Ritual. Part 15

Charlie shook his head. He was about to make an elaborate excuse, but then he thought, What the h.e.l.l? Mrs Kemp lost Caroline, so at least she'll understand what fm going through. And maybe it's time she knew that Caroline hasn't gone off to live in California; nor has she been raped and murdered and her body left in some nameless ditch. It's about time the parents of all those children who have been lost to the Celestines got themselves together and did something dramatic. If what Sheriff Podmore had told him was true - if the government and the law refused to admit that what the Celestines were doing was wrong; and if the television and the newspaper people did nothing but turn a blind eye - then it was time for the nation's bereaved parents to take a stand on their own.

Because if they had no other rights, as far as their children were concerned, parents at least had the right to see them live.

'Come inside,' he told Mrs Kemp. 'I want to talk to you.'

They sat together in the front parlour and Charlie told Mrs Kemp everything that had happened since he and Martin had left for West Hartford. Then he told her what Sheriff Podmore had said about Susan. He watched her carefully as he explained that Caroline had probably died in the way that all Celestine Devotees eventually died. Her eyes betrayed no expression at all, as if somehow she had known that this had happened all along.

When Charlie had finished, she stood up and walked with mechanical steps to the bureau. 'I think you and I had better have a drink,' she said. 'I still have some Chivas Regal left, from the time that Jerry Kogan used to stay here. Everybody used to say, "Do you know Jerry? He's in alcohol."'

'Thanks,' said Charlie. He watched in silence as Mrs Kemp poured them each a hefty three fingers of whisky. Mrs Kemp raised her gla.s.s and said, 'To the ones we love. In memory, and in hope.'

Charlie said, with a catch in his throat, 'To the ones we love,' and drank.

157.

They shared another drink, and then Mrs Kemp said that she had to go to the market to buy supplies for supper if Charlie was going to be staying. Charlie opened up the sagging doors of her garage for her, and backed out her old tan Buick wagon. He stood at the front door and watched her as she drove off in a cloud of oily smoke on her way to the shopping mall. Then he stepped back into the airless house, and went up to the room in which he had slept only two nights ago with Martin. He knew now that he had lost Martin then, after the dwarf-like David had talked to him. If only he could go back forty-eight hours in time; to that fateful instant when Harriet had let slip the name of Le Reposoir, the resting place, the little altar.

On impulse he wrestled the Connecticut telephone directory out of the bedside cupboard, and looked up the Litchfald Sentinel. With the directory balanced on his knees he dialled the number and waited while the call tone purred. After a long while, a young woman's voice said,'Sentinel? If you want advertising I'm afraid they're gone for the day.'

'I wanted the editor,' said Charlie.

'Oh, well, I'm sorry, he's not here, either. There's a big business meeting in Danbury.'

'In that case, forget it. I'm sorry I troubled you.'

'Is it news?' the young woman asked him. 'I'm a reporter. I can take your story if that's what you want.'

'I'm sorry, I really wanted to speak to the editor.'

'Okay, have it your way. He'll be back in the morning. You're sure I can't help?'

Charlie lowered the directory on to the floor. 'I don't know, maybe you can. My son's gone missing in pretty unusual circ.u.mstances. I thought it might help if I could locate other parents whose children have gone missing.'

'Well, that's incredible,' the woman told him. 'That's exactly the story that I've been working on. You know the Denver Post won a Pulitzer Prize for their investigations into 158.

the missing children statistics; well, I've been a.s.signed to do a follow-up, because we've had so many kids missing in Connecticut lately.'

'Do you know any other parents who have lost their kids, apart from me?' asked Charlie.

'Sure I do, dozens. The number of children who have gone missing in the Litchfield area in the past five months is way up - forty-two per cent higher than it was for the comparable period last year, and seventy-eight per cent higher than it was the year before.'

'And the police keep telling you it isn't a problem - just like the Denver Post won that Pulitzer Prize for saying it wasn't a problem.'

'That's right,' said the young woman. 'How did you know that?'

