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  Chapter 9

  “Hey, Zeke, I’ve got something for you,” said the voice on the recording. Zeke had dialed his voicemail as he left Catrin Davies’ house and walked across the street to his rental car. He recognized Oscar’s voice, so he turned the car around and drove the half mile to the Larosa residence. He parked out front, walked up the driveway and let himself in the kitchen door. Oscar looked up, a note pad and a phone on the table in front of him.

  “Zeke,” said Oscar, “doing any good?”

  “With the investigation?” Zeke asked. “Or with the witnesses?”

  “Yeah. OK, so you asked me to help find this Seth Gordon guy, and Will Burns. Right?”

  Zeke knew this was Oscar’s way to muster all of the drama he could from the situation. Apparently, he’d found something good. “Right,” said Zeke.

  “OK, so Seth Gordon. His father is Roger Gordon and he’s Vice President of a REIT based in Philly. He went to Penn and was recruited from there. They buy real estate for investors nationally. Retail and office and apartments.”

  “If Seth is in High School, his dad is, what, mid-to-late thirties?”

  “He’s forty-two, actually,” said Oscar, breezing by that point. “But wait till you hear this.” He paused and looked at Zeke.

  “Roger and his wife, Tiffany, are going through a divorce. Pretty ugly. They say he got caught with his pen in the company ink, with an intern or something, if you know...”

  “I know what you mean,” said Zeke. “Think Bill Clinton.”

  “Exactly,” said Oscar. “‘I did not have sex with that woman!’”

  “I know, right?” said Zeke.

  “But apparently, Roger did. Maybe he’s not as slick as Slick Willy.” Oscar was referring to one of the many nicknames that had resulted from the Clinton era.

  “And Seth?” Zeke asked.

  “They say he’s over the edge about it. Acting out, misbehaving, making a scene at school. Brecknock threatened to throw him out, but his dad stepped in. He’s a big contributor.”

  “No surprise,” said Zeke.

  “So I found Seth. He’s at home with his dad.”

  “Good, can I see him about the Susie situation?”

  “I’ve left a message with Roger. I’m hoping he’ll agree and give you access to the kid without a lot of trouble.”

  “OK,” said Zeke.

  “He and the other one, Will Burns,” said Oscar, “both have police records.”

  “Serious?” asked Zeke.

  “No, small stuff. Smoking pot, shoplifting, drunk and disorderly. The cops have dragged Seth in a few times, but he seems to land on his feet. The charges get dropped, or the court gives him a slap on the wrist with community service, that sort of thing. Seth was actually arrested for drug distribution last year. But he was a minor, then.”

  “Are the boys friends?” Zeke asked.

  “Thick as thieves,” said Oscar.

  “OK, so...”

  “So they hang together, and word is Susie and Carrie were hanging out with them, too. Skipping classes and hanging at Suburban Square. Skateboarding, smoking pot, generally causing trouble.”

  “What’s Will’s story,” asked Zeke.

  “This is sad,” said Oscar. “I don’t like the kid. I’ve seen him around, but I’ve gotta feel for him a little bit. His mom was killed in a home invasion about a year ago.”

  “That’s tough,” said Zeke.

  “You would know better than anyone, with your folks dying and all,” said Oscar. Never one to hold back, thought Zeke. That’s Oscar.

  * * *

  Zeke drove around the Town of Conshohocken for a few minutes, first crossing the Schuylkill River on the Fayette Street Bridge. It was six miles away from, and several tax brackets lower than, Ardmore. Where Ardmore and Bryn Mawr reflected the old wealth of suburban Philadelphia, Conshohocken was clearly a one-time mill town. Oscar had told him that the town had fallen into economic poverty years ago, when the grist mill burned. It hadn’t recovered, and Zeke noticed that the majority of the homes and commercial spaces were older and in average or fair condition.

  Zeke pulled over to the curb in front of a brown house on East 7th Street, the home address Catrin Davies had given him for Will Burns’ family. It was a one-story ranch home on a corner lot. The exterior was brick, and there were bedroom windows visible from both 7th Street and the cross street. Zeke called Oscar.

