The detective arrived at headquarters to find his two new understudies in the foyer, both red-faced and almost breathless from laughter. He stared at them in disbelief then through the window of the closed interrogation room behind them at a woman sitting quietly alone.
“What the hell’s going on? What’s so funny?”
One of the young officers came forward and put a hand on the detective’s shoulder to steady himself.
The detective scowled at the hand and the young officer immediately let go, straightened up, and caught his breath. “Sorry, sir. It’s just way too funny. Wait till you hear this mad woman’s story.” He looked at his partner and turned red-faced again. They tried but failed to stifle fresh laughter like two schoolgirls at a slumber party.
The detective glanced at the woman again. She seemed nervous and upset.
“Who is she? Knock it off already, will you guys? Just talk to me.” Both officers finally settled down a bit.
“Sorry, sir. She came in voluntarily to make a report, but what she had to say was absolutely ridiculous, that’s all.”
“So who is she? Damn it, just tell me what’s happening here, will you? I’m not gonna play some stupid guessing game with you.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry. Her name is Natalie Swyrinski, and she said she was the housekeeper for . . . Percival Marlowe.”
Both young officers turned red yet again as they struggled mightily not to laugh.
The detective stared at the woman, tapping his chin. “Percival Marlowe. Percival Marlowe. Hey, wasn’t he the famous astronomy guy who died not too long ago? He was like a million years old or something, wasn’t he? A real old timer.”
The two young officers chortled.
“So why is she here? What did she have to report?”
One of the officers sighed deeply. “Sir, we would really appreciate it if you would talk to her rather than hear it from us. Her story’s . . . pretty amazing, to say the least. We couldn’t do it justice. No pun intended, of course.”
They glanced at each other and chortled again.
The detective eyed them with disgust. “You know, if you two keep this up, I’m going to start wondering if I picked the right new guys for the job. This is a very serious business we’re in, you know, protecting children. Just looking at her, I’d say it’s entirely possible she was the old astronomer’s housekeeper.”
“Oh, we don’t doubt that, sir. It’s the other things she claims we have to wonder about.”
“Like what?” He held his arms out, waiting for an explanation.
The young officer sighed again. “Sir, if you don’t mind, could you just interview her? There’s just no way we can tell you her story and keep a straight face. We just can’t.” He wiped away his tears and the other officer followed suit. “Sorry, sir.”
The two of them stood there still looking amused but now also apprehensive.
It was the detective’s turn to sigh. He scratched the top of his bald head. “You mean you can’t even manage to give me a hint what this is all about?”
“No, sir. Please, just trust us on this one. You just have to hear it for yourself. You just won’t believe what she has to say.”
He nodded. “Okay. Fine.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He didn’t look at either of them. “Don’t mention it.” He put a hand on the doorknob then paused. “Is there a blank tape in the tape recorder?”
“Yes, you’re all set. Good luck, sir.”
The detective ignored them, still angry at their childish behavior. He opened the door and stepped into the room.
He smiled kindly at the woman, wondering what he was getting into as he shut the door behind him. “Natalie Swyrinski? Hi. I’m Detective Davis. Do you mind if I call you Natalie? I assume you’re here to report a suspected incident of child abuse.” He came forward and sat down across from her.
She looked up at him sullenly. “I heard your men. They think I’m crazy, don’t they?” Her expression was pained. “The way they ran from the room, laughing at me behind my back after I told them the truth was shameful, just shameful.” Her chin quivered as she brought a crumpled tissue up to her face to dab at the corners of her moist, bleary eyes.
Then he was surprised to see more than a glimmer of resolve in her tired features, a kind of sad determination to make someone listen to her.
He gazed at her with sudden sympathy and respect. “Don’t pay any attention to them, Natalie. It doesn’t matter what they think. Only what I think.” He promptly switched on the tape recorder and made sure it was working. “Now, why don’t you start over again for me? I’m very interested in what you have to say. Please state your full name for the record.”
She smiled faintly in appreciation, put the tissue down and took a deep breath to begin her story once again.
****
They settled into their new routine in the doctor’s house, the professor never venturing outside during daylight. Dorning bought him a small telescope he set up in the fenced backyard, where the professor spent hours on clear nights stargazing and re-familiarizing himself with the Messier objects visible from their location. Meal times were unplanned events, unlike Natalie’s clockwork preparations. The two of them ate whatever they could find in the refrigerator and cabinets, and when they were low on food, Dorning would make a hasty trip to the grocery store where he would grab as many items as he could remember they needed. On occasion, Dorning would stop by the now-abandoned beach house and pick up a few of the professor’s books and papers and bring them home at the professor’s request, until there was almost nothing left to retrieve. Soon Marlowe’s bedroom in the city house resembled his former bedroom in the beach house, with books and papers strewn about on the dresser, nightstand, desk, and floor.
Dorning surveyed the jumble, which was in stark contrast to his own more orderly living quarters down the hall.
“Too bad I couldn’t change a few things about you, Professor. One thing I would have definitely given you is a sense of basic cleanliness.”
