Secrecy (11 page)

Once more, as in moments of acute awareness during these last dreadful days, Claudia felt the heat of an intolerable shame. It’s no use Cliff’s telling me that Ted is a “separate entity,” she thought. I still feel lower than a worm. And they are all—well, except for Elena, although God knows I can’t blame her—so civilized in understanding me. Bill understanding
me
in the face of what my son has done to his daughter!

“Let’s put some music on,” Cliff said. “There’s always comfort in it. I remember after my sister was killed in the accident, Mother used to listen to Bach.” He bent down and kissed Claudia’s head. “Not that anyone is dead here. Darling, it’s all awful, but I won’t let it crush you.”

In a kind of quietude they were listening to a glorious violin when the dogs barked and the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Cliff said.

From the front door came the boom of male voices. A few seconds later Cliff returned with two policemen. Claudia got up and switched off the music.

“These officers want to see Ted,” Cliff said.

She stared at him, and saw that he was shaken.

“What is it?” she cried. “He just left. Ted—”

He put his hand on her arm, saying firmly, “Hold
it. Nothing’s happened to him. Where did he say he was going?”

“Bud’s house.”

“I’ll go get him. Perhaps—it would be easier for my wife if you’d wait outside?”

“No problem. We’ll stand out front.”

“You don’t have to worry, Officer. I’ll be right back with him.”

“That’s okay, Mr. Dawes. We know you.”

Alone in the room, Claudia stared at the wall. My God, my God, what has he done? A speeding ticket? They don’t send police to your house for that. Maybe they do. I don’t know. I’ve never had a ticket. What else could it be?

The blood throbbed in her ears. Could that nice Mr. Bowman have changed his mind after all? But he only said Ted had insulted his daughter, not that he had harmed her. Or could Bill have reported anything? No, not Bill. For Charlotte’s sake alone he wouldn’t do it. He had clearly said so. Then perhaps Elena?

She went to the window. They were all coming up the walk, Cliff and Ted with the police behind them. She ran toward the door and met them in the front hall.

The older officer thrust a paper at Ted. “You’re Theodore Marple?” And when Ted, with wide eyes and blanched face, nodded, “Read this. It’s a warrant for your arrest.”

Ted gasped. “For what? I haven’t done—” He clutched the doorknob behind him.

Words raced through Claudia’s brain: He knows. He knows what they’re here for.

“Read it. Two complaints to the district attorney charging rape, kidnapping, and endangering the morals of a minor on June seventeenth last.”

“I never—” Ted stopped.

And words raced through Claudia’s head: He is paralyzed with fear.

“Sit down, Claudia. My wife has a heart condition, Officer. This is the last thing she needs.”

“There has to be some mistake.” She was babbling. A fool, denying, when all the time the truth was so clear. And they were paying no attention to her, anyway.

“… these are your rights,” the man was saying. “You need answer no questions without the presence of your attorney. There will be a hearing before the court tomorrow morning. In the meantime you will come with us.”

“May he go upstairs and get some clothes?” asked Cliff.

“No, sorry. Let someone else go for them.”

“I’ll go,” Cliff said promptly. “Stay still, Claudia.”

Ted turned to her, his eyes, now emptied of bravado, calling: Help me.

I can’t, hers answered. I am drowning, hanging on by my fingernails, and there is nothing I can do.

When Cliff came back with a small bundle, which he tried to hand to Ted, one of the officers took it from him. The other brought handcuffs out of his pocket.

Cliff asked softly, “Are those necessary? I’m sure Ted won’t make any trouble. He’ll go quietly.”

The younger man, who had not spoken, looked pitying. Perhaps he had a boy of his own. The other one fastened the handcuffs.

“Sorry, Mr. Dawes,” he apologized, “but I have to. Come on, son.”

Claudia watched them go down the walk, Ted tall and narrow between the other two, who were tall and broad, authority in dark blue coats and brass buttons. Well, we have to have authority. But she had never dreamed her child would come up against it.

“Cliff, you don’t think Bill reported this after all?”

“He said he wouldn’t.”

“Leave the door open until they drive out of sight.”

