POLICE SERGEANT MISSING. FEARED DEAD.
Bryan read as he walked across the room, sliding slowly into a chair.
Last week Constable Hendricks was called to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Corning on Cress Street in Cambridge. The Cornings had complained several times that evening about noises from the next house and the police were sent to investigate. Similar complaints were also made by two other neighbours who have asked that their names be withheld. Constable Hendricks found the home of Sergeant Samuel Jaffre empty. A police revolver was found on the floor of the living room. Since then Sergeant Jaffre has been missing and the police suspect foul play.
Sergeant Jaffre had been a member of the police force for nearly seven years. His grandfather, the late K. L. Jaffre, had served as Chief Inspector for almost forty years.
"Liz ... this is terrible. We just saw him, when? Last week? We were talking about ... uh, about -"
"About the willow tree killings," said Liz quietly. "Bryan? Do you think that -"
"No, absolutely not. What evidence is there to suggest it has anything at all to do with the willow tree thing?" He looked at Liz, not really believing what he had said. She was staring at the floor. He waited.
"Bryan? When he was here last week ... I told him about the soul theory, remember?"
"Yes, I remember. He seemed interested in -"
"But wait, remember? He said that he had a theory too. Remember?"
"No, I don't remember that. He was just interested in your theory."
Liz ran the back of her hand across her cheek, sniffling, smearing her lipstick. "No, I'm certain. He said he had a theory too, but he wanted to hear mine - ours - first." Liz paused and looked up at Bryan. "I'm afraid we never gave him a chance to give us his theory. I just told him about the soul thing, then ... what? He left shortly after, I guess."
They stared at each other for some time without speaking. "Liz? What are you saying? Do you think that has something to do with his being missing? His theory I mean. It was about the willow tree deaths ... wasn't it?"
Liz got out of her chair, trembling. "Bryan, I think we should talk to the police. There's more to this than is in the Gazette. I'm sure that he was on to something and that he was - he was -"
"Oh Liz. You've been watching too much late night TV. You do have a weird imagination and I -"
"Bryan! We can't just let this lie there! We've got to know - I've got to know. He was a dear, dear friend and ..." She sat again and began to cry. Bryan reached over and touched her arm and she stopped crying, wiping her cheek. Bryan pulled a small white hankerchief from his shirt pocket and began wiping her eyes.
"Okay Liz. We'll go to the police, but I doubt that they'll tell us anything they didn't tell the Gazette." Liz leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.
Bryan leaned too, and fell between the chairs.
***
They sat in the car in front of Sam Jaffre's house for almost thirty minutes, arguing about what to do.
"I told you the police wouldn't tell us anything," said Bryan. "Maybe they just don't know any more than that: he's missing, that's all ... maybe dead."
"Why would they think him dead?"
"You remember what that constable said. Sam was working on something - something to do with several mysterious deaths."
"Of course, the willow tree deaths," said Liz.
"Liz. They could be wrong ... I mean about Sam dying mysteriously. Maybe he just went on a trip. Maybe he didn't tell anybody he was going. Maybe he died on a trip, of natural causes, and didn't come back."
"Died on a trip? You don't believe that and neither do I," said Liz. "Sam was as healthy as an ox."
"And he ate like a horse," added Bryan. "Okay, let's go in - I don't know what you expect to find. But wait until it's darker. I don't want any neighbours complaining about noises and calling the police. I'm not so sure we can get in. The doors will be locked and the windows too. He was a policeman you know. I'm sure he wouldn't leave anything open."
"You can always get into a house if you really want to. Just follow me." Liz opened the car door and slid out. Bryan was about to repeat his suggestion about waiting until it was darker, but just shook his head and followed her. They walked down the road, crossed the street and walked back toward Sam Jaffre's house. Two houses away, Liz walked across a neighbour's lawn and into the back yard. Bryan shrugged and followed, crouching. Liz climbed over a fence and across a lawn and over another fence until she stood behind Jafre's house. Lights from the other houses cast long shadows across the lawn and Bryan shivered, shrugged and followed Liz as she went to a basement window and pushed. It didn't move.
