Lady Vanishes Read online

  “That happens,” I said.

  “So we’re alone on the block. And our residents, they’re with us because most of the essentials of reality don’t factor into their lives. You don’t ask these people who, what, where, why, and when. Information? Forget about it. We don’t have one iota of information in the whole damn building. What we do have is frantic human beings, people who need everything to stay exactly the same, and now things are different and it’s no damn good.”

  “You looked around the neighborhood, of course?”

  “We looked. We called the shelters. We put up signs.”

  “Any response to those?” I asked, remembering seeing one, wincing at the thought of yet another lost pet.

  “Yeah, two calls. One lady had a brown dog she’d found two months earlier. The other was from a man I wouldn’t mind strangling. Hard voice. Sounded like a lawyer. He offered us his own dog, in case Lady didn’t turn up. Said he didn’t want her anymore, she was way more work than he expected. That’s it so far, so we still don’t have a clue as to what happened to our Lady Day.

  “Finally, in desperation, I called the Village Nursing Home, hoping they could recommend one of their volunteers who might come in with a dog until we found Lady. Or replaced her. That’s where I got your name and number.”

  “So all this secrecy has to do with asking me to come with Dashiell and—”

  “No. That’s just how I got your name. And in that conversation, Muriel, at Village Nursing, mentioned that you didn’t keep a regular schedule. She said it didn’t matter there, no one knew the time of day anyway. She asked if it mattered to us, if we needed someone who could commit to the same time every day. She said you and Dashiell were especially gifted with her residents, but that you kept weird hours, that sometimes you’d visit after breakfast, sometimes at bedtime, sometimes not for weeks at a time, that you did what you could, and would that work for us? Then she told me why, that you were a private investigator.”

  Venus turned to face me now, her eyebrows raised, as if she wasn’t sure it were true and I was supposed to tell her it was or it wasn’t.

  “And that’s what you need, a private investigator? To find out who mowed down—”

  “Harry Dietrich,” she said. “Yes, that’s what I need.”

  I waited for more.

  “I’m not buying that it was a random accident, Rachel. I just don’t believe it. Maybe I don’t want to believe it, I don’t know.”

  “Terrible things happen for no discernible reason. Look at the population you take care of at Harbor View.”

  “I know,” she said. “Still.”

  “And are you hiring me on behalf of Harbor View?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “That’s why we’re talking here, not there. I’m hiring you on behalf of myself.”

  Once again, I waited for more. It seemed to me that there was no end of more I hadn’t been told. I didn’t need a tarot deck or a crystal ball. It’s just how human beings are, always keeping the most difficult stuff for last. Or not telling it at all.

  “What I want you to do is this. I want you to come in with Dashiell and work with the kids, but you’ll be working undercover. I want you to find out who killed Harry. And I need you to do it as fast as possible.”

  What had the cops found out? I wondered. But I figured I’d get that answer straight from the horse’s mouth.

  “Do you know what kind of bike rider hit him, Venus?”

  She shook her head.

  “I know I’m not giving you much right now. But something’s wrong. I just feel it, and I’m scared.”

  “Of what?” I asked, thinking I should have said, Of whom? But it wouldn’t have made any difference. She wasn’t going to answer me either way. I could see it in her eyes. The conversation was over.

  “I have to get back now,” she said. “I’m already late. Come later this afternoon, two-thirty, can you do that? I go to the gym every day after work, Serge’s on Bank and West, just a couple of blocks from Harbor View. I’ll arrange a pass for you. It’s a good place for us to talk. We can meet there every day and fill each other in. Five-thirty. On the treadmills.”

  “Then there’s more you want to tell me?”

  “Lots more,” she said. “But it’ll have to wait. I’m never late, and I don’t want to draw attention to myself right now.”

  “Venus, if I’m looking for a bicycle messenger or a delivery man, then why—”

  “I don’t know what you’re looking for,” she whispered. “But whatever it is, we only have until Friday for you to find it.”

