Chapter 20

I rubbed my stubbly chin, took off my glasses, and pressed my eyes closed. Things still looked just as bad.

Herb Saunders trotted down the stairs with a wrapped loaf of bread in his hand. He swung around the side of the motel, apparently on his way to the beach. I got back in the car and nosed it into a parking space. Wendy got out as I did. I thought about taking the Remington along with us, but I needed to talk to Saunders and the gun would most likely create more problems than it might solve. I left it guarding the spare tire.

Wendy and I hopped, skipped, and jumped trying to settle into a matching pattern of strides. That done, I looked up and saw Saunders ahead of us. He’d stopped for a moment to take off his shoes and roll up his pants legs. We followed him out the walkway between the dunes to the beach. Spread out all over the sand were gulls, sand pipers, and plovers. Each one stood unmoving, but followed Saunders eyes only as he approached. He stopped at the edge of their congregation, untied the bag of bread, reached in, and flung an offering to them.

All at once the birds were airborne. Hovering, wings flapping in front of Saunders, they snatched out of the air each piece he threw. He moved slowly, easily, calmly with a small smile on his face. He seemed to be enjoying the incessant beating of the wings all around him, the untamed animal energy so close, but without any attendant danger. When his bag seemed close to empty, we walked down toward him. I stood off to the side of him, Wendy beside me. He was still in the eye of the bird storm. The bag was now empty and, just as suddenly as they had arisen, the birds settled back onto the sand, arranged themselves with respect to each other’s territory, and ignored us.

Saunders slowly turned to me. I could tell he was angered by our presence. Not wanting to alienate him further, I decided to speak first. “Mr. Saunders, I have some news for you. I’ve spoken with Pete DeVito. They’ve been through Randolph’s house.”

Saunders began to fold the bread wrapper into squares. He alternated between looking down at it to check that each corner was aligned and then back at me. “Yes?”

Here goes nothing. “They found a large number of bodies buried in the house. It seems that whoever he snatched he eventually killed. Pete thought it likely that your girls were in there.” There, done.

Saunders stroked his scalp and then gently patted the back of his head. A small gesture of consolation. I remember my father patting me like that once. I’d struck out with the bases loaded. If my bat had been a blade, I’d have fallen on it.

“Have they identified them for sure?” When he finally spoke, his calm startled me.

“No. Not yet.”

“Then they might not be there.” Though the evidence mounted, he was still hoarding his last scraps of hope.

“If they’re not there, then he most likely buried them elsewhere. The man’s a killer. He doesn’t let people go.” I was surprised at my adamance.

“Neither do I, Mr. Haggerty, and I won’t let go of my search until I’m absolutely certain they’re gone.” He began to move back toward the motel.

“There’s another piece of news. Your wife is in the hospital, sedated. She apparently broke down when they were bringing the bodies up out of the house. She was asking for you.” I pardoned myself for that last lie, hoping it would provide a more compelling mission for him than the one he was on.

Saunders stopped and, withou turning back to me he said, “Is that true, Haggerty?”

I’m a good liar, but I was grateful he wasn’t looking me in the eye when I said, “Yeah, it’s the truth.”

He turned back to me finally and asked, “Where is she?”

“In Suburban, three hundred seventy-four east wing, DeVito said. Why don’t you give her a call, talk to her. She needs you.” I was starting to chant.

“Yeah. You’re right. Hell of a thing to go through alone.” Saunders turned back to the motel and strode off. I was dismissed. What did I want, a thanks? I’m just doing a job. I went up to Wendy who had been silent observer to my dealing with Saunders and gave her a report. “I think he might go back home. It looks like his kids have been found …”

“Are they okay?” she interrupted, optimistically.

“No. They weren’t okay. What they found were bodies.” I was starting to feel pretty brutal this afternoon. Announcing deaths like I was running a deli counter: Who’s next? How you want it sliced?

“I’m sorry I was so abrupt. I guess I don’t know anybody that’s okay today and it’s getting to me.”

“Me too,” she said. She turned and walked back to the motel. Standing alone on the beach I felt surprisingly bereft.

I caught up with her at the car. “Look, I’m sorry. What can I say?”

“Nothing. It’s okay. I’m just moody. Any little thing can throw me off. When you snapped at me, I just felt all alone again and you were just another man. I’m okay now. What are we going to do?”

I liked the we in that sentence. “Let’s go talk to Saunders.”

We went back across the parking lot, then up the stairs to Saunders’ room. The door was open. He was on the phone with the look of someone on a long hold. On the dresser were two photographs and a homemade Father’s Day card. Wendy stepped across the threshold, but stood close by the door. I moved further into the room and stood facing Saunders.

Someone was finally talking to him. He nodded a couple of times and said, “That’s okay. Thank you, I’ll call back in a while.” He cradled the receiver and looked up at me. “She’s still under sedation. I’ll have to try again.”

He got up off the bed and brushed past me to the dresser. He picked up one picture, then the other, and finally he turned back to me. “You’re pushing your luck, Haggerty.”

“That’s what I get paid for. Look—”

“Look nothing. In the old days they killed messengers like you. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.” He balled his fists.

I put my palms up. “All right. I’m leaving. Call your wife. She needs you.”

I backed out of the room as Saunders advanced. When I’d passed through the doorway, Wendy moved to follow me. Before she did, she stopped and turned back to Saunders. “I’m really sorry about your daughters, Mr. Saunders. I can just imagine what you’ve been through.”

Saunders came to a halt. He asked her, “Do your parents know where you are?” The question was utterly devoid of innuendo.

“Yes, they do.”

“That’s good. I’m glad. We should always know where our loved ones are.” Saunders stopped for a moment and looked closely at Wendy’s face, searching for a clue, a reason why she was here and his girls weren’t.

“How old are you, child?”

“Twenty.”

“My girls would be twelve.” Saunders’ gaze wandered off into memory for a moment then returned to Wendy’s face. “You look like a nice person. I’m sure your father loves you very much.”

Saunders’ eyes glistened, and he took a tottering step toward Wendy. She stiffened and leaned away from him. Her fear and his need were swirling in that room. An emotional storm front was building. I glided toward them slowly. Saunders reached out his hand and gently, feather light, he brushed a stray hair back from Wendy’s face. In that touch all his sadness broke loose and formed the words he spoke to her. “I’d give anything in the world to be able to do that to one of my girls. I have a hole in me so big you wouldn’t believe, and it just drips blood all the time.” His hand fell back to his side and with it the emotional tide crested and receded.

He looked over at me and said, “I’ll think about your offer. I need to be alone just now.”

“Sure,” I said.

Wendy smiled wanly at him, touched his arm once, and then went out the door. Saunders closed it behind us, and we went down the stairs back to the car.