"What did you expect?" whispered Bryan. "Did you think it would just -"
"Shhh." Liz walked to the back and looked around and Bryan followed.
"What are we looking for?"
"Shhh." Liz picked up one of the bricks which lined the edge of a small rose garden.
"Hey, you can't do that," said Bryan in more than a whisper. Liz broke the basement window glass and reached in. She twisted something, pushed and the window opened.
"This is breaking and entering, especially breaking," said Bryan, his voice squeaking in an effort to shout quietly. Liz disappeared through the window and he followed. He hung with head and hands on the inside and legs on the outside until Liz pulled him through, then he fell to the floor and groaned. It was dark and he began to grope for a light switch.
"No, don't turn on any lights," she said. "Then the neighbours would really get suspicious. Just follow me." He did, up the stairs to the kitchen. "I think Sam's study is on the next floor, next to his bedroom," said Liz. Next to his bedroom? How did Liz know that?
"Now I wish I had brought a flashlight," Bryan mumbled.
Liz pulled out a flashlight and shone it into the corners of the room and over the walls. He followed her up the second flight of stairs. The stairs creaked and he stopped, then continued, and they creaked again. Liz had entered a room at the top of the stairs and he followed. It looked like a study: a desk covered with papers, shelves filled with hard cover books, a small TV and VCR and sofa and two standing lamps, one arched over the desk.
"Bingo," whispered Liz.
"Bingo what? What do you mean bingo? What have you found? What is it?"
"Shhh." Liz held up a small notebook. "Inspector Jaffre's notebook," she whispered.
"What kind of bingo is that? We've already seen that book. What do you think we'll find now? Why do you -"
"Shhh. I hear something. Listen."
They both stood very still. A thin stream of light came suddenly through the curtains and Bryan jumped. "Just the street lights," said Liz. "They come on pretty late around here, eh what?" Bryan couldn't understand her flippant attitude. They were breaking the law and she was -
"Shhh. Listen. Hear that?"
There was definitely a sound, like humming, coming from the first floor. Liz switched off her flashlight, slipped the notebook into her pocket, walked slowly to the top of the stairs and looked down. There was a light, from somewhere. She began to descend the stairs, stopping each time they creaked. The light wavered and she continued to the bottom, looking intently at the arched doorway to the living room. The light came from there. The stairs creaked behind her and she heard Bryan breathing heavily. The light from the room below wavered then brightened then rose and fell in brightness. She wanted to say something to Bryan, to tell him to be quiet, not to breath, not to say a thing, but she thought better of it. Surely he wouldn't speak, not at a time like this.
"What's that?" whispered Bryan hoarsely.
The light dimmed and wavered. Liz turned and put her finger to her lips. They stood for several minutes, silent, staring at the wavering light. The humming had stopped for a moment but now started again. It became louder and more shrill. Surely it would attract the neighbours. At the bottom of the stairs, Liz lowered herself to her knees and began to crawl to the living r
oom door. Bryan sat on the bottom stair and waited, his hands folded between his knees. When he saw Liz stop and peer around the corner into the living room he started to crawl after her. He reached her feet and paused, then climbed over her back. Liz was stiff and motionless, staring into the room. He stopped, crawled forward again and peered around the corner. They both stared in amazement, speechless, lying one on top of the other on the floor, at the doorway. The light had increased and the humming was louder. The far wall of the room seemed to glow and there was a dark figure silhouetted against the glowing wall, hands held horizontally, swaying from side to side. Then they saw that the glow was moving; shapes flickering and rising and shimmering, luminescent. Bryan gasped and the dark figure spun about and raised its hands and the humming stopped suddenly and the shapes rose abruptly.
