I shook my head.
'Then the pictures have to be Keiths,' Peak said. He made a show of being genuinely sorry that the pictures had turned up. Part of his new act, I decided, his effort to suggest that he'd come to me in search of an explanation, one that would get Keith off the hook. I had a photo shop, after all. Maybe I was interested in 'art pictures.' If so, as he'd already assured me, nothing would go further.
'The children are all girls,' Peak continued. 'They look to be around eight years old.' He bit his lower lip, then said. 'Nude.'
I felt the only safety lay in silence, so I said nothing.
'We've talked to Keith's teachers,' Peak said. 'He seems to have self-esteem problems.'
I saw Keith in my mind, the limp drag of his hair, how unkempt he was, the slouch of his shoulders, the drowsy, listless eyes. Was that the posture of his inner view of himself, hunched, sloppy, worthless?
'Low self-esteem is part of the profile,' Peak said.
I remained silent, afraid the slightest word might be used against my son, quoted by the prosecution, used to buttress the case, contribute to conviction.
'Of men who like children,' Peak added.
I clung to silence like the shattered bow of a sinking boat, the only thing that could keep me afloat in the rising water.
'Do you want to see the pictures?' Peak asked.
I didn't know what to do, couldn't figure out Peak's scheme. If I said no, what would that mean? And if I said yes, what would he gather from that?
'Mr. Moore?'
I raced to figure out the right answer, then simply tossed a mental coin.
'I guess I should,' I said.
He had them in his car, and as I made my way across the parking lot, I felt like a man following the hangman to the waiting gallows.
Peak got in behind the wheel. I took my place on the passenger side. He picked up the plain manila folder that rested on the seat between us. 'We printed these off Keiths computer. As I said, they're not illegal. But I'm sure you can understand that they're a problem for us, something we can't ignore.'
I took the envelope and drew out the pictures. The stack was about half an inch thick, twenty, maybe thirty photographs. One by one, I went through them, and just as Peak said, they weren't exactly pornographic. All of the girls were posed alone in natural settings, never indoors, little girls in bright sunlight, their tiny budding breasts barely detectible on their gleaming white chests. Naked, they sat on fallen trees or beside glittering streams. They were sometimes shot from the front, sometimes from the rear, sometimes their whole bodies in profile, standing erect, or sitting, knees to their chins, their arms enfolding their legs. They had long hair and perfectly proportioned bodies. They were beautiful in the flawless, innocent way of childhood beauty. None, I guessed, was more than four feet tall. None had pubic hair. All of them were smiling.
So what do you do at such a moment? As a father. What do you do after you've looked at such pictures, then returned them to the manila envelope, and lowered the envelope back down upon the car seat?
You do this. You look into the closely regarding eyes of another man, one who clearly thinks your son is, at best, a pervert, and at worse, a kidnapper, perhaps a rapist, a murderer. You look into those eyes and because you have no answer to the terrible accusation you see in them, you say simply, 'What about his room? Did you find anything?'
'You mean, magazines ... things like that?' Peak asked. 'No, we didn't.'
I hazarded another question. 'Anything connected to Amy?'
Peak shook his head.
'So where are we?'
'We're still investigating,' Peak said.
I looked at him evenly. 'What did you hope to get by showing me those pictures?'
'Mr. Moore,' Peak said evenly, 'in a case like this, it always goes better if we can stop the investigation.'
'Stop it with a confession, you mean,' I said.
'If Keith voluntarily gives us a statement, we can help him,' Peak said. He studied my face for a moment. 'The Giordanos want their daughter back They want to know where she is, and they want to bring her home.' He drew the envelope up against the side of his leg. 'And, of course, they want to know what happened to her,' he added. 'If it were your child, you'd want that, too, I'm sure.'
He was into the depths of his kinder, gentler ruse, but I'd had enough. 'I assume we're done,' I said sharply, then reached for the handle of the door. Peak's voice stopped me dead.
'Has Keith ever mentioned a man named Delmot Price?' Peak asked.
I recognized the name. 'He owns the Village Florist Shop. Keith delivers there sometimes.'
'And that's all you know about them?'
'Them?' I asked.
'We traced the call,' Peak said. 'I'm sure your lawyer has told you about it. The one the pizza deliveryman saw Keith making at the Giordanos'. It was placed to Delmot Price.'
I started to speak, then stopped and waited.
'He knows Keith quite well,' Peak added significantly.
I saw the car draw into the driveway as it had that night, its twin beams sweeping through the undergrowth, then Keith as he made his way down the unpaved road, brushed past the Japanese maple, and came into the house.
'Were they together that night?' I asked.
'Together?'
'Keith and Delmot Price.'
'What makes you think they were together?' Peak asked.
I couldn't answer.
'Mr. Moore?'
I shook my head. 'Nothing,' I said. 'Nothing makes me think they were together.'
Peak saw the wound open up in me. I was a deer and he was an archer who knew he'd aimed well. I could almost feel the arrow dangling from my side.
'Did you know Keith had a relationship with this man?' Peak asked.
'Is that what he has?'
'According to Price, it's sort of a father-son thing.'
'Keith has a father,' I said sharply.
'Of course,' Peak said softly, 'but he talks to Price, you know, about himself, his problems. That he's not happy. Feels isolated.'
'You think I don't know that about him?'
Peak seemed to be peering into my brain, looking through its many chambers, searching for the clue to me.
'I'm sure of one thing,' he said. 'You want to help Keith. We all want to help Keith.'
It was all I could do to keep from laughing in Peak's face because I knew it was an act, scripted, a carefully laid trap to get me to incriminate my son; Peak had been moving at just the right pace, dropping little bits of information, then holding back, waiting. Which he was doing now, his eyes very still until he blinked slowly, released a small sigh, then said, 'Did you know that Keith steals?'
I drew in a quick breath but did not reply.
'Price caught him stealing money from the cash register in his shop,' Peak said. 'Keith begged him not to say anything, and that's how they started talking.'
I pretended to scoff at the outrageous nature of this latest charge. 'That's ridiculous,' I said. 'Keith has everything he needs. And in addition, I pay him for the work he does at the shop.'
'Not enough evidently.'
'He has everything he needs,' I insisted. 'Why would he steal?'
Again, Peak waited for just the right amount of time before releasing his next arrow. 'According to Price, he's trying to get enough money to run away.'