“No, get up. Lock the back door. I’m calling Miller to meet us at the station house.” Cliff paused. “Miller’s been our lawyer from the year one. Wills and trusts and business. I don’t imagine he handles many cases like this. Still, we’ll see. Try to take it easy if you can. Leave it to me.”

She had not moved from the hard little chair when, a minute later, he returned.

“Miller’s out. I left a message. Where are the car keys? Let’s go.”

“Where are they putting—I mean—where will he sleep?” she asked when they were in the car. At the same time she knew the answer. “Tell me the truth, Cliff.”

He turned to look at her. “Of course you know
where. Listen to me. A jail cell is hardly pretty, but it won’t be as if he were convicted and sent to prison. It’s just a holding operation until bail is set. Darling, they’re not going to hurt him. This isn’t Nazi Germany. Believe me.”

They drove on, passing the mall where people were doing normal things like buying sneakers for their children. Then, as they neared the old heart of the city, they passed the Dawes mill, where a line of laden trucks waited for morning to discharge their ugly waste. Cliff’s quick glance at it did not escape her; he has too much on his mind, she mourned, and now I bring him this.

“Don’t cry when you walk in there,” he warned her. “Don’t let him see you do that.”

“I won’t,” she assured him, sitting up straighten And she reminded herself of the old adages with which she had been brought up:
Head over heart. Stiff upper lip. Be a man
. Nowadays you also said:
Be a woman
.

Public buildings, courthouses, town halls, and police departments all had the same smell of cleaning fluid, the same sound of rapid feet striking hard floor, and the same brown varnished benches. Cliff motioned her to sit on one and wait.

“Wait there and count sheep while I find out what’s going on.”

She scolded herself. I shouldn’t let him take charge for me. I’ve never had a man share my responsibilities. I’ve done everything alone, and I’ve done pretty well. But right now, although the spirit’s willing, the flesh is weak. My legs don’t want to hold up. What
are they going to do to Ted? Kidnapping, rape, endangering the morals … Oh, why, Ted? Why?

Cliff was returning. She recognized his fast, determined walk from down the corridor. Everything echoed in this cold, hollow place, empty now at the end of the day.

“I saw him. They’re doing stuff, filling out papers and taking his fingerprints. He’s scared out of his wits, but he’s holding up. I called Miller. He says there’s nothing he can do tonight. He’ll meet us at court before it convenes in the morning.”

“Did he say—”

“He said nothing. He has to find out what’s going on first. He’s very competent. We’re in good hands, I promise. I suppose you’ll want to see Ted now?”

A policeman, the one who had shown that glimmer of pity, led them to a cement-walled room in which there were a few cells. The bars, the small window high up near the ceiling, were all familiar from movies and television; even the drunk bawling nonsense was a familiar stock figure. Only Ted was not.

He was sitting on the edge of a cot that stood against the wall. When he saw them, he got up and came to the bars. He looked dazed. They were all dazed. There seemed to be nothing to say.

She wanted to put her hands between the bars to touch him, but he was not quite near enough. Besides, if she were to touch him, she knew she would break into tears, and she had promised not to.

“It’ll be all right,” she whispered, “Cliff has a good lawyer. Can you sleep tonight? Have you got
your things?” Then she saw the bundle on the cot, the pathetic little bundle. “Is there anything you need?”

“No,” he said. “Thanks.” The syllables emerged like a sob from a tight throat.

She wanted to say:
Oh, Ted, I’m so sad. What have you done with your life? How can I help you?
But of course she did not, and gave him a smile intended to be encouraging.

“Good night, as good as possible. We’ll see you in the morning. And—oh, Ted, we’re going to do everything we can for you.”

“Thanks, Ma. Thanks, Cliff. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Cliff, on the way home, was unusually silent.

“It’s very bad, isn’t it?” Claudia ventured to say.

“We’ll learn more from Miller tomorrow.”

“Kidnapping. I don’t understand ‘kidnapping,’ do you?”

“No.”

“I know I should be thinking of his—his crimes, of those young girls, whatever he did to them. You certainly know I think every minute of Charlotte. But I can’t get out of my mind why he has done all this. He was never cruel.”

“I can’t answer, Claudia.”

“What do you think will happen to him?”

“I can’t answer that either.”

“College is out of the question now. They’ll revoke their acceptance.”

