Guilty as Sin (41 page)

"Why are you asking me these questions? You can't possibly think Paul had something to do with this."

"It's just routine. . . . Mother Teresa would need an alibi if she were here. When we catch this guy, his lawyer will probably try to pin it on someone 'se. . . . If he's sleazy enough, he'll ask where you were . . . and where Paul was."

"I don't know where Paul was. He was gone when I woke up. He said he went out on his own, just driving around town, looking . . ."

She didn't know where he had been that morning or why he hadn't called her back the night Josh went missing or why he had lied to police about once owning a light-colored van. She didn't know why Josh had recoiled from him that night in the hospital.

Another tide of guilt rose into her throat. It wasn't that she believed Paul was capable of any of it, it was that she couldn't be sure he wasn't.

She knew that he was coming to dinner. That he would be there in a matter of minutes.

She had managed to prepare the meal, even though her attention had been fractured. The salad had been tossed. The scent of rosemary chicken and roasting potatoes filled the air.

In the family room Lily was stacking blocks in a precarious tower. Josh had built himself a fort with chairs and footstools and couch cushions, creating a space he could go into and shut everyone else out. Hannah had herded him out of his bedroom every day to prevent him from doing just that—shutting her out, shutting himself in with the memories he refused to share. The fort reminded her he could keep the rest of the world out without walls, with only his silence.

He had spent the better part of the day in his new burrow, with his backpack and his new Think Pad. Hannah had been relieved to see him making use of the notebook. Perhaps memories and feelings would start flowing onto the pages, then spill over and out of him, and he would begin to talk about what he had been through.

Ellen had asked about him, whether or not he seemed to be opening up. Hannah knew it would help the case against Garrett Wright, but there was no pushing Josh, as tempting as it might have been. Dr. Freeman said Josh had to come to it in his own time, that trying to force him to talk about what had happened could trigger a trauma from which he might not recover for months or years. He needed time.

The probable-cause hearing began on Tuesday.

She stepped down from the kitchen into the family room. "Josh, time to get cleaned up for supper. Dad will be here any minute."

Josh peered up at her from under the couch-cushion roof of his little hut. He had said nothing one way or the other about Paul's intended visit.

Paul had called midmorning. He wanted to see the children, especially Josh. He had always been so proud of Josh, so pleased to have a son. His own father had never taken much interest in his bookish younger son, preferring the company of Paul's older brothers. To have Josh reject him had to hurt unbearably.

"Come on," she said, lifting the cushion.

Josh slapped his Think Pad shut and clutched it to his chest. Hannah leaned down, brushing a hand over his sandy curls.

"Dad's really looking forward to seeing you," she said. "He misses you and Lily."

Josh said nothing. He had yet even to ask why his father was no longer living in the house. His lack of curiosity unnerved her.

Beyond the kitchen a door opened and closed. Paul coming in from the garage. Josh's eyes widened and he bolted like a deer, jumping out of his fort and running for the hall that led to the bathroom and bedrooms. Lily smashed her blocks down and dashed in a mad circle around the living room, squealing, "Daddy! Daddy!"

"I forgot the ice cream," Paul announced as he stepped into the kitchen. The tone was challenging, defensive. In truth, he hadn't forgotten at all. After Costello's announcement had been splashed all over the news, he hadn't been able to bring himself to go into a store. People would stare at him, think God-knew-what. They would forget all about him putting in hours on the search, making pleas on television. They would think back to the day Mitch Holt had told him to come in to be fingerprinted. They would remember O'Malley ragging about that goddamn van.

Lily scrambled up the steps into the kitchen, her little face wreathed in miles. "Daddy! Daddy!"

She flung herself at his legs and Paul scooped her up, perching her in he crook of his arm. "Well, at least someone is glad to see me."

"Don't worry about dessert," Hannah said. "People are still bringing food to the house. We've got enough brownies to last into the next millennium."

Lily looped her arms around his neck and lay her head down on his shoulder. "Daddy home. Home, home. My Daddy!"

Paul brushed an absent kiss across her forehead and set her down on the kitchen floor.

"Where's Josh?" He unbuttoned his long wool topcoat and went to hang it in his office.

"He's getting washed up," she answered, carrying the salad bowl to the table, stepping around Lily, who had seated herself in the middle of the floor, lower lip trembling threateningly.

"Has he said anything?"

"No."

"What the hell is that psychiatrist doing? Besides charging us a hundred fifty bucks an hour."

Hannah's eyes flashed impatience as she turned toward the stove. "She's a psychiatrist, not a plumber. She can't just Roto-Rooter out his memory. It's going to take time."

She bent down to reach for Lily. The baby twisted away from her and began to sob.

"Da-a-d-dy!"

"Meanwhile, Anthony Costello is going to make me out to be some kind of child abuser. Did you hear about that?"