Charlie said, 'For once in my life I seem to have gotten lucky. My name's Charlie McLean, and I think that you and I ought to meet.'

'Well, sure thing. My name's Robyn Harris. Where are you calling me from?'

'Alien's Corners, but I don't want to meet you at Alien's Corners. Do you know a restaurant in Watertown called the Loving Doves? How about meeting me there at six-thirty? I'll book a table in the name of Gunn.'

'Gunn?'

'You know, like Ben Gunn, who was marooned on Treasure Island. You won't miss me, I'm forty-one years old and I look like I've spent my life driving from coast to coast and back again.'

'All right, Mr McLean. You're on. I look forward to meeting you.'

Charlie called the restaurant and made the reservation, then cradled the phone and sat for a while in thought. He wasn't at all sure that he was doing the right thing, in talking to the Press, but if he was careful he might be able to use Ms Robyn Harris to make contact with other parents; and then there was a possibility of concerted action - something to bring the Celestines to the attention of ordinary people, and to quarantine them for ever, if not kill them off.

As far as Charlie was concerned, the Celestines weren't a religion, they were a disease. They were nothing better than a spiritual form of AID S.

He eased off his shoes, then peeled off his socks. The day's tension had made him feel sweaty and sticky, and he needed a shower. As he stood under Mrs Kemp's rattling bra.s.s shower faucet, he tried to work out a plan for s.n.a.t.c.hing Martin out of Le Reposoir, and getting him clean away. He made himself a.s.sume that Martin wouldn't have started eating himself already. His mind couldn't cope with the idea that he might already have cut off his own ringers or his own toes, and swallowed them.

He recognized that he was going to need help, if only to drag Martin physically out of the building. A man would be preferable, but a woman would do if she were determined enough.

He also recognized, reluctantly, that he was going to need a gun. Even though Sheriff Podmore had told him that the Musettes had made no effort to stop him when he had rescued his daughter, it was obvious that Le Reposoir had at least two security staff and probably more.

He would need a third person, too - somebody who was not necessarily involved in breaking into the building and heisting Martin out, but a getaway driver who was waiting to speed them out of trouble and take them to the nearest airport.

Because that was the last essential. There had to be air tickets ready. First, a flight to somewhere within the continental United States, because Martin hadn't brought his pa.s.sport with him, then a car or a boat ride to Mexico.

After that, exile for both of them, for a while at least, while Martin was deprogrammed, and while Charlie tried to find another way of making a living.

160.

Charlie stepped out of the shower and towelled himself with one of the rough, cheap towels that Mrs Kemp had left folded on the hot pipe. He knotted the towel around his waist and walked across the landing to his room. He heard the front door open and shut again, and leaned over the banisters and called, 'Mrs Kemp? That you?'

Mrs Kemp looked up. She was standing in the hallway looking peculiarly wild-eyed, her hair dishevelled and a b.u.t.ton hanging off her coat. She carried no shopping.

'Mrs Kemp?' asked Charlie. 'Is there something wrong?'

'It's all right,' she said, tugging her coat tightly around herself. 'I'm fine. I'll go fix you something to eat.'

'Did you go to the. market?'

'I... forgot.'

Charlie looked at her sharply. 'What's wrong, Mrs Kemp? Where have you been?'

But Mrs Kemp disappeared into her kitchen without answering; and Charlie heard the door slam behind her as an unequivocal warning that she did not want to be followed.

Charlie waited for a moment, then shrugged to himself, and went to his room to get dressed. He watched his face in the mirror on top of the bureau. He looked tired, and there was a look in his eyes which he had never seen before. Wounded, but determined. The look of a man who wants revenge.

He was tying up his shoelaces when he heard the scuffing of tyres outside in the street. A moment later, there was a ring at the doorbell. Then another ring. He finished tying his shoelace and went out to the landing. 'Mrs Kemp?' he called, but there was no reply. The doorbell rang again and so he went downstairs to answer it.

