Abel Baker Charley by John R. Maxim

was what the old man said in the elevator. “He said he'd break me and he'd break anyone who helped me ... and ... you must have heard him.”
    “What did I hear, Jared?”
    “He said that he's going to hear Tina scream like his son screams.”
    Meister took a very long breath. He had heard no such thing. But he believed upon his life that Baker had heard it.
    “Where are we going?” Baker asked. Meister had turned onto the southbound entrance ramp instead of going north toward Baker's house.
    “It's time you met another friend,” he answered.
    “No.” Baker had been almost dozing. ”I have a lot I have to do. Nothing's been done about Sarah's funeral. And Tina needs some things from home. And my office. I never even called my office.”
    “Father Lennon is making arrangements about your wife, Jared. As for Tina, I'll have you home in an hour.”
    “Arrangements,” Baker repeated. A word he'd used all his life had a bad taste suddenly. You make arrangements to have your trash picked up or your car fixed. You don't just make arrangements for Sarah. Sarah had been alive and laughing for thirty-four years. Sarah made love and she cried and she made flowers grow. Sarah moved like a cat when she played tennis and she danced the same way. A hundred children can play the piano because Sarah taught them. Sarah was every nice thing that ever happened. Sarah gave him Tina. How much of this did Father Lennon know? He ought to be told. He ought to be told what should be said about her and who should hear it.
    Meister's friend would have to wait.
    Baker shut his eyes. He would tell Meister to turn around at the next exit. He would tell him in just a minute.
    “The guy is a volcano waiting to blow.” Meister spoke softly into a pay phone at an Exxon station off the Mamaroneck exit of the turnpike. A lumpish teenager stood whistling as the hose pumped a few unneeded gallons into the Pinto. Meister silenced him with a wave of his hand, pointing to the sleeping man in the passenger seat. The teenager scowled but fell quiet.
    “If you want to see him,” the lawyer continued, “it better be now. Bellafonte might still decide to put the dogs on him. The old guy's not playing with a full deck, by the way. If Baker catches him near the daughter again, he just might tear him apart.”
    “But are you encouraged, Benjamin?” The voice on the other end was eager, excited. “Have you seen anything?”
    “Are you kidding? By you, the guy's like Disneyland. I saw it almost happen twice. In the hospital, he looked like he could have twisted off that judge's neck like he'd open a bottle. Then, when they were taking pictures, I forced his head down and squeezed his neck good and hard. Baker's neck turned like a rock and his pulse must have tripled.”
    “Pictures?”
    “That's another problem. The wire services and two dif ferent networks had cameras outside the jail. I think I cov ered Baker, but they might have some clean shots of me. If any of Duncan Peck's people see one, you know he's going to be up here taking a look.”
    The voice was silent for several beats. “What about Baker?”
    ”I cleaned out his house of all the snapshots I could find. Six photo albums, a yearbook, and a few framed pictures if he was in them.”
    “No, no. I meant the man. Does he seem stable?”
    “Wait.” The pump attendant approached Meister. The lawyer fished for his wallet and selected a credit card, which the teenager took with a grunt. Baker had not moved.
    “Well, he's not your garden variety psychopath,” Meister said with a shrug. “Decent enough guy. No dummy either, by the way. But he hears things no one else hears, and I don't believe he's hallucinating. Have you seen that before?”
    “Once.”
    “Also, he seems to have a special thing with his daughter. They're tuned in, somehow. You want my opinion, I think you hit the mother lode.”
    “Did young Tina speak of my visit this morning?”
    Meister's eyebrows arched. “ That was