Bryan scurried back from the doorway, pulled Liz off the floor and ran stumbling toward the back door. Liz followed, running in the dark, running into the kitchen table, the humming growing louder behind her, the room becoming brighter, glowing, and Bryan struggled with the lock and the door burst open and Liz pushed him through. They fell off the edge of the porch, scrambled to their feet and ran across the back lawn, the humming seeming to follow them, and they leaped the low fence simultaneously and continued without stopping across the neighbour's lawn streaked with light from the windows, over another fence and down the alley and across the street.
The humming had stopped.
***
Their car was across from Sam Jaffre's house and there was a faint light from the living room window which flickered, then went out. They crouched behind a bush for several minutes watching the front door, expecting to see some apparition emerge and drift across the street, down the street toward them, shimmering, incandescent.
Nothing. The house was dark.
A neighbour was standing in pyjamas on his front steps looking in the direction of Jaffre's house, shaking his head. Then he turned and walked back into his house. Liz pulled Bryan from behind the bush and began to slink down the sidewalk toward their car. He followed reluctantly. They slid into the car and drove slowly down the street, afraid to look back.
When they were back at WILL T WERS they climbed the stairs, let themselves into the apartment and headed for the living room, collapsing into chairs. They hadn't spoken a word in nearly 20 minutes. It was Bryan who spoke first:
"What ... uh, what did we see?"
Liz wiped her hand across her cheek, first the left then the right. She leaned back and closed her eyes, breathing heavily. Bryan was staring at her, waiting for a response.
"Liz? What did we see? What do you think it was?" He waited. Liz opened her eyes and spoke in a voice so soft that he couldn't hear the words. "What? Liz? What was that?"
"The soul of the willow," she whispered. She leaned forward and stared directly at Bryan, face ashen, her hands clinging to the arms of her chair, knuckles red. "We saw the soul of the willow."
CHAPTER 19
Friends of the Willow: June, 1984
Bryan lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking. Liz was sleeping soundly. This had gone far enough and he was glad that Liz had agreed, finally, to drop the whole thing. They had returned to Sam Jaffre's place the day after their night visit - dragged the police along. Nothing. They had explained, as best they could, what they had done and seen that night and they had been charged with unlawful entry. They had explained their concern for a dear friend to the judge and the case had been dismissed.
Then Liz had insisted on inspecting the roots on Willow Walk but the roots seemed to have vanished. Then they had visited the property of Miss Sophie Brenner and had been asked to leave by the present owners. They had tried to explain and had suffered verbal abuse. Indeed, they had never heard such foul language. They had spent hours in the archives looking through old newspapers, but there was nothing which shed any more light on the mysterious deaths.
They were safe at Willow Towers and they should just stay there. Stop investigating mysterious happenings. Stop thinking about unworldly, impossible events.
Yet, they had spent hours debating, creating and destroying theories. They had even begun to differ in their explanations of what had happened that night at Sam Jaffre's house. Liz had insisted that she saw the shape of a tree, tall and black, standing in the middle of the room, branches stretched toward the ceiling. Bryan had insisted that it was the shape of a man, black against the light of a glowing fire. Sam Jaffre's house didn't have a fireplace and Bryan had changed his story: it was a black shadow against the light of the moon, streaming through the window. They had often gone to bed, arguing, then not speaking to each other for days. Bryan's students sensed a difference; his lectures were stilted, monotone, boring. Class attendance dropped off. Liz had skipped several classes complaining of headaches and had been reprimanded by the department head.
So they had decided to drop the whole thing. It was not their problem. Sam may have gone on a trip and might show up at any time. It wasn't worth the effort. That was over a month ago. It took weeks for their life to return to normal. Now it was normal, or as normal as he had remembered it to be.
Bryan rolled over and kissed Liz gently on the forehead. She always slept with her mouth half-open and he could tell when she was about to awaken: her mouth would close. Now her mouth closed and he stared at her. To him she seemed more beautiful than when they had married - how long ago was that? He had forgotten. Her blond hair lay in a wild tangle over the pillow. He kissed her again.
Liz opened her eyes and turned toward Bryan.
"Mornin' darling," she moaned, stretching her arms over his neck.
