They packed their bags and loaded the trunk of the Mercedes in the garage with the overhead door shut. Dorning peeked out of the closed front window curtains every few minutes, looking for any sign of the detective’s return. An air of tension was palpable, preventing them from conversing except in brief utterances—questions, answers, commands.
When the trunk was full and shut, the professor finally said what bothered him the most. He stood side-by-side with Dorning as both stared at the waiting car.
“This disrupts my work just horribly, you know. Is this how we’re going to have to live from now on, constantly on the run? How am I to accomplish anything meaningful under these circumstances? It’s impossible, just impossible.”
Dorning took a deep breath, sympathetic yet angry. He didn’t hesitate this time to say what he had avoided saying the day before.
“I’m very sorry about your work, Professor, more so than you can imagine. But it was you, not I, who decided to let Natalie know about my experiment. This is the price to be paid for that moment of indiscretion.”
Marlowe bowed his head and ran a hand through his lengthening hair.
Dorning’s hard stance softened. “This won’t be forever. When you’re legally an adult for the second time, I imagine whom you associate with will no longer matter to the police. After that I plan to carefully and slowly reveal elements of my research to prepare society to accept you. Once that happens I’m sure you’ll enjoy celebrity status again. You could even return to lecturing at the university as you wish, maybe become a faculty member once more.”
Marlowe half-grinned, his first sign of amusement that evening. “The faculty? God help me. All those meetings, committees, and cap-and-gown processionals in the miserable heat, cold, and rain . . . I think I’ll just ask to be a guest lecturer and stick to my theoretical work this time around. I’ve had my fill of pomp and circumstance.”
Dorning patted the professor’s shoulder. “Whatever you want, Professor. Yet in the meantime, we must not let them take you away. Your work will virtually come to a halt if you find yourself in some restrictive foster home, away from all your books and papers.”
Marlowe nodded. “When do we leave, Doctor?”
“Let’s wait a little longer. I want to be sure no one sees us.”
The professor looked puzzled. “Where are we going, anyway?”
Dorning hesitated. “I really don’t know. We’ll see where the road takes us.”
Marlowe looked surprised. “That’s your plan? You disappoint me, Doctor. I would have expected something more definitive from you.”
Dorning shrugged. “That’s far better than finding out the hard way the police guessed where we were headed if we had a place to go. Let’s just consider this the chaos theory of travel planning and let it go at that, shall we?”
The professor grinned again.
****
Dorning peeked outside the front window one last time, sighed and turned out living room lights. He walked through the semidarkness to the lighted, closed garage where the professor waited in the back seat of the car.
Dorning got behind the wheel and took a deep breath. “Remember now, stay out of sight until we’re well out of town. I’ll let you know when I think it’s safe to get up. Are you ready?”
The professor got down on the floor. “I’m ready.”
“Then here we go.”
Dorning pressed the remote control on the sun visor, and the overhead door rolled upward. He started the Mercedes, turned on just the parking lights and slowly backed down the driveway.
A white car with a single blue light flashing on top of the dashboard came silently but quickly down the street and pulled up behind him, blocking the path. Dorning hit the brakes, narrowly avoiding a collision with the front of the unmarked squad.
Dorning slapped the steering wheel before slumping back in his seat in defeat.
“What is it?” Marlowe asked, still on the floor.
“The worst news possible,” the doctor replied as Detective Davis got out of the squad and casually made his way to the driver’s side window, flashlight in hand.
Dorning hesitated, then pressed the button to lower the window. He turned off the parking lights and the engine.
The detective aimed the flashlight at Dorning’s ashen face.
“Good evening, Doctor,” he said brightly. The detective glanced at his watch. “Or should I say morning since it’s now well past midnight? Where are you going so late? You know, except for the owls, the birds are all asleep, so you can’t be going to watch them, and since it’s cloudy out”—he pointed the flashlight to the sky—“I guess you won’t be stargazing either. I’m surprised you’re not inside, reading or watching television—your other two hobbies—or better yet, sleeping like most people are at this ungodly hour. Wherever you were going, it must be mighty important.”
