Jan Burke - Bloodlines

They were both rain-drenched by the time they got to O’Connor’s car. O’Connor looked back and saw Auburn watching them from the front porch.

Norton got out of the Nash and introduced himself, showing his badge.

“What’s this about, Detective?”

“Let’s get inside the car, all right? Can’t talk out here in the rain.” He held the back door open. Warren climbed in. Norton came around and got into the backseat, on the other side, behind Conn. Conn started up the motor and turned on the heater.

“Is your car near here, Mr. Ducane?” Norton asked.

Ducane shook his head. “No. It’s in the shop. Auburn sent a car for me on Friday.”

“You’ve been here since then?”

“Yes. What’s this about?”

“If you don’t mind,” Norton said, “I’d rather we spoke at your home. Would that be all right?”

“Sure, but… am I in some kind of trouble?”

“No, Mr. Ducane. Not as far as I know.”

O’Connor got directions from Warren to his place. He glanced at Warren in the rearview mirror. Ducane looked boyish and scared. His straight, dark hair was sticking up in tufts-a result of his running his hands through it. His blue eyes had dark smudges beneath them-perhaps the result of two nights of partying at Auburn’s Stand-and his handsome face was drained of color.

Conn wished Norton would just tell him what was going on. It seemed cruel to make him wait. But this was Norton’s case, and he wasn’t going to interfere.

They didn’t travel far to reach Warren’s home-at least not in miles. In situation, the residences were entirely different. Warren Ducane lived in the back house of a “two on one” lot-his was a small house built at the back of a large lot, behind a bigger home, accessed from an alley rather than the street. One of many such places slapped together during the wartime housing shortage.

A uniformed officer stepped out of a patrol car parked in the alley.

“It’s all right, Officer Arden,” Norton said. In a low voice, he asked Warren if the young man could step inside with them. “I imagine Matt might appreciate a chance to use the bathroom. He’s been waiting for you to come back home, and it has been a long shift for the poor guy.”

O’Connor knew this wasn’t exactly true, but did nothing to give Norton’s game away.

Warren was agreeable. They crowded into the small living room of the house, and could see from there that they were in one of four rooms: the house had a kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom, and a living room. Doors were open to all of them. The bedroom had men’s clothing strewn about, and the bed was unmade. Warren quickly pulled the door to it shut. The other rooms were relatively tidy. Warren allowed Arden use of the bathroom, then went to a narrow linen cupboard and brought out three clean, dry towels.

Arden started to go back out, but apparently reading some signal from Norton, stayed inside, near the door.

Warren turned on a small gas heater, then invited O’Connor and Norton into the kitchen, saying it was the largest room in the house. He started the coffee percolator as O’Connor and Norton took seats at the kitchen table. O’Connor heard the cups rattle in their saucers as Warren set them on the counter.

Warren watched the coffeepot for a moment, then sat down with a kind of resignation, as if unable to come up with another way to delay hearing what was about to be said.

“The coffee will take a few minutes. What’s this all about?”

“I’m afraid it’s about your family, Mr. Ducane.”

“My family? My parents? Has something happened to my parents?”

“Your brother and his wife joined your parents on their boat late Saturday night. They haven’t returned.”

Ducane face went from chalk white to a gray color. “Not… not all of them? Not all of them together?”

“Yes… Are you all right? Maybe you should put your head down between your knees for a moment.”

Warren obeyed, and a little of his color returned to him. But when he sat up again, he still seemed dazed.

The coffee began to percolate, the coffeepot making intermittent burbling sounds.

Ducane sat staring and then asked, “Todd and Kathleen, too?”

It was always like this, O’Connor thought. People in shock thought if they asked the question in a different way, the answer would be different. As if enough questions would bring about an answer they liked, or one that made sense to them.

“Yes,” Norton said, perfectly patient. “Your parents and Todd and Kathleen.”

Warren trembled. “No… there must be some mistake. Yesterday was Kathleen’s birthday. There was a party. My parents were going to take their new boat out after the party. On their own. Not with Todd and Kathleen. Todd and Kathleen must be somewhere else.”

“Your parents invited them to go with them. Many people at the party have said they were told this, including Kathleen’s parents.”

For a moment, there was only the arrhythmic hiss and boil of the coffeepot.

“No,” Warren said again. “They didn’t take Todd. Not Todd.”

Norton said nothing.

Warren’s face crumpled, and he made a horrible, wounded sound, one O’Connor had heard a thousand times and never wanted to hear again. Norton, who had probably heard it a hundred thousand times, put a hand on Warren Ducane’s shoulder. Warren covered his face and sobbed in earnest.

The coffee percolator stopped, its red indicator light on, and O’Connor stood and poured the coffee. He placed cups before each of the other men and offered one to Arden, who politely declined. For a time, O’Connor was the only one who drank any of it.

Warren stood up, hastily excused himself, then moved back to the bathroom. They heard him retching, the flush of the toilet, then the sound of water running in the sink. After a while, he came back out.

“Sorry,” he said shakily.

He reached for his coffee and drank a little, then pushed it away.

“Are you sure the boat is lost? I mean, couldn’t there be a chance they’re all right?”

“Yes, of course,” Norton said. “We haven’t given up hope by any means. The Coast Guard is watching for it. The Sea Dreamer could just be blown off course. We’ve tried raising her on the radio, but so far, no luck. But then, it could just be that there’s some problem with the radio on board.”

Warren nodded, then fell silent. He looked at O’Connor. “Why are you here, Conn?” he asked, as if it had suddenly dawned on him that Conn was not a policeman.

“Jack Corrigan asked me to stop by Todd and Katy’s place tonight.”

“Oh.” He still seemed confused. “Will he be coming here, too?”

“No. Jack’s not feeling well, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “Tell him I said hello.” O’Connor couldn’t hear any insincerity in that, just distraction. Warren suddenly hit upon another explanation for Conn’s presence. “Are you here to get a description of the boat for the paper? I think I have a snapshot of it. Maybe that will help.”

“I’m afraid, Warren, that I’m here-”

“Oh, you just said-because of Kathleen! Jack and Kathleen are friends. Kathleen…” Tears welled up in his eyes again. “And the baby? What’s going to become of that little boy?”

“Mr. Ducane,” Norton said, drawing his attention. “Mr. O’Connor assisted me in finding you. I’m afraid there’s more I must tell you.”

Warren looked at him wide-eyed, anxious.

“Your nephew Max-Todd’s son?”

“The baby! Oh my God! They weren’t crazy enough to take an infant on that-”

“No, sir.”

“I’ll take care of him. I will, somehow. My God, I just can’t believe that Todd-”

“Mr. Ducane, I’m sorry. There’s no easy way to tell you this, but tonight we’ve learned that the baby has probably been kidnapped.”