Gavin had nothing to do with Janey’s disappearance. I just know that, Dean.”

“I don’t think he did either. But I also never would have guessed he was doing the other stuff. It’s been disconcerting, to say the least, to discover that my son has been leading a secret life.”

“To some extent, don’t all teenagers?”

“I suppose, but I’ve made it easy for him. I wanted him to like living with me, so I’ve soft-pedaled the discipline. It didn’t seem like I was going easy on him, but I suppose I haven’t been as diligent or consistent as I should have been. Gavin took advantage of that.”

Turning his head to address her, he added, “With all my psychological training, shouldn’t I have realized that I was being conned?”

Just then Gavin called from the living room, “Is Rod Stewart okay?”

“Great,” Paris called back. Then to Dean, she said, “Cut yourself some slack. It’s a child’s duty to try and bamboozle his parents. As for discipline, techniques from a textbook don’t always translate to real life.”

“But how can it be this hard to get right?”

She laughed softly. “If it were easy, if one system worked for every child, a lot of so-called experts would be out of work. What would they discuss on afternoon talk shows? Think of the chaos, to say nothing of the economic crisis, that well-behaved and obedient children would create.”

After winning a smile from him, she dropped the joking. “I’m not making light of your concern, Dean. In fact, it’s admirable. Gavin may have gotten off track, but he’ll turn out all right.”

He poured wine into the two stemmed glasses she had set out and handed one to her. “We can hope.” He clinked their glasses.

She looked at him over the rim of hers as she took a sip. “He comes by it naturally, you know.”

“What’s that?”

“Gavin isn’t the only master manipulator in the Malloy family.”

“Oh?”

“Very crafty of you, showing up here with him in tow after I had already declined a dinner invitation.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“As a psychologist, how would you classify a man who uses his child to get a dinner invitation out of a woman?”

“Pathetic.”

“How about two-timing?”

Dean’s smile faltered. “You’re referring to Liz.”

“Did you tell her about your dinner plans for tonight?”

“I told her I needed to spend time with Gavin.”

“But you didn’t mention me.”

“No.”

“She seemed to have a rightful claim to your evenings.”

“She has had, yes.”

“Exclusive claim?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Couple of years.”

That came as an unpleasant shock. “Wow. When I knew you in Houston, your affairs lasted no more than a couple of weeks.”

“Because the woman I wanted was taken.”

“We’re not talking about that, Dean.”

“The hell we’re not.”

“We’re talking about you and Liz. A two-year relationship implies—”

“Not what you’re thinking.”

“What is
Liz
thinking?”

“Dad?” From the open doorway, Gavin hesitantly interrupted them. He was extending a cell phone to Dean. “It’s ringing.”

“Thanks.” He reached for the phone and read the incoming number on the LED. “Gavin, help Paris.”

He left the kitchen before answering the phone, causing Paris to wonder if the call had been from Liz.

“What would you like me to do?” Gavin offered.

“Set the table?”

“Okay, sure. My mom made me do it all the time.”

She smiled at him. “I remember whenever Jack and I went to your dad’s house for dinner and you were there, that was your chore.”

“Speaking of, I, uh, haven’t had a chance to tell you. I’m sorry about him, you know, dying.”

“Thank you, Gavin.”

“I liked him. He was cool.”

“Yes he was. Now,” she said briskly, “do you think we should use the dining room, or eat here in the kitchen?”

“Kitchen’s okay with me.”

“Good.” She showed him where the napkins, dishes, and cutlery were kept and he began setting the table while she sautéed the vegetables and strips of pork. “Are you looking forward to school this year?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, I guess. It’ll be tough, not knowing anybody.”

“I can relate. My dad was career army.” She filled a pot with water to boil the pasta. “We moved all over the map. I went to three different elementary schools and two junior highs. Luckily he retired, so I got to attend only one high school. But I remember how hard it was to be the new kid.”

“It sucks.”

“You’ll adjust in no time. I remember when you had to switch Little League teams, midseason. You went from being a Pirate to a—”

“Cougar. You remember that?”

