A flashlight lying on the ground by his feet, the very same policeman who had spoken to Rick Dicker about the ragamuffin girl who he thought might be a super was sawing away at the door where the girl supposedly lived, apparently with an accomplice or two. He had pounded his fist on the door fruitlessly for a few minutes, and had decided that he needed to enter by force if he was going to make any progress.
And so he stood, grinding away at the wood of the door with the small handsaw he had brought for this very purpose. The door was made of oak, and although it was old, it was putting up a formidable fight against the tiny saw that was being inexpertly wielded by the policeman. He made a horizontal line under the doorknob, pulled the saw out, then began to work his way upward, past the deadbolt. He pulled the saw out again and rotated it accordingly in order to carve out a rectangular portion of the door. Smiling smugly, he yanked the rusty doorknob and wrenched out the severed piece of wood.
The policeman, extremely pleased with himself, picked up his flashlight and pushed lightly on the door. It swung open with a slight groan and he stepped inside the apartment. He cast his beam of light around the room; it was completely bare except for an ancient roll-top desk against the left wall. On the right there was a tiny kitchen that was completely devoid of appliances, and straight ahead there was a hallway. The policeman ignored the kitchen and inspected the hallway.
The first room was a bathroom, but everything in it was either moldy or rusty. There were no signs of children.
He opened the next door. It was a linen cupboard, totally empty.
There were two more doors, and both were ajar. The policeman chose the one on the left, and entered it. There were no signs of life, only a scattering of blankets and pillows. There was a door on the right, probably a closet. He opened it to inspect it, and it turned out to be as empty as the linen closet in the hall.
The officer turned around to check out the one remaining room. His throat began to tighten with apprehension—surely this was where they were hiding. He swallowed hard and pushed the door of the room wide open.
The room was completely empty.
Up on the roof of the apartment building, Aisling was hugging Vasilisa like a proud mother.
"Lee, you are amazing." Vasilisa said nothing, but grinned triumphantly.
Joaquin, Patrick, and Bella-Jane were lying on their stomachs and watching what was going on in the street below. The revolving red-and-blue lights of police cars were flashing, and there were a significant number of officers standing around, who were looking either very casual or very tense. There were also some more mundane cars, and they mostly had worried-looking people in business suits standing around them.
Aisling lay down next to Joaquin, and Vasilisa lay down next to her. Aisling reached over and ruffled the girl's hair a bit.
"How did you do it?"
Vasilisa was still smiling broadly. "I don't know."
"Maybe it was just 'cause we were all scared," Patrick said, lifting his head and looking at Vasilisa. Joaquin nodded.
"Yeah, it always seems to happen like that, doesn't it?"
"Yeah," Aisling said, placing her chin on her interlocked fingers. It did always seem to happen that way. . . Whenever Kevin decided to strike, for example. . .
"Ash, I think we should move. They've gotten into the apartment now. They might think to come up here," Joaquin said.
Aisling nodded and stood up, and the rest of the assembly did as well. She cast her eyes over to the roof of the next building, which was level with the one they were standing on. There was a gap of about ten feet between the buildings, and Aisling regarded it coolly. She shrugged the strap of her bag higher onto her shoulder, gathered Bella-Jane into her arms, and with a literal spring in her step, she jumped over the gap between the two apartment buildings. She put down her charge, as well as her bag, then jumped back over to get Patrick, then Joaquin. By the same means that she had used to get them all onto the roof of the apartment building, Vasilisa was able to transport herself over to the new rooftop. There they sat to wait, huddled together to lessen the blistering effects of the night winds.
Down in the street, the policemen standing around their cars were watching the door where their comrade had entered. There were no noises coming from the apartment, so nothing could have happened yet. They waited, shifting their feet, waiting to hear the scream of a frightened girl or a deep-voiced command from their comrade. So, of course, they were universally disappointed when the officer came out by the way he had gone in, looking very sheepish. He approached them, and said, unnecessarily,
"There's no one in there."
The other officers, as well as the social service people, sighed and got back into their respective vehicles. The sheepish, deflated police officer climbed into his car, preparing himself to face his direct superior, when he suddenly got another idea. He turned his car around and sped in the direction of the building where the articles of the city's daily newspaper were composed.
The next morning, the head librarian of the John Steinbeck City Library was finishing a cup of coffee and reading the local paper, The Daily Reflection. She was waiting for the five kids who almost always came to the library in the morning. They were nice children, all of them, but she was glad that they didn't often remain inside the library to read their books, because they usually smelled quite strongly of sweat and unwashed skin.
The librarian was in the middle of a sip of coffee when one particular article in the side column of the newspaper caught her eye:
City-wide search for girl, 14/15
Police searching for girl, believed to be fourteen or fifteen years old, with brown hair, brown eyes, five feet, two inches tall and weighing approximately one hundred and ten pounds.. Usually seen with four other children, estimated to be fourteen, eight, seven, and five years old respectively. If seen, with or without other children, please contact the police.
The librarian swallowed hard and set her coffee mug onto her desk. She stared at the article. The five kids who came into the library on most days were probably homeless, as they never seemed to be in school. She had never called the police about them, though, because they never caused any trouble. She called each child's appearance to her mind. Indeed, the girl who appeared to be their leader was probably around fifteen years of age. She was a little over five feet in height, and probably just over one hundred pounds, and did have brown hair and eyes. The boy who seemed to be her second-in-command was a little taller and much darker in complexion; she had guessed that he was Mexican. He was probably fourteen years old. The next boy could have been any age between eight and twelve. His skin, hair, and eyes were all extremely fair, and he had a drab, expressionless face. The second-smallest girl had the look of an Eastern European, with very course black hair and bright blue eyes. She seemed much more intelligent and aware than the fair boy, but was probably younger, maybe seven. The last of the children was a girl of either five or six. She had black hair and black eyes, as well as a yellowish undertone to her skin that probably meant that she was Asian. She was also thoroughly adorable, in the librarian's opinion, and seemed to be amused by everything, although she said very little.
The librarian laid the newspaper down next to her coffee mug, her mind churning. Should she—
She jumped as she heard the main door open. There they were, the five kids.
"Hello," said the dark-skinned boy as he passed her desk.
"Hello," the librarian responded mechanically. The five walked past in single file, depositing their books in the book-drop as the passed. The librarian's heart began to pound. Should she call the police?
The five all walked to separate parts of the library, except for the oldest girl and the smallest girl, who walked together. The librarian felt the palms of her hands become slick with sweat.
Barely stopping to consider what she was doing, the librarian snatched up her phone and dialed the number of the local police department.