“Officer Paul,” Joseph said, his voice terse but polite.
The officer came right up to the fire and held out his hands to warm them. He was tall, trim, his shirtfront tucked neatly into his belt. His ears stuck out below the band of his cap, large and vulnerable in the firelight.
“Good evening, folks,” he said.
Around the fire, every face seemed marked with trepidation. William kept his face averted, as if investigating something of interest in the woods. This was probably the sole officer on the town force, the first responder to the accident scenes, the one who had come to the doors of houses to report the deaths they’d just cataloged. “No news,” he said. “Just checking a report of a noise disturbance. Playing your music a little too loud?”
The concerto’s close had ushered in an eerie silence, and we all just looked at one another.
“The professor around?” Officer Paul asked.
Someone suggested she had gone into the house, and he started up the lawn toward the terrace.
In his wake, someone cleared his throat, and someone else made a remark under his breath.
“He’s such an asshole,” Alice said. “As if any of us would ever do anything to Mary Rae.”
I suppose I hadn’t considered their involvement in her disappearance until Alice mentioned it, and then I felt—what? Sympathy? Understanding? The days after David Pinney was finally reported missing we waited for the discovery of his body. The uniformed police came around to houses in the neighborhood, asking questions, and we were called downstairs to sit in the living room when Detective Thomson made his first appearance, the chair brought in from the dining room, his trousers riding up to reveal his brown socks, his white legs.
“Who usually swims with you in your pool? Any neighborhood kids? What are their names?”
Answering, tearfully, my heart racing, Del clinging to my hand, to our mother’s hand.
“My girls are distraught,” our mother said. “Must you continue to question them about this? They’ve told you all they know.”
The days had moved forward then, one into the other like a train chugging off from the station into the city, the world a blur going by. And then that train stopped, and I got off, and first Cindy Berger, and then the other dead—lovelorn, languishing—began to appear to me, and it was senior year, and Del was in the Institute. Detective Thomson continued his rounds of questioning.
Where were you on the afternoon of Friday, August eleventh?
At home.
At your grandparents’ house?
That is home.
What were you doing?
Reading. Upstairs.
Anyone with you in your room?
No.
Anyone else at the house?
There were kids swimming outside, but a storm came in, and I think they all left.
Why weren’t you swimming?
I didn’t feel like it.
Did you have an argument?
No.
Well, did you talk to any of the kids?
Sure.
What did you say?
I don’t remember exactly. We played croquet for a little while. Then it seemed like it was going to rain, so I went inside.
You didn’t invite anyone in?
No.
Why not?
I’m not allowed to have friends in the house when no one is at home.
Whose rule was that?
My grandfather’s.
And, I’m sorry, he passed away several years ago, is that correct?
Yes.
But the rule stands?
Yes.
What book were you reading?
The World as Will and Representation.
(silence)
Schopenhauer?
I understood Alice’s anger.
“Screw Officer Paul,” I said.
Alice squeezed my hand.
“Have you seen my sister?” I asked her.
The other girl, Lucie, touched my shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’re all friends here.”
I understood that it wasn’t just Mary Rae’s disappearance, but the mystery of it, that had these girls frightened, clustered together around the fire. Beyond the firelight the ring of pine woods did feel ominous, a place where the dead might hang back from the brightness, hesitating to emerge. I scanned the woods, and I thought I could see figures, waiting patiently in the shadows. It filled me with a rare dread—I’d never been afraid of them before. I stood to look for Del or Geoff, and my head spun from the wine.
I moved out of the circle into the cold night air and began to walk across the lawn. Suddenly William emerged from the darkness behind me, reached out for my arm, and held it, loosely, near the elbow.
“Hang on,” he said.
I startled, felt the heat of his hand through my sweatshirt. I faced his amber-colored eyes, his square chin. “What?”
Had Del done something or said something more? He let go of my arm. “It was nice of you to listen to the girls back there,” he said.
“It’s terrible,” I said. “What’s happened to your friend.”