Marlowe looked up from the massive tome he was reading on the bed. “I’m glad you didn’t. I have better things to do than sweep and dust all day. I guess that’s your job now that Natalie’s gone.” He jotted part of an equation down in the notepad by his side then returned to the book. “After all, it is your house.”
Dorning was about to chide him again for telling Natalie the truth but decided to forgo the lecture. Instead, he stared at the professor and how he read while stabbing the air with a pencil as if fencing with the stubborn math.
The professor finally sensed the doctor still standing in the doorway.
He raised his head and held the pencil at bay. “Something wrong, Doctor?”
“No, it’s just that while I’m fully aware you’re Percival Marlowe, looking at you and the filthy way you live I would swear I have a typical American son.”
“If it’s any consolation to you, Doctor, I’ve always been a slob. Too bad you couldn’t ask my dear, departed mother.” He glanced around the messy room. “Sometimes I even wonder if my slovenly habits didn’t contribute in some small way to her early, unfortunate demise.”
“Now Percival, that’s no way to talk about your mother. I think she was a saint if she put up with this.”
“Indeed she was. A role you play well now that you’re our housekeeper. At any rate, if you don’t mind, Doctor, I would like to read this so I can finish a paper I began several years ago. I’ve recently realized where I went astray in my calculations and have a few ideas how I might get it back on track.” He jotted down a few more numbers, then turned his attention back to the book.
Dorning nodded. “Of course.” He turned to leave, then came forward again.
“Professor?”
“Yes?” He didn’t look up from the book.
“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you back at work. It makes up for all the frustrations, all the troubles I’ve endured.”
Marlowe slowly raised his head again and closed the book on his hand. “And I still can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done. It’s wonderful to have the interest and stamina once more to wrestle with these incredibly difficult equations.” He glanced at the nearly filled page on the notepad. “That’s really what old age robbed from me, my enthusiasm and my vitality.” He looked away and his voice grew quieter. “It’s odd, but I don’t remember when I lost them exactly. I guess time just kept chipping away at them until they were finally gone. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this rejuvenated, this able to focus and make a contribution again.” His gaze returned to the doctor. “I guess what I’m saying is, thank you for giving me back Percival Marlowe.”
Dorning’s eyes turned misty as he struggled to speak in a steady voice. “Professor, that’s exactly what I hoped to hear one day.”
He turned and strode away so the professor wouldn’t see the tears that started to fill his eyes.
Marlowe put the pencil point to the notepad, paused then lifted his head.
“And thank you, Miguel,” he whispered sincerely. He stared straight at nothing, his expression hopeful. “If it has to be this way, the least I can do is be successful and make your sacrifice as worthwhile as I can. Okay?”
There was only the stark silence of the cluttered room in reply.
He returned to the lengthy equation, finished it off with a few bold, inspired strokes, sad yet determined now to do the very best he could.
****
The next morning, the professor sat reading the paper while Dorning made a pot of coffee. The unexpected sound of the doorbell made both of them jump.
“Who the devil could that be?” Marlowe asked. “Are you expecting someone?”
Dorning hastily dried his hands. “No. No one.” He hurried to the door and peeked through the peephole to see who it was. In the driveway was a white sedan, and at the door was a short, bald man in shirt and tie who Dorning didn’t recognize.
Dorning’s lips curled inward. “Damn,” he said softly. He glanced behind him. “Get in the basement, Professor. Hide in the closet where I showed you. This doesn’t look good.”
Marlowe ran from the table. Dorning waited until he heard the basement closet door shut before he opened the front door.
He stuck his head out and around the screen door, trying his best to seem unperturbed. “Yes? Can I help you?”
The man held up a gold badge in a leather case. “Hi. Are you Dr. Carl Dorning? I’m Detective Davis from the County Child Welfare Agency. Mind if I come in and ask you a few questions, Doctor?”
“Why no, not at all. I was just making some coffee. Would you like some?” He stepped aside and held the screen door open.
The detective stepped in and casually looked around. “No, thank you Doctor. I’ve had plenty already today.”
“Well, come in, come in.” He motioned the detective into the kitchen then pulled back the chair the professor had been sitting in not a minute before. “Have a seat.”
The detective sat down. Dorning took the chair on the far side of table.
“So what can I do for you, Detective?”
The detective cleared his throat as he leaned forward, his arms folded and elbows on the table. “Doctor, I’ll get right to the point. Did you employ a housekeeper named Natalie Swyrinski at the home of the late Percival Marlowe, who had also employed her prior to his death?”
Dorning didn’t twitch. “Yes. Both Professor Marlowe and I employed her for housekeeping services. She quit unexpectedly about a week ago; I haven’t heard a word from her since. Is she all right? I’ve been worried about her.”
“She’s fine, Doctor.”
Dorning feigned relief. “Good, that’s good.”
“But she doesn’t want to work for you anymore, Doctor, or even see you again. She says you’re an evil man. She even says you’re a . . . proverbial mad scientist.”
