She nods. “But I didn’t have the money; I was trying to get it. Then that police lady told my mom you had been looking for Eddie, so when he called back, I told him that. I said he should call you… that you could help.”
“Why didn’t he just call the police?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
It’s possible that Eddie was distrustful of the police because Stephen Drummond represented authority to him. Maybe he thought that contacting the police was the same as contacting Drummond. He told me that he had run that day because he thought I might have been sent by Drummond. Whatever was scaring him, Drummond was behind it.
“You’ve got to think, Madeline. What could have scared Liz and Sheryl and Eddie like that? Maybe they said something, some little thing, thinking you wouldn’t understand.”
She thinks for a moment. “All I know is it had something to do with Sheryl’s boyfriend.”
I was so focused on finding Eddie, Liz’s boyfriend, that I spent almost no time thinking about Sheryl, and whether she might have had one as well. Yet Catherine Gerard told me that boys and girls are matched up at six years old. There’s no reason to think Sheryl would have been an exception.
“What about him?” I asked. “Was it something he did? Something he said?” I’m probing for information that she unfortunately does not seem to have.
“I just don’t know… I’m sorry,” she says, getting upset at her inability to give me what I want. “They wouldn’t tell me.”
“Do you know her boyfriend’s name?” I ask.
She nods. “Alan.”
“Do you know his last name?”
She nods again. “Drummond.”
Alan Drummond.
Son of Stephen.
When Eddie told me he was afraid that Drummond was coming for him, he wasn’t talking about the father; he was talking about the son.
“Is it possible that Eddie was afraid of Alan?” I ask.
She says it simply, almost matter-of-factly, but it sends a chill through me. “Everybody’s afraid of Alan.”
I continue to question Madeline, but she has little else to offer in the way of information. Finally, she tells me that she should be going so she can get back before her mother returns home.
“If you’re worried, afraid for your safety, I can get you taken into protective custody. That way no one can get near you.”
“You’re not going to tell anyone we talked, are you?” she asks.
“Only Laurie Collins. She’s the chief of police in Findlay, and she won’t repeat it. I trust her with my life.”
Madeline thinks for a moment, perhaps cognizant that it’s not my life we’re trusting Laurie with… it’s her own. Finally, she says, “Okay. How can I reach you if I hear anything important?”
“I don’t want you to. I’ll take it from here.”
“But I want to help if I can,” she says. This seventeen-year-old girl is easily the bravest person in this room.
I write my phone number out for her. “Call me any time of the day or night. But not from your house; call from a pay phone.”
“I will,” she says.
She leaves to make the drive back to Center City, and I head back to Findlay. I’m not anywhere near knowing the “why” behind the murder of three young people, but I may have just learned the “who.”
• • • • •
WE WOULDN’T have anything on Al Capone if he lived in Center City.” This is Laurie’s way of telling me that my request to check if Alan Drummond has a criminal record is not going to be productive. I’m sure she’s right; they are not about to share any details about their citizens with the outside world, and especially not negative ones. And most especially not negative ones about the son of Stephen Drummond.
We’re sitting on the couch drinking wine, and Laurie is gently and absentmindedly rubbing my thigh as we talk. If she continues doing that, I’m going to forget what the hell we’re talking about.
So I’ve got to focus. “That’s a shame, because Madeline said that everyone was afraid of him,” I say. “He must have done some bad things; you don’t generate that kind of fear by not cleaning your plate at lunch.”
“Have you ever seen him?” she asks.
I nod. “Twice. Big, powerful kid. He was wearing one of those servants of the Keeper uniforms and driving Wallace around.”
“So whatever he’s up to, there’s a good chance Wallace and his father are behind it.”
“Probably, but not definitely,” I say. “You know, until now I’ve been thinking that this was all about the religion, about keeping everything secret. I figured these kids were going to run away, and the town leaders decided they couldn’t have that happening. But this is something else… something bigger.”
“Why do you say that?” she asks.
“Well, first of all, Henry Gerard already told the secrets, and nobody cared, remember? Why would anybody listen to these kids, when he wrote articles about it in the damn newspaper and nothing happened? But Madeline said the three kids knew something, probably about Alan Drummond, and it scared them so much they were leaving their town and their families.”
“They had nobody to turn to,” she says. “Alan’s father is the number two guy in town, and his regular passenger is number one.”
Something pops into my head. “Hey, I remember something else. The kid’s a pilot; I saw a picture of the family in his father’s office. They were standing in front of a plane, and Stephen told me that his son was the pilot in the family.”
“So maybe he does more than drive Wallace around in a car,” she says. “The question then is, where would Wallace be flying to?”
I shrug. “Maybe the wheel sends him on trips. Probably to conventions with other wackos.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard to find out.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“If they’re flying around, they’ve got to declare flight plans with the FAA. I should be able to get the records.”
“It’s worth a shot. When can you do it?”
“Well,” she says, “I can spend a few hours on the phone now trying to find someone who can help, or we can go to bed now and I can make one phone call in the morning.”
I think about this for a moment. “In which scenario are you likely to be naked faster?”
“The ‘bed now, call in the morning’ one.”