Cliff did not deny it. They went into the house, where Ted’s place was still set on the table.

“I guess I’ll take a hot bath and go to bed,” she said. “It’s funny, I’m freezing and it’s still warm outside.”

“I’m calling Dr. Billings. I want him to have the drugstore deliver some sleeping pills. You’ll need a good night’s rest.”

“I never needed pills,” she protested. “And I’ve had plenty of troubles.”

“Not like this one.”

“Well, if you must, at least please don’t tell Billings why.”

“I won’t, but we have to face it, Claudia, it will be in the newspaper soon enough.”

Later, lying in bed after Cliff had seen her take the pill, she heard him grumbling in the bathroom.

“Damn bastard. What does he think he is, the neighborhood stud? A mad bull? They ought to pen him up and throw the key away.”

When he got into the bed, she pretended she had not overheard. He was entitled to his rage. Indeed, her anguish over her son had its own admixture of rage.

“Feeling sleepy yet?” he asked. “A little.”

“Come here.”

And he took her, drowsy now, into his arms.

Mr. Miller was the classic lawyer from the top rank, with a well-tailored suit, conservative tie, and attractive, silvering hair. His manner, although pleasant, was
Waste no words
. They met in the courthouse lobby.

“I spoke to the DA,” he said. “Frankly, it doesn’t look too good. There are two girls involved, one the daughter of Monroe Dieter, the other the daughter of Frederick Callahan.”

“Frederick Callahan,” Cliff said. “He’s a vice-president at my bank.”

“I know. I know him well. His daughter got a fist in her face when she resisted. They have the medical report. It seems he was taking her home from a party but drove out toward the lake instead, where he attacked her. So that’s not only rape, but also kidnapping. With the other girl it was rape alone. There are witnesses who heard her screaming.”

Claudia whispered, “What do you expect? What’s next?”

“We’re going in to the hearing in a minute. The DA or his assistant will seek an indictment, meaning that the evidence will be presented to a grand jury, and they will either vote or not vote a bill of indictment. In this case, you can be sure, they will vote one. The case will then go to trial.”

“What will happen if he loses at the trial?” she asked, still whispering.

“If he’s convicted? Oh, let’s not jump that far ahead,” Miller said gently.

“Please, Mr. Miller. It’s easier for me to know what to expect, even the worst. What’s the worst?”

“A pretty stiff sentence.”

“I see. How long does it take before the indictment is handed down?”

“I can’t be exact, but in this county, let’s say
about three weeks at the earliest.” Miller looked at his watch. “All right, it’s time to go in.”

Courtrooms, too, are identical all over the country, Claudia supposed. The one in Illinois where men had gone on trial for the killing of Ted’s father had looked just like this one, although a bit larger. But otherwise it had been the same, with the flag and the judge in his black robes sitting high at his bench, with the shuffling of papers as the previous case ended, and a hot breeze flapping the green window shades. These buildings had been made long before air-conditioning had even been thought of.

Except for the district attorney and Mr. Miller, the room had emptied when Claudia and Cliff took their seats. The judge entered, then Ted between two attendants. He looked so pale! He was in the row in front of Claudia, a little over to the side, so that her eyes rested on the back of his head. Such beautiful hair he had, like thick black silk! Many a girl might wish she had such hair. She wondered whether Cliff had remembered to pack a toothbrush and a comb yesterday.

She felt faint. Her palms were sweating. Low blood sugar, it was. Cliff had warned her not to go without breakfast, but she had not been able to swallow food; she had been in a hurry to get here. Now she was in a hurry to get out.

The proceedings moved ahead. She barely heard them, closing her eyes as she fought to control sickness. When she opened them after a surprisingly short time, the district attorney and Miller were conferring with the judge at the bench.

“A particularly nasty, violent rape. No date rape, Your Honor,” she heard, and then heard only murmurs again.

Presently the two men returned to their seats, and the judge addressed the court, his face turned toward Cliff and Claudia.

“The question here has nothing to do with innocence or guilt. It has only to do with whether the defendant is liable to flee. In a charge this serious the court will take no chances and will require bail. In view of the fact that there are two separate plaintiffs, bail will be set at four hundred thousand dollars. The defendant will then be released in the custody of his parents.”