  “I’m looking at the Burns’ house now,” said Zeke. “Nothing special, maybe fifty years old, neat, single driveway and detached garage, overgrown lawn.”

  “Sounds right,” said Oscar. “It looks like they’ve lived there for fifteen years or so. Will’s dad’s name is Chester. Chester Burns.” Oscar was looking at the real estate tax records online. “And no police or military record.”

  “Anyone else live here?” asked Zeke.

  “Will has a younger sister named Trina. She’s younger than Susie, about 12 years old, I think.

  “This wouldn’t be Brecknock’s school district, would it?” asked Zeke.

  “No, they’re a private school. I believe Will’s grandmother left them enough money to pay Will’s tuition. I remember hearing something like that.”

  “Chester’s a teacher?” asked Zeke.

  “He teaches at the public school,” said Oscar. “The high school. Science, I think. Word is that he’s been struggling since his wife died.”

  “You called some mutual friends?”

  “And teachers and such. Sure.”

  “OK, thanks. It doesn’t look like there’s anyone here now. I think I’ll try Suburban Square next,” said Zeke, as he put the rental car in drive and pulled away from the curb.

  Chapter 10

  Zeke parked in front of a restaurant and walked down to Suburban Square, about a block from his parking place and six blocks from Oscar’s house in Ardmore. He spotted Will Burns immediately. Will was a tall kid, with long brown hair cut in a sort of mohawk and banded into clumps with small rubber bands. Each clump was dyed a different color: red, blue, bright green and yellow. Like a crazy color pallet, thought Zeke.

  The boy was sitting on the edge of a tree planter on the sidewalk outside the Banana Republic store, smoking an electronic cigarette, looking at his phone and rolling his skateboard back and forth with one foot. It travelled about eight inches away and then eight inches back, in time to Billy Joel’s “I’m Moving Out,” which was playing from the nearby outdoor speakers. That’s apropos, thought Zeke. Next to him was a smaller boy, maybe a grade or two younger than Will. He was holding a skateboard, too, and listening to music from his phone through a pair of white earbuds.

  “I saw your name somewhere recently,” Zeke said as he walked up to the older boy.

  “Huh?” the kid was preoccupied with something on his cell phone screen and didn’t look up. He had a scraggly, unkempt beard.

  “I think it was a tattoo, actually,” said Zeke.

  Will looked up at Zeke for a moment. Then his face changed. He sneered, “Who the hell are you?” his brown eyes reflecting his hostility.

  “I’m a guy who’s interested in finding Susie Lopper,” said Zeke. He could smell Will’s stale breath.

  His eyes flinched away briefly, then back to Zeke. “So?”

  The second boy pulled an earbud from his ear, listening.

  “Do you know where she is?” asked Zeke.

  Will looked over Zeke’s shoulder while he slid his iPhone into his front pants pocket. He flipped his skateboard up with his right foot and caught it in his left hand. “I don’t have to talk to you,” he said.

  “No?” asked Zeke.

  “Are you a cop? Even if you are, I don’t have to talk to you,” the boy said, dismissively, and turned to walk away.

  OK, thought Zeke. Watch this, Mr. Eighteen-year-old.

  “So I can see why you can’t find a girlfriend your own age,” said Zeke. “I can see why you have to date fourteen year olds. They probably remind you of your
sister, Trina.”

  “Shut up,” said the boy, turning back toward Zeke.

  “Clever retort,” said Zeke. “But you’re the one who’s fixated on an elementary school girl. What grade’s she in? Sixth?”

  “She’s a freshman,” said Will. “She’s old for her age, too.”

  Engaging him, thought Zeke.

  “You like the young girls, don’t you?” asked Zeke. “I’ll bet you’d like to date your sister.”

  “Hey.” Will turned back toward Zeke and bowed his back. “Hey, you perv, shut up.”

  “What? You don’t ever think about making out with her? Sure you do.”

  “Man, you’re sick, shut up!” The boy was fully engaged, now, his face reddening and his eyes wild.

  “Is Susie a slut? She must be a slut, to date you,” said Zeke, egging him on.

