As a novelist, I think in terms of long, complex plots, rather than the short, snappy ones that make short stories. A few years ago I edited an MWA anthology, and the required reading and evaluating gave me an insight as to how short stories are written. Taking my brand-new knowledge in hand, I stalled on my novel-writing long enough to create two short stories of my own. This selection is the second of those two.
—Hillary Waugh
“Human nature,” said Mike Galton, the captain of detectives, “is the key to man’s universe. And,” the old man went on, “if you want my opinion, a good, experienced cop knows more about human nature than a good, experienced psychiatrist.”
Detective Bill Dennis, his young sidekick, said, “Oh, come on, Cap. That’s stretching it a little.”
They were having coffee with the desk sergeant, and it was a mild May night with a full moon up. “I think he’s right. Bill,” the sergeant said.
“Given equal mentalities, of course,” the old man cautioned. “but the reason I say that is because the opportunities are so great. We routinely encounter examples of human behavior the average man couldn’t imagine, and psychiatrists have only read about.”
The others couldn’t gainsay that and were silent a moment, reflecting on personal experiences. Galton lighted his pipe and sat back enjoying the night. It had been a quiet one, with the citizens, for the most part, behaving themselves. There’d been a complaint of a fight over in the east end of town, but it was a husband and wife, and the appearance of a patrolman stopped it. There’d been a complaint south of City Park about a car full of boys helling it up, yelling and honking, but they were gone by the time the radio car went by. Even the missing child, reported by a frantic mother at six o’clock, had turned up fifteen minutes later. Violence had not gone abroad that night. The natives weren’t restless and the police on duty could relax over their coffee, talk about non-cop things, and let the softness of the night steal through the open doors.
Then there was a screech of brakes, the slamming of a car door, and the clatter of racing feet on the outside steps. Galton sighed with regret, for the sounds told him peace was at an end even before the youth burst through the doorway and rushed up to the desk.
He was about nineteen, tall, with curly hair and good quality clothes. The clothes, however, were a mess, and so was his face. He was panting, and he looked in shock.
“Help me,” he said, looking first at the detectives, then to the uniformed sergeant behind the big desk. “You gotta help me.”
‘“That’s what we’re here for,” the sergeant said easily. “What’s the problem?”
“Three men!” the boy panted. “They kidnapped my girl.”
“Whereabouts?”
“City Park. Hurry, hurry.”
“We will,” the sergeant said. “Relax, young fella. Calm down and tell us your name.”
“But she’s in trouble.”
“And when we hear your story we’ll know what to do about it. What’s your name?”
The boy said impatiently, “Lawrence Wainwright.”
“Where do you live?”
“Is that important? My girl—”
“You’re wasting time, fella. What’s your address?”
The boy told him, giving an address in one of the best sections of town.
“Now tell us what happened,” the sergeant went on, writing in the blotter, keeping his manner calm.
“We were parked in the park, minding our own business, when all of a sudden three men appeared and dragged us out of the car. I tried to fight them, but they ganged up and knocked me out. And when I came to, they were gone and she was gone.”
“When did this take place?”
“About twenty minutes ago. About quarter of eleven.”
“What’s the girl’s name and address?”
“What does it matter?” the boy cried. “We’ve got to save her.”
“We’ll save her just as soon as we know she needs saving. What’s her name and where does she live?”
“Her name is Helen MacKenzie, and she lives over on Wells Street. Thirty-one Wells.”
Galton moved behind the desk and thumbed through the phone book as the sergeant recorded the information and asked where the youth had seen the girl last.
“In City Park. I told you.”
“It’s a big park, Mr. Wainwright. Just where in City Park?”
“Near the pond.”
“That doesn’t help much. It’s a big pond.”
“I’ve got my car outside. I’ll show you.”
Galton dialed a number and while he waited, said, “Did you know any of the men, Mr. Wainwright?”
“No. Of course not. Please, we’re wasting time. Can’t we go now?”
Galton said into the phone, “Mrs. MacKenzie? This is Captain Galton of the police department. I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour. Is your daughter Helen there please?” He listened briefly, his face becoming still more sober. “What’s the name of the boy she’s out with?” he asked, and then, “Do you know where they went?” He listened for a bit and said, “When she comes in, would you have her call the police department? The moment she comes in. It doesn’t matter what time.” When he spoke again, it was to say, reassuringly, “No, she’s not in trouble with the police, Mrs. MacKenzie. She hasn’t done anything wrong. We just want to get in touch with her.”
He put down the phone and said to Dennis and the sergeant, “It checks out, and she’s not home yet.” To the boy, he said, “These men. What did they look like?”
“Two were dark and one was blond. They were my height but heavier.”
“How old?”
“Maybe twenty.”
