Eyes of a Child (37 page)

Paget decided to push harder. ‘Their families shouldn't –'

‘And Mr Colt understands that.' Hamm's tone became tinged with regret. ‘If you were an ordinary private citizen . . .'

Hamm let his voice trail off. His message was delivered, this said; it was pointless to be indelicate.

‘I understand,' Paget answered, and hung up.

‘I don't think this problem with Slocum came from Brooks,' Caroline said to Paget. ‘At least it didn't start there.'

Paget watched her. ‘Colt?' he asked.

Caroline nodded. ‘Colt's the one with the most to gain. Even if Slocum doesn't get the files, the pissy little article he's planning to run does you real damage, politicswise. And it gives Brooks no way out: if Richie's death
and
these files hit the media together, Brooks would have to pursue you even if you were his brother.'

Only then, satisfied, did Paget tell Caroline about his call to Colt.

Her eyes widened, and then she thought for a time. ‘It's not unreasonable,' she said at length, ‘to believe that Mr Hamm was making a suggestion. He seems to have hinted pretty clearly that Colt knows the nature of your personal problems. Which, if they come from him, he certainly does.'

Paget felt a wave of depression. ‘Through most of my life, Caroline, I've had the illusion that I could control things, if only I tried hard enough. But I can't get my arms around this. I don't even know where all the pieces are, or who holds them. I'm not even sure how best to protect Carlo.'

There was something puzzled in Caroline's look, a touch of fallibility, as if for once she did not know what to say. Paget tried smiling. ‘I really didn't mean to distress you,' he said. ‘And I don't expect you to make me feel any better.'

She shook her head. ‘It's not that. I was just thinking what a flimsy foundation any of us have – our work, a handful of friends, children if we're lucky – and how something we don't anticipate can bring it down so quickly.' She caught herself and smiled. ‘But no one has died here – no one we care about, that is. And you've the great good fortune of having me for your lawyer. So let's think this through.'

She leaned back in her chair. ‘The first piece,' she said slowly, ‘is politics, where “who shot Richie” doesn't matter. What's at stake
there
is Carlo's privacy, and the immediate way to ensure that is shutting off the press.

‘What someone – Colt, I'm quite certain – wants you to do is drop the Senate. The carrot is that once you do that, it guts the media interest in Richie's charges –'

‘Which is why I
should
do that,' Paget cut in. ‘As much as part of me hates to, I hate what would happen to Carlo more. Colt wins, and I learn to live with that. That's all.'

‘Not so fast, Chris.' Caroline held up her hand. ‘Here it gets kind of murky, but have you stopped to consider what you lose by dropping out? Not on piece one, but piece two – the police investigation, where “who shot Richie” matters quite a lot.'

Paget stared at her. ‘A deal,' he finally said. ‘Never stated, but understood: I drop out of the race, and perhaps Brooks lets Richie stay a suicide. Have I caught the essence?'

Caroline appraised him. ‘More or less.'

‘Pretty cynical, Caroline. It attributes the lowest possible motives to Brooks as well as Colt, and further assumes that no one but Richie's mother – and certainly not Mac – gives a damn about why he died.'

Caroline gave him a cursory smile. ‘Does that seem so far-fetched? Really, Christopher, you
are
an idealist.'

But Paget did not smile back. ‘It also assumes that Brooks has no case against me.'

Caroline's own smile vanished. ‘Not
no
case,' she said finally. ‘Just not a case so strong that, in the exercise of his discretion, Mac can't decide to drop it.'

The question, couched as a statement, carried within it a buried inquiry. Paget turned to the window: the morning sunlight, glinting on the windows of high-rises, left them opaque. Quietly, he said, ‘I'm getting out, Caroline. Not because I'm afraid of what Brooks has. But because the one thing I
do
control is whether or not I run. And this is the only thing I can do to prevent the notion that Carlo molested Elena from becoming a media plaything. As early as tomorrow.'

‘If you're indicted,' Caroline said slowly, ‘Richie's charges against Carlo will become your principle motive for premeditated murder. And the notion that you tried to keep it quiet will hurt you all the more.'

