Mary Clark - Where are the children?

Bernie remembered his own reaction to that talk. Lots of people look like someone else. His own uncle, a deadbeat and drunk who made his aunt's life miserable, was a dead ringer for Barry Goldwater. He glanced quickly out of the window. The television news guys were all still out here, with their truck and all their gear. Looking for a story. He wondered what they'd think if they knew Nancy Eldredge was injected with truth serum right now. Now, there was a story. He was anxious to get home to tell Jean about it. He wondered how she was doing. The baby had been teething last night; kept both of them up.

For a single, terrible minute Bernie wondered how it would feel if the little guy was missing on a day like this… out there somewhere… and he not knowing. The prospect was so awful, so breathtaking, so mind-shattering that he rejected it. Jean never took her eyes off

Bobby. Sometimes she bugged Bernie the way she was always fussing over the kid. Right now her need to never take her eyes off their baby reassured him, assuaged his apprehensions. The little guy was fine – trust Jean.

Dorothy was in the kitchen filling the coffeepot. Bernie reflected that Dorothy bugged him a little. She had such a – well, guess you'd call it reserved – way. She could be nice and friendly – but, well, Bernie didn't know. He decided that Dorothy was just a little too high-falutin for his thinking.

He turned on the transistor radio, and instantly the voice of Dan Phillips, the newscaster for WCOD in Hyannis, filled the room. 'The case of the missing Eldredge children has just taken a new twist,' Phillips said, and his voice was pulsing with somewhat unprofessional excitement. 'A mechanic, Otto Linden from the Gulf Station on Route Twenty-eight in Hyannis, has just phoned us to say that he can positively state that this morning at nine a.m. he filled the gas tank of Rob Legler, the missing witness in the Harmon murder case of seven years ago. Mr Linden said that Legler appeared nervous and volunteered the information that he was on his way to Adams Port to visit someone who probably wouldn't be glad to see him. He was driving a late-model red Dodge Dart.'

Jed Coffin swore softly. 'And I'm wasting my time here listening to this claptrap.' He started for the phone and picked it up just as it rang. After the caller identified himself, he said impatiently, 'I heard it. All right. I want a roadblock on the bridges going to the mainland. Check with the FBI deserter file – find out what they may know about the latest whereabouts of Rob Legler. Put out a bulletin about a red Dodge.' He slammed the receiver back on to the hook and turned to Lendon. 'Now I've got a simple, direct question for you to ask Mrs Eldredge. It's whether or not Rob Legler got here this morning… and what he said to her.'

Lendon stared. 'You mean…'

'I mean that Rob Legler is the person who could dump Nancy Eldredge back into the middle of a murder trial. The Harmon case has never been closed. Now, suppose he's been hiding out in Canada for six years or so. He needs money. Didn't it come out at the Harmon trial that Nancy had inherited a fair amount of money from her parents? – some hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Now, suppose Rob Legler knows about that money and somehow finds out where Nancy is. The District Attorney's staff in San Francisco know where she's been. Now, suppose Legler decides he's sick of Canada and wants to come back here and needs a stake. How about going to Nancy Eldredge and promising to change his testimony if he's ever caught and there's a new trial? That's the same as making her give him a blank cheque for the rest of her life. He gets here. He sees her. The deal sours. She doesn't go for it… or he changes his mind. She knows that at any moment he may be caught or turn himself in and she's back in San Francisco on a murder charge, and she cracks…'

'And murders her Eldredge children?' Lendon's voice was scornful. 'Have you thought about the possibility that this student who nearly put Nancy in the gas chamber was in the vicinity when both sets of children disappeared?

'Give me one more chance,' Lendon pleaded. 'Just let me ask her about the day the Harmon children disappeared. I want her to describe the events of that day first.'

'You have thirty minutes – no more.'

Dorothy began pouring coffee into cups that she'd already placed on a tray. Quickly she cut up a coffee cake that Nancy had baked the day before. 'Perhaps coffee will help everyone,' she said.

She carried the tray into the front room. Ray was sitting in the chair Lendon had drawn next to the couch. He was holding Nancy 's hands in his, gently massaging them. She was very still. Her breathing was even, but as the others came into the room, she stirred and moaned.

Jonathan was standing by the mantel, staring into the fire. He had lighted his pipe, and the warm smell of the good tobacco he used had begun to penetrate the room. Dorothy breathed it in deeply as she set the coffee tray on the round pine table by the fireplace. A wave of pure nostalgia washed over her. Kenneth had smoked a pipe, and that had been his brand of tobacco. She and Kenneth used to love stormy winter afternoons like this. They would make a roaring fire and get out wine and cheese and books and sit contentedly together. Regret swept over her. Regret because you really can't control your life. Most of the time you don't act; you react.

'Will you have coffee and cake?' she asked Jonathan.

He looked at her thoughtfully. 'Please.'

She knew he took cream and one sugar. Without asking, she prepared the coffee that way and handed it to him. 'Shouldn't you take your coat off?' he asked her.

'In a little while. I'm still so chilled.'

Dr Miles and Chief Coffin had followed her in and were helping themselves to the coffee. Dorothy poured another cup and carried it over to the couch. 'Ray, please have some.'

He looked up. "Thank you.' As he reached for it, he murmured to Nancy, 'Everything is going to be all right, little girl.'

Nancy shuddered violently. Her eyes flew open and she threw up her arm, knocking the cup from Ray's hand. It fell and broke on the floor, spewing hot liquid over her robe and the blanket. Splashes of it spattered on Ray and Dorothy. Simultaneously they winced as Nancy cried out in the desperate tone of a trapped animal, 'I am not your little girl! Don't call me your little girl!'

Courtney Parrish turned from the small unmoving figure on the bed, sighing heavily. He'd taken the adhesive from Missy's mouth and the cords from her wrists and ankles, and they made an untidy pile on the quilt. Her fine, silky hair was matted now. He'd been planning to brush it when he bathed her, but now there was no point. He needed her response.

The little boy, Michael, was still on the floor of the closet. His large blue eyes were terrified as Courtney picked him up and hugged him against his massive chest.

He laid Michael on the bed, undid the binding on his ankles and wrists and with a quick pull yanked the adhesive off his mouth. The boy cried out in pain, then bit his lip. He seemed more responsive – infinitely wary, apprehensive, but with some of the courage of a trapped animal.

'What did you do to my sister?' The belligerent tone made Courtney realize that the boy hadn't drunk all the milk with the sedative he'd given him just before the meddling fools came along.

'She's asleep.'

'Let us go home. We want to go home. I don't like you. I told my daddy I didn't like you, and Aunt Dorothy was here and you hid us.'

Courtney lifted his right hand, curved in to a mitt-like shape and slapped Michael across the cheek. Michael jerked back in pain and then rolled out from under the man's grasp. Courtney reached for him, lost his balance and fell clumsily across the bed. His mouth touched Missy's tangled yellow hair, and for an instant he was distracted. Pulling himself up, he turned and was on his feet, crouching to spring at Michael. But Michael was backing away towards the bedroom door. With a swift movement he opened it and raced through the adjoining sitting-room.