Murder Misread (31 page)

“
Well, Charlie,” said
Nick, inserting the ignition key, “tell me about her.”

“
I already did,” Charlie
pointed out sullenly. “You know her name, where she lives, where
her mother works. What else is there to say?” He was not about to
tell this stranger any details, damn it, the quick light touch of
Deanna’s little mouth, the downy curve of her back….

Nick said mildly, “I’d
like to hear your side of the story.”

Charlie looked at him
suspiciously. “Who hired you?” he demanded. “Deanna’s
mother?”

“
No. Doesn’t look to me as
though she has that kind of money.”

“
Is this connected with
the murder at NYSU?”

“
You could say that, yes.
I’m here because of Tal Chandler.”

“
But Tal didn’t
know!”

“
Didn’t know
what?”

Charlie was
silent.

Nick said, “When we came
out of the theatre you said, ‘It’s not what you think.’”

“
Well, it’s
not.”

“
Tell me, Charlie, what do
I think?”

Charlie glanced at the man
next to him—solid, muscular, jaw set firmly, sharp brown eyes
checking him from time to time. He said he was not a cop. Well, he
was probably telling the truth about that. Cops read you your
rights, and they had handcuffs if they wanted to arrest someone.
Charlie was not under arrest. He wondered who had sent him. He
seemed cultured and intelligent, and his underlying violence seemed
well controlled. Could he understand? So few understood. “Well,”
Charlie said cautiously, “you probably think I’m one of those
filthy guys who molests children.”

“
The thought did occur to
me,” Nick admitted. “You say you’re not?”

“
God, no! Those people—my
God, they ought to be—” Charlie caught himself. “Uh, are
you—”

“
Well, no, my personal
taste runs more to women,” said Nick. “But I can try to
understand.”

Charlie said, “Well, I
know there are guys who abuse children. Force themselves on them.
God, I can’t understand how anyone could do that. It’s a betrayal,
you know? Ordinary children are so innocent, so vulnerable. So much
damage can be done! Those guys should be locked up for
life.”

“
I agree with you so
far.”

“
Well, you see, I’m not
one of them,” Charlie said.

“
Could you explain?” Nick
said courteously. “I do agree with what you said about the
vulnerability of children. The immense damage that can result from
abuse.”

“
Yes.” Is that why he had
tied Charlie up? Charlie glanced at his captor. He didn’t know what
to believe. Nick had overpowered him easily, had tied him up with
no nonsense; but since then he’d been sympathetic, almost pleasant.
Now he was driving sedately at the speed limit, eyes on the road,
lumpy profile unworried. Only the tight grip of his big hands on
the steering wheel betrayed any tension. He’d shown no disgust,
only a sympathetic curiosity. Maybe he did understand something
about children. Maybe he could understand about Deanna.

And if he understood, he
might let Charlie go.

Nick flicked a glance at
him and added, “You said
ordinary
children.”

“
Yes.” Charlie licked his
lips and stared straight ahead at the road. Did he dare explain?
Except for Coach Wilhelm, he’d never found anyone who really
understood.

“
Some children are not
ordinary?” Nick prompted.

“
Every now and then,
there’s—well, it’s hard to explain.”

“
A girl who is not
ordinary?”

“
A girl who is… very
special.” He hated having his hands bound. His glasses were
slipping down his nose. “Look, I don’t think you can
understand.”

“
I can’t understand why
you think you weren’t molesting her.”

“
Because she—well, with
most girls maybe that’s what it would be,” Charlie admitted. “Of
course I’d never ask that of most girls. But Deanna is—well,
special.”

“
How?”

“
It’s—well, for example,
Bart Bickford in our department is working with creative children.
Some of them are amazing, imaginations far beyond the usual child.
Or in sports… I remember a boy I used to play hockey with,
brilliant even when we were kids. Or there are children who are
musical prodigies. Rare, just one out of thousands, but by the time
they’re ten or twelve they’re ready to perform concerts with
adults.”

The knuckles whitened on
the steering wheel. “So your theory is that the same is true of
sex? Some little girls are prodigies, ready to perform with
adults?”

“
No, not just sex. Love.
Total love. A girl who has a talent for love should be allowed to
love.”

Nick didn’t answer, just
shook his head.

He seemed intelligent.
Charlie tried another tack. “This is nothing new, for God’s sake!
Do you know how old Dante’s Beatrice was when he first saw her? She
was nine! Juliet was thirteen!”

“
Romeo wasn’t thirty-six,
like you!” snapped Nick. “And when Beatrice was nine, so was
Dante.”

“
But he could
tell!”

“
He could tell?” Nick
paused, and when he spoke again his words had lost their angry
edge. “I am trying to understand, Charlie. You are saying there’s a
way to distinguish a… prodigy, you call her, from ordinary
children. How?”

“
Oh, you can tell. A girl
has a special look about her. You can sense the—the
hunger.”

“
She flirts with
you?”

“
No, no! Not at first.
Most are very timid, little fawns. No one understands them so
they’re lonely. But they look at you and you know.”

“
No. I don’t know,” Nick
said apologetically, shifting in his seat and glancing at Charlie
in a puzzled way. “I didn’t notice anything special about Deanna.
She seemed like a shy little girl, extremely anxious to please, who
wanted to be agreeable but really didn’t want to spend time with
you.”

The words bruised. Charlie
tried to stay under control. “That’s not true! It was just that she
had a lot to do, she said! She came to the film in the
end!”

“
Ordinary kids would too! It’s obvious that Deanna’s mother is
struggling as it is, probably can’t give Deanna much spending
money. Someone offering an expensive ticket to a movie everyone in
school is talking about… well, a kid doesn’t have to be a prodigy
to want to see
Star
Wars
.”