Dorning didn’t answer.
The professor quietly sat up. The detective turned the flashlight on him.
“Well, well. You must be Miguel, I presume, the eleven-year-old boy who was absolutely not here. Are you okay, Miguel?”
The Professor nodded, said nothing.
The detective turned the flashlight back on Dorning. “You know, I think it would be a good idea if I had a private little talk with the boy if you don’t mind. In fact, I’m afraid I must insist on it.” There was a hard edge to the detective’s voice. “Stay right here, Doctor. Don’t move. I’ll be watching. Miguel, why don’t you get out of the car and come with me?”
Dorning stiffly turned his head to look at the professor. “Yes, Miguel. Go ahead with the Detective.” He nodded steadily.
The professor obeyed, following the detective to the squad. He waited by the back door for the detective to let him in.
“No,” the detective said. “Get in the passenger seat up front so we can have a little chat face-to-face.”
The professor got in. The detective switched off the flashlight, slipped into the driver’s side, and turned on the dome light.
The detective relaxed and smiled. “You know, you look just as Natalie described you, except you seem a little scared. Are you scared, Miguel? If you are you don’t have to be. Not anymore. I’m only here to help you.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Good. That’s good. So tell me, how did you end up living with the doctor? Are you a runaway, Miguel? If so, nobody’s reported you missing.”
“I’m not a runaway. I was abandoned, living on the streets.”
“What’s your last name, Miguel?”
“I . . . don’t know.”
“What about your parents? Where are they?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You mean you have no idea who or where your parents are or even if they’re still alive?”
“No, sir.”
“How did you survive on the streets? You weren’t doing tricks, were you? I sure hope not.”
“Tricks? Oh. Absolutely not. I think I used to beg for money.”
“You think? You mean you’re not sure?”
“Yes, I was a beggar.”
“A beggar? Is that what you call yourself? Huh. That’s kind of an old-fashioned thing to say, isn’t it?” Davis thought of Natalie’s incredible story, staring wordlessly at the boy for a moment. “In fact, that sounds an awful lot like something only an elderly . . . well, never mind. That can’t be.” The detective shrugged the thought away and glanced back out the windshield with a nod towards Dorning. “So how does he fit in? Where did he come from?”
“He hit me with his car by accident. No, actually, it was entirely my fault. He drove me to the emergency room and realized I was homeless, so he took me in. I guess he just felt sorry for me, didn’t want me to have to return to the streets.”
“But didn’t you actually go live with Percival Marlowe for a while, the famous scientist who died?”
“Yes, I lived in his beach house.”
“Why? What did he have to do with all this? Why didn’t you just live here with the doctor?”
“Because the doctor wanted me to get to know the professor. The professor had no family, either. I guess the doctor felt sorry for him, too.”
“Okay, now let me ask you the million-dollar question, Miguel.” He turned as far sideways as he could to face the boy directly. “Did either of them hurt you in any way? And I mean in any way, if you get my drift.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Not even once?”
“No, sir.”
The detective sighed and scratched his head. He looked over at Dorning still sitting in the Mercedes. “If that’s true, this is all very odd. Why would a retired neurosurgeon persuade a homeless boy to move in with one of the most—” The detective stopped, his puzzled expression gone. “Wait a minute. You said the professor had no family. You mean no brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, nephews, nieces, nobody?”
“That’s right. There was a younger brother, but he was killed in a car accident quite some time ago.” Marlowe shrank a bit and his eyes filled with sadness. “That was the last of his family.”