“Very well. Your coach had to quit.”

“His job transferred him to Ohio or someplace.”

“So all the boys on his team were divided up among the others. You weren’t at all happy about it, but it turned out to be the best thing that could’ve happened. The Cougars needed a good shortstop, and you filled that position. The team went on to be district champs.”

“Just city,” he said modestly.

“Well, to hear your dad talk, it was the World Series. For weeks all Jack and I heard from him was ‘Gavin did this, Gavin did that. You should’ve seen Gavin last night.’ Drove us nuts. He was so proud of you.”

“I made an error in one of the playoff games. The other team got a run because of it.”

“I was at that game.”

“That’s why it sucked so bad. Dad had invited y’all to come watch me. I’m sure he could’ve killed me, then died of embarrassment.”

She turned away from the range and looked at him. “Dean was most proud of you then, Gavin.”

“He was proud of me for screwing up?”

“Hmm. In the next inning, you hit a double that batted a runner in.”

“I guess that made up for it.”

“Well, yes, to the fans and your teammates. But when Jack thumped your dad on the back and told him that you had redeemed yourself, Dean said you had redeemed yourself by getting right back into the game. He was more proud of the way you handled the mistake than he was of your hitting a double.”

Turning back to the stove, she put the angel-hair pasta into the boiling water. When she turned back around, Gavin was still frowning skeptically. She nodded. “Truly.”

And when she said that, she experienced a moment of realization.
Listen to yourself,
she thought. After making a mistake, Gavin had gotten right back into the game. He hadn’t slunk into the dugout and spent the remaining innings on the bench, grinding his cleats into the dirt while beating himself up over his error.

Last night Dean had said he hadn’t let his guilt and regret eat him alive. He had let it go.

Maybe there was a lesson to be learned from these Malloy men.

Dean returned to the kitchen, interrupting her disquieting thoughts. “That was Curtis.” He glanced at Gavin as if reluctant to talk about the case in front of him, but he continued without asking Gavin to excuse himself. “The case has gone stale on him.”

“What’s happening?”

“He’s got intelligence officers trying to run down Lancy Fisher.”

“Who?”

“You know him as Marvin Patterson.” He gave them a brief summary of Marvin’s colorful criminal career. “He’s wanted for questioning. And so is a Bradley Armstrong, a convicted sex offender who has violated his probation and flown the coop. He’s got men checking into the telephone angle to see if it can be figured out how Valentino is rerouting calls. And Rondeau…”

He paused to glance at Gavin, who ducked his head.

“He’s still working the computer side of this thing. They didn’t find a computer in Marvin’s place, but they found discs and CDs, so more than likely he took a computer with him. All this to say that Curtis is stuck in neutral. Since nothing new has turned up, I suggested to him that we see if we can provoke Valentino.”

“Into doing what?”

“Poking his head out.”

“How?”

“Through you.”

“Me? On the air?”

“That’s the idea. If you sing Janey’s praises, make her out as a victim, maybe he’ll call you to justify himself. He may talk longer and inadvertently give us a clue to his location or identity.

“The point is to keep the emphasis on Janey,” he continued.

“Personalize her. Repeat her name frequently. Make him think of her as an individual, not just his captive.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “Do you think that tactic will work with Valentino?”

“Not entirely, no. But it’ll also offend his ego if this is all about her instead of him. He wants to be the star, the one everybody’s talking about. So by making her the focus, he may not be able to resist coming out to say, ‘Hey, look at me.’”

Paris glanced at the clock.

Dean spoke her thought out loud. “Right. We’ve got just over twenty-four hours to stop him from doing what he threatened. Tonight could be the last chance we’ll get to change his mind. He shouldn’t be nudged into doing something extreme, which could have tragic results. But possibly you could persuade him to release her.”

“That’s not an easy assignment, Dean. There’s a fine line between goading and persuading.”

He nodded somberly. “I almost regret coming up with the idea because of that.”

“What does Curtis think?”

