In the Shadow of the Arch Read online

  "You did all that today?"

  Keough nodded.

  "Got started early. Anything come up while I was away?"

  "Nothing," Haywood said. "I was just getting caught up on some paperwork."

  Keough understood that Haywood had started as a detective yesterday, same as he had. How much paperwork could there be to catch up on?

  "What's your next move on the kid's case?" Haywood asked, curious.

  "I've got to talk to him again," Keough said. "Where would they have him now?"

  "That'd be downtown somewhere."

  "Well," Keough said, "I'll have to find out."

  "Day's almost over," Haywood pointed out.

  Keough looked at his watch and saw that his shift was an hour from over. The three interviews he'd conducted had taken most of the day and he hadn't even stopped for lunch.

  "Any good places to eat downtown?" he asked Haywood.

  "Plenty. There are some great restaurants down in Laclede's Landing, by the Arch."

  "I guess I'll check it out."

  "Want some company?" Haywood asked.

  Keough didn't want Haywood along. He didn't want the man to know he would be seeing the kid on his own time.

  "That's okay," he said, "I think I'm just going to wander around down there and get the lay of the land. Maybe I'll have time to see the kid before the shift is up."

  "But… you'll have to come back here to sign out."

  "You can sign me out, can't you?" Keough asked. It was something that was done in New York all the time, but he didn't know how that would sit with Haywood. "Well…"

  "I'll owe you one, Haywood," he said. "The day will come when you'll want to get out of here early."

  "What if I get caught?"

  "Tell the truth," Keough said, "I went to interview the kid and wanted to save having to come all the way back here. Who's going to mind?"

  Haywood hesitated, then said, "I guess I could do it."

  "Thanks," Keough said. "I appreciate it."

  Keough checked his desk drawers and found a white pages phone book. He started looking for a number, paused at the child abuse and neglect hotline, then continued on until he found the Family & Children's Services listing. Under that heading he found the Missouri Division of Family Services. He made a call and found out where Brady Sanders would have been taken. He closed the book and returned it to the bottom drawer.

  "Thanks again, Haywood."

  "Sure thing, Keough," Haywood said. "I hope you find out something helpful."

  "So do I," Keough said, and left the office.

  15

  It was just about shift's end when Keough managed to locate Brady Sanders. There was a family services building on South Grand, which was not as far downtown as Haywood had indicated.

  Keough presented himself at the building and showed his ID. He explained his involvement with the boy then waited for a family service counselor to come down and talk to him. The wait turned out to be well worth it. The counselor was a woman in her thirties, very smartly and attractively dressed in a blue skirt, white blouse, and medium heels. She had dark hair cut short and knew how to use makeup to make the most of what she had. She highlighted her lovely eyes and managed to de-emphasize a nose which some might have thought too big. Not a classic beauty, but certainly a head turner. She was tall, slender, high-breasted, with the kind of figure and movements that suggested exercise.

  She introduced herself as Valerie Speck, and Keough noted when they shook hands that she wore no rings.

  "How's Brady doing?" Keough asked.

  "He seems to be doing quite well," Valerie Speck said.

  "You sound surprised."

  "To be frank, I am," she said. "Children this age usually ask for their parents very often."

  "And Brady isn't?"

  "Not once."

  "How do you explain that?"

  "I can't."

  "Could it be the result of the trauma?"

  "That's another thing I wondered," Valerie said, then paused abruptly. "I assume you want to see the boy?"

  "I do."

  "Can we go to my office first and talk?" she asked. "This is a very unusual case."

  "Maybe Brady is just a very unusual boy."

  "That's a possibility, Detective, that I have considered. Follow me, please."

  Keough did so, with pleasure.

  ***

  When they got to her office Keough thought that it was the equivalent of his, only she didn't have to share it with anyone. With the two of them in the room it seemed crowded, but he didn't mind. She was wearing a perfume he found particularly pleasant.

  "Can I get you some coffee?" she asked.

  "That'd be nice," he said. "Black. I missed lunch."

  "Working hard?"

  "Yes," he said. "Second day on the job."

  She left the room and returned quickly with a mug of coffee, then sat behind her desk.

  "You'll pardon me," she said, "but you seem, well, a little old to have started as a detective only yesterday."

  "I started as a St. Louis detective yesterday," he said, and then explained that he had recently moved from New York and the New York City Police Department to St. Louis, and the Richmond Heights department.

  "That explains the accent."

  "Brooklyn," he said.

  "St. Louis must seem rather tame by comparison."

  "Not when you consider what I had to deal with yesterday, roughly one minute after I walked into the building."

  "Could you tell me how this all started?"

  "Sure."

  He gave her an abbreviated explanation, starting with Brady walking into the station with bloody feet and ending with the discovery of the blood-spattered house. He didn't pull any punches because he had the feeling that this lady didn't warrant it.

  "My God," she said. "That's fantastic. And you can't find them?"

  He shook his head.

  "Do you think they're dead?"