  “Hey, man, shut up. I’m telling you...” Will dropped his skateboard and ran at Zeke in a crouch. “I’ll beat your ass.”

  Will was a thick boy, taller than Zeke but round with pasty skin and little apparent muscle tone. He had a belly that was small and round and hard but not muscular. His yellow wife beater t-shirt was printed with a faded “Doobie” in purple calligraphy.

  Zeke watched him approach, then sidestepped the boy to the right, his strong side, while pushing Will’s head away with his left hand. It looked as if Will had run right past Zeke. The boy pulled up and looked around for him.

  Zeke stepped in close and slapped Will in the face, twice, hard enough to embarrass him. Then he stepped back two steps.

  “You can’t be a smart ass unless you can back it up,” said Zeke, calmly. Will’s eyes were watering from the slaps and the accompanying humiliation. He looked around, as if he wanted to report Zeke to someone. “You can’t do that,” he said. “You sucker punched me.” Tears were running down his face.

  “I did, and I’ll do worse, if I choose to,” said Zeke. “Watch this.”

  Seemingly without effort, Zeke stepped close to the boy and feigned a slap at his face again. When Will raised his hands to protect himself, Zeke gave him a short, hard half-shot to the solar plexus. Will grabbed his chest with both hands and bent over, wheezing. Zeke clapped him, palms over his ears, twice.

  “Stop, man,” said Will, and he reached out to ward Zeke off.

  “Tell me about Susie and the tattoo.” Zeke took Will’s right hand in his, separated his fingers and applied a hand lock that brought the boy to one knee. “Tell me.”

  “Man, stop, you’re hurting me! Stop, you’ll break it,” said Will, gasping through gritted teeth.

  “Dude, let him go,” the younger boy said, standing back by the road and ready to run. “Let him go. He didn’t do anything to you.” He was holding his phone in his hand, fumbling with an app.

  “Dial the phone or start taking pictures and I’ll break his arm, then yours. Put that phone back in your pocket,” said Zeke.

  The younger boy looked at him and then at Will. Will quickly nodded to him, and he slid the phone back into his pocket.

  “Start with Susie,” Zeke said to Will. “She’s your girlfriend.”

  “So what, man?” said Will. “Her dad’s dying of cancer, and her mom can’t be bothered with her. Sure, I’m her boyfriend. We’re getting married.”

  “She’s fourteen. You’re delusional,” said Zeke.

  “No, man, ow ow, stop,” said Will. “The tattoo, it was like a symbol, you know? She said it was like a change of ownership, from her parents to me. It’s what she wants.”

  The younger boy didn’t know what to do. “Will...?” he said. He was thinking about getting his phone out and calling someone, Zeke could see. Getting braver. “Bad idea,” said Zeke, and shook his head slowly.

  The boy looked away. And then he turned and started walking away.

  “Where is she now?” Zeke asked Will.

  “She’s OK, man. She’s just staying with Seth’s sisters for a while.”

  “I’ll want that address and phone number,” said Zeke.

  * * *

  “Everything OK here?” asked the officer.

  He had watched the altercation from inside one of the nearby retail shops and stepped out when it became physical. Will was kneeling on the sidewalk. Zeke released his arm.

  “Yes, sir,” said Zeke. “It’s all good.”

  “Like hell,” said Will. “This guy came up and sucker punched me, then hit me in the chest. And he’s a pervert.” Will tried to get it all in at once, speaking rapidly. “He called my sister a slut. You need to arrest him!” His eyes were starting to tear again, in anger.

  Zeke looked at the officer and shrugged. Calm and balanced.

  “I saw what happened,” said the policeman, ‘Jennings’ his tag read. “I thought he was pretty easy on you, Will.”

  “He hit me, man,” said Will.

  “Yeah, you probably deserved it. I saw you rush at him first.”

  “You need to arrest him,” Will said again.

  “OK, I’ll do that in a minute. Empty your pockets, Will,” said Jennings.

  “What?” said Will.

  “For your own protection, Will. I need you to empty your pockets on the sidewalk.”

  Will pulled a lighter and a baggie with a couple of rolled joints out of his pants pocket and set them on the sidewalk next to his wallet.

