Running Wild Read Online Free PDF Page A

Porsche, Payne and I set off on a tour of the ground-floor rooms, through the well-equipped gymnasium to the indoor swimming pool beside the tennis court. The bulletin boards displayed the same obvious pride in their son’s academic and sporting achievements that the Millers’ had shown, the same friendly homework reminders, the same recommended TV programs and suggestions for further reading.
    I noticed in the Maxteds’ study that none of my own books had a place on the shelves, an A-Z of once-modish names from Althusser and Barthes to Husserl and Perls. Whether to soften, or emphasize, this rigorously fashionable image, there was a small television set on the desk beside the inkstand, placed there like the ultimate adult toy.
    â€œAnd this is the son’s room?” I asked as we entered the bedroom of the seventeen-year-old Jeremy. “You know, Sergeant, other people’s homes always seem a bit strange, but these are rather odd houses.”
    â€œNo more than some I’ve seen.” Payne ignored my obvious ploy, well aware that I wanted to get him rolling, but he glanced at me with mild curiosity. “In what way, Doctor?”
    â€œI mean that they’re so very alike. Not the furniture and fittings, though even they aren’t that dissimilar. It’s the atmosphere, the sense of very ordered lives being lived here … almost too ordered.”
    I strolled around Jeremy’s bedroom, noting the desktop computer, the surfboard and swimming trophies, a line of cups that packed the mantelpiece.
    â€œHe must have swum miles in that pool downstairs. Jeremy was the bed wetter, if I remember—perhaps the parents didn’t appreciate all the effort?”
    â€œOh, they appreciated it … never stopped, in fact.” Payne pressed the computer keyboard, tapping out a simple code. The screen lit up with a message dated May 17, 1988:
    47 lengths today!
    There was a pause, and then:
    Well done, Jeremy!
    I stared at this message from the parents as it glimmered on the screen, a brief show of electronic affection, all that remained of parents and child in this deserted house.
    â€œMy God … you mean the parents were wired up to the children’s bedrooms? There’s something unnerving about that, Sergeant.”
    â€œIsn’t there, Doctor? You’re sitting here after finishing your homework, and suddenly the computer blips, ‘Well done, Jeremy!’”
    â€œTalk about surveillance of the heart. It’s not just those cameras out there. Still, he must have been happy.”
    A pair of water skis protruded from a closet. I drew back the door and glanced through the drawers, which were filled with music cassettes, paperbacks and sportswear.
    Then, under a pile of diving caps in the bottom drawer, I found a stack of glossy magazines, well-thumbed copies of Playboy and Penthouse. I showed the top copy to Payne.
    â€œ Playboy, Sergeant—the first crack in the façade?”
    Payne barely glanced at the magazine. “I wouldn’t say so, sir.”
    â€œOf course not. What could be more normal for a seventeen-year-old still prone to bed-wetting? The Maxteds were enlightened people.”
    Payne nodded sagely. “I’m sure Jeremy knew that too, Doctor. The copies of Playboy made good camouflage. If you want to find the real porn have a look underneath.”
    I pushed back the diving caps and lifted out the top three magazines. Below them were a dozen copies of various gun and rifle publications, Guns and Ammo, Commando Small Arms, The Rifleman, and Combat Weapons of the Waffen SS. I flipped through them, noticing that the pages were carefully marked, appreciative comments written in the margins. Mail-order coupons were missing from many of the pages.
    â€œThe real porn? I agree.” I pushed the magazines back into the drawer, covering them with the diving caps as if to preserve Jeremy Maxted’s secret. “He