Night Howl (15 page)

“I shouldn’t have left them,” he muttered. He turned to his imaginary passenger. “The horrible incident with King was still too fresh. I should have called Carl Pearson in New York and told him I couldn’t go. Why didn’t I do it?”

He didn’t have any satisfactory answers for himself. The sky ahead of him was gray and overcast; he knew soon he would be riding into rain. The dreary propsect
fit his mood. Usually, when he was on a highway like the New York State Thruway, he put on the cruise control, setting the speed at just over the speed limit; but this morning, in deep thought, he forgot about that and paid no attention to just how fast he was traveling. That is, until he went through the radar trap. He looked down at his speedometer and cursed. He was going seventy-five miles an hour. Sure enough, the state policeman parked ahead was in the road waving him to the side.

He had no defense and told him so.

“My mind wasn’t on my driving. Sorry,” he said. The policeman was silent. He looked at Sid’s license and registration and then went back to his vehicle to write the ticket. When he returned, he had his comment.

“When people don’t have their minds on their driving, they get into accidents and hurt themselves and others, Mr. Kaufman.” He handed him the ticket.

“Yeah,” Sid said, his face reddening, “but if you went through what I’ve been through these past couple of days, you wouldn’t have your mind on your driving either.”

The policeman ignored the comment. He politely explained that Sid could pay for his ticket or contest it. The state patrolman’s even, matter-of-fact tone of voice annoyed him. It was as though he were giving Sid directions about finding some address.

“Well thank you,” Sid said, “you’ve been very kind and considerate.”

The patrolman’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond. He waved Sid on and went back to his position. To catch another forgetful idiot, Sid thought. Actually, the incident had a good effect—it took his mind off his guilt for a while. He reminisced about other tickets he had gotten and about the ones he’d escaped. He recalled the time he and Clara and Lisa (Bobby wasn’t
born yet) had driven to Florida. They were pulled over early in the evening in North Carolina and Clara put on a beautiful performance, explaining that Lisa had to go to the bathroom and they were closing in on their motel for the night. The cop must have seen or heard something that struck home, for he let them go with only a warning.

Clara was really a very resourceful person, Sid thought; thinking this helped to relieve his guilt too, for he truly believed that she could take care of things while he was away. He looked at his dashboard clock and envisioned what she was doing. The kids were off to school; she would go down to the basement and clean up the mess and then . . . that mess; there was something about the whole thing that bothered him. It was like a tickle at the base of his spine. He couldn’t quite reach it, but it wasn’t all that annoying. It was just there. But what? What?

He was a great deal more careful about his driving on the Massachusetts Turnpike, and he was glad that he was. It seemed to him that there were many more highway patrolman out than usual. Must be quota day or something, he thought. In any case, he pulled into Boston on time and reached his destination according to schedule. Once he set his eyes on the project, he was able to put everything else aside. He had that ability to concentrate, to direct his attention solely on the problems at hand. It was what made him successful in his job—the ability to avoid any distractions.

The company was called Star Products. He went right to the president’s office and introduced himself to the secretary. Almost immediately he sensed a familiar fear and distrust in her face. He expected that she, being secretary to the president and owner of the company, knew Sid’s purpose and had warned some of the management staff. She also knew that he might very well make some recommendations concerning
her own job. But Sid was used to this. In fact, to be honest about it, he had to admit he even enjoyed it to a certain extent. He enjoyed the feeling of power that came from being able to instill such fear in some people, especially those who made a great deal more money than he did.

George Friedman, the president and owner of the company, came out to greet him. He was a short, stocky man with a round face dominated by soft, rubbery lips. He had heavy cheeks and small, dull brown eyes. Sid placed him in his fifties, but imagined the man’s balding, thin brown hair might have begun shedding as early as his late twenties. He was dressed in an opened white shirt with the sleeves rolled sloppily to the elbows. Sid noticed that his shoes were scuffed and his pants were somewhat wrinkled.

