God Save the Child

At 1:22 Kevin Bartlett came out of the house with Vic Harroway. The boy’s arm was around Harroway’s waist and Harroway’s arm was around the boy’s shoulder. Like lovers. They walked to the Charger, separated. The boy got in the passenger’s side, Harroway got in the driver’s side, and they drove away. Just like that. They drove away, and I sat on my butt under the maple tree and watched them. We never sleep. We just sit and watch.

I sat and watched for the rest of the day and into the night. They didn’t come back. I was beginning to hallucinate about cheeseburgers and cashew nuts by the time I gave up. It was after eleven when I headed back through the woods, stumbling more in the dark. Visions of pepper steaks danced in my head. When I got really hungry, I never thought about coq au vin or steak Diane. I wondered why that was, but I had trouble concentrating because I kept thinking about the American chop suey my mother used to make and how I felt after I had eaten it. It was a lot better than thinking how I’d found Kevin Bartlett and lost him in the space of say, fifteen seconds. By the time I got to my car, I had a long scratch across the back of one hand from the thorny vines, and one eye was tearing from a twig. That time of night is cold in September north of Boston, and I turned on the heater. I found a place to eat that advertised itself as a “pub.” I think I was the only person there to eat. I jammed in at a stool at the bar and ordered three hamburgers and a beer. The beer came in a big stein that must have held half a quart. I drank two before the hamburgers arrived with two slices of kosher dill pickle and a handful of potato chips on an oval platter. It was a little hard to distinguish the hamburg from the bun, but I didn’t mind; I was busy trying not to break into a sweat as I ate. The place was obviously a singles spot or pick-up bar. The sound system was up full blast and featured high velocity hard rock music without interruption. All the booths and tables were filled, with people, mostly subthirty, standing together in between them and moving but barely on a very small dance floor. It was dim and very smoky. The décor was standard: dark panels, red carpet, pseudobarn. I was jostled often as I ate, once while drinking, and the beer dribbled down my chin and soaked through my stalking sweater. A bartender in a red Ike jacket and a mod blond haircut put a bowl of peanuts in front of me and refilled my beer glass.

I sipped at it now that the beast within had been pacified. At least I knew that Kevin’s stay with Harroway was voluntary. They liked each other. Maybe stronger. That was apparent from the hillside. Almost like lovers. His parents would be relieved at least that he was safe. But that didn’t do anything for explanation. Or maybe it did. Maybe it made the explanation worse. Maybe Kevin was in on all that stuff. Maybe he was in on the death threats. Maybe he was in on Maguire’s death. Good news and bad news, Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett, your kid’s not dead. He’s a murderer. Which is the good news you say? How the hell do I know? If I knew that kind of stuff, would I be sitting alone in a singles bar in a strange suburb at 12:35 on a Sunday night? I’m a detective; I just find out things. I don’t solve things. Well no, I don’t know where your boy is right this minute, Ma’am. Yes, sir, they drove away while I was up on the hill watching. I watched closely, though. Balls. The next guy that jostled me while I was drinking beer I was going to level. Trouble was the place was so crowded if I swung at someone, I’d hit three people. I got up and shoved my way out of the pub. I couldn’t stand the thought of going back to the Bartletts’. I drove on into Boston and went to bed in my own apartment. I took the phone off the hook, went right to sleep, and didn’t dream.

18

I woke up about twenty minutes of ten within the bright tangible silence of my bedroom. I was glad to be there. I got up and went to the kitchen. The cleaning woman had been there yesterday, and the place gleamed. I squeezed a big glass of orange juice and drank it while I put the coffee on to perk. Then I took a shower and shaved very carefully. When I was through, the coffee was ready, and I drank a cup while I made breakfast. I took two egg rolls from the freezer and put them in the oven, sliced two pieces of Williamsburg ham, a thick slice from a wedge of Swiss cheese, added a paper-thin slice of red onion, and arranged them on a plate with some tomato quarters. When the egg rolls were heated, I split them and put them on the plate too. I put out a saucer of sour cream, then I poured a new cup of coffee and sat down on a stool at the counter to eat, and read the Globe.