  “Why?” I asked. “What happens on Friday?”

  “I’m late,” she said, turning to leave, but not before I saw the fear creep into her dark eyes.

  Then she was gone, and I was standing there alone, holding the price list, wondering what was going to happen on Friday. Would her coach turn back into a pumpkin, her fine white horses into mice?

  CHAPTER 3

  Some People Have All the Nerve

  As I approached Harbor View, I was assaulted by the deafening sound of jackhammers. They had already come so close to the building line, chopping away half the sidewalk out in front, the institution looked as if it might fall over forward onto the half-constructed roadway.

  Harbor View was neither grand in scale like some of the commercial buildings facing the river at the northwestern edge of the Village, meatpacking plants that had been converted into high-priced housing, nor small and funky like the bar that had been its neighbor to the south, a squat little hovel painted aqua so that on the occasion when it wasn’t your first stop, you still couldn’t miss it, not even if you’d been drinking for a million years.

  In its previous life, Harbor View had been a hotel for seamen, a place where they could keep a watchful eye on the river while waiting to sail again. I didn’t need the AIA Guide to New York City or Greenwich Village, How It Got That Way to tell me that. It was written in stone, right over the front door. Harbor View, it said. And under that, Seaman’s Rest. Harry hadn’t changed the name.

  It was a neat little building, four stories, about fifty or sixty feet wide, red brick with that stone trim over the door and the windows. There was a narrow alley on either side, leading, I supposed, to a rear yard. Half the rooms would face the back, a quiet oasis in a noisy city. The others looked out over the river, the very view that made the price of housing along West Street so high.

  I stopped in front to let Dashiell drink from the squirt bottle I carried for both of us. There was a young man standing in the skinny window to the right of the doorway, a sidelight with a rectangle of stained glass at the top, blue for the sea, yellow for the sun. He seemed to be looking at us, but I doubted he was. More than likely his view was inward, to some dark place only he was privy to.

  I rang the bell. A moment later, Venus opened the door.

  “Ready to begin?” she asked.

  I nodded, too hot to speak, glancing at the man in the window, my eyes drawn to his hands because of the bandages, his fingers sticking out beyond the waterproof tape tap-tap-tapping against each other as if they were piano keys. Venus touched him lightly on his shoulder, then headed for her office, to the right of the front door. Dashiell and I followed behind her.

  “You’re going to have to work one-on-one to begin with. We don’t know exactly how the kids will react to Dashiell. Some of them won’t see him. Maybe not for the first few visits. Charlotte, when she gets overstimulated, scared, whatever, she acts out, beats herself on the chest, moans, rocks. Just let her be. She’ll stop on her own.

  “If it goes on for more than a few minutes, you can take her to the squeeze machine. It’s on the second floor. You can’t miss it, the door is always open. Are you familiar with them?”

  “Is it something like the thing they use on farm animals, to keep them calm during veterinary procedures?”

  Venus nodded. “Works here, too. Most of the autistic kids know when they need it and control the machine t
hemselves. They determine how much pressure and for how long.”

  “It’s like a mechanical hug?”

  She nodded. “They can’t take—”

  “I know that part,” I told her. “Only I found it wasn’t true across the board. One of the kids I worked with, a real kid, she was eleven, we got to where I could hug her.”

  Venus looked as if she wanted to say something but was holding back.

  “I know they’re not all the same,” I said.

  “Just go slowly,” she said. “Don’t expect too much.”

  “Okay.”

  “And if you have any doubts about how to proceed, or if you should proceed at all, don’t be shy about asking. You’ll never bother me with a question, Rachel. It’s what I’m here for. For them. And for anyone working with them.”

  “Good. Thanks.”

  “You’re not working alone—on any of this.”

  I nodded, holding her eyes for a moment. They were nearly black, her gaze steady and serious, as if she’d seen a lot, maybe more than was good for her.

