Shivers (31 page)

“Yes, I do.” Steven felt like a little boy in front of the principal.

“Maybe no harm was done. But it could have turned out badly. We’re not sure
what
we’re dealing with here. Until we find out, we’ve got to handle this very, very carefully.”

“I was just
afraid
to tell you, afraid
not
to go.”

“Believe me, I understand. But from now on don’t keep
anything
from me. I’m not the police. I know how to be subtle and discreet. And I know how to handle things.”

“Okay.”

“All right then. Let’s get back to business. This has got to be one of the strangest cases . . . I don’t know what you’ve gotten me into, but I’m hooked.”

Just then a young woman walked into the office. She dropped a pile of folders onto Ralph’s desk. “Here’s the files you wanted.” She looked at Steven. “Hello there.”

“Steven, this is my assistant Valerie Horton.”

Steven stood up and took her hand. Lovely woman, he thought. He offered her his seat, but she refused, standing instead to one side of Ralph’s desk. She wore a green jacket and skirt. An emerald scarf was tied around her neck.

Ralph set the folders aside for the moment and continued. “Steven, have you ever heard of Hawthorne Greater Chemicals, Incorporated?”

“It sounds familiar. I’m not sure.”

“You should have. Your father worked for them.”

“He did? I knew so little about my father’s work. It seemed to me that he worked for Ruftins Laboratories.”

“Well, Hawthorne is the parent company of Ruftins Laboratories. They’re really the same outfit, more or less.”

“Ah, yes. I think I remember, now that you mention it.” He paused, puzzled. “Does this have any bearing on Joey’s—”

“We think so,” Valerie interjected. “At one time Vivian Jessup and her husband were also employees at HGC.”

“HGC?”

“Hawthorne Greater Chemicals.”

“Of course,” Steven laughed. “I’m still a bit sleepy.” Then he reacted to Valerie’s information.
“Really?”

“Hold onto your hat,” Ralph added. “It gets better. Three additional employees of HGC were Mr. and Mrs. Eliot Forrance.
George’s
folks. And George too! In fact, he still works for them.”

“And what about—”

“Brock Madison, Lina’s lover? We finally got her on the phone this morning,” Valerie said. “Yep, he works—or
worked
—for them too.”

Ralph explained. “HGC has chemical plants and other kinds of laboratories all over the world. Their main plant is over in New Jersey. It was like pulling teeth—they’re very uptight out there—but we got this information from them finally. It started when we dug into Vivian Jessup’s background, and looked for a link between her and the other parties in this case.
Voila
—we found one.”

Valerie cut in. “They have a New York office, a warehouse really, down in Tribeca. They don’t keep regular office hours, that’s for sure.”

Steven leaned forward in his seat. “This is remarkable. Do you think this HGC has something to do with my brother’s disappearance? There’s got to be a connection. Vivian, Forrance, Brock. My late father.”

“All of whom are dead or missing,” Ralph said. “Which means that it’s especially dangerous for you to go running off by yourself without me. This whole thing is beginning to stink to high heaven.”

“But why would my father’s old firm be involved—”

Valerie smirked. “A lot of laboratories and chemical firms make lots of extra money manufacturing
illegal
drugs. These people, your brother, might have found out too much.” She stopped and looked apologetically at Ralph. She had always had trouble keeping the feelings of their clients in mind.

What was she implying? Steven wondered. That Joey had sold drugs for Vivian? That they’d killed Joey? “My brother wasn’t mixed up in it,” he said. “I know it. A little grass, a little booze. Nothing more.” But all of this
was
putting a new complexion on things. “Hell, I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“Relax,” Ralph said. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. None of this may have anything to do with Joey.”

“Damn it!” Steven fought hard to hold back tears.

“Now, now. It will be all right.” He felt Valerie’s soft fingers on his shoulder, comforting, warm.