“He jumped on the idea. Gung ho on it. But I reigned him in, told him it wasn’t going to happen unless you were one hundred percent comfortable with it.”

He came to stand closer to her. “Before you make a decision, there’s something else to think about, and it’s no small consideration. In fact, it’s a major one. Valentino started out angry with you. He’s doing this to punish you as well as the woman who wronged him. If you begin pressuring him, on any level and in any manner, he’s likely to get angrier and you’ll be the target. He’s already made one veiled threat.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of it?”

“Sounds like that, doesn’t it?” he said with a wry smile.

“Don’t give a thought to disappointing Curtis or me. Taking risks is part of our job, but you didn’t sign up for it. This has got to be your call, Paris. You say nix it, it’s nixed. Think about it. You can give me your answer after dinner.”

“I don’t have to think about it. I’ll do or say whatever is needed to get that girl home safely. But I’ll need your guidance.”

He reached for her hand and gave it a firm, quick squeeze. “I’ll be right there with you, coaching you on what to say. I’d be there with you anyway.”

Aware of Gavin watching them with interest, she turned away from Dean, announcing, “The pasta’s ready.”

“Hello? Brad, is that you? If so, please talk to me.”

He hadn’t planned what he would say when his home phone was answered, but he had been compelled to call if only to assure himself that his family was still there. As soon as he heard one of their sweet voices, he figured he’d think of something appropriate.

But upon hearing the tremor in his wife’s plea, Brad Armstrong couldn’t say anything. Her evident distress undid him. His throat seized up and he couldn’t speak. He clenched the phone in his sweaty hand and considered hanging up.

“Brad, say something. Please. I know you’re there.”

He expelled a breath that was half sob, half sigh. “Toni.”

“Where are you?”

Where was he? He was in hell. This shabby room had none of the amenities of the lovely home she had made for him and the kids. There was no sunlight in this room, no good smells. Here the blinds were tightly drawn, blocking out all light except for what came from one feeble bulb in the lamp. The room stank, mostly of his own despair.

But his surroundings weren’t the worst of it. The real hell was his state of mind.

“You must come home, Brad. The police are looking for you.”

“Oh, God.” He had feared it, but having his fear realized made his stomach roil.

“I went to the police station this afternoon.”

“You did what?” he asked, his voice breaking. “Toni, why did you do that?”

“Mr. Hathaway had to report you to SOAR.” She explained how she had wound up in the office of a detective, but he was so distraught he caught only a portion of what she said.

“You talked about your own husband to the police?”

“In an effort to help you.”

“Help me? By sending me to prison? Is that what you want for me and our children?”

“Is that what
you
want for them?” she countered. “You’re the one who’s destroying our family, Brad. Not me.”

“You’re getting back at me for last night, aren’t you? That’s what this is about. You’re still angry.”

“I wasn’t angry.”

“Then what do you call it?”

“Frightened.”

“Frightened?” he snorted. “Because I wanted to make love? From now on, should I alert you in advance that I want to have sex?”

“It wasn’t about sex, and it certainly wasn’t lovemaking, Brad. It was aggression.”

He rubbed his forehead, and his fingers came away wet with sweat. “You don’t even try to understand me, Toni. You never have.”

“This isn’t about me and my shortcomings as a wife and human being. It’s about you and your addiction.”

“All right, all right, you’ve made your point. I’ll go back to group therapy. Okay? Call the police and tell them you made a mistake. Tell them we had an argument and this was your way of getting back at me. I’ll talk to Hathaway. If I suck up to him, he’ll be lenient.”

“It’s too late for apologies and promises, Brad.”

The finality and conviction with which she spoke alarmed him to an even greater extent.

“You’ve already been given more chances than you deserve,” she continued. “Besides, it’s no longer in my hands or Mr. Hathaway’s. It’s a police matter now, and I have no choice but to cooperate with them.”

“By doing what?”

“Giving them access to your computer.”

“Oh, Jesus. Oh, Christ. You do have a choice, Toni. Don’t you see that you’re going to ruin me? Please, honey, please don’t do this.”

