“Can you tell me your name and why you are in this house?” I spoke in the same slow, gentle voice.
“Catterine, she say I stay here.” His voice came out in a whisper. “Why is she hiding you?”
He swallowed convulsively, but didn’t speak.
“I’m not here to hurt you. But you can’t stay in this place any longer. People know you’re here.”
“Who know? Catterine, she say she tell no body.”
“The woman who used to own this house lives across the street. She has seen your light, your and Catherine’s lights, through the attic windows. The woman has a son who is a-friend-of mine.” The youth was so
frightened I didn’t want to tell him I was a detective. “Her son asked me to find out who is living in his mother’s old house.”
“And now what you are doing? You are telling police?” “I’m not telling the police. Unless you killed someone.”
“Kill? I not kill, you cannot say I kill, I am in house, not killing!” In his panic, his voice rose. We’d been speaking in whispers, so that the sudden shout was shocking.
Fatigue was making it hard for me to concentrate. Also I was getting a crick in my neck from staring up at him. “I want to come upstairs so we can talk properly”
As I started up, he began to retreat, his big eyes not wavering from my face. The staircase ended in a large open area with skylights overhead. So this was where light seeped out for Geraldine Graham to see. When Catherine came, she and the boy sat talking by flashlight or something. I switched off my headlamp-I hoped before Geraldine noticed it.
The roof was pitched steeply here. Odd corners stuck out into the room to accommodate the house’s four chimneys. This had been the servants’ common room during Geraldine Graham’s childhood. I pictured a wistful girl with dark braids sneaking up the stairs to watch the maids play poker.
Old furniture was piled against one of the walls-I made out a couple of dressers, a jumble of chairs and a bed frame. The boy and Catherine must have dragged out the leather-topped desk that stood directly under the skylights. Some books were stacked neatly along one side next to a plate, cup and glass. I assumed the desk and the rest were Graham family discards-they looked too old to have been part of the nou-nou family’s brief tenure.
The boy’s eyes darted from me to the stairwell; he was trying to summon his courage to make a break for it.
“You can run down the stairs and out the doors.” I kept my tone level, even friendly: good cop. “I won’t try to stop you. But you won’t get far, especially not without Catherine to guide you over the ground.”
He slumped on the top step, his head on his knees, forearms pressed against his ears, so desolate that my heart was touched. Instead of Catherine, his one friend, whom he’d been longing for, he’d gotten me.
I walked over to the north wall, which overlooked the back gardens. The windows were small and set up high, but he had moved a chair over so he could stand and see out. I climbed up. From here, you could watch for someone to appear around the corner of the garage. You could spend long lonely nights on this chair hoping she had gotten away from Chicago to come see you. You could also see the pond.
I climbed down and explored the rest of the attic. The common room led to a short wide hall with six monastic bedrooms and a Spartan bathroom. I turned the taps; cold water came out. At least he could use the plumbing. A mattress with a sleeping bag on it was set up in one of the rooms; his few clothes were neatly folded on yet another chair. A couple of flashlights and a box of batteries stood next to the bed.
When I came back to the large room, he was still sitting on the top stair, head on his knees.
“Who are you? Why are you hiding here?” I asked. He didn’t answer me, didn’t move his head.
“It’s cold up here. You probably haven’t had a proper meal in-however long it’s been. Come on with me and tell me about it.”
“I wait for Catterine. When she say `going,’ then is safe I going.” His knees muffled his voice.
“She can’t come. You can see the pond from your window here; you must have seen her grandmother arrive this evening. Her grandmother will not let her leave the house again tonight, and her grandmother may well call the police. We probably have until the sun comes up to get you out of here, but I need to know who you are and why you’re hiding.” I laughed suddenly. “You saw me, too, this evening, didn’t you, jumping in and out of that wretched pond. Poor Sister Anne, with nothing to do but watch the horizon, did you see-“
“I am not girl!” His head jerked up and he glowered at me ferociously. “Who said anything-oh, Sister Anne. A character in a children’s story who has to keep watch from a tower. I know you’re not a girl. But I know you saw me this afternoon. And you must have been watching for Catherine on Sunday. Sunday night, someone killed a man outside this house. They put his body in the pond. Did you see this?”