Act of Betrayal Read Online Free PDF Page B

faced the Boulevard. The customers’ entrance was at the back. Motorists formed lines to drive-through bays where fast-working crews changed the oil, checked filters, fluids, wipers, tires, and batteries, vacuumed the interiors, and washed the windows—all in ten minutes. The cheerful waiting room inside had a color TV tuned to a soap opera, a half-full coffeepot, a fresh newspaper, and a window to the cashier’s cubicle.
    Randolph was printing out a credit card receipt for a waiting customer. His somber face brightened when he saw me and he waved me into the small glass-enclosed office where we could see both the crews at work and the waiting room.
    â€œLet’s start at the beginning,” I said, sitting in front of a metal shelf stacked with bold red and yellow cans of brake fluid and tune-up spray.
    He nodded and settled into a chair across from me, manila folder in his hand, his look less desperate. Somebody now shared his lifeboat, or had at least acknowledged his cries for help.
    â€œCharles was born here in Dade County?”
    â€œBaptist Hospital. I was there. They let fathers in the delivery room. Two days before our seventh anniversary.” He paused, then added, “My wife had had four miscarriages. This boy made up for all that, never gave us a minute’s trouble.”
    Charles, in excellent health, he said, had left as usual on a sunny Saturday morning, dressed for work in a blue denim shirt over a T-shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers.
    â€œNot his good high-tops, just a pair he used for working on boats,” his father said slowly. “He usually came home by four. My wife felt a little uneasy by five, five-thirty. The three of us always ate supper together and Charles knew to call if he was late. When he wasn’t home by six-thirty, we knew something was bad wrong, and we called the police. They wouldn’t send anybody out or even take any information over the phone. Said it’s not department policy to make a report until somebody is missing for more than twenty-four hours.” He sighed. “We called all of Charles’s friends. One had seen him ‘bout ten-thirty that morning. Said Charles was walking along Garden Drive on Fairway Island, drinking a can of Dr Pepper, just beyond a house where we know he cleaned a sports-fishing boat. We never found a soul who saw him again. I went over to the place he’d been to last. The owner was out of town but the housekeeper said he’d cleaned the boat and washed down the dock. She had given him the soda pop before he left. I drove around there, looking for a couple hours, then went home to wait. That,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “was one rough night.”
    His gaze made it clear that that bad night had stretched into many.
    â€œWe called the police again next morning.” He smiled bitterly. “They didn’t want to take a report on Sunday. A sergeant told me he had boys of his own, said this kind of thing is common. Not with my boy, I told him. He said to check with Charles’s friends and give it till Monday morning.”
    â€œBy that time,” I murmured, “the trail was cold.”
    â€œHad I known then,” he said, nodding. “What we needed was a search, with lights and dogs…” He trailed off. “But they were the professionals, we had to listen to them.”
    â€œDid you know your son’s next stop? Was he on his way to clean another boat?”
    He nodded again, clearing his throat. “Went door-to-door ourselves. We didn’t know exact addresses, Charles kept them in a little notebook he always carried. He must have had it with him. We just knew the neighborhood. Found two big houses where he should have been that day. People said he never came.” He took a folded handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose before resuming. “They all told us what a polite boy he is and what a good worker.”
    â€œYou have the