“What were they wearing?”
“Sport clothes. Dark sport clothes. No jackets.”
Galton’s manner was brisk now. He took out a notebook. “Tell us exactly what happened.”
The boy touched the blood on his cheek and absently wiped it on his shirt. “We were parked in the park doing a little—you know—smooching. All of a sudden I looked up and two men were staring at us through her window. Then, before I could do anything, they opened her door and at the same time the third man opened my door. He grabbed me and the others grabbed Helen. I fought with the one who grabbed me, but one of the others came and hit me and they both jumped on me and knocked me down and kicked me unconscious.”
“What did Helen do? She scream?”
“No. I think they had a hand over her mouth. I heard her say, ‘Stop it! Don’t!’ but that’s all.”
“You know if they had a car?”
“I think they did. I think they’re the same men we saw when we went into the park.”
The old man arched an eyebrow. “Tell us about that.”
“Just when we were driving in, this cream-colored convertible went racing past us with three boys in it yelling and screaming. I think they were the same ones.”
The desk sergeant said, “Say, that’s the car we got a call on. Captain.”
Galton turned. “When? What about?”
“We got a complaint.” The sergeant looked back on the blotter. “Nine forty-two. Call from a Mrs. Stanley Turner on Westlake Avenue about a light-colored convertible with three boys in it driving around her neighborhood yelling and honking and raising hell. I sent Charlie car to respond, but they were gone.”
Galton nodded. “Better alert all units.” He said to the boy, “You didn’t make out the license plate, did you? Or notice what make of car?”
“No, sir. I just saw the three boys in it. Two dark and one blond.”
Galton took a last swallow from his cup. “All right, we’ll go out and take a look around. You feel up to it, son? Would you like some coffee?” he asked the boy solicitously.
“No, thanks. I’m all right.”
“You’d better have a doctor look at your face.”
“Later. Right now I want to find my girl.”
Dennis finished his own coffee and tucked away his notebook. He and Galton led the way outside. A shiny new hardtop was against the curb with the lights on and the boy started toward it, but Galton stopped him. “We’ll go in ours. It’s got a radio.”
They climbed into a black, unmarked cruiser, the detectives in front, the boy in back. They headed for the park, watching for convertibles. Dennis, driving, said, “What were you and the girl doing in the car?”
Wainwright hesitated and said, “A little necking.”
“How were you making out with her?”
“Believe me, it’s not what you think.”
Galton said, “What was it?”
“We were kissing. That’s all.”
The detectives slid knowing looks at each other. Galton said, “You pick her up and take her out in the park and all you do is kiss?”
Wainwright swallowed. “No,” he said. “We also talk. We sit and we talk and sometimes we kiss. When those men looked in the window, we were kissing.”
“What kind of a girl is she?”
“A nice girl.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Well—what do you mean? I date her.”
“What I mean is, she comes from another part of town. She comes from a different social station that you do. I’m not saying it’s this way in your case, but usually when men date girls below their social class, it’s for only one reason.”
Wainwright said heatedly, “I’m not a snob. We happen to like each other. We’ve talked about marriage, if you really want to know. I mean, we aren’t formally engaged, and we haven’t said anything to our folks, but we’re serious.”
Galton didn’t push it. “Any chance she knew the boys? She call any of them by name?”
Wainwright said no, nor had her abductors used names. They hadn’t said a word.
Dennis turned into the park and followed its winding roads. He looked at the moon and said, “If a bunch of boys want to raid neckers, Cap, this is the night to find them.”
When they drove past the pond, Wainwright pointed to a stand of trees, black against the moonlit sky. “That’s where we were,” he said.
Dennis pulled off the road and crossed the fields some fifty yards to the trees. They got out and the detectives looked around by flashlight. Some grass had been flattened by wheels, but that was all.
Galton said, “You didn’t see or hear anything before you saw them at the window? No car headlights? No motor?”
Wainwright shook his head. Dennis said, “They must have seen a girl in the car and doubled back with their lights off.”
Galton agreed. He said, “In what direction did they drag her?”
Wainwright pointed toward black woods a hundred yards distant, “That way. At least, the last I saw.”
“You see or hear a car any time after they slugged you?”
“No, sir.”
Dennis said to the old man, “You think they might still be around?”
“It doesn’t look like it. They probably took off after he did.” Galton got back into the cruiser and picked up the microphone.
“Headquarters from Galton. The girl been heard from yet?”
The sergeant came on. “Negative.”
“Anything on that convertible?”
“No, sir.”
Galton depressed the mike button again and said, “Send all available units and all available men to City Park, the field opposite the pond. I want search parties prepared to go through the woods.”
“Affirmative, Captain. All units. Calling all units—” in a monotone.