“If I don’t give them permission to get into it, they’ll get a court order or a search warrant, whatever is required. It’s really not up to me.”

“You could…Listen, I could tell you how to clear it so they couldn’t find anything. Please, Toni? It’s not hard. A few clicks of the mouse, that’s it. It’s not like I’m asking you to rob a bank or something. Will you do that for me, honey? Please. I’m begging you.”

She said nothing for a time, and he held his breath hopefully. But tonight his wife was springing one ugly surprise after another on him.

“One night last week I followed you out to Lake Travis, Brad.”

Blood rushed to his head as his penitence turned to rage. “You were spying on me. I knew it. You admit it.”

“I saw you with a high school girl. You and she got into your car. I can only presume that you had sex with her.”

“You’re goddamn right I did!” he shouted. “Because my wife cringes every time I touch her. Who could blame me for getting laid where and when I can?”

“Have you ever been with that girl who’s missing? The judge’s daughter. Janey Kemp?”

His breathing sounded abnormally rapid to his own ears, and he wondered if it sounded that way to Toni—or to anyone else who might be listening in. That possibility struck terror in him. Why was she asking him about Janey Kemp?

“Do the cops have the house phone tapped?”

“What? No. Of course not.”

“While you were making chummy with the cops, did you set me up to get caught? Are they eavesdropping on this conversation? Is this call being traced?”

“Brad, you’re talking crazy.”

“Wrong, I’m not talking at all.”

He disconnected, then dropped the cell phone as though it had painfully stung his hand. He began to pace the stuffy, claustrophobic room. They knew about him and Janey. They had found out, just as he had feared they would.

That…that Curtis. Sergeant Curtis. Is that who Toni said she had talked to this afternoon? Wasn’t he in charge of investigating Janey’s disappearance?

He’d been afraid of this. As soon as he saw her picture on the front page of this morning’s paper, he had known it was only a matter of time before the police would be looking for him. Someone would have seen him with Janey and reported it.

Now he would have to be very careful about where he went. If he was spotted, he could be arrested. That couldn’t happen. That
could not
happen. In jail, other prisoners did terrible things to men like him. He’d heard stories. His own lawyer had told him about the horrors that awaited a sex offender in prison.

God, he was in a fix. And he had Janey Kemp to thank for it, the teasing little slut. Everyone was against him. Janey. His wife, the raging nag. Hathaway, too, who wouldn’t know what to do with a boner if he ever got one, which was unlikely. The parole officer was jealous of Brad’s success with women. Out of spite, he would happily hand him over in handcuffs to be taken straight to prison.

But Brad’s rage was short-lived. His fear returned, overwhelming him. Sweating profusely, gnawing his inner cheek, he paced the room aimlessly. This business with Janey could spell real trouble for him.

He should’ve stayed away from her. He saw that clearly now. He had known her by reputation even before she approached him the first time. He had read the messages posted about her on the Sex Club website, knew she was as sexually adventurous as he. He also knew she was a spoiled, rich brat who treated former lovers like dirt and poked fun at them on the Internet message board.

But he had been flattered that one of the most desired girls in the Sex Club had come on to him. What was he supposed to do, turn her down? What man could? Even knowing that he might be dooming himself, he hadn’t been able to resist her allure. It was worth the danger that being with her posed.

Indulging his fantasies came with accepted risks. He knew he was courting disaster each time he picked up a high school girl, or fondled a patient, or jerked off in a video store, but the risk of getting caught contributed to the thrill.

He constantly challenged himself to see how much he could get away with. Paradoxically, his desire fed on gratification. The farther his escapades took him, the deeper he wanted to explore. Novelty was fleeting. There was always another boundary to cross, one more step to take.

But as he agonized in his private hell, he realized that he might have carried
this
fantasy one step too far.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“B
oo!”

Paris, who had just stepped into the dark hallway from the snack room, reacted by sloshing hot tea over her hand. “Damn it, Stan! That wasn’t funny.”

“I’m sorry. Jeez. I wasn’t really trying to scare you.” He rushed into the tiny kitchen and tore several paper towels off the roll. “Need butter? Salve? The emergency room?”