  “So,” she said, “if Charlotte reacts well to Dashiell, you can take her out for a walk, let her hold his leash. She’ll love that. It’ll help her to trust you, too, the three of you going out together.

  Jackson will probably ignore you and keep on painting. But he’ll know Dash is there.

  “Some of them speak, once they trust you. Some of them don’t. And there’ll be these moments, times when the person you’re with will seem lucid and you’ll find yourself wondering if, hoping…” Venus sighed. “Well, that’s what keeps us going, those moments. And knowing we’re doing the right thing.

  “David, the man in the lobby, we’ll save him for later. Don’t want to scare you off, have you deal with David your very first day.” She rolled her eyes. “Just remember, you never want to take him out, because, well, you just don’t.”

  “He’s right by the door. He never—?”

  Venus shook her head. “That’s his post,” she said. “He’s there most of the day, just looking out. He never tries to leave.”

  “Was he there Saturday?” I asked. “When—”

  “He was,” she said. “But he doesn’t communicate, and it’s doubtful he sees what’s right in front of him. So whether he was there or not, it doesn’t make a bit of difference.”

  “Nothing changed with him since the accident? He didn’t seem frightened, agitated, he didn’t stop eating?”

  Venus got that look again—should she trust me or not? Go slowly, she’d told me. She was taking her own advice, something few people do.

  “Despite Dr. Kagan’s warning and my pleading, one of the detectives tried to question him. At first, nothing happened. Nothing is our middle name. But the detective didn’t get it. He kept right on asking questions. Eventually, David began to keen, really loud.”

  “To block out the detective’s voice,” I said.

  Venus nodded.

  “Did that stop it?”

  “No—the detective only got more aggressive. And so did David. He broke the window with his hands. He needed eleven stitches in one hand, seventeen in the other. That stopped it.”

  “And now?”

  “He’s on extra meds, and before bedtime, Molly rolls him in gym mats. That calms him more than the squeeze machine.”

  “Molly?”

  “Our den mother. She helps with bedtime, baths, meals, whatever’s needed.”

  “So aside from increased tension, no other changes with David?”

  “Not that we can tell. He doesn’t speak about what he saw, if he saw anything, if that’s what you were hoping. I’m sure it’s what the detective was hoping for. But as we told him, David doesn’t speak, period. Aside from some occasional agitation”—Venus said each syllable separately—“nothing’s changed with him in the five years he’s been here. And before he came to us, he was in another institution. And nothing changed there either. Still, I love that kid, but I’d be hard-pressed to tell you why. It’s more or less like loving a statue. The most difficult ones, the ones you worry about most, sometimes those are the ones that grab you hardest. Do you know what I mean? Taking care of them, you just get attached, even when they don’t seem to know you from a hole in the wall.”

  “And why shouldn’t David go out?” I asked, thinking it was something I ought to know. “Doesn’t he want to?”

  Venus didn’t answer me right away.

  “Is it too much stimulation for him? Too much change? Too much noise?”

  Venus straightened the books on her desk—a dictionary, some medical reference books, the PDR—standing between two bronze bookends, African heads atop long necks, one male, the other female.

  “He’s gotten violent a couple of times. Dr. Kagan took a risk accepting him here. But he always says, If not here, then where?

  “We can do it here. We have such a small population, only sixteen right now. Somewhere else, it would be like jail for him.” She shook her head. “Anyway, it’s only happened twice. But we can’t predict it. So you don’t want to take him out in public.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “He’s been pretty stable on medication for several months, he’s sleeping through the night, he’s eating better, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. He would love some time with Dashiell, though.”

  “You mean he’ll interact with him?”