It was Sheriff Podmore, and he didn't look pleased. He pushed the door open wide and stepped into the hallway without being invited. 'What did you tell her?' he demanded.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' said Charlie.

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'Don't play the stiff with me, my friend. You told Mrs Kemp what happened to Caroline, didn't you?' 'So what if I did? She has a right to know.' 'Jesus, McLean, what kind of a cretin are you? The reason I didn't tell her before was because she doesn't have the mental strength to accept anything like that. At least she used to have hope that Caroline might still be alive. Don't you understand that? Until they know what's happened to their children for sure, all parents believe that they may still be alive. Hence the great myth about them all running off to California to become go-go dancers or whatever. One per cent of one hundred per cent stay away for good. One per cent of that one per cent make a living as exotic dancers or p.o.r.no stars. The rest of them get killed, one way or another; or else they end up as Celestines and kill themselves.' Charlie said, 'I still think she has a right to know.' 'Is she here?' Sheriff Podmore asked him. 'She just came in. She's in the kitchen.' Sheriff Podmore stomped down to the end of the hallway and rattled the door handle. 'Ida!' he shouted. 'You in there?'

'Go away!' Mrs Kemp shouted back. 'You lied to me, Norman, I don't want to see you and I don't want to talk to you ever again!'

'Ida, will you be reasonable?' said Sheriff Podmore. 'Go away! I don't want to be reasonable!' Sheriff Podmore waited outside the kitchen door a little longer and then came sashaying back down the hallway again, all belly and gunbelt. He lifted his hat to adjust it, and said to Charlie. 'You know what she did?'

'I have the distinct feeling that you're going to tell me.' 'She came down to the sheriffs office while I was out and she ripped the place apart. Broke the windows, emptied out the file cabinets, and then she wrote 'Norman Podmore Child-killer' on my wall. So, what do you think about that?'

162.

'I think maybe you deserved it,' said Charlie, in a level tone.

Sheriff Podmore looked at Charlie thoughtfully. 'I hope you're not thinking of causing me any trouble,' he said.

'You'll soon find out if I am.'

Sheriff Podmore jerked his thumb back toward the kitchen. 'All I'm asking you to do is keep your eye on her. She's pretty overwrought. There's no knowing what she might do.'

Charlie opened the front door. 'I think you'd better leave,' he told the sheriff.

At that moment, however, the kitchen door opened and Mrs Kemp appeared, 'Norman!' she screeched. The sheriff turned around. 'Norman, you be warned! This isn't going to be the end of it! I'm going to kill those people if it's the last thing I do! They took my Caroline, and I'm going to kill them!'

'Ida,' said Sheriff Podmore, 'you have to know that it's illegal to make threats against people's lives.'

'And it's not illegal to let people slaughter your children, is that it?' Mrs Kemp shrieked at him.

'Ida, you take care.' Sheriff Podmore turned to Charlie again. 'I'm just telling you, my friend, anything happens here and I'll hold you responsible.'

Charlie said nothing, but let the sheriff out and stood by the door as he walked down the path. Mrs Kemp stayed where she was, wringing her hands. Her cheeks were running with tears. Charlie said, 'I'm sorry, Mrs Kemp. It looks like I made a mistake.'

'No, you didn't,' she said shakily. 'You were right to tell me. Up until now, I've been feeling grief, but there was no way of telling if I had anything to grieve about. I've felt angry, but I've never known who to be angry with. Now I know, and now I can do something about it.'

'You're not going to try to kill the Musettes, not really?'

163.

'Try?' she said. 'I'm going to succeed.' 'Can I dissuade you?'

For a fleeting moment, Mrs Kemp almost smiled. 'You wouldn't want to dissuade me, would you? You want to see the Musettes dead just as much as I do, if not more.'

