Tunnels

As they followed the policeman they gasped, thinking that somehow they must have entered the wrong room. The television, that eternal flame that burned in the corner, was silent and dark, and — just as remarkable — the room was incredibly neat and tidy. During the time when Mrs. Burrows had led her hermitlike existence and neither Will nor Rebecca had set foot inside, both had assumed it had degenerated into an unholy mess, and they pictured it littered with half-consumed food, empty wrappers, and dirty plates and cups. They couldn't have been more wrong. It now looked spotless — but what was more astounding was their mother herself. Instead of her drab couch-potato garb of bathrobe and slippers, she had changed into one of her best summer dresses, done her hair, and even put on some makeup.

Will stared at her in sheer disbelief, wondering what in the world could have brought about this abrupt transformation. He could only think that she was imagining she was playing a part in one of the TV murder mystery series she so adored, but this didn't make the scene before him any more explicable.

'Mum, this is… this is…' he spluttered.

'Detective Chief Inspector Beatty,' his sister helped him out.

'Please do come in,' Mrs. Burrows said, rising from her armchair and smiling pleasantly.

'Thank you, Mrs. Burrows… I know this is a difficult time.'

'No, not at all.' Mrs. Burrows beamed. 'Rebecca, would you please put the kettle on and make us all a nice cup of tea?'

'That's very kind, thank you, ma'am,' Inspector Beatty said, hovering awkwardly in the center of the room.

'Please.' Mrs. Burrows motioned toward the sofa. 'Please, make yourself comfortable.'

'Will, you can give me a hand,' Rebecca said, grabbing her brother by the arm as she tried to shepherd him toward the door. He didn't move, still rooted to the spot by the sight of his mother who, it seemed, was once more the woman she hadn't been for years.

'Uh… yeah… oh, yes…' he managed.

'Do you take sugar?' Rebecca asked the detective, still tugging at Will's arm.

'No, white and no sugar, thank you,' he replied.

'Right, milk, no sugar — and Mum, just the two sweeteners?'

Her mother smiled and nodded at her, and then at Will, as if she was amused by his bewilderment. 'And maybe some cookies, Will?'

Will snapped out of his trance, turned, and accompanied Rebecca into the kitchen, where he stood in wide- mouthed disbelief, shaking his head.

* * * * *

While Will and Rebecca were out of the room, the detective spoke to Mrs. Burrows in a low, serious voice. He said that they had been doing everything they could to locate Dr. Burrows, but since there was no news at all of his whereabouts they had decided to step up the investigation. This would entail circulating the photograph of Dr. Burrows more widely and conducting a 'detailed interview,' as he put it, with her down at the station. They also wanted to speak to anyone else who'd had contact with Dr. Burrows just prior to his disappearance.

'I'd like to ask you a few questions now, if that's all right. Let's start with your husband's job,' the detective said, looking at the door and wondering when his tea was going to arrive. 'Did he mention anyone in particular at the museum?'

'No,' Mrs. Burrows replied.

'I mean, is there someone there he might have confided in…?'

'About where he's gone?' Mrs. Burrows completed the sentence for him, and then laughed coldly. 'You won't have any luck with that line of investigation, I'm afraid. That's a dead end.'

The detective sat up in his chair, a little baffled by Mrs. Burrows's response.

She continued. 'He runs the place single-handed; their isn't any other staff. You might consider interviewing the old codgers that hung out with him, but don't be surprised if their memories aren't what they used to be.'

'No?' Inspector Beatty said, a small smile showing at the edges of his mouth as he wrote in his notebook.

'No, most of them are in their eighties. And why, may I ask, do you want to interview me and my children? I have already told the police everything I know. Shouldn't you be putting out an APB?'

'An APB?' The detective grinned broadly. 'We don't use that term here in England. We put emergencies out over the radio—'

'And my husband isn't an emergency, I suppose?'

At that moment, Will and Rebecca appeared with the tea, and the room went quiet as Rebecca put the tray on the coffee table and passed around the mugs. Will, clutching a plate of cookies, also entered the room and, since the detective didn't seem to object to either him or Rebecca remaining there, they both sat down. The silence grew uneasily. Mrs. Burrows was glaring at the detective, who was looking into his tea.

'I think we may be getting ahead of ourselves here, Mrs. Burrows. Can we just focus on your husband again?' he said.

'I think you will find that we are all very focused on him. It's you I'm worried about,' Mrs. Burrows said tersely.

'Mrs. Burrows, you have to realize that some people don't…' the detective began, '…don't want to be found. They want to disappear because, maybe, life and its pressures have become too much for them to handle.'

'Too much to handle?' Mrs. Burrows echoed furiously.

'Yes, we have to take that possibility into consideration.'

'My husband couldn't take pressure? What pressure, exactly? The problem was that he never had any pressure at all — or drive, for that matter.'

'Mrs. B—' The detective tried to get a word in, glancing helplessly at Will and Rebecca, who were both looking back and forth from him to their mother as if they were spectators watching a rally in a particularly savage tennis match.

'Don't think I don't know that most murders are committed by family members,' their mother proclaimed.

'Mrs. Burr—'

'That's why you want to question us at the station, isn't it? To find out whether we dunnit.'

'Mrs. Burrows,' the detective began again quietly, 'nobody's suggesting that a murder has been committed here. Do you think we might start over, see if we can get off on the right foot this time?' he proposed, valiantly trying to regain control of the situation.

'Sorry. I know you're only doing your job,' Mrs. Burrows said in a calmer voice, then sipped her tea.

Inspector Beatty nodded, grateful she had stopped her tirade, and took a deep breath as he glanced down at his notebook. 'I know it's a difficult thing to think about,' he said, 'but did your husband have any enemies? Maybe from business dealings?'

At this, much to Will's surprise, Mrs. Burrows put her head back and laughed out loud. The detective muttered something about taking that as a no as he scribbled in his little black notebook. He seemed to have regained some of his composure.

'I have to ask these questions,' he said, looking straight at Mrs. Burrows. 'Did you ever know him to drink excessively or take drugs?'

Again Mrs. Burrows unleashed a loud hoot of laughter. 'Him?' she said. 'You've got to be joking!'

'Righto. So what did he do in his spare time?' the detective asked in a flat voice, trying his very best to get the questions over and done with as quickly as he could. 'Did he have any hobbies?'

Rebecca immediately shot a glance at Will.

'He used to do excavations… archaeological digs,' Mrs. Burrows answered.

'Oh, yes.' The detective turned to Will. 'I understand you helped him out, didn't you, son?' Will nodded. 'And where did you do all this digging?'

Will cleared his throat and looked at his mother, and then at Inspector Beatty, who was waiting, pen held expectantly in hand, for an answer.

'Well, all over, really,' Will said. 'Near the edge of town, at garbage dumps and places like that.'