Last to Know: A Novel(69)

“No, sir.” Rossetti pulled himself upright.

He looked down at his brand-new now dust-covered white sneakers, bought especially for this job. They didn’t matter anymore. This was a life they were talking about. “So,” he said. “Let’s go find Len Doutzer.”

Half an hour later they were at the A-frame atop the hill. It was in darkness and both it and the shed were padlocked.

*

Back at her house, Rose did not get up from her bed to answer when the doorbell rang; one of her children would get it. She heard voices, wondered who it might be, but so many people had called round with small offerings; a fresh-baked pie, a jug of sweet iced tea, donuts from Tweedies, hot soup, her own specialty. Even now the pot was still sitting on the stove. Cold, though. As was she.

She thought she might never get warm again, huddled under the blue mohair throw, worried that she should not be here, that she should be out with the others, searching for her son.

Madison popped her head round the door and Rose sat up. “Yes.”

Her daughter caught what she was thinking and said, hastily, “Oh, no … it’s not … it’s well, it’s Bea Havnel. She wants to see you.”

Rose shook her head, puzzled. “Bea? Of all people!”

“She says she needs to talk to you. I don’t know why, after all we’ve been through with her, but somehow she’s just so … desperate maybe you should.”

“You think she knows something about Diz?”

Madison’s young face contorted with sudden tears. “Oh, Mom, I don’t know. Why don’t you just ask her.”

Rose went to her vanity and took a long look at her ravaged face; she brushed back her hair, straightened her old blue sweater—her comfort sweater, so old and soft it was like wearing nothing—collected the box of Kleenex, and went and stood by the window. She hadn’t really thought why she needed to stand, but somehow she didn’t want to be the one sitting down while Bea towered over her. “Bring her in,” she told Madison.

Seconds later, Bea Havnel was at the door. Skinny as the snake Diz had called her; no makeup; eyes swollen into slits from crying, yet still managing to look beautiful. Standing there, at the door to Rose’s room, Bea personified innocence.

“Rose,” Bea said, but Rose said nothing. “I’m not here to ask forgiveness,” Bea went on quickly. “I already did that and I know it’s not possible. I’ve asked people, asked therapists what I should do to make amends.” Bea took a hesitant step into the room. “They told me don’t ask for forgiveness, what you must ask is for events to be forgotten. To put it behind us, leave it in the past where it belongs. I’m not a good person, Rose, that’s obvious, and if you knew my true background you might understand why. But Rose, I do care. I care so much about you. You are everything I aspire to be, and fear I never will. You are hurting so badly and there is nothing I can do, except maybe … well, if only you would let me help search for Diz. I’m used to being alone here, I’m like Diz really, roaming the hills by myself. I know places where he might go. I can’t tell you I’ll find him, Rose, but please, I’m begging you, pleading with you, let me try.”

Desperate, Rose saw the girl’s pain, her need to belong, to be counted in. She saw her true desire to help.

“My dear,” she said, stepping toward Bea and wrapping her in her arms, the way she had when they first met. “Of course you must help us.”





53


It was dark. Diz had something tied over his eyes. Something rough, and he could smell whatever it was. It reminded him vaguely of a dog. Or could it be a horse? He thought idly about that, as though his mind was on a go-slow, almost as if it didn’t really matter. No, he decided, it was definitely dog.

He suddenly had the most awful need to pee. Urinate. That was the proper word. His father had told him he had to say that when he had to go when they were out together. Never sounded right to Diz, though. When you had to pee, that’s what you had to do and now he was almost beside himself with the need. Bursting, in fact. But he could not move. He could not walk. He could not even unzip because his hands were tied together. Not behind his back the way the cops did it. They stuck out in front of him, bandaged it felt, almost up to his elbows. It was very uncomfortable. As was his bladder. Oh God, what was he to do? He couldn’t just go. He moaned in an agony of need, wiggling his bandaged arms to get them nearer to the target area, without success.

He thought about where he might be. He was in a sitting position, his back resting against a wall. A smooth wall. There were no sticking-out bits, and it was cool. His knees were pulled up, there were ties around his thighs and also his ankles. Alert now, because of his urgent need, fear suddenly swept through his body like a gust of wind sucking the heartbeat out of him, pausing life’s machinery, sending unbidden tremors the length of his spine. The spine that was propped against a cool wall. In the darkness of he knew not where.

And then he heard footsteps. Almost silent, but in his blinded state his hearing seemed sharper. No shoes, he thought. Naked feet. They stopped next to him. His skin crawled with terror. His skin sweated. His eyes under the blindfold were tight shut. He was going to die.

For a long moment there was only silence, not even the sound of his own breathing. Then someone knelt beside him and unbound his feet. Hauled him up with a hand on the back of his collar. Diz felt the sweat spring up beneath the touch, slippery as a fish on the hook. He stood for a few moments, muscles burning as the blood flowed back, then he was hauled forward. By the neck.