mind. The roof of the cupola that was the fourth floor was flat, so it didn’t seem like the machinery that ran the elevator could be up there.
But what if the cables that hauled the car up and down were on pulleys, and came back down through the walls? There was lots of room for machines down here.
He turned away from the shaft, his eyes following the single branch of the cable conduit. Perhaps fifteen feet away the pipe disappeared through a wall made of concrete blocks.
Blocks that looked much newer than the concrete of the basement floor, and which were pierced by a door.
His heart beating faster, Josh started toward the door.
Hildie Kramer pulled up in front of the Aldriches’ house. A police cruiser sat in the driveway, and a uniformed officer opened the door even before she rang the bell.
“Mrs. Kramer? I’m Sergeant Dover. The boy’s in the kitchen.” He nodded toward the living room and the kitchen behind it. “Through there.”
Hildie strode across the living room, pausing at the door to the kitchen. Jeff, still in his pajamas and bathrobe, sat at the kitchen table. When he looked up at her, the first thing she noticed was that his eyes were dry.
His face was pale, but his eyes were dry.
“I didn’t know who to call,” he said. “None of my family lives around here.”
Hildie went to the boy, lowering her heavy frame down to her knees so she could put her arms around him as he sat in the chair. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
Jeff turned to face her. “Can I go back to school now?” he asked.
Hildie’s breath caught in her throat. She looked at Jeff once more. Slowly, she began to understand.
No tears.
His voice was steady.
He didn’t care.
His parents were both dead, and he didn’t care.
Hildie’s mind raced. Had the officer noticed? Or had he simply assumed that Jeff was in shock and the truth of what had happened hadn’t yet penetrated?
“I—I don’t know,” she said. “Let me talk to Sergeant …” Her voice trailed off as the policeman’s name escaped her mind.
“Dover,” Jeff told her. “His name’s Sergeant Dover.”
Taking a deep breath, Hildie pulled herself back to her feet and went into the living room, where the officer was talking to someone on the telephone. He signaled her to wait, cut his conversation short and hung up. “Is he all right?” he asked.
Hildie shook her head. “Of course he isn’t. I’m not sure he even knows quite what’s happened yet But he wants to know if I can take him to the Academy.” As Dover’s brows knit into a puzzled frown, Hildie hurried on, wanting to press her advantage before the policeman had time to think it out clearly. “I suspect it isn’t so much going to the Academy he wants, as it is to leave the house right now. Given what’s happened, it must be hard for him to be here.”
“I think we should notify his family,” Dover began.
Hildie nodded immediately. “I can take care of all that. We have all his records at the Academy, and both Chet and Jeanette work—worked—at the university. Of course, I’ll do whatever’s necessary, but …” She deliberately left the words hanging, wanting the final decision to come from Dover.
There would be no suggestion that she had simply come to the house, scooped Jeff up, and left with him.
Dover made up his mind. It had been bad enough having to come here and tell a twelve-year-old kid his folks were dead, without having to call the people’s parents as well. When it came to kids, Dover had never known what to do anyway. For the half hour he’d been here, he’d hardly been able to say anything to the boy at all. At least this woman knew kids, and knew Jeff. “If you could, that would probably make it easier on the families,” he agreed. “If he has a grandmother, or something, it would sure help. I mean, if he doesn’t, we can call the social service people and find someplace for him to stay.”
“I don’t think that should become necessary,” Hildie told him. “I think either Chet or Jeanette has family in the city, and I’ll be in touch with them this morning. I doubt whether the social service people will have to get involved.”
“We’ll have to see what the family has to say,” Dover replied noncommittally, “and I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you for some ID. Not that I don’t believe you