“What could have happened to him?” he asked them. “He must be dead . . . or in trouble. People just don’t disappear, unless . . . What could have happened? I feel like a court jester dancing for somebody’s amusement. Like someone’s playing games with me.”

“Look,” Ralph said. “Let us get back to work and get to the bottom of all this. It’s no use lolling you not to worry—but don’t let it kill you. Don’t let your imagination run away with you.”

“All—all right.”

Valerie gave him a sympathetic look.

“I’m going to go home now,” Steven said. “I think I’ll sleep for twenty-four hours. Friends and co-workers were calling me early in the morning because they saw that news story on TV. I’m
exhausted.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Ralph said. “And don’t give up hope.”

Steven held out his hand when it looked like Ralph was going to get out of his chair. “I’ll let myself out. I want you, both of you, to know . . . I appreciate what you’re doing.”

He said goodbye and walked out to the elevator.

Val sat on the edge of Ralph’s desk. He handed her the letter Steven had received. “Shall we try and get out to Tanton this afternoon, look around?” she asked. She handed the letter back.

“Yes. I wish I knew who sent him that letter.”

Val picked at a fingernail. “You didn’t tell him about . . .”

“The lab report? No way. Not in his condition. He doesn’t need it.”

“It’s pretty scary, Ralph. I’m beginning to think—”

“I know. I know. Imagine! That George guy was right! That stuff on the subway steps was
actually
comprised primarily of human tissue. We’ll have to see if we can get a sample from that lifeguard station too.”

Valerie shuddered.

She was beginning to wish she’d never heard of Steven Everson.

Steven had walked all the way down to the Lower East Side before he’d realized it. In spite of his fatigue he hadn’t felt like going home after leaving Ralph’s office. He couldn’t stand being cooped up in his apartment, unable to do anything but worry, unable to concentrate on any of life’s essentials. And he wouldn’t be able to until this whole business was over.

He needed time to think, time to ponder. A good long walk was just what the doctor ordered. The sky was clear; much of the snow had been cleared away or was melting.

He’d been rather startled to look up and see how far he’d walked from midtown. He had had his first apartment in this area many years ago. Hadn’t much money then, couldn’t afford any better.

He walked up Essex until he reached Grand Street, then turned to the left. The neighborhood had not changed much. Jews and Hispanics, kids on the prowl and strolling oldsters. The moviehouse, the bookstore, the Chicken Delight. Once you got away from the shopping area there were fewer people on the street. He saw that the old abandoned tenement he had passed by every day was still there, still deserted except for the occasional vagrant, he assumed, still crumbling into the sidewalk.

The children on the street were wearing their hunger and poverty, their faces haunted by des-pair, most of them doomed to always live their lives in the same squalid conditions, the same overcrowded, unheated apartments. The faces of the elderly were harder to read, already Living shriveled up from bitterness and pain.

Always there was that inescapable
thirsty
look, a product of need for the basics of life which were denied them. Good clothes, good food— and most important, dignity and pride.

In the distance he saw the towering co-ops, large apartment buildings which had been meant for the lower classes, but which had somehow been appropriated by middle-income families. Further down there was a smaller housing project—the buildings were only three stories high, with little gardens and playgrounds between them. He decided to walk through the project and make his way toward the East River. He and Joey had spent many afternoons by the river when Joey had come to visit and the weather was warm.

He walked across the little footbridge that went over the F.D.R. Drive, heading for Jackson Park. His ankles sunk into the mushy snow on the footpath. He leaned against the railing and watched the cars speeding by below. He imagined his brother, his red cheeks shining beneath the tousled, wind-blown hair, standing beside him as he had done so many times back then. The river had been Joey’s favorite place.

Across the bridge he continued until he reached the water’s edge, walking past the trees and the outdoor auditorium. A wide pathway stretched up and down along the river. He used to sit for hours watching the boats chugging slowly through the water.

