Jaws by Peter Benchley Page B

Meadows and Hooper. It was almost eight o’clock. He had two phone calls to make—to Ellen, to see if the dinner leftovers could be reheated or if he should pick up something on the way home, and, the call he dreaded, to Sally Gardner. He called Ellen first: pot roast. It could be reheated. It might taste like a sneaker, but it would be warm. He hung up, checked the phone book for the Gardner number, and dialed it.
    “Sally? This is Martin Brody.” Suddenly he regretted having called without thinking the call through. How much should he tell her? Not much, he decided, at least not until he had had a chance to check with Hooper to see if his theory was plausible or absurd.
    “Where’s Ben, Martin?” The voice was calm, but pitched slightly higher than Brody remembered as normal.
    “I don’t know, Sally.”
    “What do you mean, you don’t know? You went out there, didn’t you?”
    “Yes. He wasn’t on the boat.”
    “But the boat was there.”
    “The boat was there.”
    “You went on board? You looked all over it? Even below?”
    “Yes.” Then a tiny hope. “Ben didn’t carry a dinghy, did he?”
    “No. How could he not be there?” The voice was shriller now.
    “I …”
    “Where
is
he?”
    Brody caught the tone of incipient hysteria. He wished he had gone to the house in person. “Are you alone, Sally?”
    “No. The kids are here.”
    She seemed calmer, but Brody was sure the calm was a lull before the burst of grief that would come when she realized that the fears with which she had lived every day for the sixteen years Ben had been fishing professionally—closet fears shoved into mental recesses and never uttered because they would seem ridiculous—had come true.
    Brody dug at his memory for the ages of the Gardner children. Twelve, maybe; then nine, then about six. What kind of kid was the twelve-year-old? He didn’t know. Who was the nearest neighbor? Shit. Why didn’t he think of this before? The Finleys. “Just a second, Sally.” He called to the officer at the front desk. “Clements, call Grace Finley and tell her to get her ass over to Sally Gardner’s house right now.”
    “Suppose she asks why.”
    “Just tell her I said to go. Tell her I’ll explain later.” He turned back to the phone. “I’m sorry, Sally. All I can tell you for sure is that we went out to where Ben’s boat is anchored. We went on board and Ben wasn’t there. We looked around, downstairs and everything.”
    Meadows and Hooper walked into Brody’s office. He motioned them to chairs.
    “But where could he be?” said Sally Gardner. “You don’t just get off a boat in the middle of the ocean.”
    “No.”
    “And he couldn’t have fallen overboard. I mean, he could have, but he’d get right back in again.”
    “Yes.”
    “Maybe someone came and took him off in another boat. Maybe the engine wouldn’t start and he had to ride with someone else. Did you check the engine?”
    “No,” Brody said, embarrassed.
    “That’s probably it, then.” The voice was subtly lighter,almost girlish, coated with a veneer of hope that, when it broke, would shatter like iced crystal. “And if the battery was dead, that would explain why he couldn’t call on the radio.”
    “The radio was working, Sally.”
    “Wait a minute. Who’s there? Oh, it’s you.” There was a pause. Brody heard Sally talking to Grace Finley. Then Sally came back on the line. “Grace says you told her to come over here. Why?”
    “I thought—”
    “You think he’s dead, don’t you? You think he drowned.” The veneer shattered, and she began to sob.
    “I’m afraid so, Sally. That’s all we can think at the moment. Let me talk to Grace for a minute, will you please?”
    A couple of seconds later, the voice of Grace Finley said, “Yes, Martin?”
    “I’m sorry to do this to you, but I couldn’t think of anything else. Can you stay with her for a while?”
    “All night. I will.”
    “That might be a good idea. I’ll try to