Finding Davey Read online

  “Going to live in the Midlands. The doctors thought it might be less difficult. I’m minding their house. It’s adjacent. And I get the dog!”

  “That liaison officer, whatsername, she keep in touch?”

  “I ring her once a fortnight.” It was hard to admit the uselessness of Jim’s replacement. She always wanted to get him off the line. “Just saying I’m still here.”

  “More hurt than dirt.” Again that pause. “You on your own there, Bray?”

  “You mean now? No. A lady helps…with my hobby. Just nonsense.” Bray watched his words.

  “Does romance blossom?”

  He felt embarrassed. Was this the reason Stazio was ringing? “Not really. She’s a friend, works part time at my firm.”

  They spoke of Shirley, Geoffrey’s promotion, Bray’s possible journey to the USA. They mentioned the possibility of meeting. Stazio rang off, and that was that.

  Bray looked at himself in the mirror. He had talked with Shirley’s psychiatrist, learned much about bereaved parents’ ominous temptation to construct shrines. Their house was virtually as it had been all these months. So was Bray’s. It is no shrine, Bray firmly told his reflection. And, in Geoff’s house, Davey’s room was still untouched, simply waiting. It had merely been temporarily vacated. Status quo, as it were. Shrines are for what’s gone for good. Davey hadn’t done anything of the kind.

  Lottie picked up her bedside receiver and heard the gravelly voice of Officer Stazio.

  “I just called Bray. He seems fine.”

  It was she who had suggested he ring Bray, to convince the retired policeman she was not some ghoul.

  “Right. Can I ask now?”

  “Look, lady. Don’t go hiring some P.I. shyster. I’ll help in any way I can. I’m retired.”

  “I understand, Mr Stazio. All I want is information. It would take months if I tried to sieve it from libraries or wherever. It’s to help Bray.”

  “Maybe you’re a reporter?”

  “If you harbour doubts, ring off now and I’ll look elsewhere. Or you can ask Bray outright.”

  “All off the record, right?”

  “Of course.” She hesitated. “Mr Stazio, about the 50,000 missing children —”

  “Hold on right there. Numbers get pulled out of the air. Way back in 1983, a US senator said that 50,000 kids were abducted annually in the US of A. The Justice Department worked on it, and corrected the number to just 5,000. The jury’s still out. But hey, 90,000 kids under sixteen run away from home in your country every year, right?”

  She kept him to it. “Is there any way of narrowing a search? There’s so much written about porn rings and social agencies I don’t know where to turn.”

  “Police have shit lists, excuse me, but nobody’s saying names.”

  “Then there are definitely known suspects?”

  “Sure are.”

  “Could I acquire such a list, say by hiring someone?”

  “You’d be wasting your money. There’s plenty of P.I.s willing to accept your bank draft and do sweet nothing. You’d get glossy reports, o’course, keep your hopes up while they reel your dollars in. That’s as good as it gets. Bray hinted the same. I told him like I’m telling you.”

  “Do you know any successes, Mr Stazio?”

  “For local abducted kids? A possible three, in thirty years of police work, all traced close to home, and all Americans. Runaway children are different. Higher percentage for runaways – they return of their own accord, or some church network finds them. Anti-drug agencies, police tracers, there are systems for runaways.”

  “Thank you, Mr Stazio. I appreciate your frankness.”

  They arranged to ring periodically.

  She sat watching the dark estuary until dawn came over the shore. She felt she had only reached the point where Bray had actually begun, all that time before.

  Except his lone quest had gone a distance. Erratic, certainly. Bumbling and with setbacks, inevitably. Yet he had kept going. Never quite knowing what he was doing, he had ploughed on through the nightmare, and he was still there.

  Her heart was close to breaking for him. She ran a hot bath and got ready for the new day. Lots to do.

  They took the limo, with a strange driver who kept looking all around and talked into a phone. He had a black hook thing with a blob in front of his mouth, and he kept signalling to another man in the mall. Clint wanted to ask if he’d got kids too but Pop said not to because he was busy.