Hannah bit back the remark that burned on the tip of her tongue. Once again Paul had managed to make this about him. What would people think of him? How would this inconvenient delay in Josh's recovery affect him?

"Yes, I heard. Ellen North called."

"Sure," Paul sneered. "She can't manage to stop it from happening, but she can handle calling around to dispense the bad news. You know, it really pisses me off that the county attorney isn't handling this himself. What is it with him? We're not important enough for him to bother with? Have we finally stumbled onto someone who doesn't worship the great Dr. Garrison as a goddess?"

"Stop right there, Paul. Just drop it," she said sharply. "You're here to see the children. We're going to be a family tonight. I don't care what it takes, we're going to at least pretend we haven't grown to hate each other. No sniping. No snide remarks. No poor put-upon Paul.

"Do you understand me? Have I made that clear enough? We're going to be a family tonight," she declared. "Now, pick up your daughter and pay some attention to her while I go get Josh."

She turned away from him and her heart stopped. Josh stood at the foot of the steps. Face scrubbed, hair damp, blue eyes wide and somber, backpack clutched to his chest.

Lily let out another wail. Paul abandoned her, turning toward his son instead, a brittle grin stretching across his face like a crack in a plaster wall.

"Hey, Josh. How ya doin', slugger?"

As Paul descended the steps, Josh backpedaled. Hannah watched them, frozen at the kitchen counter. Lily's plaintive squalling stabbed into her brain like an ice pick, but she couldn't bring herself to tend to her daughter. Her gaze was riveted on the scene before her.

"I've missed you, son," Paul said in a wheedling voice. "Won't you let your ol' dad give you a hug?"

Josh shook his head, taking another step back, his arms tightening around his backpack.

"Paul, don't push it," Hannah said with gentle desperation. For all the good it would do. Already she knew he wouldn't listen, that he would try too hard and ruin his chance and whatever fragile hope she had held for a normal family evening.

He moved toward Josh, bending over, reaching out. "Josh, come here."

"No."

"Josh, please—"

"No."

"Dammit, Josh, I'm your father! Come here!"

He lunged for Josh's arm. Josh twisted out of reach, dropped to the floor, and scooted inside his furniture fort, dragging his backpack with him. Hannah launched herself into the family room, grabbing Paul's arm, holding him back from pursuit. He looked at her, his face a contorted mask of hurt and disbelief.

"He's my son," he said in a tortured whisper. "Why is he doing this to me?"

Hannah closed her eyes and put her head on his shoulder, hugging, him because it had once been a natural thing to do, apologizing for reasons she didn't fully understand. In the background Lily cried as if her world had come to an end, and Hannah wondered in that moment if it hadn't.

But the moment passed and the doorbell rang, and she pulled herself away from the man who had been her husband. She felt Josh's eyes on her as she crossed the family room, watching her from under the cover of his couch-cushion roof.

Mitch stood on the front step looking tired and apologetic. His brows drew together as he met her gaze, and Hannah could only assume that she looked like hell. "Hannah? Honey, what's wrong? Has something happened?"

She forced what would have to pass for a smile. "Oh, it's just another fun-filled evening at the Kirkwood house. What can I do for you, Mitch?"

"I'm looking for Paul. Is he around?"

"What now?" Paul loomed up behind Hannah, bracing a hand against the door frame, silently barring Mitch's entry. "Have you decided to take up Costello's cause?"

Mitch let the shot bounce off. "We need to have a little talk. Would you mind coming down to my office?"

"Now? Yes, I'd mind that very much. If you have something to say to me, say it here."

Mitch looked from Paul to Hannah and back. "All right. It's about Dennis Enberg. I need to know what you were doing in his office Wednesday night and whether he was dead or alive when you got there."

The clerk at the Blooming Bud says it was a mail order," Wilhelm said, flipping through his pocket notepad. "No name, no return address, just an order for a dozen red roses, instructions for the note card to be included, and cash—including a tip for the delivery person."

"And the clerk didn't think that was strange?" Cameron asked.

"She thought it was romantic. A secret admirer."

"So did I," Phoebe admitted in a tiny voice. She gave Ellen a guilty glance. "I thought they were from— Well, you know Jay Butler Brooks sends out very strong sexual vibes, and your horoscope is predicting a magnetism thing, and . . ."

She trailed off, Wilhelm looking at her as if she had just hopped off the spaceship.

"It's not your fault, Phoebe," Ellen said. "You didn't do anything wrong. What I want to know is when that son of a bitch was in my office."

No stranger could have wandered in during the day without drawing notice, which meant he had somehow managed to slip in during the night. So much for Rudy's argument that they didn't need better security. The idea that it might have been days ago somehow disturbed her. It added to the sense of vulnerability, suggested a certain omnipotence in their adversary. He could reach out and touch whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, wherever they were.

"Have you noticed anything missing?" Wilhelm asked.

"No."

