God Save the Child

I reached across the desk, picked up Croft’s phone, and dialed. His eyes widened. “What are you going to do?” he said.

“I’m going to keep you on ice for a while.” A voice answered, “Essex County Court House.” I said, “Lieutenant Healy, please.”

Croft started up from his seat. I reached over and pushed him back down with my hand on his shoulder. “Be cool,” I said. “I can’t trust you not to warn Harroway. If I get the kid back okay, I’ll spring you.”

Healy came on. I said, “This is Spenser. I got a suspect on the Bartlett kidnapping, or whatever.”

Healy said, “Or whatever.”

“And I want to put a lid on him for the afternoon so I can find the kid.”

Healy said, “What’s his name?”

“John Doe.”

“Oh,” Healy said. “Him.”

“He gave me a lead on the kid, Lieutenant, and I’ve got to be sure he doesn’t tip him off before I get there.”

“I gather he didn’t volunteer the lead.”

“We practiced the art of compromise.”

“And you want me to bury him someplace without a charge till you get the Bartlett kid, is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“That is unconstitutional.”

“Yeah.”

“You think you’ll lose the kid if you turn your back on John Doe?”

“Yeah.” Croft was sitting perfectly still now, not looking at anything. There was a pause at Healy’s end of the line. Then he said, “Okay. Where are you? I’ll have one of the road patrols in your area pick him up.”

“We’ll be parked in the northbound lane of One-twenty-eight under the Route One overpass. Red nineteen-sixty-eight Chevy convertible. Mass. plates seven-one-two-dash-two-three-four. If you need to contact me, call me here.” I gave him Susan’s number.

Healy said, “If this backfires, Spenser, I’ll have your license and your ass.” and hung up.

I said, “Okay, Doc. You get the picture. Let’s go.”

“How long will they hold me?”

“Till I get the kid. When he’s home I’ll come by and get you out.”

“How will you know where I am?”

“Healy will know.”

“Who is Healy?”

“State cop, works out of the Essex County DA’s office. Don’t offer him money. He will deviate your septum if you do.”

Croft called his girl again on the intercom, told her there was an emergency and he’d be gone for the day. We went out the back door of the office building and were parked under the Route One overpass when a blue State Police cruiser pulled up behind us and a tall red-haired state cop with big ears got out and came around to the driver’s side of my car.

“You Spenser?” he said.

“Yep.”

“I’m supposed to pick up a Mr. Doe,” he said with no expression on his face.

I nodded at Croft. The trooper went around and opened the door. Croft got out. The trooper closed the door. I drove away.

24

The light blue Smithfield cruiser was still parked in the Bartletts’ driveway, and Silveria, the bushy-haired cop, was reading a copy of Sports Illustrated in the front seat.

I parked beside him in the turnaround, and he looked at me over the top of the magazine as I got out. “Better not park that thing on the street on trash day,” he said.

“Don’t your lips get tired when you read?” I said.

“Your ears are gonna be tired when Mrs. Bartlett gets talking to you. She’s been calling you things I don’t understand.”

“I gather no one tried to do her in.”

“I think her husband might, and I wouldn’t blame him. Jesus, what a mouth on that broad.”

“Watch me soothe her with my silver tongue,” I said.

Silveria said, “Good luck.”

Marge Bartlett opened the back door and said, “Spenser, where in hell have you been, you rotten bastard?”

Silveria said, “Good, you’ve already got her half won over.”

At the door I said to her, “I know where your son is.”

She said, “We’re paying you to protect me and you run off on your damned own.”

I said, “I know where your son is, and I want your husband and you to come with me to get him.”

She said, “It’s lucky I’m alive.”

I pushed past her into the house and said, “Where’s your husband? Working today?”

She said, “Damn you, Spenser, aren’t you going to explain yourself.”

I went to the sink, filled a glass with water, turned back to her. She said, “I want a goddamned explanation.” I poured the water on her head. She screamed and stepped back. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. The relief was wonderful.

“Now,” I said. “I want you to listen to me, or I will get you so wet your skin will wrinkle.” She pulled a paper towel from its roller under a cabinet and dried her hair “I know where Kevin is. I want you and your husband to come with me to Boston and get him back.”

“Can’t you get him? I mean, won’t there be trouble? I’m not even dressed. My hair’s a mess. Mightn’t it be better if you got him and brought him here? I mean, with me there he might make a scene.”

“No,” I said. “I’ll locate him. And I’ll take care of any trouble. But he’s your kid. You bring him home. I won’t drag him home for you. You owe him that.”

“My husband is working in town — Arden Estates — he’s putting up half a dozen houses near the Wakefield line on Salem Street. We can stop for him on the way.”

“Okay,” I said, “let’s go. We’ll take my car.”