"Aaah, you're choking me. Help!" She poked him and he grinned.
"I'm the evil willow ... come to strangle -" she began, then stopped.
They stared at each other, quietly.
"Liz," Bryan said slowly, "you promised. No more talk of the - the what's-its-name."
"Okay. Okay. No more ... sorry."
"I'll toss you to see who makes breakfast," she said, running her hands over his stomach. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. "On second thought, you're just a little too large to toss. Maybe you can toss me."
He tried to grab her, she jumped out of bed and he fell sprawling to the floor, covered in blankets. She ran out, still in her nightgown, he picked himself off the floor, straightened the bed as well as he was able and walked into the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror, stroked his chin, ran his hand over his thinning hair, opened his mouth and grunted. It was Saturday. He didn't plan on doing anything except a little reading. No need to change or shave or wash, not just yet. He wandered out of the bathroom, staggered into the hall and into the living room. He could hear the coffee grinder.
"Hey! I thought we were going to toss to see who makes breakfast!"
He ran to the kitchen and tripped over an end table. The drawer slid out, papers and pencils skimming across the floor together with a small notebook. He ignored the mess.
"I say, Miss. Can I be of assistance? I see you are planning to make breakfast," he said, leaning against the door and peeking into the kitchen. "It just so happens that I have a PhD in Culinary Science. My thesis was on Breakfasts: the art of making same."
He pulled Liz away from the counter as she was pouring the coffee into the percolator and the ground coffee scattered across the floor.
"I hope you have a Master's degree in Messy Floors: the art of cleaning same," she said, leaving the room and waving her hand over her shoulder.
He groaned and looked at the ground coffee, covering half the counter and the entire floor.
"As a mathematician I first reduce this double problem to a single problem." He drew his arm across the counter and swept the coffee to the floor. "Now I solve the single problem."
He wet a dish towel and bent to scoop the coffee from the floor and bumped his head on the counter. He stepped backward abruptly, dropped the wet towel and
slipped on it.
Liz returned in a print dress with ruffles at the collar, holding a small notebook in her hand. Bryan was on the floor. "Guess what I found?" she said. Bryan was only half-conscious. "Oh no - not again," she moaned, staring at his dormant body, covered in coffee grounds.
Liz sat on a chair and opened the notebook, seemingly unconcerned at Bryan's plight. "Well, let me read what it says here - Sam added something at the end." Bryan groaned. "He thought that the bones of the child, found under the tree ..."
She stopped reading then watched as Bryan rolled on to his side, still groaning.
"Oh well, we needn't go into that," she said. "We're finished with this project, right?"
Bryan groaned again and Liz slipped the notebook into a pocket and pulled him to his feet.
***
They had just finished their first cup of coffee when there was a knock on the door and Liz answered.
"Mr. and Mrs. Bryan Laker? My name is Michael Colby, the owner of this apartment building," said the tall man at the door.
"Yes, Mr. Colby. Please come in and join us for coffee," answered Liz. "We've never met, but we certainly know your name."
Bryan was looking over her shoulder at the man in the dark silk suit and red tie. Colby stooped to go through the doorway and they sat in the kitchen around the small chrome and plastic table. Liz poured a coffee but Colby ignored it, looking instead at the rooms. It had been some time since he had visited Willow Towers; it was a mess.
"Why I've come ... the building has been sold. The new owners want an empty building and would make it worth your while to ... well, seek other accommodations."
Liz sat down. Bryan stood up.
"Why? Surely they want tenants. We're really not excited about moving. The location is perfect for both of us. Liz and I both teach at the college and - "
Colby raised his hand and Bryan stopped talking. "I understand. They can't force you out, not unless they intend to demolish the building, and they ain't doing that. However I understand that the apartments won't be rented. The new owner intends to turn this place into some kind of - what? - some kind of meeting place for a club. I agreed to ask the current tenants to leave and they have all agreed. You're the last I've talked to. The new owner won't need the building for another four months and will give the tenants that much time, rent-free, to find new accommodations."