Mary Clark - Nighttime Is My Time

Ms. Ferris was in the studio when Jake returned to school. "How'd you make out, Jake?" she asked as she watched him struggle to close the door while he carefully juggled the heavy camera, moving it off his shoulder and onto the desk.

"It was an adventure, Jill," Jake admitted. "I mean Ms. Ferris," he quickly amended. "I decided to do a chronological womb-to-the-present account of Laura Wilcox. I got a great long shot of St. Thomas of Canterbury Church, and as luck would have it, there was a baby carriage outside. I mean a real baby carriage, not one of those strollers or rollers or whatever they stick kids in these days."

He was taking his recorder out of his pocket as he took off his coat. "Freezing out there," he complained, "but at least the police station was warm."

"The police station, Jake?" Jill Ferris asked cautiously.

"Uh-huh. But let me explain in chronological order. After the church, I got some background pictures, to give people who don't live here a sense of the community. I realize I'm doing this story for the Gazette , but I fully expect it to be picked up by larger publications and to find a wider audience."

"I see. Jake, I don't want to rush you, but I was just leaving."

"This will only take a minute. Then I photographed Laura's second house, the McMansion. It's quite impressive if you like that sort of tacky grandeur. It has a big front yard, and whoever lives there now has stuck a few Grecian statues on the lawn. In my opinion they look pretentious, but it will make readers understand that Laura did not have a 'surprise lunch' childhood."

" 'Surprise lunch' childhood?" Jill Ferris asked, bewildered.

"Let me explain. My grandfather told me about a comedian named Sam Levenson who said his family was so poor that his mother bought cans off a pushcart for two cents each. They were that cheap because the labels had fallen off, and nobody knew what was inside them. She'd tell her kids that they were having a 'surprise lunch.' They never knew what they were going to eat. Anyhow, the pictures of Laura's second house reflect a solid middle-class, even slightly upper-middle-class upbringing."

Jake's expression darkened. "After I took some long shots of the houses surrounding Laura's former home, I drove across town to Mountain Road where she had lived for the first sixteen years of her life. It's a very pleasant street, and, frankly, the house is more to my taste than the one with the Grecian statues. Anyhow, I'd barely begun to shoot when a squad car pulled up and a most aggressive policeman wanted to know what I thought I was doing. When I explained that I was exercising my right as a private citizen to take photographs in the street, he invited me to get in his squad car, and he drove me to the station house."

"He arrested you, Jake?" Jill Ferris exclaimed.

"No, ma'am. Not exactly. The captain questioned me, and since I felt I had been of valuable service to Investigator Deegan when I alerted him that Laura Wilcox sounded extremely nervous when she called to ask the hotel to hold her room, I felt I had the right to explain to the captain that I was a special assistant to Mr. Deegan in the investigation of Laura's disappearance."

I'm going to miss this kid when he graduates, Jill Ferris thought. She decided that it wouldn't hurt to be a few minutes late for her appointment at the dentist. "Did the captain believe you, Jake?" she asked.

"He called Mr. Deegan, who not only did not back me up but suggested that the captain should toss me in jail and then lose the key." Jake looked hard at his teacher. "It's not funny, Ms. Ferris. I feel Mr. Deegan broke a trust. The captain, as it turns out, was much more sympathetic. He was even kind enough to say that I could finish my photos tomorrow, since I got to take only a few pictures of the house on Mountain Road. He did warn me that I'd better not trespass on anyone's property. I'm going to develop today's film now, and with your permission, I'll sign the camera out again tomorrow and finish my shoot."

"That'll be fine, Jake, but remember, those older cameras aren't being made anymore. Don't let anything happen to it, or I'll be the one in trouble, not you. Now, I've got to run."

"I'll guard it with my life," Jake called after her. I mean it, he thought as he rewound the roll of film and removed it from the camera. But even though the captain warned me not to set foot on anyone's property, for the sake of getting proper coverage for my story, I have to commit an act of civil disobedience, he told himself. I intend to get pictures of the back of Laura's house on Mountain Road. Since no one is living there, I'm sure I won't be noticed.

He went into the darkroom and began developing the pictures, one of his favorite tasks. He found it thrilling and creative to watch people and objects begin to emerge from the negatives. One by one he clipped the prints on a clothesline to dry, then got out his magnifying glass and studied them carefully. They were all good-and he didn't mind saying so himself-but the single shot he'd been able to take of Laura's house on Mountain Road before the cop showed up was the most interesting of the lot.

There's something about that house, Jake thought. It makes me want to put my head under the covers and hide. What is it? Everything is in shipshape condition. Maybe that's it. It's too neat. Then he peered closer. It's the shades, he thought triumphantly. The ones in the bedroom at the end of the house aren't the same as the others. In the picture they come through a lot darker. I didn't notice that when I was shooting, but the sun was pretty bright then. He whistled. Wait a minute. When I looked up the Karen Sommers story on the Internet, I think I remember that she was murdered in the corner bedroom, on the right-hand side of the house. I remember a picture of the crime scene with those windows circled.

Why not show a separate picture of just those two windows in my story? he asked himself. I could point out that there is a dark aura surrounding the fatal room where one young woman was murdered and where Laura slept for sixteen years. It would give it a nice, eerie little touch.

To his disappointment the enlargement of the photograph revealed that the difference in color was probably caused by interior dark shades that had been drawn behind the decorative ones visible from the street.

Or should I be disappointed? Jake asked himself. Suppose someone is staying there who doesn't want a light to show? It would be a great place to hide. The house has been renovated. There's furniture on the porch, so I assume it's furnished. No one lives there. Who bought it anyhow? Wouldn't it be a scream if Laura Wilcox owns her old house and is holed up there now with Robby Brent?

It's not the dumbest hunch I've ever had, he decided. Should I bounce it off Mr. Deegan? he asked himself.

The heck I will, he decided. It's probably a crazy idea, but if there's anything to it, it's my story. Deegan told the captain to toss me in jail. Now he can just go fly a kite. He gets no more help from me.

Sam's visit to Dorothy Connors' home lasted exactly the fifteen minutes he had promised her. When he saw how infirm she was, he proceeded gently, and he quickly surmised that the concern she had shown was for her late husband's reputation. Knowing that made it easier for him to get to the point.

"Mrs. Connors, Dr. Sheridan spoke to Peggy Kimball, who at one time worked for your husband. To assist Dr. Sheridan in finding her daughter, Ms. Kimball stated that Dr. Connors on occasion may have circumvented the rules governing adoptions. If that Is your concern, I can tell you right now that Dr. Sheridan's daughter has been located and the adoption was absolutely legal. In fact, Dr. Sheridan is going to have dinner with the adoptive parents this evening and will meet her daughter very soon. That part of the investigation is over."