Charlie came up close and laid his hand on Mrs Kemp's shoulders. 'Can I ask you just one favour? Don't do anything without telling me first. I'm going to try to get Martin out of there before anything happens to him. If you get in there on your own, all you're going to succeed in doing is make them tighten up their security. At the moment, they're complacent. They're inside the law, however much you and I may hate them, no matter how disgusting we think they are. Let them stay complacent, huh? - at least until I've managed to get Martin out.'

Mrs Kemp reached up and touched his cheek. 'Is this a punishment, do you think, for the way we treat our children?'

Charlie tried to smile. 'Maybe. Maybe some people have a different way of looking at life and death.'

'Will you want supper?' she asked. 'I'm afraid that I didn't quite make it to the market. I got overtaken by the impulse to wreck Norman's office.'

Til go out to eat,' said Charlie. 'Do you think the sheriff is going to press charges against you?'

'Norman? He'd better not. I've known him since he was a big, fat, unpopular kid. He gave me cough-candy once and asked me if he could marry me. Thank G.o.d I didn't.'

Charlie spent the next half-hour straightening out his car - sc.r.a.ping the clumps of gra.s.s from underneath the wheel-arches and bending back the cover that protected the radiator fan. He managed to kick the front b.u.mper reasonably straight, and fit new bulbs in the headlights. The Olds...o...b..le still looked as if he bought it second-hand from a family of deranged Mexicans, but at least it went along without 164.

making too much noise. The transmission was okay provided he drove in second.

He left Mrs Kemp sitting in her parlour with the last of her bottle of Chivas Regal, and drove over to Watertown. Once the sun had gone, the evening was unexpectedly cold. The Oldsmobile's climate control had been damaged, and he wished he had worn a sweater underneath his coat. It occurred to him as he drove that it was time he called Marjorie to tell her what had happened - or at least to tell her that Martin was missing - but he couldn't even begin to think of what to say.

'Marjorie, listen, we've got a problem here. Martin wants to eat himself.'

'I'm sorry, Marjorie, but Martin has decided to join a society of cannibals.'

'Marjorie -'

He arrived at the Loving Doves. It was a small self-conscious restaurant in the centre of Watertown, with gilded lettering across the facade and two gilded doves pecking at each other's beaks perched on the porch. Its style was New England nouvelle cuisine, if such a thing were imaginable. Perhaps its most characteristic dish was a dinner that consisted of three thin slices of brisket, four baby onions, three miniature carrots, two tiny beets, and a decoration of tenderly cooked cabbage, all laid out on a circular pool of delicate broth.

Charlie went inside. The decor was candlelight, bra.s.s, and dark green tablecloths. 'You have a six-thirty reservation for Mr Gunn,' he said. The tall, blonde waitress smiled at him as if life were still ordinary, as if restaurants still mattered, and led him across to a table in the corner. There, a young woman was waiting - a handsome young woman with long well-brushed brunette hair and wide dark eyes and big dangling earrings. She wore a fas.h.i.+onable suit in pale grey, with a white cotton sweater underneath it. The multi-pocketed purse slung 165.

over the back of her chair was the only give-away that here was a career woman pursuing her career.

'Mr Gunn?' she said, rising from her chair and extending her hand.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

It was almost eleven o'clock when they left The Loving Doves. They stood in the entrance for a while, sheltering from the wind.

'What are you going to do now?' Robyn asked Charlie.

'Go back to Mrs Kemp's, I guess. I feel I have a duty to keep an eye on her.'

'You won't come back to my place for a drink? I still want to talk to you some more.'

Charlie tugged up the collar of his coat. 'I'm not sure there's any more to say. The Celestines have got hold of my boy, and I want to get him back. End of story.'

Robyn took her spiral-bound notebook out of her pocket and leafed through it. Til talk to two other parents in the morning. I may be able to get hold of one of them tonight. Then I'll talk to my editor.'

'Remember the agreement, though,' said Charlie. 'No publicity until Martin is safe. If M. Musette gets the idea that I'm going to try to break him out of there, he won't even let me through the front gate.'

Robyn closed her notebook and put it away. 'I hope I haven't been too sceptical this evening.'

'About what?'