  "I think she might be," he said. "If she is, she'll turn up before he does."

  "Why?"

  "Because if he killed her, he's on the run and she's in one place. Somebody will stumble onto her, eventually."

  "That's horrible."

  "Yes, it is."

  "But now I'm totally confused."

  "About what?"

  "About Brady's reaction."

  "And exactly what reaction is that?"

  "He's not exhibiting any kind of shock."

  "Well," Keough said, "maybe he didn't see anything."

  "But why isn't he asking for his parents?"

  "Maybe," Keough said, "he doesn't care to see them again."

  "If that's the case," she said, "it's even sadder."

  "Can I see him?"

  "Why?"

  "I need to ask him some more questions."

  "Of course," she said, "but I want to be present when you do."

  He smiled at her and said, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

  ***

  She made a phone call and then led Keough through a series of corridors to an interview room. It was furnished comfortably, with a sofa and a chair, a television, and a small plastic, yellow-and-blue child's table with toys on and around it. Brady was sitting at the table as they entered.

  "Brady?" Valerie said.

  The boy looked up at the sound of her voice, smiled when he saw her, then lost the smile when he saw Keough.

  "Brady," Valerie said again, crouching down by him and touching his arm, "do you remember this man?"

  Brady stared at Keough with wide eyes.

  "I gave you a cookie yesterday morning, remember?"

  The boy's eyes brightened and he said, "Cookie?"

  "That's right." Keough put his hand into his jacket pocket. Before leaving the station he had gotten a package of chocolate chip cookies from the vending machine. He took it out now. "Would you like a cookie now?"

  "Cookie," the boy said, nodding firmly.

  "May I?" Keough asked V
alerie.

  "Of course."

  Keough guessed from the way Brady looked at Valerie that she had already built up a rapport with him. He crouched down next to Valerie so that their shoulders were touching, and her scent was strong in his nostrils. He opened the pack of cookies and gave one to Brady.

  "Brady, can you answer some questions for me?"

  With his mouth full of cookie the boy nodded his head.

  "I'll sit over here, on the sofa," Valerie said, and withdrew. Keough didn't know if she was speaking to him or to the child. He wondered if that was the secret to her success with children.

  "Brady, did you see your mommy and daddy yesterday morning?"

  The boy nodded. The question was simple, but Keough had no idea if the boy had any concept of yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

  "What were they doing?"

  Brady shrugged.

  "Brady, did you see your daddy hit your mommy?"

  Brady looked at Valerie. Keough did not turn his head to see what sort of response she was giving him.

  "Brady? Did your daddy ever hit your mommy?"

  Brady looked at Keough, swallowed his cookie, and nodded.

  "Did he hit her yesterday?"

  Brady stared at Keough and then said, "Cookie?"

  "I'll give you another cookie after you answer, Brady."

  That didn't seem to sit right with the boy, and suddenly Keough sensed him closing up.

  "That wasn't a good idea," Valerie said.

  Now Keough turned and looked at her.

  "I guess not."

  He handed Brady another cookie and the boy took it and then turned his attention to the toys in the room.

  "You've lost him," Valerie said.

  Keough turned his body now to face her.

  "I really need to get some answers."

  "I might be able to get them for you," she said, "if you tell me what the questions are."

  She was sitting on the couch, her skirt riding up her thighs somewhat, her knees together. Nice knees.

  "How about if I tell you over dinner?" he heard himself ask.

  She gave him a slight frown, studied him for a moment, and then said, "I'll have dinner with you so we can talk about Brady."

  "I understand."

  "Do you?"

  "Completely," he said. "Besides, I'm hungry and I have no idea where to go to eat."

  "I know a few places," she said, standing up. He stood as well. "Will you wait here while I take Brady back?"

  "Sure."

  "I won't be long."

  She waked over to Brady, spoke soothingly to him and picked him up.

  " 'Bye, Brady," Keough said.

  The boy waved good-bye to him, but did not speak as Valerie went out the door with him.

  16

  When Valerie Speck returned she had put a jacket on over the blouse. It was the same blue as her skirt; it had gold piping, though, on the lapels and around the pockets.

  "Do you like Korean food?" she asked.

  "I like any food that's good."

  "Grand Avenue is a haven of small ethnic restaurants. They're mostly Mexican or Asian."

  "That's fine. We can take my car, and then I can bring you back here."

  "Okay," she said, smiling. "Let's go."

  She led him back through a maze of corridors and then downstairs until they were outside the building. He took the lead and led her to his car.

  "Just keep driving straight," she said, when they got into the car. "It's about ten blocks and on the right."

  "Okay."

  As he started driving she asked, "Do you have children?"

  "I've never been married."

  She laughed and said, "That's not an answer these days."

  "I guess not," he said, laughing with her. "No, I don't have any children. Why?"

  "You seemed fairly comfortable talking to Brady."

  "Did I?" he said. "An old cop's trick. I wasn't comfortable at all"

  "You don't seem like such an old cop."

  "I learned the trick from an old cop."

