Silent Screams - C. E. Lawrence [85]
Lee looked at the timid, frightened expression on Mrs. Stavros’s face, and he suddenly realized what Pamela had been running from. This was not a happy family. Ted Stavros was a man who could get nasty. Violence leaked from his pores like sweat; barely concealed rage was evident in the way he held himself, in the tightness of his mouth, the deliberate flatness of his voice. For a teenage daughter, it was probably terrifying.
“Wh-what do you want to know?” Mrs. Stavros asked, sitting in one of the chairs.
“Do you have any idea who Pamela’s friends were, who she saw here in New York?” Chuck asked.
Mrs. Stavros shook her head. “No. She, uh, didn’t tell us where she was going. We didn’t even know she was in New York until we…” She tried bravely to master her emotions, but her voice gave out.
Her husband finished for her. “Until we saw your Web site. She had a ‘boyfriend,’” he continued, pronouncing it as though he had said “cockroach.” “He was a creep, a two-timing junkie, but she was hooked on him.”
Garbage in, garbage out, Lee thought. We all follow patterns we’re familiar with, he wanted to say, and your daughter is no exception. But he said nothing, and arranged his face in a mask of sympathy and concern.
“So you think she came here with him?” Chuck asked.
“I dunno,” Stavros replied. “He wasn’t from around here—and he turned up back in town a couple of weeks ago, saying he had nothing to do with her disappearance.”
“Did you believe him?” said Chuck.
Ted Stavros looked away, a slight smile prying the corners of his mouth upward. Lee could picture the scene: Stavros threatening the young man, or worse.
“Yeah, I guess,” he said. “I gave him every chance to change his story.” Lee silently translated his comment. He had given the boyfriend a severe beating, and when the terrified kid stuck to his story, even under torture, Stavros believed him. However bad the boyfriend was, Lee thought, he wasn’t as bad as the father. Stavros seemed pleased with himself.
He looked at Mrs. Stavros. What he had taken before as behavior caused by severe grief he now saw as telltale signs of a battered spouse. Her shoulders rolled inward, as if she was afraid of taking up too much space. She looked at her husband constantly, checking with him before she said or did anything, as if she feared incurring his displeasure. Classic submissive behavior, Lee thought, and he felt sorry for this once-pretty woman who was shackled to this oafish bully, bonded by their shared history—and now, their shared grief.
“One other question,” he said. “Was your daughter religious?”
Ted Stavros frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“No, not especially,” his wife answered. “We’re Greek Orthodox, but she wasn’t exactly fervent or anything.”
“Did she wear a cross around her neck?”
Mrs. Stavros seemed surprised by the question. “Yes, as a matter of fact, she did. Remember?” she said to her husband, who was still frowning. “The jade one Nana gave her for Christmas one year?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Right. She liked it a lot—always wore it.” His face softened as if he was about to cry.
“Jade?” Lee said. “So it was green?”
“Yes. I don’t suppose we could have it back?” Mrs. Stavros asked timidly. “It was a gift from her grandmother.”
Lee exchanged a glance with Chuck and then looked at the woman sympathetically. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Stavros. We’d be glad to return it to you, but we don’t have it.”
Her eyes widened. “You don’t? Then who…?” She left the question dangling.
“I hope someday we can give you the answer to that question,” Lee said as Chuck escorted them out into a leaden February twilight.
Lee’s real question had been answered, however: Pamela Stavros was, without doubt, the first known victim of the killer everyone now knew as the Slasher.
As they stood at the curb waiting for a cab, Mrs. Stavros stared down at the tips of her sensible brown Hush Puppies. There was nothing