“Who’s staying with Heather?” he murmured.

“Susan. She got home just before I went over to get mother. Large families are terribly useful in a crisis.” She stopped to listen as Roz made contact on the phone.

“She isn’t? Do you know where she is?” A pause. “Do you know where they went for dinner? It’s important.” Another pause. “Well, did they say when they’d be back? This is Rosalind Johnson, from Kingsmede, where she teaches.” An excited burst of noise from the receiver. “Yes, hello, Cynthia, it’s nice talking to you, too, but I must reach Mrs. Cowper.” Exasperation showed in Roz’s face. “I don’t suppose they said which movie they were going to, did they?” Despair settled on her features. “Well, if she does call, tell her I must speak to her at once. And, in any case, she’s to call me as soon as she gets in, either at the school number or my own private number. She has it.” Roz listened again to a spate of high-pitched noise. “Fine, Cynthia, and thank you. Now don’t forget, it’s important.” She put the receiver down. “God help us, I think that woman’s salary should be cut for going out and leaving her kids with the vaguest idiot in the Grade Ten class. Anyway, she’s out to dinner somewhere, and then going to a movie somewhere, but she might call in to check on the kids.” She reached over for the blue book again. “So, what did she have before Latin? That might help—you never know.” She stared at the timetable. “English. Now who teaches her English—oh God, it’s Anne Whitney. Young and single. She’s probably out too.” She picked up her phone list. “You know, they always tell me that they have so much work to do that they never have a chance to leave their desks until midnight. Ha!” She dialed carefully, and they all waited. And waited. No response. “Damn,” said Roz finally. “Okay, I’d better call Sylvia. She runs the office here and generally knows what’s going on. Then I’ll just keep trying the others. They can’t stay out all night, you know. They have to come to work in the morning.”

“John, we can’t just wait here and watch Roz trying to telephone, can we?” asked Eleanor. “I mean anything could be happening to Amanda. Shouldn’t people be searching or something? Shouldn’t you get in touch with the department?”

“I did, darling. And they’re watching for her. But if she was picked up by him, and unless we accidentally stumble across him, it’s probably already much too late. I’m sorry—not that we won’t keep trying.” He reached out and took Eleanor’s hand. She turned and stared, white-faced at him.

“That poor kid! And poor Kate. I can’t bear it.” John handed her his handkerchief as tears poured down her cheeks.

Amanda swam back and forth between consciousness and black lurching oblivion. Voices rose and fell; each time they penetrated her conscious mind they were clearer and made more sense.

“We’ve got to get her the hell out of this car,” said one voice urgently. “The only time I can get it back in the garage without anyone noticing is between 8:00 and 8:30. Where did you leave yours?”

“I told you, Rick. It’s in a lot at the Chester Street subway station. And we’d better get a move on.” Amanda’s stomach gave an ominous heave as the car veered and speeded up. She breathed as deeply as she could through her nose and gradually the nausea eased.

“Where can we switch her over? It’s going to look goddamn peculiar if someone sees us dragging a girl out of a patrol car and dumping her somewhere else.” The voice called “Rick” sounded worried.

“I’ve got it all worked out, Rickie baby. Not everyone is as stupid as you are.” The other voice was venomous in its contempt. “You just let me out at the parking lot, go round the block, and follow me again. When I drive into the garage, come in after me. Then we’ll switch her.”

“Jesus, Jimmy, what if someone sees us?”

“No one will see us, okay?”

There was a ruminative pause as the car bucketed and bounced over potholes and obstructions. Amanda’s head began to ache fiercely. “Did you hear her? I think she’s awake again.” Rick’s voice was edgy, nervous.

Another pause. Amanda lay as quietly and still as she could, breathing, she hoped, with the languor of one heavily doped. “Naw. She’s out for the count. Listen, she’s coked up to here on that stuff.”

“I wish you’d give her some more. It gives me the creeps thinking she might wake up on me when I’m alone in the car.”

“For Chrissake, Rick. If I give her any more, it’ll kill her. Haven’t you heard of autopsies? You are the stupidest goddamn cop in the entire bloody force. They can tell what someone dies of, you know. And she isn’t supposed to die from too much chloroform.” The meaning of his words was slow to reach her, but when it did a wave of cold, hideous panic swept through Amanda.

“Well then, I don’t see why we have to wait. Why not bash her head in now? She makes me nervous.”

“Look, Rick, you do what you’re told. I’ve got this all worked out, and you’re sure as hell not going to fuck it up now. Shut up and drive.”

Roz came back into the office with a pot of coffee and three cups. “I hope black is okay,” she said wearily. “There doesn’t seem to be any milk left.” She poured coffee and passed the cups over the desk, then sat down. She looked progressively more haggard as the evening wore on. “Let me give Anne another try,” she muttered. “It must be fifteen minutes since I called her last.” She let the phone ring as she dangled the receiver from her fingertips and continued to chat. “I wonder if this is the most efficient way to go about things—Oh, hello! Anne? Roz Johnson here. Look, we have a problem. Was Amanda Griffiths in class today? Sure, go and check.” She looked up. “Well, she’s home. She sounds a bit cheerful, but she’s gone for her attendance book.” Roz spoke into the phone again. “She was. You’re sure.” Another pause. “What sort of message? Are you absolutely certain? Of course.” She raised her eyebrows. “Well, we can’t find her at the moment.” A pause. “We tried that. If you think of anything else, call me here at the office, or at home, if no one answers here. Thanks.”

Roz hung up the receiver and looked rather unhappily over at John and Eleanor. “According to Anne, Amanda got an urgent message to telephone her aunt as soon as possible. She let her leave class early. And that’s all she knows. But I guess she didn’t use the phone in the office or Sylvia would have mentioned it. I think. I’d better call her again and make sure.” With a sigh she reached for the list once more. “And you can use that phone if you want to check with the aunt. Not that I think for a minute it was a genuine call. It wouldn’t be the first time people have used faked messages to try to get the girls out for one reason or another.”

The car lurched sideways; there was a screech of brakes and loud horns. Maybe they would get into an accident. Amanda prayed for a car to smash into them, preferably on the side her feet were wedged against, not her throbbing head. Then the car pulled up and stopped. She rocked back and forth on the floor between the front and back seats.

“Is this it? Look, will you check and make sure she’s still out?”

“Goddammit, Rick, she’s still out. If she comes to, she’ll make a lot of noise and stuff—like the last time. Stop worrying.”

“Well, hurry up, then. I don’t want her moaning and throwing up back there.” She felt the car shudder as the door slammed, then the monotonous bumping along the pitted road surface started up again. The horrible black swirl of unconsciousness started to take hold of her again, in spite of the pounding of her head and the ache of her pinioned arms. I mustn’t, she thought, I mustn’t fall asleep. Must stay awake. Awake. She was dimly aware of further stops and starts. Time telescoped; the surface beneath her heaved up and down. Then the vibration under her stopped. The change shocked her awake again just as the door beside her head was opened.