When Galton got out of the car, the youth said, “You think she’s in the woods?”
Galton’s tone was heavier, his voice distracted. “I don’t know where she is, son, but you say that’s where she was dragged, so that’s the first place to look.”
The two detectives and the boy reconnoitered the nearby areas while waiting and then, shortly after midnight, the squad cars began arriving and men poured out. By quarter past twelve, thirty policemen were on hand with flashlights and hand lamps, and the headlights of the cars gave a daylight look to the fields.
The men spread out and broke into the woods in a row, tramping through, throwing the beams of the lights in all the shadowy areas, calling the girl’s name at intervals, looking for signs of her passing. The youth hunted with Galton and Dennis, but they made him stay in back of them lest his inexperienced bumbling destroy a clue.
They pushed through briars and bushes and trees for a long five minutes and then, from far on the left, there came a shout. Galton, Dennis and the boy started in that direction following the others.
When they reached the spot, the other men were clustered and mumbling, heads and shoulders bowed. The air was black and electric.
“You find her?” the old man said, pushing through.
“We found her.”
They stepped aside so Galton, Dennis and the youth could see.
It was a sad and ugly sight. The young girl lay dead and cold under a tree. Her pants were down, her skirt was up and her blouse and bra were off. Her once-pretty head was bloody and broken, and a red-stained rock, wrenched from the nearby earth, lay beside her.
The boy said, “No! Oh, God, no!” and turned away, moaning. Dennis muttered a prayer under his breath; the captain shook his head and sighed.
“I was afraid of that,” the old man muttered. “When she still wasn’t home, I was afraid.” He turned away and, with head down, started back. Dennis, the distraught youth and the searchers followed.
At the car they gathered around as Galton radioed in. The girl was dead, he reported heavily. The medical examiner was to be notified, the photo lab and the morgue.
He got out of the car again, closed the door and leaned an elbow on the roof. He shook his head once, straightened a little and took a breath. “All right,” he said wearily to the boy, “tell us what happened.”
The boy said, “I did tell you.”
The old mouth tightened and the tone grew firmer. “Tell it again, son. But this time tell it right.”
The youth, glancing nervously at the large group of encircling men, said querulously, “What do you mean by right?”
“Tell it the way it really happened.”
“I don’t get you.”
“You know, like this. You brought the girl into the park and a car with three yelling boys went by. You pulled off and parked under these trees. You took the girl down into the woods and started to pitch woo. Only she didn’t want to go as far as you did, and she tried to fight you off. But you were determined, and you hit her with a rock to quiet her down, only, when it was all over, you found out you’d hit her too hard, and she was dead. So you remembered the car full of boys and then you came in and told us the boys had kidnapped her.” The old man turned his light on the youth’s face. “That’s pretty close to what happened, isn’t it?”
The stunned boy blinked in the glare. “No,” he whispered, his face white. “It’s like I told you. They grabbed her. They hit me…” He looked around desperately, but all the faces were cold and disbelieving.
The old man shook his head impatiently. “Do you think you’re the first person who’s ever tried to sell the police a phony story? Do you think we con that easy? We get it all the time. All of us. I’ve heard so many phonies I could smell this one the moment you came in tonight. I hoped like hell you were telling the truth, but when she wasn’t in by midnight, I was afraid you weren’t.’’
The boy said heatedly, “You’re crazy. I am telling the truth! I don’t know what you’ve heard before, but this time you’re wrong.”
The old man snorted. “Are you kidding? All I have to do is look at her and look at you and I know the story’s a lie. We all do.”
“I defy you. What’s not true about it? Show me what’s not true!”
“The fact that you’re alive and she’s dead makes it not true.”
He stopped and blinked in astonishment. “What’s that got to do with it?”
Galton glanced helplessly at his grim-faced crew. “That’s got everything to do with it,” he explained to the boy. “Three guys, right? That’s your story. There were three guys?”
“Yes.”
“So what did they want? Did they want to kill people? Then why didn’t they kill you both? That answer won’t do. Did they just want to rape a girl? Then they’d mess you up to keep you from interfering. That’s all right. But then they wouldn’t kill the girl. They wouldn’t do anything to her at all—outside of the rape, that is. She’d have gotten home alive.”
“But she resisted! They hit her with the rock to subdue her!”
“Uh-uh.” Mike Galton shook his head. “One man, maybe. You, alone, might have to use a rock to have your way with her. But three men? What would they need rocks for? Two could hold her for the third so tight she couldn’t move a muscle.”
The old man, studying the boy’s face in the light, dropped the bitterness and said quietly, “Forget the fancy tales, son. That girl’s body is going to be examined very, very carefully for physical evidence.”
The boy’s face crinkled suddenly, and he started to sob.