Conspircaies

at least fifty years old.'

'Can't be. Look at this. It's obvious the concrete was poured around the ladder.'

'Look at the concrete, Jack. This is old.'

Jack had to admit he was right. The concrete was cracked, chipped, obviously old. And Jack could find no telltale seam that would indicate a recent patch.

'What we have here,' Jack said, 'is what you call a mystery.'

As he was straightening, Jack noticed a small dark splotch on the concrete. He leaned closer. Half-dollar sized, black, irregular, flared on its edges, it looked like some sort of scorch mark. He scanned the rest of the nearby floor and found seven more, evenly spaced in a three-foot area around where the ladder disappeared into the concrete.

'Any idea what might have made these?'

'Not the slightest,' Lew said.

Jack rose and looked around. Two steel columns supported the central beam; the foot of the staircase was attached to one of them. Not much else: a washer and dryer, a sump pump in the corner, a sagging couch against the rear wall, a rickety old desk, a folded card table and some chairs. Jack went to the desk. An electric screwdriver, a wrench, a dozen or so nuts and bolts sat on the top, along with three large, oblong, amber quartz crystals. The drawers were empty.

Still scratching at his chest, he turned and stared at the rope ladder. Something about this really bothered him, but did it have anything to do with Melanie Ehler's disappearance? Jack couldn't see how.

'All right,' he said. 'Let's go back upstairs.'

'I told you there was nothing here,' Lew said, once they reached the kitchen.

'That you did.'

Lew's cell phone rang. While he spoke to someone in California about a late shipment, Jack wandered back to Melanie's bedroom, looking at the photos, trying to get a feel for her. No pics with other kids, only adults, undoubtedly family members. Not a lot of smiles in those pictures. A serious child.

He opened a closet and pulled a box off the shelf. A bunch of old dolls, Barbie and the like, some dressed, some not. He was about to put it back when he noticed that one of the dolls was missing its left hand. Not broken off or cut off…more like whittled off, ending in a point.

Odd…

He pulled out another and found its left hand whittled away as well. And the others—each missing its left hand. Some forearms had concentric grooves near the end, as if they'd been stuck in a pencil sharpener. ' Beyond odd into very weird.

Jack returned the box and stared at the ten- or twelve-year-old girl in one of the larger photos. Dark hair and dark, piercing eyes, and somewhat pretty. Why aren't you happy, kid? Can someone make you smile? Where are you now? And why do you want only me to look for you?

Jack was hooked now. He was going to have to find this strange lady and ask her face to face.

He wandered back to the kitchen as Lew was finishing his call.

'Sorry,' Lew said. 'That call couldn't wait.'

'Speaking of calls,' Jack said, 'is there anybody we can call that Melanie might have called? A friend? A relative?'

'No relatives, but she did have one childhood friend in Monroe she kept in touch with. His name's Frayne Canfield. He's in SESOUP too.'

'All right. Let's get in touch with him.'

Lew shrugged and called information on his cell phone, punched in a number, listened for a moment, then broke the connection.

'His answering machine says he'll be out of town for a few days but he'll be checking his messages.'

Interesting, Jack thought. Mel's away…her old friend's away…

'What are you thinking?' Lew said.

As he spoke, Jack stared out the kitchen window at the backyard where an old swing set rusted under another big oak. The itching on his chest seemed to have eased.

'I'm thinking that people disappear for two reasons: they run away or are abducted. Either way, in almost every case, someone they know is involved. Yet all the people Melanie 'knows' except for you and this Frayne Canfield are spread all over the globe.'

'Not this week, they're not. Most of them, including Frayne Canfield, I'm sure, will be in Manhattan for the first annual SESOUP conference.'

Lew started toward the front door. Jack followed.

'Is that where she promised to 'blow all other theories out of the water' with her Grand Unification Theory?'

'The very same.'

'And Roma will be there too, I assume?'

'Of course. He put it all together.'

Jack felt as if a weight suddenly had been lifted from his shoulders. All the possible suspects in one place— perfect.

'When's it start and how do I get into this conference?'

'Day after tomorrow, but you can't get in. Members only—and only one guest each.'

'Then I'll be yours.'

'I'm not a member. I'm Mel's guest.'

'Why so restrictive?'

'I told you—it's very exclusive. This is serious business for them.'

'I want you to get me in.'

'Why? Mel won't be there.'

'Yeah, but I bet the person who knows where she is will be.'

'Yes,' Lew said, his Adam's apple moving in and out as he nodded. 'I can see that. I'll see what I can work out. But you'll need a cover story.'

As they stepped out the front door, movement on the street caught Jack's eye. At the far corner of the property to his right, a black sedan began pulling away from the curb. He watched its rear end coast away.

He wondered about that. Had they been followed? He didn't remember seeing any cars parked on the street when he arrived.

'Why do I need a cover story?' he asked Lew.

'I assume you're not planning to go up to people and ask them if they've seen Melanie Ehler lately.'

'Well, no. I figure you'll introduce me around—'

'But you need a reason to be there and a connection to Mel. I'll think on it. The conference is in the Clinton Regent—you know the place?'

'Vaguely. Not exactly the Waldorf.'

Far from it. If Jack remembered correctly, the Clinton Regent was in Hell's Kitchen.

'Well, SESOUP's membership isn't exactly poor, but the typical midtown room rate is over two hundred dollars a night, plus twenty-five percent additional in taxes. That would strain a lot of budgets. Roma got the Regent to give us a more affordable rate if we could fill the whole hotel, which we will.'

'Okay. I'll see you there Thursday morning. What time?'

'Registration opens at noon. Meet me in the lobby around eleven-thirty. I'll have something cooked up for you by then.'

They parted—Lew heading back to Shoreham, Jack to Manhattan.

He rubbed his fingers against his pants leg. Why couldn't he get them to feel dry?

7

He awakens feeling wet. He turns on the light and sees that his sheets are red. He leaps from the bed with a cry of alarm. The sheets, top and bottom, are soaked with red, so are his shorts and T- shirt.

Blood. But whose?