“
That’s not it!” Charlie
was almost screaming, hauling on his wrist bonds. He wanted to
pound Nick into silence, to stop those false words. Words from his
waking nightmares, from those moments afterward when he felt like
the filth of the earth. “I love her! And she loves me! Don’t you
understand?”

“
No, I don’t,” said Nick
obstinately. “She desperately wanted to see the movie, that was
clear. She was trying not to hurt your feelings. But she wouldn’t
agree to come with you until you promised to leave her
alone.”

Charlie’s heart felt like
a stone. “You—heard that?”

“
I’ve been watching you
for hours.”

“
Damn! And you waited
until—”

“
Hell, I
was hoping that she was your niece, maybe, and that you’d have a
nice platonic afternoon at
Star
Wars
. But she was so upset when you
touched her—”

“
No, she wasn’t! Damn it,
you don’t understand! She just likes to act a little coy
sometimes.”

“
Coy! Christ!” exploded
Nick, thumping the wheel with the heel of his hand. He scowled out
at the green countryside that sloped from the highway down to the
distant lake.

Charlie looked down at his
knees. He’d hoped that something in Nick’s experience might have
helped him understand. He’d seemed sympathetic. But he was as blind
as the others. Charlie said stiffly, “You’re taking me to be
arrested, aren’t you?”

“
Yes.”

“
I’m sorry you don’t
believe me.”

“
Oh, I
believe that
you
believe it,” said Nick. “Christ!” But then in a
moment he added more gently, “It must be hard for you to know that
your little prodigies grow up so soon.”

Charlie glanced at him
warily. “Yes.”

“
And you’d have no record
of them. Maybe snapshots, that’s all.”

“
Oh, no! I’ve got records.
A beautiful collection!”

“
A collection?”

“
Photos, little gifts
they’ve given me, even a couple of short films. But you wouldn’t
understand,” he added belatedly. He shouldn’t talk about his secret
collection, treasures sacred to his dearest memories. Melanie’s
sock and Deanna’s little panties were far more precious than Judy
Garland’s pinafore.

“
I understand wanting to
remember.” But Nick’s voice was tight.

Anger surged through
Charlie again. “I don’t abuse children! How many times do I have to
say it? I protect them, for God’s sake! But if I can, I help
someone special achieve her potential!”

“
Yeah, I know, and if the
poor kid is lonely enough and confused enough not to scream, you
talk yourself into believing that she’s one of your so-called
prodigies, that she likes it.”

“
You don’t
understand!”

“
I do
understand. You find a lonely little girl starved for affection.
And you offer her affection, and
Star Wars
tickets, and popcorn. But
if she accepts, she finds that the price of affection is
soul-destroying.”

“
Not true! It’s fulfilling
for her! She loves to please me!”

“
Most
kids love to please adults. But not that way! Didn’t you see her
run away, for God’s sake? A kid doesn’t skip out on
Star Wars
and tear off
like that unless she’s running for her life. To save her very
self.”

“
I told you, she likes to
be coy!”

“
Christ.” Nick sounded
weary. He glanced at Charlie as they turned off the highway onto
the road that led to College Avenue. “Professor Fielding, expert on
reading and on misreading. I’m told you believe that many
misreadings occur because the reader has a strong hypothesis about
what word is coming next, and doesn’t check to see what the letters
really are.”

“
Yes.”

“
Yet you don’t see that
your wrong hypothesis about these children is blinding you to their
real needs. The expert Professor Fielding can’t tell when he
himself is misreading a child.”

Misreading? Ridiculous.
Charlie’s nightmares writhed beneath his mental protests, but he
fought them down. He was no filthy child molester. He wasn’t! He
hadn’t misread Deanna, she just enjoyed playing hard-to-get. He
could tell. And he hadn’t misread sweet Melanie. No. Nor downy
Janine. Nor Wendy, back when he’d been in high school. Nor Ellie…
Nick just didn’t understand.

They were crossing the
College Avenue bridge. Charlie wriggled his wrists and asked
uneasily, “Where are we going?”

“
To your office,
Charlie.”

“
But why?”

“
To decide what to do
next.”

Nick said nothing more as
they turned into the largely deserted parking lot and found a place
near Charlie’s end of the building. Nick undid the rope from the
seat back but didn’t remove the wrist bonds. He hauled Charlie from
the car, locked the door, pocketed Charlie’s keys, and marched him
into Van Brunt and up the steps to the first floor.

The office door was
slightly ajar and voices came from within.

“
What the hell is going
on?” Charlie demanded, halting at this further
violation.

Nick pressed him roughly
through the door and closed it behind them.

Cindy Phelps and Anne
Chandler were sitting in two of the chairs. Maggie was perched on
the edge of Charlie’s desk, threading film into his projector. “Hi,
Nick. Charlie, I see you’ve met my husband. You’re just in time for
our screening. Cute little film we unearthed in a videotape
container here.”

Charlie’s unwilling eyes
found the plastic box on the desk.

It was one of the
containers his blundering assistant had almost taken
yesterday.

Nick pushed Charlie down
into the third chair and remained standing behind him, one hand on
his shoulder. At a nod from Maggie he reached across to the wall
switch next to the door and killed the lights. The screen had been
set up across the room, above the television, so the image was
small but clear.

Establishing shot of a
pretty beach. Blue sky. Then throbbing music and pink letters
spelling out
BABY JAWS
. Cut to a pair of chubby legs splashing in the water, a
happy giggle. Then waves, a child’s shrieks, a red stain in the
water. A little body on the sand, ketchup on arm and face, and most
horribly, a blue eyeball lying near his head.