  “I guess you know Will,” said Zeke.

  “Oh, yeah, we know him,” said Jennings.

  “Well, he was trying to sell me some weed,” said Zeke, “and when I said no, he got angry and rushed at me. I had to protect myself.”

  “I saw that,” said the policeman. “Are you from around here?”

  “No, visiting.” Zeke stepped away from Will and closer to the officer. “I’m visiting Oscar Larosa.”

  “The war hero,” said Jennings.

  “The same,” said Zeke.

  “I’ll run Will down to the station, but I really don’t think we have enough to hold him for too long,” said Jennings. “Where can we reach you?”

  Zeke gave him a cell number.

  The policeman turned back to Will. “I think we’ve got you this time, boy,” he said with some bravado. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 11

  “Oscar, I think she’s OK,” said Zeke. He’d dialed Oscar’s number as soon as he’d returned to the rental car. Will was still sitting on the curb next to the cop, nursing his strained wrist, and the younger boy had disappeared. “According to Will, she’s staying at Seth’s sisters’ house in Conshohocken, a duplex rental. Not far from Will’s dad’s house. I have the address and his sisters’ phone numbers. Ready?” He gave the information to Oscar from memory.

  “That’s a huge relief,” said Oscar. “Can you go by and pick her up?”

  “Doesn’t sound like she wants to be found,” said Zeke. “I’m not sure of all the dynamics, but the girl seems to be moving herself away from her parents and toward the boy. I haven’t talked with her, but it sounds like she’s pretty upset with George and Carol, about his cancer and all. She probably needs professional help at some level.”

  “Yeah, I think she’s pretty mixed up...”

  “Consider this, Oscar,” Zeke continued. “This boyfriend, Will, his mother died last year. Now Susie’s dad is in a similar situation, dying. They have that in common.”

  “That’s true,” said Oscar, thinking. “They both probably feel outside and alone. Probably feel betrayed, too.”

  “And most likely, neither one of them trust adults anymore. It may have cost them too much.”

  “Right. I know. Well, can you run by and see if she’s there? Maybe talk with her for a minute and invite her to go home? And I’ll call George and tell him what you learned.”

  “Sure,” said Zeke. “I can do that.”

  * * *

  The house was covered in beige vinyl siding with a few small windows on each wall. The yard was overgrown. Zeke parked in the driveway behind a dark blue Volkswagen bug with a vertical dent
creasing the trunk. It looked as if someone had backed into a telephone pole. The dent was old, rusting around the edges where the paint had scraped off.

  Zeke locked the rental car and walked up the steps to the porch. He listened for a moment but heard nothing from inside the house. Then he knocked on the outside of the storm door.

  There was some noise from inside the house. Thirty seconds later, the door opened abruptly and a young girl stood in the doorway. Pre-teen, Zeke thought.

  “You must be Trina,” Zeke said. The inside of the house smelled like burning hemp.

  “She’s not here,” said Trina.

  “Susie, you mean?”

  “Who are you?” asked a brown haired girl of about twenty, stepping in front of Trina and looking at Zeke through the glass. She had a center part in her long, straight hair and was wearing a pair of jeans and a tie-dyed peasant blouse.

  “I’m Zeke, and I’m trying to find Susie Lopper and get her back home.”

  “She’s not here,” said the girl.

  “You’re Anne?” asked Zeke.

  “I’m Amy. She left.” Her look was open and sincere.

  “Susie?”

  “Yep, her phone rang, and she talked for a minute and took off.”

  “Who called her?” asked Zeke.

  “I don’t know. I was in the other room. But maybe Will?”

  “So she was staying here voluntarily?” Zeke confirmed.

  “Well, yeah, she just crashes here sometimes,” said Amy. “She didn’t want her parents to know about the tattoo.”

  “Un-huh,” said Zeke.

  “And then her phone rang and she left.”

  “She say where she was heading?”

  “Nope.”

  “On foot or did she have a ride?” asked Zeke.

  “I don’t know. But she probably got picked up.”

  There was a bowing sway to the porch that seemed to shift as Zeke moved his weight. The old wood smelled moist and rotten.