Sid always believed one could tell a great deal about a man’s productivity and success in his work from his appearance. Disheveled-looking people were rarely organized and efficient. Their lackadaisical attitude about themselves often transferred itself to their work. Conversely, people who had pride in themselves, in their appearance, usually took pride in what they accomplished. What they did had their personal stamp on it.

Friedman shook Sid’s hand and led him into his office. The inside confirmed Sid’s initial impression. Friedman’s desk was disorganized. There were even papers piled on chairs. The room looked dirty as well as messy, a stale coffee cup remained on the windowsill, and a paper bag stuffed with remnants of that morning’s take-out breakfast remained on a small table in the right corner. Sid’s first question, unvoiced, was, “Do you have your managerial meetings in this room?”

He didn’t offer his criticism at that moment. His technique was to hold everything in abeyance until the
report was completed. That way he held everyone’s attention until he was finished with his work. He didn’t know yet if George Friedman was a man who could take criticism. He seemed friendly enough, a man with a jovial personality. If anything, Sid thought, he was too easygoing.

“Right on time, right on time,” George said. He slapped his hands together, indicated an empty chair, and went behind his desk.

“Time is money, Mr. Friedman.”

“Oh, call me George. Everybody does. Yes, you’re right, time is money. So, where do we begin?”

“Well, I’ve gone over your layout. What I’d like to do first is inspect your plant and then walk through the procedures. I suppose everyone knows I’m here.”

“Oh, sure, sure. No secrets in this place.”

“Well then, I’ll get right to it,” Sid said. He reached into his briefcase and took out a folder and a long yellow notebook with lined paper.

“Cup of coffee first? Some lunch?”

“Not just yet. Oh,” he said, looking back at his notes, “this coffee break you give your employees in the morning . . . they all take it at the same time?”

“Pretty much. Started with ten minutes, but it crept into twenty. I’ve spoken to the union reps about that,” he said, putting on his tough face.

“Any improvement?”

“Not to my satisfaction, not yet. Maybe after we receive your report...”

“Don’t look upon my report as a panacea, George. Usually ideas have to be implemented. Attitudes have to be changed, some things done the same way for years might have to change. It’s going to take time and leadership.”

“I understand. You guys have a good reputation. You come highly recommended.”

“That’s nice to hear. Thank you. Well, then...” Sid stood up.

“I’ll go along with you for a while,” Friedman said. “Introduce you to some people.”

“Fine.”

“Staying over at the Holiday, are you?”

“Yes. It seemed convenient,” Sid said and pasued—near the doorway. Looking over at some of George Friedman’s knickknacks on a wall shelf, he saw the pewter replica of a collie. Just the sight of another dog, even a fake one, triggered all sorts of quick associations. He saw King standing over Bobby and threatening him. He closed and opened his eyes, moving out the office door to flee from the memory.

George Friedman followed quickly behind him. He tugged on the handle of his office door to shut it, but his effort was halfhearted and the door did not close all the way. While George paused to say something to his secretary, Sid stared at the partly opened office door for a moment, and the image of his partly opened basement door returned.

What was it that bothered him about that? Whatever it was, that was the tickle at the base of his spine, that was what bothered him about the mess. He began to recall what he had done yesterday after Clara had told him about her seeing the German shepherd. He had gone around the house looking for signs of another dog, and he was sure, absolutely positive now that he thought hard about it, that the basement door had been closed.

Bobby and Lisa hadn’t been down there with King yesterday; King was already gone. And Clara certainly hadn’t been down there. Why was the door opened? Who had opened it?

“Mr. Kaufman? Mr. Kaufman?” George Friedman repeated. He and his secretary both had puzzled looks on their faces.

“What?”

“Hope this place didn’t put you into a daze already,” George said. “That’s what happens to most of the people who work here.” He laughed at his own joke.

“Oh, sorry,” Sid said.

“It’s all right,” George said and started out. Sid nodded to the secretary and then made a mental note to call Clara the moment he had an opportunity.

“Well hello,” Harry Michaels said. Lieutenant Carlson was on the other end and Harry was a little surprised, even a little flattered that the I.D. man had decided to call him so soon.

“I thought you’d like to know,” Carlson began, “that I followed up on your hunch about that hair we found on the old man and in the barn.”