Turning, Paget looked at her steadily. ‘But it won't hurt me tomorrow, will it?' He shrugged. ‘Besides, once I drop out, Colt may lose his interest in Richie's death. Which could mean that Brooks will too.'

Caroline raised an eyebrow. ‘It must be extraordinary,' she said finally, ‘to love a child.'

‘There are
two
people I love, Caroline. First, and always, there's Carlo. And now there's Terri. I don't want either hurt.'

‘And how would Terri be hurt?'

‘Through Elena, of course. Terri's trying to work out her daughter's problems with an analyst, not the press or the police.'

Caroline folded her hands. ‘All right,' she said at length. ‘How's this: I call the publisher of our morning paper and inform him that any public interest in this boy Slocum's story has gone aglimmer with your candidacy. Which is a good thing, I'll add, because Slocum's devotion to purity in politics has been satisfied without the risk of a lawsuit.' She smiled briefly. ‘Child's play, if you consider what we do a fit activity for children.'

‘Sometimes, Caroline, not even for adults. Not even for adults like us.'

Her smile faded. ‘I'm sorry, Christopher. I really am.'

After that, Caroline said little. Walking to the elevator, she touched his arm. ‘Take the day off if you can. Take Terri with you.'

Paget meant to. But when he arrived at the office, shortly before noon, Terri was gone.

Chapter
16

When the first telephone call came to her office, and even more intensely when her phone rang again, Terri hoped that the caller would be Chris.

But the first call was from Denise Harris. She was brisk and to the point. ‘The police were here this morning,' Harris said. ‘A man named Dennis Lynch.'

Terri stood, telephone clasped to her ear. ‘What did they want?'

‘Any notes or records I had regarding Elena's therapy, or any conversation with you.' Harris paused a moment. ‘They also wanted to interview me. When I asked them why, they told me it was about Richie's death – that you, or even Elena, may know something about it.'

Harris sounded quite calm, a good professional imparting information to a mother. But Terri found herself pacing. ‘What did you say to them?' she asked.

‘Only that I couldn't help them. Not without your consent.' Harris paused. ‘I guess they haven't asked you.'

‘No.'

Harris was silent for a time, then quietly said, ‘I don't need to hear any more about this, Terri, Not unless it has something to do with Elena.'

‘It doesn't. But just for the record, we're seeing you for Elena's benefit, and whatever the police are thinking about Richie is a separate thing.' Terri paused for emphasis. ‘I don't want them bothering Elena. Ever.'

‘Then they won't.' Harris's voice was neutral; for the first time, Terri sensed her discomfort. ‘Call me if anything happens with Elena, all right?'

For an instant, feeling frightened and alone, Terri considered telling Harris about Jack Slocum, the threat of an article that might include Elena. But perhaps that was more than the therapist wished to know; either the article would appear or it would not, and meanwhile there was nothing she could do. ‘I will,' Terri answered. ‘And thanks for calling, Denise. I appreciate your concern.'

‘Anytime,' Harris said easily. Terri sensed that she was grateful to get off.

A rush of half-formed thoughts flooded Terri's mind. The eerie sense that her words to Harris – that she did not wish the police to bother her daughter – echoed Rosa's on the morning Terri had found her father dead. A deep resentment of Chris for being elsewhere when she needed him. The desire to rush to Elena's school and take her child home. A wave of guilt she could not define. A thought of piercing clarity: Denise Harris might well believe that Chris and Terri, or perhaps Terri alone, were responsible for Richie's death. And another: that other people she knew might come to think that Elena's father was murdered and that Terri wished to marry his murderer.

It made her remember what she felt in her father's home: That any happiness was transient. That she had done something wrong. That her only security was escape.

The night before, the nightmare had come again.

Get a grip, Peralta. Feeling sorry for yourself is a waste of time, and so is expecting someone else to take care of you. That much she had learned from Rosa.

Terri began pacing. Her desk was strewn with work she could not do.

The telephone rang.

A woman's voice, taut and upset, speaking too quickly. ‘Mrs Arias, this is Barbara Coffey, Elena's day care supervisor. You remember?'

Terri checked her watch: Elena would not be in day care for a good three hours. ‘Is something wrong?'