“He told you that? Huh.” The detective scratched his head again. “You know, somebody like Percival Marlowe, when they get up in age, sometimes they don’t have all their wits about them anymore, yet they still have their money. And if they don’t have any family, all that money could end up in the pockets of somebody who doesn’t deserve it. What was it Dorning said? He said he didn’t need Social Security. Even if you were wealthy, why wouldn’t you take what was coming to you, unless you planned all along to get your hands on an even bigger pile of money? What if you devised an inheritance scam that required a pawn, someone like a homeless boy nobody misses? Or would miss if he then conveniently disappeared?” He looked at the boy with renewed concern. “Tell me something, Miguel. Did the doctor ever offer you anything besides food and shelter? Did he ever talk about money? Come to think of it, why would Natalie be so convinced you were actually the professor unless the doctor had you acting that way to steal the professor’s estate?”
“No! You’re completely wrong. The doctor would never do anything like that. Never. He had absolutely nothing but the professor’s best interests in mind. I’m quite sure of it.”
The detective stared steadily at the boy, his look of concern replaced with suspicion. “Why do I suddenly no longer believe you, Miguel? Maybe you’re not as innocent as Natalie assumed, and me too. You sure don’t talk like an innocent kid of ten or eleven. How old are you really? Thirteen, fourteen, older? That would sure help to explain what happened between you and Natalie the night she quit working for the doctor. Maybe you’re quite the street hustler, in on some clever scheme to steal the professor’s estate. Am I right Miguel, if that’s even your real name?”
“No, you’re wrong, absolutely wrong.” Marlowe shook his head emphatically.
The detective ignored him. He clenched his jaw and stared hard at Dorning. “Wait right here. I want to ask the doctor something. This whole thing is getting way too bizarre.” He stepped out of the car and marched over to the Mercedes.
The professor waited until the detective lowered his head to talk to Dorning, then quietly opened the car door. He slipped out, dropped to all fours, and scrambled across the yard.
When he made it to the sidewalk, he stood up and ran as fast as he could.
The detective heard the sound of rapid footsteps, swung the flashlight around and saw the squad was empty, the front passenger door ajar. “Hey, Miguel! Get back here right now!” He skipped in the direction of the footsteps, pointing back at Dorning. “Stay! I’m not through with you yet.” And he bolted after the boy.
He shook his head as he ran. “Damn!” he said to himself. “I should have locked him in the back.”
Marlowe glanced behind him and saw the detective in pursuit. He cut across a driveway, picking his way through the dimly lit hodgepodge of bushes and fences in the backyards, trying to avoid a dead end.
The detective laughed, not far behind. “I’ve got you now, Miguel. You’re not getting away. That’s right, go ahead and run into a fence too tall for you to climb, and I’ve got you.”
Marlowe saw two wooden picket fences up ahead with only a narrow easement between them. He turned his shoulders sideways, ran with the fences rubbing against his chest and back. The front of his shirt caught on a nail and tore. He kept moving until he reached the other side, then veered off back towards the street.
The detective tried squeezing between the two fences, found himself stuck immediately. “Damn it!” he swore. He could only watch as the professor disappeared between two houses. “You’re in big trouble now, young man,” he yelled. A dog in the house behind him barked. “You hear me? I’m still gonna find you. You ain’t gonna hide from me.”
The detective kicked the fence in frustration, then turned to go back and interrogate the doctor.
****
Marlowe kept running until he was convinced the detective had given up. He paused in a thicket to catch his breath, then pressed on towards the center of town, hiding any time headlights came his way. By sunrise he was on the main city street, his feet and legs aching from the long hike. He was in the heart of the city because he knew there was only one group who could help him survive until he could find Dorning again.
The trick, he knew, would be to convince them he was still Miguel, to pretend he knew more about the boy’s life on the street than he really did.
“I’m Miguel Sanchez, Miguel Sanchez, Miguel Sanchez,” he repeated so he wouldn’t call himself Percival.
He suddenly felt oddly disoriented, put a hand to his head and closed his eyes. People hurrying to work streamed around him on the sidewalk in both directions as he stood wavering for a few seconds.
The strange feeling passed as fast as it had come, and he continued searching for wherever Miguel’s teenage friends he didn’t know made their home and living.