“Oh?”

“You were right. It was German shepherd. Forensics confirmed it for me early this morning.”

“What do you make of that?”

“Don’t know yet. I went to see the Kaufmans, the ones you told me had trouble with a dog.”

“Yes?”

“There was no one home. I’ll go back later.”

“Yeah, I saw Mr. Kaufman leaving town this morning. His job takes him away often. They have school-age kids. I guess his wife’s out shopping or something. I know she doesn’t work anywhere. Outside the home, that is,” he added, remembering Jenny. She’d hang him by his short hairs if she ever caught him belittling what a woman did in the home. “Do you think this might be something similar to that case you described?”

“To tell you the truth, Harry,” Carlson said, “right now I’m kinda puzzled. According to the old man’s son, there’s nothing of any value missing from that
house. I don’t have anything to indicate there was a man with the dog, although we’re not finished combing the place, and according to what you, the son, and other people have told me about the old man, he didn’t have any fierce enemies. All I’ve got, if you’ll pardon the expression, is a ‘hairy’ cause of death.”

The chief almost laughed. Difficulty made this guy Carlson almost human, he thought.

“Let me know if I can do anything more,” Harry said gently.

“Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”

After Carlson hung up, Harry put his unlit cigar in his mouth again and worked it around. He thought about his weird conversation with Sid Kaufman when the man had come down to tell him what his wife had seen. Maybe the conversation wasn’t as weird as he had thought.

An idea came to him. He imagined Carlson would think of it sooner or later, but just in case, he thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get a start on it. He buzzed the town clerk’s office and asked Charley Cauthers to look up his dog license records and give him a list of anyone who owned a German shepherd.

“Not everyone who has a German shepherd got a license, you know,” Charley remarked. He started in about the lousy job the dogcatcher was doing and why the police department should become more involved in the problem. Before he was finished, Harry questioned the wisdom of asking him for anything.

“Whatever you have might be of some help,” Harry finally said and hung up. He thought for a moment and then got up and went out to the dispatcher. “Who’s in South Fallsburg today?” he asked.

Benny Berstein looked up. He was a semiretired policeman who was actually two years older than Harry but who had become a policeman much later in
life. Now he performed an eight-hour shift at the desk three times a week.

“Lenny Sidewater,” he said.

“Raise him for me.” After the contact was made, Harry took the microphone. “Park your carcass on Lake Street,” he said, “close to the Kaufmans and stay there for a couple of hours.

“Chief? You said stay?”

“That’s correct.”

“What for?”

“I want you to.” He looked down at Benny, who was looking up at him curiously. “I want you to keep your eyes open for a German shepherd dog,” he said.

“If you spot one, call in right away.”

“Dog?”

“You heard me,” he said and handed the microphone back to Benny.

“I guess the town clerk’s got to you, huh Chief?”

“What’s that?”

“About the dog problem.”

“Yeah,” he said and shook his head. “Dog problem. Dog problem,” he repeated and went back into his office.

“T
O BEGIN WITH,”
Kevin Longfellow said, “I wasn’t truthful about our purpose here.”

“I gathered that much myself,” Qwen said. There was a twinkle in his eye. He, Kevin, and Ann sat in something of a circle on a clearing by the stream. Gerson remained apart from them, leaning against the big rock, looking at them sullenly. The water that rippled around the small rocks and against the banks of the stream maintained a soft murmur that created a dreamlike sound track. Qwen chewed on a piece of beef jerky, but neither Kevin nor Ann ate anything. Gerson took a gulp of water from his canteen and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“In a way you’re forcing us to be unfair to you,” Kevin continued. Qwen saw that he was being very careful about his words, thinking it all out before speaking. He was impressed with that and for a moment he wondered if he should let the young scientist go on with it. “What we are about to tell you is top secret information. I’m not trying to be overly dramatic or anything,” he added quickly, seeing the smile widen on Qwen’s face. “You, yourself, will have to come under a security clearance when we get back and you will have to keep everything we say and everything
we do to yourself. You could even be arrested for not doing so.”