She blotted the tea off her hand. “Thanks, but no.”

“I can’t see your eyes, but I get the impression you’re glaring.”

“That was a silly thing to do.”

“Why’re you so jumpy?”

“Why’re you so juvenile?”

“I said I was sorry. I’m just feeling exuberant tonight.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Uncle Wilkins is winging his way back to Atlanta. Anytime there are several states between us, it’s cause for celebration.”

“Congratulations. But, just for the record, I don’t like being scared. I never think it’s funny.” Stan fell into step behind her as she made her way back to the studio. Once they were in the light, she saw the bruise. “Ouch, Stan, what happened to your face?”

Gingerly he touched the spot at the side of his mouth. “Uncle smacked me.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“No.”

“He struck you?” she exclaimed, then listened with dismay as he told her about their meeting in the lobby of the Driskill.

At the end of his account, he shrugged indifferently. “What I said pissed him off. It’s not the first time. No big deal.”

Paris disagreed, but Stan’s relationship with his uncle was none of her business. “All around me, men are getting punched today,” she muttered, thinking of Gavin’s unexplained bruise. She sat down on her stool and glanced at the log monitor to see that she still had over five minutes of music on deck.

Without being invited to, Stan took the other stool. “Are you spooked by this Valentino business?”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“Uncle Wilkins asked if I was your mystery caller.”

She cut a glance toward him as she stirred a packet of sweetener into her tea. “You’re not, are you?”

“As if,” he replied. “Although I am sexually maladjusted. At least according to Uncle Wilkins.”

“Why would he think so?”

“Bad genes. Mother was a slut. Father was a lecher. Uncle hires hookers he thinks no one knows about. I suppose he thinks the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. But aside from being a sexual deviate, he thinks I’m a royal fuckup.”

“He told you that?”

“In so many words.”

“You’re a grown man. Why do you take that crap from him? You certainly don’t have to stand for his slapping you.”

Stan looked at her as though she was deranged. “How do you suggest I stop it?”

He had a knack for making her want to throttle him one minute and pat him consolingly the next. A lot of juicy gossip had been circulated when Stan’s father committed suicide. If there was any basis to it whatsoever, the Crenshaw family was indeed dysfunctional on many levels. It wasn’t surprising that Stan had psychological issues that needed sorting out.

As the last of the songs wound down, she signaled him to be quiet and engaged her mike.

“That was Neil Diamond. Before that Juice Newton was singing about ‘The Sweetest Thing.’ I hope you were listening, Troy. That song was a request for you from Cindy. I’ll be taking other requests until two o’clock. Or, if you have something on your mind, I invite you to share it with me and my listeners. Please call.”

From that she went directly into two minutes of commercials.

“Do you think he’ll call tonight?” Stan asked after she’d turned off her mike.

“I assume you mean Valentino. I don’t know. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“No clues as to who he is?”

“The police are investigating several possibilities, but they have little to go on. Sergeant Curtis is hoping he’ll call tonight, maybe say something that would give them fresh leads.” She looked at the blinking telephone lines on the control board. “I know another call from him could be valuable, but it gives me the creeps to talk to him.”

“Now I really feel bad about scaring you. I was teasing.”

“I’ll survive.”

“Holler if you need me.” He headed for the door.

“Oh, Stan, Dr. Malloy will be arriving shortly. Would you please keep an eye on the front door and let him in?”

Stan did an about-face and returned to the stool. “What’s with you and the studly shrink?”

Paris shushed him and answered one of the phone lines. “This is Paris.”

The male caller requested a Garth Brooks song from the sound track of the movie
Hope Floats.
“For Jeannie.”

“Jeannie sounds like a lucky girl.”

“It’s on account of you that we’re together.”

“Me?”

“Jeannie was offered this job out in Odessa. Neither of us had told the other how we felt. You advised her not to leave before telling me her feelings. She did, and I told her I felt the same, so she stayed at her job here and we’re getting married next year.”