“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”
The detective laughed a little and unfolded his arms. “Doctor, she told us quite an unusual story, one that—well, frankly—we have a hard time believing completely. Now, she admits on the night she supposedly discovered you were a mad scientist she was drinking to excess, but that’s not the reason I’m here. One of the things she claimed is that you have, or had, a Hispanic boy named Miguel living with you, a boy you brought home for Natalie to take care of shortly before Percival Marlowe died. And that when Percival Marlowe did die, you moved into his house with her and the boy. Now as far as Natalie was aware, this Miguel was not related to either you or Percival Marlowe in any way. She never heard you talk about the boy’s parents or legal guardians, nor did she ever see or talk to the boy’s parents or guardians herself. Apparently at one time you said, and I’m quoting Natalie here”—he pulled a small notepad from his shirt pocket and flipped it open—“‘The boy is being carefully groomed to take the professor’s place,’ and she further said you instructed her to take unusually good care of the boy, that you didn’t want anything bad to happen to him. But one day, when the boy was lost after a bicycle accident that required medical attention, you refused to involve the authorities to assist you in locating him despite your alleged concern for his well-being, preferring instead to spend over an hour looking for him yourself. Finally, Natalie claims that you told her”—he read from the notebook again—“‘I’m going with the boy on a short trip. We should only be gone a couple of days,’ which, according to Natalie, is exactly what happened. Not only that, but when the boy returned with you, she said he seemed sullen and upset, not at all his usual cheerful self. The same thing happened again the following week when you and the boy went to some sort of party one day. Later that evening is when she and boy apparently had a few drinks for some odd reason and she ran away, claiming the boy was—well, let’s just say not himself anymore.” The detective closed the notebook and stuffed it back in his pocket, regarding the doctor with a cold gaze. “Could any of this possibly be true, Doctor?”
“I don’t know what she’s talking about. She’s the one who sounds mad.”
The detective lowered his gaze. “Doctor, we did a little investigation into your background when Natalie came to us with her story. This is what we found. Please correct me if any of this is wrong.” He glanced up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. “You were a highly respected neurosurgeon who, for some unknown reason, quit your job suddenly about twenty years ago and dropped completely out of sight. Now, with the salary you were earning, it could be you just retired early, but you never said so to anyone, and you haven’t drawn from Social Security despite becoming eligible to do so several years ago. You never married, have no family or close friends we could discover—other than the late Percival Marlowe—never travel anywhere or, frankly, seem to do much of anything anymore. All this seems very unusual for someone who once had the drive and ambition to be a neurosurgeon. What have you been doing all these years, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I did retire. I simply haven’t yet needed any outside assistance to live very comfortably. I don’t mind saying I like reading, watching television, stargazing, bird-watching . . .” his voice trailed off.
The detective glanced past Dorning through the patio doors at the telescope in the backyard. “I see. But why did you retire so suddenly, Doctor? Everyone who knew you back then was shocked. They thought you were very happy with your job.”
“That may be what they thought, yet sometimes outward appearances can be deceiving, as you undoubtedly know. I was tired of the tremendous stress, the daily grind. I felt just terrible all the time and had to drag myself to work, so I quit before the job could kill me.”
The detective nodded and then scratched the top of his bald head. “I can buy that. All right, Doctor. We checked with some of your neighbors and they’ve never seen a boy here, not even once. If he is here, you’ve done a great job hiding him. And we don’t have any current reports of a boy named Miguel missing from the county, if that was really his name.”
“I can assure you Detective, there is no boy here.” His gaze was steady.
“Well, thank you for your time, Doctor.” The detective stood up.
“Um, Detective, just out of curiosity, why did Natalie consider me a mad scientist, if you don’t mind my asking?”
The detective laughed a little again and put his hands on his hips. “Well, in her highly agitated state, she claimed Miguel was no longer Miguel. She said the professor’s spirit or soul or something like that was somehow transferred by you from the professor into the boy. So basically the boy was gone and the professor was alive again. She was absolutely convinced this was true, based on what the boy told her.”
Dorning tried to look incredulous. “And you believed anything she had to say after that incredible story?”
“Not especially. Neither did my two trainees, who interviewed her first.” He shook his head at the thought of them. “But my job is to protect children, Doctor, and she said just enough plausible things to bring me out here to talk to you. Just enough.”
“Well, then. Sorry it was a waste of your time.”
“No, it’s never a waste of my time to get to the truth, Doctor.” His cold stare returned.
Dorning stirred uneasily. He couldn’t help but turn away from the detective’s unflinching expression as he cleared his suddenly tight throat. “That’s certainly a commendable attitude, Detective. Good day.”
“Good day, Dr. Dorning. I can let myself out.”
Dorning followed him to the door and locked it the moment the detective was outside. He peered intently through the peephole, waiting until the detective got back in his car and drove away before hurrying down the stairs to where the professor was hiding in the closet.
He threw the closet door open, saw the professor sitting on the floor.
“I’m sorry, Professor. We have to move again. Tonight, late.”
Percival sighed and lowered his head, not saying a word.