Body of Truth Read Free

him a fortune. He was greatly admired by other successful men, men who were like him and who saw something of themselves in Muller’s strong-willed triumphs. But George Muller’s insistence that his self-centered will should never be denied, neither in his professional nor his private life, had not been without a price, a price that must have caused him much dark pain in those secret moments that occur in all men’s lives when they confront the naked reality of their own culpability. His preoccupations with himself had withered his wife’s love and alienated his daughter forever.
    “Anyway, I resolved that if we ever again made contact with her I wouldn’t let him…ruin it. I went through all this with Mr. Fossler, a long, honest, detailed conversation. He seemed to be very understanding. I simply asked him to let me know first.”
    “And he called you last night.”
    “Yes. He said…he said that there might be a chance of persuading her to come home.”
    Might-be-a-chance. Haydon studied her. Desperate people could sustain themselves on such airy nourishment.
    “But, apparently, he’s concerned about something,” she said. Germaine Muller’s voice quavered slightly, and she leaned her head back against the window and took a deep breath before going on. “He said he thinks she’s in some kind of trouble. That she and that boy are in some kind of trouble.”
    In the entire time Haydon had known her, Germaine Muller had never said the words, John Baine. He was always “that boy” or “him” or “that young man.” Something primitive in her kept her from saying his name. George Muller, on the other hand, spoke it all too often, spitting it out like a curse word, “Baine…Baine…Baine.” He was bedeviled by “Baine.”
    “What are their circumstances?” Haydon asked. “You said they’re not living together?”
    “Lena is living with an American woman in Guatemala City, someone she met during one of her weekend leaves in the Peace Corps. Apparently they had become close friends.”
    “And Baine?”
    “I don’t know. He’s just on his own, I guess.”
    “What kind of trouble?”
    She shook her head. “I don’t know. He said Lena was fine, she’s safe, but something…Frankly, I was angry with him—Mr. Fossler—for being so vague, but he said he could be all wrong. He said he wanted to talk to you but wanted to clear it with me first.”
    “Why me?”
    “When I had that first conversation with him and I recounted everything that had happened during the investigation, how helpful you had been despite George, he said he knew you. He had good things to say about you, that he respected you. I guess when he ran into something unexpected…you had handled the investigation…”
    “You know that if he contacts me, I’ll be dealing with him in an official capacity,” Haydon said. “I’ll have to write a supplement to the investigation into Lena’s disappearance. This can’t be off the record.”
    “That’s what he said you’d say. That’s why he was asking me, wanting to know if I wanted to keep it unofficial. I understand that. I’d like to have your help.”
    Haydon looked at Germaine Muller’s tortured eyes. She was looking at him, too, wanting some kind of reaction. His blessing, maybe. Or guidance, or simply assurance that she was doing the right thing. He hated to think what the Mullers’ lives must have been like since their daughter’s disappearance. Westerners, at least those of Anglo and Germanic stock, weren’t given to dramatics in their grief, not the kind of wailing, flailing exorcism of sorrow one sometimes sees in other cultures. Their psychology demanded a gravity that concealed, rather than revealed. In their own way, George and Germaine Muller were still in the calamitous throes of their loss. It had been a mighty lamentation of silence.
    “Did Fossler say how Lena was feeling about being found?”
    Germaine turned around in her seat and looked out the window