The Lesson of Her Death

"Gilchrist," he said evenly, "where is my daughter?"

14

Leon Gilchrist walked through a thick beam of dusty light and stopped ten feet from Corde. He folded his arms. A mirthful half smile was on his face. "Well, I am surprised, Detective Corde."

"I want to know where she is." Corde's voice trembled. "I want to know now."

"Of course you do."

"Sarah!" Corde shouted, looking at a stairway that led to the second floor.

"I was just thinking of you," Gilchrist said mildly. "You'd be surprised how often you're in my thoughts. About as often as I am in yours, I'd guess."

Corde stepped forward, raising his revolver to Gilchrist's chest. The professor glanced down at it then slipped his hands into his pockets and studied Corde as if the detective were a bug padding his last circle on the cyanide disk in a kill jar. Then he asked, "How's your son, Detective?"

An uncertain flicker was in Corde's eyes as they sca

"Still enjoy bicycling, does he? Despite the dangers."

"What are you talking about?"

"And he went for a swim, I heard. The music these young people listen to…"

He's trying to get my goat. Calm, stay calm.

"Suicide by drowning. That was uniquely his. The song, I believe, mentions razors and ropes… An alliteration suitable for adolescent lyrics."

"What did you have to do with that?" Corde's grip on the gun tightened and he was beset by a frightening sense that he was losing control of himself. In his ears he heard a humming of immense pressure. He swung the muzzle toward the professor's face, which tightened microscopically but remained otherwise passive. The barrel stopped short of striking skin. "I could kill you -"

Gilchrist said slowly, "I don't imagine you know the writing of Paul Verlaine. The French symbolist poet? No, of course not. I find his poems stu

Corde's breathing was fierce. He felt himself hyperventilating. He grabbed Gilchrist's collar and pressed the gun muzzle against his ear.

"Ah," Gilchrist said in a silky voice, "remember her. Remember Sarah. Our conversation mustn't become so obfuscated by passion that we forget that only I know where she is. Obfuscated. Can you deduce what that means, Detective? Can you?"

Corde shoved Gilchrist away and stepped back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He felt that he was the cornered animal and that it was Gilchrist who was playing him.

"Detective, you continually misunderstand whom you're dealing with. I'm not a thug barricaded in a convenience shop. Your concept of intelligence is that it gets you to the bottom row of a category in Jeopardy! I'm different in kind from people like Je

"I've been studying you and your family since the morning after Je

"Undoubtedly we could put you on the couch and wrench up some reason for this chronic tenacity. You fell asleep at the wheel once or twice when it mattered, didn't you? When was it? Not too formative, I'd guess. Your teenage years? Maybe later. Whatever happened, you'll be paying it off for a long time. I was sure you'd plod along until you stumbled across me.

"Sarah was the perfect distraction. At first I convinced her to run away. When that didn't work I decided I'd infiltrate, throw you off the track. The town wanted a Moon Killer so I ski

He pointed to a Polaroid camera. "I'm quite some photog, don't you think? Oh, an aside: I detected that your wife's contraceptive had not been much used of late. Are we in the middle of the sixteen-year itch? Have you noticed any change in her recently? Her pathetically polished fingernails? Her sudden interest in eye shadow? Did you know she and Breck have been for several walks in the forest?"

The professor smiled and lifted his hands like a TV preacher. "Did you know that while that buffoon of a deputy was supposed to be guarding the old homestead, I was browsing through your bedroom? I opened your dresser and rearranged Diane's panties. I smelled her pillow. I washed my hands with her cheap L'Air du Las soap. Oh, I sat on Sarah's bed. I caressed your son's pajamas. It was all so fascinating to me! I lecture – excuse me, I used to lecture – about psychology every day. I've written articles for the most prestigious journals in the field, journals…" He cocked an eyebrow with amusement. "… that perhaps you've tried to read. But I don't do clinical practice. Toying with your family has amused me greatly. Entwining them in this whole matter. I drew you away from the nest. I sent you to Lewisboro. I sold a handful of credit cards to this polyester thug in a bar in Fitzberg so you'd hightail it over there. Then I circled back. I followed that fool Breck -" Gilchrist sneered the name. "- and I killed him deader than Dreiser's prose. I did all that, Detective, right under your nose and I escaped."

"But," Corde said, "here I am."

The smile on the professor's face did not diminish. "But I… have your daughter."

"I want to know where she is!" Corde shouted in anguish.

"Stating the obvious," Gilchrist snorted, "diminishes you, as a late colleague of mine used to say."

Sarah, cry for me, baby! Shout, scream…

"You son of a bitch!" The menace in Corde's voice rose to the distant smudged ceiling. It seemed to break the shafts of weak light that fell onto the bloodred carpet. Corde pressed his revolver forward and the hammer actually started back. Gilchrist's eyes registered an instant of monumental fear then became calm and conciliatory. He lifted a palm. "She's all right. I swear it."

"Where is she?"

Gilchrist's eyes swept over him. The smile had faded. He was now composed and his face was a mask of concern. "I can't tell you that. I'm sorry."

"If you've hurt her -" Corde stepped forward, his hand kneading the gun.

"She's fine," Gilchrist said in a soothing voice. "Think, Detective. Why would I hurt her? I kidnapped her because I needed some insurance. I couldn't stop you any other way." He spread his hands out in front of him. "Look… You found out where I was. I had to protect myself."

"I swear I'll kill you if you don't tell me what you've done with her." He stifled a spiny urge to fire a bullet into Gilchrist's leg or elbow.

The professor's voice was suavely reassuring. "I haven't done anything with her. She's safe." He nodded at his suitcase. "As long as I get out of here she'll be fine. If you hurt me or arrest me you'll never see her again. It's as simple as that."

Corde stepped forward and held the gun close to Gilchrist's face. "Where is she?" he cried.