Chapter 23

Rudy was the cop who came by. Cecelia sat on the sofa with Laura, I sat on the coffee table, and Rudy sat in the company chair against the wall where the hall leads off the living room. He reclined it, and put his feet up – something he doesn't often do, though he's almost the only one who sits in that chair. I had a hunch why he did it. He's been working Missing Persons for years now, and knows a little bit about how kids can be when the come out of the clutches of monsters in human form. By relaxing he indicated by his posture that he wasn't a threat – and by the time he could get out of the recliner an active young child could be long gone.

He talked to Laura, getting from her the best descriptions she could give of the various people she'd dealt with during her ordeal. He got her mother's name, and promised to look into that angle himself. He got descriptions, as well as Laura could give them, of the places she'd been. He didn't try to find out exactly what had happened, but that wasn't necessary – as the police investigated they'd surely find enough documentary evidence. Nor did he ask her to describe the men who'd been with her – I knew that he wasn't about to put her through that kind of emotional torture. Rudy would turn over everything he got to Vice, and they'd take the investigation from there. Whether it would result in any meaningful punishment neither he nor I could say – by the time a case gets to sentencing, it's been through so many hurdles and hoops that it's a wonder any crook ever does any time. Our society is very big on protecting criminals' civil rights, which is fine, but it goes so far down that road that the victims are very often mere footnotes in the case.

Finally Rudy left, saying that he'd expect Cecelia and me to make our own statements in a day or two – statements which he would also pass on to Vice. And Cecelia asked me to give her the phone.

When I did, she dialed, waited, and then said, "Hello, Letitia." I think Cecelia's the only one who ever uses Letty's full first name, and she doesn't always do it. "We're ready for you to bring Darlia home." I looked at my watch, and to my surprise it was indeed late enough that Letty would already have picked Darlia up from school. Rudy had been there longer than I thought. "There's someone here I believe she'll enjoy meeting, and who could use, I think, companionship of her own age and gender. And of course we do love our daughter – nearly as much, I think, as you do."

Whatever Letty said, it caused Cecelia to chuckle. "In that case, my friend, I shall allow you to bundle her into our care posthaste. I shall expect to see you just as fast as traffic will allow."

That might be a little while, I thought – it was getting to be the beginning of rush hour, and Letty would have to deal with traffic on several major streets. There would be Central, Juan Tabo, Eubank, Wyoming, Lomas, and Indian School at the very least, all clogging up with cars.

When Cecelia hung up – Letty, like all our friends, has learned how quickly we get off the phone – I put the phone back on the charger. Laura had been curled up against Cecelia the whole time Rudy was there, and was now asleep. I bent down and very, very gently lifted her, and carried her into Darlia's room, where I laid her on the bed and spread a light blanket over her. And I took a pad of Darlia's paper, with its faint printing of butterflies and flowers, and wrote her a note:

Laura,

You were asleep, so I put you here where you'd be more comfortable. We'll let you sleep for a little while, and then our daughter will be home. If you need anything, just ask me or Cecelia.

And I signed it, though I'm sure she wouldn't be able to read my scrawl any better than anyone else. I've had people tell me that with my handwriting I ought to have been a doctor.

I was reading A Morning for Flamingos, and Cecelia was in the sewing room fiddling with something or another, when I heard a couple of car doors in the driveway. I dogeared the page, and went to the bay window in the dining room to look out. And there were Letty and Darlia, hand in hand, on the stoop.

I went to the door, getting there just as Darlia's key turned the deadbolt. I stepped back, since they had no idea I was there, and the door swung open. Darlia squealed, "Daddy!" and sprang at me. I'm not a weakling, but that solid child knocked me back two or three steps when I caught her. She gave me a kiss and a hug, and asked, "Where's Mom?"

"In the sewing room." And Darlia was off like a shot.

Letty had already shot the door behind her and flipped the deadbolt. Now she took a couple of steps forward and gave me a hug. "It's good to see you, Darvin – again."

"It's always good to see you, Letty."

About then it got disorganized. Cecelia and Darlia came into the living room, and I did what I've learned to do when people I love get together – I got out of the way. There's a line in Beat To Quarters where an admirable tells Captain Hornblower that when women take charge, all men can do is stand from under – and I've gotten very good at standing from under.

Cecelia eventually went in to wake up Laura, and brought her out to meet Darlia and Letty. However horrible her experiences had been, Laura was still a child, and it didn't take long before she was back in Darlia's room, the two girls coloring or playing with dolls or some such thing appropriate to girls that age. At that, they might be doing something else – neither was far short of her teens, and dolls and coloring books were becoming "little kids' stuff," as I'd heard Darlia say once.