  Thanksgiving was a great holiday. Clint liked it, with people talking about so many Thanksgiving dinners and Mom laughed and said how can we get through all this? Pop was in a great mood and said they’d throw a party and they did, with Manuela and Maria and several of Manuela’s friends coming to scream in the kitchen because somebody hadn’t delivered stuff.

  Clint got to say who was coming to the Thanksgiving party so he said all his friends from school and it was great. Thanksgiving was one day but spread out each side to make a bigger holiday. Everybody was pleased.

  They had games. He wanted to invite the Kim the kite boy and his daddy who had a round hat but Pop said no they were just casual people and Mom said that’s right honey.

  Still they had a great time and Pop said Mom must get real good presents for the kids not tacky stuff from Wealstone and Biggelmod’s shop that only sold cheapo Puerto Rican. Mom had special people called caterers. Pop had entertainers come, like clowns and big plastic creatures that made Clint shiver. He went into his room from the garden – yard – shivering and his hands went all cold and shaking for nothing when he was having a great time. Mom told Pop he shouldn’t be so and Pop said how the hell was he expected to know. They phoned Doctor.

  Pop made it okay. He sent the creatures away and all the kids said are you okay Clint and Clint told them sure and they had a great party and firework colours spread about in the sky. Clint didn’t really like them either. Other kids’ moms and pops said well they could make you jump so they’d better cool the fireworks.

  They played great games and the entertainers were great and two were faces Clint had seen on the new TV cartoon show and the kids got real excited and clapped whooping. Pop said it cost a fortune and Mom said it was worth it just to see Clint’s face.

  Next day they went to the mall. Clint’s friends Carlson and Leeta were there with their folks and Clint shouted and they came over to do shopping with them. They had a great time. The limo driver followed Clint. Pop had a hard time keeping up. Mom didn’t like the crowds. Carlson said the black hook thing was a microphone. The limo man was there even when they saw computers that Carlson liked. Leeta said it was kinda boring though she liked the characters on screens all round.

  Leeta made everybody laugh because she held her hands on her head like one of the hats the carved people wore in new books she was reading that were on bookstalls now. Leeta was funny, and did the squeaky voices she’d heard on adverts for programmes that were coming on children’s TV. Carlson’s daddy was a secret in the State Capitol and said they were going to be real popular at Christmas and Leeta’s mom said oh dear that’s another fortune and toys didn’t last a single minute. Pop said hey that’s the Christmas spirit.

  Clint saw the purple scenery on the book fronts and said there’ll be a floating balloon come soon. Carlson said bet you a dollar there isn’t. Clint said bet you a dollar there is. Leeta hated the purple snow thing and the badgers were the wrong colour anyway. Then the bookstore’s screens suddenly showed a floating balloon come right in the picture just like Clint said. The man in the shop laughed and said hey kid can you do that any time or did you just get lucky. Carlson said sure Clint can do it any time and the man said go on then let’s see it. Mom and Pop came over and said what’s the big attraction. Carlson got mad because the shop man wouldn’t believe him. Leeta said come on let’s go somewhere else because computers were boring and her daddy was a preacher and said they were Sodom and Gomorrah.

  So they went to Zeemer’s Coffee Sprawl.
Carlson’s and Leeta’s folks were fun. Clint hadn’t even known that Leeta had a baby brother who was seven months but couldn’t do much. Carlson said you’re lucky I got a big brother and a sister and they stop me doing things.

  While they were in Zeemer’s Coffee Sprawl one of the big mouse characters came playing mall music and Clint was sick. Mom and Pop said it was time to go and everybody said sure it’s kind of airless in these places. Clint and his folks went home with the driving man who kept looking everywhere.

  At home Clint was sick a couple more times and Manuela said see I told you too much rich food and Mom got mad at her. They called a new doctor who asked questions that Linda Hunger answered making Mom worse mad. The doctor said Clint got himself overtired with Thanksgiving and all. Clint would be fine.