‘Yes. I came in early, to bring some posters while the room was empty for lunch.' Her voice rose. ‘Elena was there, with two men – one white and one black. They were asking questions . . .'

Terri stood. ‘You mean the school just let . . .'

‘Yes.' The woman paused. ‘Her teacher's
with
them, Mrs Arias.'

Terri found them in the schoolroom. Four desks were arranged in a circle. Monk and Lynch sat on top of theirs; Leslie Warner sat next to Elena, holding her limp hand as Monk asked questions. Behind them, a bulletin board had spelling words and cutouts of Halloween pumpkins. Monk's tape machine sat on Elena's desk.

‘
Mommy
,' Elena said, and got up, looking uncertainly from her mother to the teacher who gripped her hand.

Terri gazed down at Leslie Warner. ‘Let her go,' she said softly. ‘Right now.'

Warner opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. Elena's hand slipped free.

Terri picked her up. ‘Hi, sweetheart,' she said. Elena's arms came tight around her neck.

‘I'm sorry, Mommy,' the little girl said.

Through her anger, Terri's nerves tingled; she did not ask what Elena meant. ‘I've come to see you,' Terri told her. ‘Just wait outside for a minute, okay?'

The little girl nodded against her shoulder. Terri carried her to the doorway; Barbara Coffey waited, looking fearfully over Terri's shoulder at Warner and the police. ‘I'll take Elena to the playground,' she said.

‘Thank you,' Terri said. ‘You're the only one who thought of her.'

Coffey took Elena's hand; as they left, the little girl looked back at Terri. It was all Terri could do to wait until Elena disappeared.

She turned, walking back into the room. She stopped two feet in front of Monk.

‘You scum,' she said. ‘Both of you.'

Monk's returning gaze was not angry; Terri had the sudden intuition that this had not been his idea and that he would make no excuses. He turned to Warner. ‘Thank you,' he said politely. He turned back to Terri, nodded slightly, and left. Lynch trailed after him without looking at anyone.

Facing Warner, Terri simply gazed at her. The teacher's gray eyes were at once defensive and defiant; she backed away one step.

‘How could you allow this?' Terri asked.

Warner raised her head. ‘I have an obligation. To Elena,
not
you.'

In that moment, Terri understood. ‘
You
called them.'

Warner folded her arms.

‘Why?' Terri asked softly.

‘You threatened to kill Ritchie.' Warner's voice rose. ‘Elena
told
me, months ago.'

Terri felt her body stiffen. Slowly, it came to her: the night she had found Richie drunk with Elena. She had tucked the child in bed and then, thinking her asleep, had told Richie that she would kill him if he again became drunk around their daughter. And then, suddenly, Terri remembered Monk asking if she had ever threatened to kill Ritchie.

Gazing at Warner, Terri shook her head. ‘Do you have any idea,' she said slowly, ‘of the harm you may have done? Do you understand my child at all? Or any child?'

Warner seemed to draw resolve from the weariness in Terri's face. ‘You shouldn't raise her,' she retorted angrily. ‘Not with what Elena knows. She's
lost
without her father.'

Terri looked into Warner's eyes. She made herself wait until she was certain of what she wished to do. And then, quite slowly and deliberately, she took one step forward and slapped Warner across the face.

There was a sharp crack; a jolt ran through Terri's arm. Warner reeled backward, eyes shocked and filling with tears, mouth open in fear.

‘You fool,' Terri said softly, and went to find Elena.

Elena pointed at the sea lion, leaping to catch the silvery fish tossed by a curly-haired woman in a blue zookeeper's outfit. ‘Look, Mommy,' she said. ‘He's having dinner.'

It was all that Elena had said in minutes, and one of a handful of words in the hour since Terri had picked her up at school. On first seeing her mother, the little girl had worn a fearful, guilty look. Being questioned about a parent would turn a child's world inside out, Terri knew, and that Elena did not mention the police showed how fearful and ashamed she was. To take Elena home for a ‘talk' would only make things worse; when Terri asked Elena if she wanted to go to the zoo, the little girl nodded, and her anxiety seemed to ease.