"He could have been looking for files about the case."

"I keep my notes with me. Obviously, we don't keep any physical evidence here. Anything left in these offices regarding the case, Wright's attorney has legal access to. What would be the point in stealing it?"

She shook her head. "It's just another part of the game. Another taunt."

Wilhelm slipped his notepad into his shirt pocket and zipped his parka. "We'll see what we can find. We've bagged the card and the note. The fingerprint guys should be done in an hour or so."

Leaving their grimy black dust behind, marking every surface, making sure Ellen wouldn't forget anytime soon that her sanctuary had been invaded.

"So now you're going to try to blame me for Enberg's killing himself?" Paul ranted in the dining room. "Or do you think maybe I killed him for no earthly reason?"

Mitch jammed his hands at the waist of his trousers. "I'm not saying either of those things, Paul. If you'd spare the histrionics for five minutes, we could get this over with."

"You come into my house, accuse me of God-knows-what— I think I have a right to be upset!"

"Fine, but you know your children are in the next room, Paul. Do you have the right to upset and frighten them, too? Is that what you want? Haven't they been through enough?"

"Haven't we all?"

"Two clerks at the Donut Hut both say they saw a Celica that matches yours to a T."

Paul looked dumbstruck. "Doughnut helpers. Doughnut people come forward days after the fact and you beat a path to my door."

"They've been out of town." Mitch advanced, forefinger drawn to thrust at Paul. "We just located them this afternoon. They saw what they saw. I don't care if they sell doughnuts or donkey dicks. They both saw a car at the side lot of Enberg's office that sounds remarkably like yours. Now, I'm asking you nice here, Paul. I'm giving you a chance to tell me your side. Quit jerking me around before you piss me off and I haul your ass down to the station.

"Start talking, Paul," Mitch ordered. "And don't try to tell me you weren't there if you were. The fingerprints will be back Monday."

Paul slumped down onto the chair at the head of the table. "I went to see him ... on a personal matter. He was drunk. I left."

"You went to consult the lawyer who had once represented the man who stole your son. Interesting choice of attorneys."

"He was my attorney first."

And now that attorney was dead.

Hannah heard it all as she stood in the hallway, and hours later, with the clock ticking off the minutes to midnight, she still felt wrung out. She wished there was something mundane to occupy her, but the ruined dinner had been disposed of, the remnants of the frozen pizza thrown out. Lily's toys were in the trunk, Josh's videos neatly stacked.

The children were tucked in bed. Lily had gone down with a fight, overtired and out of sorts. Hannah tiptoed into her room. The night-light cast a soft pink glow that just touched her daughter's face. She was sleeping hard, sweat dampening her golden curls, a frown furrowing her little brow.

What impact would all this have on her? Hannah wondered. She was just a baby. Would she remember any of it? Would all of it linger in the dim reaches of her memory, haunting her forever?

Josh was out, too, sleeping flat on his back, utterly still. He had always been as active in his sleep as he was awake, kicking off his covers, sleeping in all known positions all over the bed, dragging stuffed animals with him, dropping them off the top bunk to the floor between bedtime and morning. Since his return he had slept only on the lower bunk with just a favorite old stuffed monkey snuggled next to him.

Hannah slipped into his room and sat down on the floor at the foot of the bed, where she could watch him sleep, where she could be near him physically if in no other way. She had spent so much time in this room when he had been gone because it helped her feel spiritually closer to him, and now that he was home, she felt a distance between them that couldn't be bridged.

She wanted to gather him close and by the will of her love alone drive out the darkness that had settled over him like soot. But she only sat there, feeling helpless and alone. For someone who had always taken charge of her life, it was like being cast adrift in the ocean.

She thought of all the other times she had done this—sat with him in the dark, watching over him, dreaming for him. Before he was born, when the discomfort of pregnancy had kept her awake, she had spent long quiet hours in the night sitting, her hand on her belly, thinking of the future. How she would love him, teach him, protect him. What a sweet young man he would grow to be, with her sense of duty and Paul's sensitivity, and a solid foundation of love and stability.

She looked around the room, cataloguing the familiar. A friend had painted murals depicting different sports on each wall. The small desk between the windows was stacked with books and action figures and the photo albums she had brought in here when Josh was missing, as if concentrating on the memories of the happy times might conjure him up like a spirit from another dimension.

His backpack leaned against the nightstand, flap rolled back so it could accommodate his new Think Pad along with everything else he had packed inside. Hannah inched toward it, one eye on Josh. She wouldn't touch it, wouldn't give in to the overwhelming desire to see what he had put into the notebook she had given him. She had promised it was his, that he wouldn't have to share it with anyone until he was ready. All she wanted was to peek into the bag, to see if she could get some idea of what he had been carrying with him. Maybe if she knew what he carried with him to feel secure, she could do something to give him that security, give him some kind of assurance.