machine and took it back to his desk. After rereading the message one more time, he picked up the Eastbury phone book and flipped to the K’s.
No Phillip Kramer was listed.
Turning to the city directory, he looked up the address. The current occupants were Mr. and Mrs. Roland P. Strassman.
Bronski picked up the phone, dialed their number, and a moment later was talking to Mrs. Roland P., whose name turned out to be Mary.
She and her husband had bought the house from Phillip Kramer eight years ago.
No, Mr. Kramer had not been married. Yes, she was sure. In all the papers she and Rolly had signed, Mr. Kramer had always been referred to as “a single man,” which had struck her as funny, even though Roily had told her it was the proper way to talk about someone in legal papers. So she was sure Mr. Kramer hadn’t been married.
Bronski thanked her for the information, then sat at his desk, thinking.
His mind kept coming back to the telex.
First the chief had mentioned it, and if Bronski knew Cantrell as well as he thought he did, there was a reason. And then this message, which seemed totally irrelevant, yet made him uneasy.
Nine-year-old boy. Father’s name different from son’s.
Unwanted child?
Possibly born in Eastbury?
Bronski looked at the clock once more, then at the closed door of Orville Cantrell’s office. Making up his mind, he buttoned his collar and slipped into his coat As he started out of the building, the desk sergeant grinned at him. “Hot case, or cold beer?”
Bronski returned the grin, though he didn’t feel amused. “Maybe a little of both. But if the chief asks, tell him I’m working on the A&P thing, okay?”
“Sure.”
As he headed toward Lucy Corliss’s house, Bronski made a special point of driving down Brockton Street, past Charlie Hyer’s A&P. And just as he passed it, he noted with a certain amount of pleasure, it turned four o’clock.
He was off duty.
Chapter 20
JASON MONTGOMERY WRIGGLED uncomfortably in his chair and began counting the raisins in his cereal. Usually it was no more than a game. First he’d try to guess the number, then see if he was right. But this morning it was more: He was concentrating on his cereal in a vain attempt to shut out the sound of his parents’ voices.
It seemed to Jason as if the fighting was getting worse. Last week, when he had first become aware that his mother and father were mad at each other, they’d at least waited until he’d gone to bed before they started arguing.
This morning they didn’t even seem to know he was there. It was as if he were invisible. He looked up at his parents, who were sitting at either end of the dining-room table. Neither of them seemed aware of him. They were staring at each other, his mother’s face stony and his father’s red with anger.
“All I want you to do is go see Wiseman this afternoon,” he heard his father say. “Is that going to be so horrible? For God’s sake, he’s been your doctor for years. How can it hurt to go see him?”
“I already saw him,” Sally replied. “And I don’t trust him anymore.”
“But you do trust a woman you hardly know who’s not exactly in good shape herself?”
Sally’s eyes narrowed as she glared down the length of the table. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”
Steve sighed. Even though it was only 7:30, he already felt exhausted. “It just means that maybe Lucy Corliss could use some counseling herself.”
“How would you know?” Sally flared, the pitch of her voice rising dangerously. “You’ve never even talked to Lucy! How could you know what her mental condition is? Sometimes you talk like a damned fool!”
Putting down his spoon, Jason slid off his chair and left the dining room. But as he went upstairs to get his schoolbooks, his parents’ voices drifted after him, fighting about things he didn’t understand.
Was something wrong with Randy’s mother?
And why did his father want his mother to talk to Dr. Wiseman. Was something wrong with her?
He gathered up his books, stuffed them into his green bookbag, then went back downstairs. He looked through the living room into the dining room, and though he couldn’t see his father, he could see the tears on his mother’s cheeks.
Should he go in and kiss her good-bye? But if he did, and she didn’t stop crying, he’d probably start crying himself.