“Stuff to make them, I think. Milky stuff. I saw a TV show about a drug lab one time. Like that.”
Boldt said, “And the duffel bag had this stuff in it.”
“In plastic things. Like for leftovers. Must have been a dozen of them.”
“Tupperware.”
“Taped shut with silver tape. And they had chemistry stuff written on them. You know? Letters and numbers.”
“What else did you find in the camper?” Boldt asked. Eye to eye with Ben, who remained on the stool, Boldt told him, “You know what immunity is, Ben? You have immunity. Nothing you tell us can get you in trouble. We didn’t read you your rights, did we? Because you’re not a suspect, you’re a witness. Whatever you did is behind you. You can’t get in trouble for any of it. And Emily’s not going to get in trouble either. Okay? You don’t have to worry about it.”
“I didn’t take any money,” Ben stated.
Daphne said, “Ben, Sergeant Boldt didn’t mention money. If you lie to us, even once, then we can’t trust anything you tell us. Does that make sense to you? Do you see the importance of not lying?”
“Let’s forget about the money,” Boldt said, as much to Daphne as to Ben. “Let’s talk about who was there at the airport. When you called nine-one-one you said it was a drug
“I’m not your son.”
“How many people were there, Ben,” Daphne encouraged.
He didn’t think he should tell. Emily had warned him to never so much as touch one of the cars. It was illegal. But Daphne’s asking made it different.
“Two,” Ben answered. “Nick and this other guy.”
“The
Ben felt himself nod. The thing about Daphne was that she could get him to do things he didn’t plan on doing. It was almost as if she played tricks on him. The guys scared him, but not Daphne. He wanted her to hold him again; he wanted the others to leave so he could be alone with her. “What?” he asked her, seeing a strange look on her face.
“Sergeant Boldt needs a description of the other guy.”
“I didn’t see his face. He was over by some cars. It was dark. I couldn’t see him so good.”
The artist, on a stool alongside Ben, started sketching. Ben watched in amazement as the inside of the parking garage came to life on the page. “You were looking toward the inside or the outside?” the man asked.
“Inside,” Ben answered.
Boldt considered his words. “What’s amazing about when you see something is that there is stuff you see that you don’t even know you saw. You say you didn’t see his face because it was dark. That’s okay. Was he standing between some of the cars?”
Ben could recall the image clearly in his mind’s eye: a dark shape looking toward the truck. He felt the fear he had experienced, not knowing what to do. He nodded at Boldt. “Yeah, between some cars.”
“And was he taller or shorter than the cars?”
“Taller.” Ben understood then. “Yeah, taller,” he said proudly.
“My size? Danny’s size?” Boldt asked, pointing to the artist, who was shading the cars and making the page look even more realistic.
“Not as tall as you,” he told the sergeant. “Skinnier.”
Daphne smiled, and Boldt looked at her disapprovingly.
Boldt said, “Smaller all around, then? Shoulders, waist-a smaller frame?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s right.”
The artist worked furiously. On the page the shape of a body formed between two of the cars. Ben instructed the man, “He was standing back farther … was a little taller than that.” He couldn’t believe how clear it was in his mind. Seeing the artist’s sketch made it all so real for him-he knew exactly what was wrong with the picture. “There was a column there, you know? Yeah … like that. He was kinda leaning against it…. Yeah! There! That’s cool. Real cool.” He waited for the artist to get more of the guy on the page, then said, “His head was … I don’t know … thinner, you know?”
“Narrower?” Boldt asked.
“Yeah. Narrow. He had glasses. Big glasses, I think.” The artist corrected the head to where it was just right. He added the glasses three times until Ben said he had it. “A hat. One of those stretchy ones.”
“A knit cap,” Boldt said.
“Yeah. And a turtleneck up over his chin, I think. Or maybe a scarf or like the guys in the Westerns.”
“A bandanna,” Daphne said.
It amazed Ben how quickly the artist adjusted to every comment, how quickly it went down on the page. His hands moved in a flurry of activity, and when he pulled them away, it seemed like a Polaroid developing, the image growing out of nothing.
“Jeans?” Boldt asked.
“I couldn’t see his legs much,” Ben answered, more interested in the artist than Boldt. “No, not like that. Not a turtleneck, I guess.” The man erased it and tried a bandanna. “No. I don’t think so.” A moment later the man’s head changed completely. “Oh, wow! That’s it. That’s him.” The artist had drawn a hooded sweatshirt onto the man, the strings pulled tightly under his chin so that, when combined with the glasses, almost nothing showed of his face. “That’s it!” Ben repeated.
“The hood up like that?” Boldt asked.
“Just like that,” Ben answered.
“Any markings on the clothes?” Boldt questioned. “A sports team? A company logo? The name of a city or town?”
“You can shut your eyes if it helps,” Daphne said.
Ben tried shutting his eyes, and the image that was frozen while on the artist’s page suddenly came to life. He could smell the car exhaust, hear the airplanes and car traffic; the guy moved his head back and forth, first looking toward the truck where Ben hid, then toward the elevator and Nick with that duffel bag. Light sparked off his mouth. Ben decided to mention this. “His teeth are shiny.”
“Braces?” Boldt asked.
“I don’t know,” Ben said, his eyes still squinted shut. “Can’t see. Not exactly.”
“A gold tooth? A silver tooth?” Daphne asked.
“I don’t know,” Ben answered honestly. “Can’t see much.”
“What’s the man doing?” Boldt asked.
Ben described the scene for them, the guy in the shadows checking out Nick and the truck. “He’s careful, you know? He’s waiting for Nick to get on the elevator. And then he does-Nick does-and the guy is coming for me, right at me!” He talked them through his panic as the guy headed toward the truck, the sense of panic, of diving back under the seat, of the truck never moving under the weight of the man, and then hearing that lock click into place. His terror at being locked up for a second time.
“As he walked toward the truck,” Daphne said calmly, “he came closer to you, didn’t he, Ben?” She added, “Maybe he stepped out of the shadows a little. Into the light a little. Go ahead and shut your eyes and try to picture that for me, would you? Can you remember? Can you see it?” Her voice was soothing, the same voice that had comforted him in the car, and so he closed his eyes, just as she said to do, and sure enough, the dark sinister form stepped out of the shadows, and for an instant Ben thought he could see part of the man’s face. What made the experience especially strange for him was that he didn’t remember this at all. Instead, it felt as if Daphne had made him see something he had never seen.
“I don’t know….” he mumbled.
“Go ahead,” she encouraged.
“I’m not sure.”
“It’s all right, Ben. You’re safe here. It didn’t feel safe then, did it?”
“No way.”
“You were scared. He was coming toward you.”
“I can’t get out,” he told her. “The door is unlocked and I don’t dare go out there.”