  "Ah," she said, "that explains it."

  Keough took a look at Grand Avenue while he drove. Left and right he saw little curio and antique shops, a lot of ethnic restaurants as Valerie had said, some book stores, and junk stores.

  "It looks like an interesting area."

  "It is," she said, "especially when there are street fairs. You can get all sorts of food, buy lots of junk, and get your tarot cards or palms read. It's just up here on the right. Park anywhere."

  Keough found a space and parallel parked.

  "You did that real well," she said, impressed. "Parking is not my strong point."

  She had her door open and had stepped out before he could come around the car and open the door for her. He wondered if she'd let him open the door of the restaurant for her.

  She did.

  The smells that greeted them made Keough's stomach growl. Most of his experiences with Asian food were with Chinese. He was looking forward to this.

  They were seated and a waiter came to take their order.

  "I'll have what the lady is having," Keough said, waving away the menu.

  "You'd like me to order for both of us?" she asked.

  "Please."

  "All right." She spoke to the waiter in dialect, which impressed Keough.

  "How many languages do you speak?" he asked when the waiter left.

  "I speak Castilian Spanish," she said, "which means I can get by with Mexicans, Cubans, Puerto Ricans, and Spaniards. Also a smattering of German, Italian, and very little Greek… and some Chinese."

  "Didn't you just speak Korean?"

  "No," she said. "The restaurant is Korean, but that waiter was Chinese."

  "But you enjoy different ethnic foods, then?"

  "I love them."

  "And there are enough restaurants in St. Louis to keep you satisfied?"

  "There are tons of restaurants in St. Louis," she said. "You'll find out."

  "And is there a husband in this picture?" he asked.

  "There was a husband at one time," she said, "but he is no longer in the picture."

  "Deceased?"

  She made a face and said, "From your mouth to God's ear."

  Right then and there Keough decided he liked Valerie Speck a lot-in fact, maybe a little too much.

  17

  The mood after the comment about her husband could have been somber, even awkward, but they managed to avoid that. Valerie even asked Keough to explain how he had come to move from New York to St. Louis.

  "It doesn't sound like a typical New Yorker's move," she said.

  "Maybe I'm not a typical New Yorker," he replied. "What is a typical New Yorker, anyway?"

  "Someone who was born there-"

  "Guilty."

  "-lived there all their life-"

  "Guilty, to a point."

  "-who couldn't imagine living anywhere else."

  Keough hesitated.

  "Guilty?" she asked.

  "Up to a point."

  "What point?"

  He hesitated again before answering.

  "The point where there's just no way you can continue in your job, and there's no other job you can do."

  "Being a policeman you mean?"

  "A detective."

  "Oh," she said, "excuse me. I didn't think that was a sore-"

  "It isn't," he said, "I'm just stating a fact. I came here to start over and to work as a detective. If they had wanted me to start back in uniform, I couldn't have done it."

  "What would you have done then?"

  "I probably would have gone on being a detective, privately."

  "But luckily you got this job."

  "Yes," he said, "but not without some help. I have a friend here in St. Louis who got me the interview."

  "And then you got yourself the job."

  "Yes."

  "Good for you." She picked up her glass of wine and held it aloft. "Here's to starting over." />
  He picked up his wine, clinked glasses, and drank.

  "I know something about that," she said putting her glass down.

  "About starting over?"

  She nodded. "Ten years of marriage to the wrong man and I finally got it into my head."

  "That marriage was a mistake?"

  "Not marriage itself," she said, "marriage to Don."

  "I see. So you'd get married again? Not that this is a proposal," he hurriedly added.

  "I didn't think it was. Yes, I would get married again, if and when I find the right man. Meanwhile I've got a job I like, that I'm good at… which I should be doing right now."

  "Brady," he said.

  "Yes. There's something very wrong with that little boy, Joe."

  They'd moved onto a first-name basis during the first course of dinner.

  "He seems fine."

  "That's just it," she said. "He shouldn't be. He saw something-"

  "Maybe he didn't."

  "No, he did."

  "How do you know?"

  "I feel it. Remember, I said I was good at this."

  "All right," he said. "He saw something. He probably couldn't have gotten that blood all over his feet and not seen something."

  "You're going to have to find out what it was," she said, "or I am. I can find out from him, maybe, if I can get through to him."

  "The only way I can find out is to find his parents," he said, "one or both."

  "One or both may be dead."

  "Yes."

  "Then we'll both just have to go at it from our respective sides," she said. "One of us may be able to help the other."

  "Yes."

  "We'll work on it together, then."

  He liked that idea. It meant he'd get to see her again.

  "Yes," he said.

  ***

  He drove her back to her building to get her car. They had split the bill at dinner since, she said, they were both working. He didn't bother to tell her that he was off the clock.

  "What will you do now?" she asked, as she got out of his car.

  "Keep looking for Sanders," he said.

  "Not Marian?"

  "I think Marian's dead, Valerie."

  "Why don't you think Bill is dead?"