U Is for Undertow (Kinsey Millhone 21)

“Your mother says they made you a house out of a cardboard box.”

“That was great. They put in a pile of blankets for a bed and they cut windows along one side so I could look out. That’s where I slept, though I didn’t do much of it. They kept coaxing me into drinking lemonade laced with something. I’d get sleepy for a while, but I didn’t stay down long. Whatever it was, it had the opposite effect. Instead of tired, I’d get wired. The more they gave me, the more amped I got.”

“But no aftereffects?”

“None.”

“What about the box? Was it a carton an appliance might have come in?”

“I guess. Not big enough for a refrigerator or a stove. I was little, but even then the box didn’t seem gigantic. I’d say more or less the size of this table. Longer, but about as wide.”

“You didn’t miss your mom?”

“Some, but they told me my mother wanted me to be a good girl, just for a little while, and then they’d take me home.”

“And they stayed with you the whole time?”

“One or the other did. Usually not both. I think that’s why they wanted me asleep—to make their job easier. One would keep an eye on me while the other one left, probably to call my folks.”

“Did you have nightmares afterward?”

“Nope. Honestly, there was nothing traumatic about it. Weird as it sounds, I had a lot of fun.” Her expression shifted when she caught sight of my face. “What?”

“I have trouble reconciling your experience with Mary Claire’s disappearance. Clearly, these guys weren’t thugs or hardened criminals. I can’t believe they were kiddie-killers either, at least from what you’ve said. It sounds like they wanted money and not very much of it at that. Somehow they were spooked into abandoning the twenty-five thousand dollars, which was more than they got for you.”

“You think something went wrong?”

“I can’t imagine any other explanation for the fact that you were released while she vanished forever.”

“I feel guilty about that and I have for years. If there’s anything negative in the aftermath, it’s knowing I escaped with my life. She wasn’t as lucky and look at the price she paid.”

24

WALKER MCNALLY

Monday, April 18, 1988

Walker took a seat near the back of the small conference room at the city recreation center. There was a separate door on the side of the building, its purpose to promote privacy. The furnishings were plain—folding chairs set up in ordered rows, a lectern that had been removed from its stand and placed on the floor. Wooden tables had been herded into a corner where they’d be out of the way. There were maybe twenty people in attendance, most keeping a chair or two between themselves and others. This was the third AA meeting he’d sat in on. The air smelled like construction paper and library paste. As an after-school project, the kids had cut out a number of tree silhouettes that were pinned to the bulletin board. THIS IS MY FAMILY TREE was written across the bottom of each. The branches were covered with cutout leaf shapes in primary colors, each bearing a name printed in block letters. MATTHEW, JESSICA, CHRISTOPHER, ASHLEY, JOSHUA, HEATHER. Walker could see leaves with the names of siblings as well, one or two leaves for Mom and Dad, depending on their marital status. A generation of grandparents appeared above the immediate family, with great-grandparents closer to the tippy-top. He doubted grade-school kids could conceive of ancestors more remote in time.

His sponsor was a guy named Leonard whom he’d met through the Episcopal church he and Carolyn attended sporadically. He’d been aware Leonard didn’t drink. They had few acquaintances in common, though they ran into each other at the occasional dinner party. Leonard’s wife, Shannon, was a kick, bright and funny, and Carolyn had been interested in getting the four of them together. Walker had resisted the idea. Being in Leonard’s company was like being in the presence of a born-again, and Walker preferred to keep him at arm’s length. Once Herschel laid down the law about Walker’s pulling himself together, he’d called Leonard and talked to him about getting help. Leonard had agreed to sponsor him and the two chatted frequently by phone. He was gradually warming to the man. He wanted his life back, and Leonard understood exactly where he was, even his ambivalence in the face of despair.

He had to admit alcoholism was democratic, encompassing every age, race, social status, and financial standing. So far he hadn’t run into anyone he knew, but he was braced for the possibility. After his release from the hospital, he’d gone down to the police station with his attorney and surrendered himself to the authorities. The booking process had been matter-of-fact, for which he’d been inordinately grateful. He’d been more than cooperative, thinking to demonstrate that he was a cut above most of those who passed through their hands. It was a mark of how low he’d sunk that he deemed their opinions relevant. Later, at his arraignment, he’d pleaded not guilty and now he was waiting for a court date. When the cops caught up with him after the accident, he’d been forced to surrender his driver’s license, so he’d had to hire a car and driver to ferry him around town.