There was no one about on this cold day. He wiped some snow off a bench and sat down. He wondered where his brother was now, if he was alive, how he was feeling. Vivian—that poor woman—had been right. He did feel like a father who had done his job poorly, who had lost someone it had been his
duty
to protect. All the horrors of the past few days melted away— he could think only of his brother, out there alone somewhere. Not knowing what had happened was unbearable.

He realized that it had been stupid for him to come here to this spot. It had only released a flood of painful memories. And yet he
wanted
to think about his brother. Wanted to remember him when he was at his best. So young, so idealistic, not yet corrupted by the world. Too young to have been defeated by the heartbreak, the unfulfilled dreams, the struggle of day-today life. With nothing but the future ahead, a glorious future full of promise. Except for their parents’ untimely deaths, he had been untouched by the cruelties of the world. Those cruelties had not left him embittered or broken. Rather Joey had been filled with a resolve to right the world’s wrongs.

Or was that a mythical Joey? A Joey he only
hoped
existed?

Steven started to cry, almost glad for the warmth of the tears on his face, glad that he could let it out now, once and for all. If Joey had been involved in some kind of nasty business, he told himself, someone had
dragged
him into it.
They
had destroyed Joey. He wanted to kill anyone who had taken away Joey’s future. He wanted to find out their names and track them down. Why had they destroyed a beautiful young man who had done no harm to anyone? No matter what anyone said to the contrary.

He realized with some surprise that he had always looked up to Joey instead of the other way around. Deep down in his subconscious, Joey was the man he most wanted to be. It was almost as if their parents had missed the boat with their first child, but gotten a perfect score with their second. Joey was more athletic and better-looking. Joey had a more outgoing personality. Joey was at ease in all social situations, and never failed to impress the opposite sex. Joey was the one who would really amount to something.

And part of Steven had always resented it. Perhaps the
strongest
emotion he felt right now was guilt. With Joey out of the picture . . .

No, he had to stop thinking like that. Sibling rivalry had never been a major factor in their relationship. Joey was all that was left of his family and he loved him.

Whoever had taken him, Steven would not let them get away with it.

But what could he do? he asked himself. What could he possibly do?

He wished his father was here. Wished he really was alive as he had imagined that night. He wondered what Ralph and Ms. Horton would have said had he told them he’d thought a man who’d peeked into his bedroom window was a corpse come back from the grave. At least he’d spared them that.

He got up off the bench, wiping away the moisture on his cheeks and under his eyes. He walked over to the metal railing that separated the pathway from the river and stared out into the water.

The city, his city, had never seemed so bleak.

John Albright had been in bed for hours.

He had no intention of going into work on Monday. He’d tell them he was sick and unable to report. He’d tell them he’d be out for a few more days. He knew that he would be out at least until his problems with Gloria were resolved. And that was the
least
of it.

Still no word. It was as if his wife and child had ceased to exist. He had finally called his other children to inquire indirectly if they knew of their mother’s whereabouts, but always the answer was negative. He knew that he was not acting rationally about the entire matter, but somehow he couldn’t muster the strength to do anything about it. What was the point? If
the master
wanted his wife and son, what could he possibly do to get them back? He felt so depressed, so
tired,
a ruined and deserted creature.

Why had she done this to him? What had gone wrong with their marriage?
He didn’t know which frightened him more—that Gloria had been taken by the master, or that she had left of her own free will.

What an irony! It had gotten to him. It had finally gotten round to him. His job had dared to
Witch
beyond the nine-to-five routine to invade his home and personal life. The statistics had faces now: one the face of a woman he had loved and lived with for years, and the other that of a little boy he had barely had time to know. It was a living, breathing nightmare. There he was— unable to help even himself, unable, in effect, to do his job when it was most important that he did so.

More and more his thoughts were of death.
Fast death, slow death, voluptuous death, and messy death. Death in all its forms. The ultimate destination: sweet, soft oblivion. Every last one of them. The missing husbands, fathers, brothers, son. The daughters, wives, and mothers. All of them. Oblivion. Gloria too. And Bobby. All dead.