  And that was the end of the Thanksgiving except the next day they went to Carlson’s for a barbecue. They played games. Clint kept a lookout but there were no big cartoon characters like that mouse and that dog so it was okay. Mom and Pop said it was a really great Thanksgiving.

  That night Clint dreamed of kites and wrong-colour badgers. He wasn’t scared any more because in the dream there was an old man who wore a thick apron stiff with paints and it had pouches bulging with rags and brushes. He had thick rag gloves, and filed wood so the surface was ready for the next thing you did to it. He held it up and said see, it was beautiful all the time inside and we’ve made it show isn’t that real cool.

  Only he didn’t say real cool. He said…

  splendid.

  He always said splendid.

  Clint slept well. It was school next day.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  They watched television, the first KV episode. Buster waited for his evening patrol of Avery Fields, and looking at Lottie as if reminding her to get her things and leave Bray to it.

  Lottie said eventually, “It seems different. Don’t you think?” They had it on video, to watch repeatedly.

  “You mean the music?” Each episode began with an Albinoni adagio, one of Bray’s favourites. “Davey likes it.”

  “No. The pace of the episode.” Lottie knew him enough by now to say, “What, Bray?”

  “TV firms and stations keep merging.”

  “It’s out in the USA this week.”

  Lottie felt nervous. This was the first time she’d even thought of staying over. Nothing sexual, just in the spare bedroom. Geoffrey’s and Shirley’s adjoining dwelling was vacant. It seemed the natural thing. To herself, maybe, but what about Bray? Who’d said nothing to her. No, leave things as they were.

  “We’re on edge. So much happening.”

  It was true. The TV launch had been surprisingly muted. Bray almost expected other commuters to look at him anew, the morning after the KV programme was aired. He felt flat, lost, and couldn’t help thinking, is that it? Nobody in the workshop said a thing. How could they when they didn’t know? Illogical, of course. Nobody knew, except Lottie and George Corkhill. Not even Geoff. Fine, the printer’s people had been excited, and an inch appeared in the East Anglian Daily Times, nothing to do with Bray anyway, and that had been that.

  To Lottie everything felt exactly right. She was relieved, knowing just what sorts of shambles could sometimes occur. The reviews were favourable. An agency sent newspaper cuttings via Corkhill’s. The children’s stories about KV’s population of odd characters in strange hats were to be broadcast in unknowable TV networks, children’s television of course, but that was the idea.

  “I’m getting KV talked up in a women’s magazine,” she said. “I’m manipulating the media.” She gave a laugh to distract him from morality.

  “More old friends?”

  Quickly she inspected him for bitterness and was relieved to find none. The last thing she wanted was Bray to think she was taking over.

  “Of course,” she said evenly. “It’d happen anyway.” She added, “Bray, if I do something that’s not right, please tell me.”

  He ahemed, reluctant to speak. “You’ve done things I couldn’t even contemplate. Like that accountant.”

  She laughed. “You were so apprehensive. You said, ‘A bank? In Burnley?’ And sat in silence on the train!”

  “And like when…”

  “Kylee?”

  He always smiled when speaking of the girl. “At first she was like someone from outer space.” He gave her a shy glance. “And you talked in parables. I understood nothing. Now look at us. I grumble about networking with the best of them. Two days ago on the train I made a joke about lancing overflow buffers and nicking surfo mail.”

  “Is the competition worrying you?”

  He sobered, so she’d guessed right. “It’s all too soon.”

  “In six weeks, Kylee is teeing it up with two processors. I hired her, meaning Maddy’s, to do a software programme for Gilson Mather. And,” Lottie couldn’t help adding mischievously, “she’s included parameters that might help us. Did you know the TV links have been offered sponsors?”

  “Sponsors?” Bray exclaimed in alarm. “Advertise?”

  “It is rather complicated,” she admitted. Time to wash up the supper things and then go home. Six o’clock, the children’s programmes ended. “It’s vital in the USA, not so vital here. Sponsorship is easy money, which helps. Selling is fierce.”

  “What do we do?”

  She already knew the answer. It was always the same. “Go for maximal exposure, Bray. The contract must guarantee it. It’s more lawyers, but so?”