  “I didn’t say that, did I? I’ll be with you the first time. You’ll see for yourself what happens. And listen to me, Rachel, if he makes you uncomfortable, if anyone does, if you have any problem at all, tell me about it, talk to me. You’re not obliged to work with everyone. We’ll play it by ear, see what happens. Okay? Also, I don’t want you staying more than an hour and a half, tops. You’re going to get really stressed, and so will Dashiell. We took Lady for a run across the highway by the waterfront early in the morning so she could start her day clean, you know what I mean? Dashiell will need something like that, too, a way to blow off all that tension he’ll be absorbing. The same goes for you.”

  “I’ll go to the gym,” I told her. “That should help.”

  Venus nodded.

  “I wouldn’t trade this job for anyone’s,” she said very quietly, “but that doesn’t mean it’s easy, working here. It can get to you something awful if you don’t take care of yourself, ’cause but for the grace of God—”

  I put my hand on her hand to stop her. “This isn’t my first time working with a difficult population. But I hear you. And I appreciate what you’re saying.”

  “I’ll have you start with Charlotte, our youngest. Charlotte didn’t say much of anything until Lady came. She just used to ask for her parents, that’s all.”

  “Do they visit?”

  “You see a line at our door, Rachel?”

  I looked down at Dashiell.

  “Yeah, they visit. A couple of times a year. It tears them to shreds to see their daughter like that, all their dreams come to nothing, then they go home and try to live their lives for another five, six months before coming back. She’s their only child.” Venus shook her head. “Life’s not easy. But we have a dog visiting, and that’s going to make today a lot sweeter, isn’t it?” she asked Dashiell, leaning down and scratching his big head. “He’s registered, right?”

  I nodded. He was wearing his tag.

  “Funny noises, weird movements, they won’t bother him?”

  “Are you kidding? He lives in the Village.”

  “So he’s cool?”

  “Cool’s his middle name.”

  “Good.” She handed me a wad of paper towels. “He might get drooled on. You’ll want these.”

  I folded the towels a couple of times and stuffed them into the back pocket of my jeans.

  “Charlotte’s on the top floor, the southwest corner, best room in the house. Knock and then open. Almost no one responds to a knock, but Dr. Kagan feels it’s an important sign of respect to let them know someone is coming into the room.”

&
nbsp; Fine. I knew what to do with the kids, but what about what I was hired to do?

  “Venus, about Friday—”

  The phone rang, and she reached for it.

  “Yes, of course. Why don’t you tell me what the problem is.” She slid over a form and picked up a pen.

  No use hanging around. I could see this was going to be a long one.

  I took the stairs. I’d gotten in the habit of walking instead of using the elevator on a recent job. Dashiell ran ahead, waiting for me at each landing. When we got to five, he began to spin around with excitement. He always knew when he was wearing his therapy dog hat, and the chance to work filled him with ecstasy.

  I knocked twice on Charlotte’s door, waited, then walked in.

  She was sitting on the end of the bed, a soft doll on her lap, buttoning and unbuttoning its blue gingham dress. As soon as she smelled Dashiell, she dropped the doll. Arms moving stiffly up and down, Charlotte resembled an arthritic bird trying to fly. Dashiell went slowly toward her, his tail waving from side to side, and put his head in her lap. At this, instead of touching him, Charlotte began to wail, hugging herself and swaying from side to side.

  I waited to see what would happen, already starting to feel the confinement of the place, bars on the windows, things bolted down. Even though I’d only been at Harbor View for fifteen or twenty minutes, I always reacted the same way when I first came into an institution like this one, as if the walls were closing in on me.

  Charlotte was quieting down, so fortunately there was something I could do about my claustrophobia, something that could help all three of us.

  I began to talk softly, using her name, telling her mine, mentioning that Dashiell needed a little walk, asking her if she’d like to be the one who walked him.

  Charlotte went straight to the dresser across from the foot of the bed, stepping over her doll on the way, then opening the bottom drawer and taking out a pair of red woolen gloves.

  “It’s pretty hot outside,” I told her.

  Even knowing better, I waited for a response.

  “Hey,” I finally said, “take them along, see if you need them or not. It’s always best to be prepared.”