  “Geoffrey and Shirley are thinking of trying for another child.” Lottie held her silence. “Inevitable really.”

  “Davey will love it, Bray, you’ll see. I’ll hurl those dishes through the water and head off.”

  For a moment she thought Bray was about to make some suggestion, but he only said that he’d clear up. He bussed her on the cheek as usual at the door. Buster stood on the step as Bray waved her off.

  She watched Bray in the driving mirror. He was actually scared. Since the first KV book came out there had been no other significant step. Until now, and the consequences were unknowable. The final answer lay somewhere up ahead. Bray was terrified it would be the wrong one.

  The pace was accelerating. Articles almost every day about the animators, soon the TV ratings, children’s books, and little plastic figures being made by concession people, the transatlantic TV launch. Lottie’s concocted biography of the distant Sharlene S Trayer had come out in a mag, only lip service, thank heavens.

  She knew the hunt kept him sane. For it, Bray had his own faith. Her hopes were few, yet she’d provided essential expertise he lacked. The determination was Bray’s, sure, but she contributed know-how.

  And the combination was producing something. Bray wouldn’t cut corners, she would. He worried about propriety, she didn’t. Bray was honest. Lottie would trample on toes, see if she cared. She was in it with him, and that was that.

  Forty minutes later she reached her darkened home and put the car away. She did little for the rest of the evening except have a hot bath and watch a sitcom. She felt too languid to bother with the hall phone’s red light. She could get up earlier. It was probably George Corkhill’s secretary in a panic over typeface. A vegetable drink, and she went to bed.

  “Ah, this is Jim Stazio. Give me a call?”

  The voice was gruff yet tinny. Two messages, same words.

  Lottie checked the clock. Nine o’clock was what, in America? Crossly she examined her old school atlas for the USA’s maddening time zones, and decided to wait until the afternoon before phoning back. In a temper she went straight out and bought a pricey massive atlas. All morning she did her filing.

  It came on to rain at noon. She stopped for a skimpy lunch break – lentil soup, cream crackers, tea – and two p.m. got Jim Stazio.

  “Thing is, Lottie, I got a sort list. It’s kinda long.”

  “Of suspects?”

  “Can’t say suspects till they’re apprehended, y’foller? Libel being what it is.”<
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  Then what was the point? “Is posting out of the question? E-mail, fax?”

  “Co-rrect. Where a felon operates from, excuse me saying it, the product is sold in another state. Maybe resides in a third state. Know what I’m saying? I’ve eighteen states.”

  “And a state could be as big as a couple of European countries.”

  “You got it.”

  “Have you edited the list?”

  “Y’mean cut it down? Sort of. I got a friend to take out criminals who’re been penned or don’t figure. Leaves eleven pages.”

  “Meaning out of reach?”

  “Three hundred supposed agencies, a score or so states.” He sighed. “Four thousand operatives, maybe.”

  “Should I come for the list? If it would help us.”

  “Fly over?” He gave that some thought.

  “Tell you what. Reason I called so urgent, I didn’t want you wasting Bray’s money.” She heard the rustle of papers. “Needle in a haystack, trying to list them in order of likely, ahm, Florida activity. Understand me?”

  “Very well,” she said. “Please don’t be offended, but did you incur any expenses?”

  “Coupla beers is all.” He chuckled. “And I’m drinking anyway.”

  In the afternoon she savagely pruned the roses in her small garden. So you have a list of criminals in your hand, knowing that one had committed the most dreadful crime, and are powerless. Where was the justice in that? You couldn’t even read the list over the phone for God’s sake. The world was mad.

  She over-pruned her favourite hybrid tea, a Queen Elizabeth, so she drove to the library in a temper and failed to find any of the four books she wanted. She was given a parking ticket. Worse, the traffic warden wasn’t in sight. She couldn’t even have a stand-up row with the moron.

  That night she threw caution to the winds and phoned Bray, asking his answer machine outright if she might stay over one day next week, to catch up.

  That night she slept badly.