To Save a Son (29 page)

“What?”

“Don't pretend you don't know, Tina. That's ridiculous. Us. Warring all the time.”

“Do we war?”

“You know we do. It was never difficult for us to be alone; we actually
wanted
it that way.”

“Alone!” she said. “Surrounded by an army!”

“You know it's not going to last.”

“I don't know anything of the sort.”

“We've gone through it, all of it. We've just got to endure it and wait until it passes and then start living like we did before.”

“I don't think it's possible for anything ever to be like it was before.”

“It won't be if we go on like this,” continued Franks gently. “If we go on like this then we're going to end up hating each other. Is that how you want it to be?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Do I?” he said. “Recently I've not been so sure that I do.”

“It's so … it's so …” tried Tina, waving her arms. “Oh, I don't know what it is.”

“It's unreal,” provided Franks. “You said it a long time ago: doing everything in front of an audience. I hate it, too. I'm doing what I'm doing to avoid going to jail and every day is like being in jail. We're not trying, either of us. We're giving up, like people do give up when they go to jail.”

Tina remained for a long time gazing down into her brandy. “I know you're right,” she admitted finally. “And I haven't been helping. Didn't want to help …” She looked up at him, wet-eyed. “Do you know what I thought when you told me that you were going back to England and we had to stay here?”

“What?”

“That you were running away. That you were running away somewhere and weren't going to come back for us.”

Franks stared at her. “You thought
that?”

“I'm sorry.”

“But why? You've never had any cause to think like that.”

“I know. Now that I've said it, I feel stupid.”

They'd taken their drinks into the small sitting room and were sitting on opposite couches. Now Franks got up, setting his drink on a side table, and knelt down in front of her. “I didn't know it had got that bad for you,” he said. “I honestly didn't.”

“Neither did I. Not really.”

Franks tried to kiss her but she only half responded.

“I don't believe what they said, whoever it was; Ronan or Waldo or whoever. I can't believe people can live like this.”

“Do you want to get away somewhere with the kids?” said Franks.

“But isn't that just the point?” she demanded. “We can't go away just like that. Which is what makes it worse. We used to be able to. We could go anywhere we wanted, when we wanted. All we had to do was buy an airplane ticket and we could always afford that, too. Now we can't go anywhere without cars in front and behind and people checking doorways and alleys.…” She looked directly at him. “Last night Gabby wet the bed,” she said. “She's five years old, for God's sake. She hasn't wet the bed for years. I think it's because of what's going on here.”

Franks swallowed. “I meant, go away somewhere by yourself, with the kids,” he said. “There'll have to be somebody with you, of course; just to be sure. But it's me they'll try to hit, if they try it at all. Are you frightened of being around me?”

“No!” shouted Tina desperately. “Being
without
you is what I'm frightened of. Not having you, like Maria hasn't got Nicky anymore. I'm not going anywhere without you; that's why it hurt—why I started to think stupidly—when you said you had to go to London by yourself.”

“I've explained that.”

“I know,” she said. “I know that now.”

“What are you going to do about Gabby?”

“Nothing,” said Tina practically. “I'm not even letting her know that I'm aware it happened. If I draw attention to it then it will be a big thing. I might be wrong, after all. There might be no connection.”

“What if it happens again?”

“Let's wait
until
it happens again,” she said, still practical.

“It won't seem so bad,” said Franks. “Not when we're back in England and the kids are back at school and we're living like we were before.”

“Is that ever going to be possible?” asked Tina. “Don't lie to me; don't say something just because you're trying to make everything seem better. Do you believe—honestly, sincerely believe—that we're going to be able to go back?”

Franks stared up at her, his knees beginning to ache from the unaccustomed position, but not moving because if he did she'd imagine he felt some awkwardness about her demand. And he was feeling an awkwardness beyond any physical discomfort. Don't lie, she'd said. “I've agreed to testify and to cooperate because it's right—necessary—that I should. It's necessary, too, that I take us all into this protection program. I still don't believe that they'd try to kill me, but because of you and because of the kids I can't take that risk. But you know I don't intend staying in.
That's
why I'm going to London. And why I'm going to set up the situations in Switzerland. When the time comes we can opt out.”

“With the children at the schools they were before?” persisted Tina.

“I've thought about that,” said Franks. “It's something that I'm going to sort out, when I go back.”

“And we still can be in this house?” she pressed on.

Franks frowned. “No,” he said. “I don't think in this house. I didn't imagine you'd want to, anyway.”

“What about the house at Henley?”

“I don't know. Maybe,” he said. “Maybe we'll have to go somewhere else.”

“Using what names? Are the kids going to leave one term with one name and go back again with another?”

“I don't
know!”
said Franks. His legs were hurting, so he had to stand; it had been a silly gesture anyway.

“I do,” said Tina evenly. “It isn't going to be the same. None of it. Not ever again.”

“We'll be together,” said Franks. “I won't be behind bars somewhere, serving a sentence for offenses I had no part of.”

“Yes,” she said. “We'll be together.”

“A little while ago you were telling me that's all that mattered.”

“Yes,” said Tina, flat-voiced. “I was, wasn't I?”

That night they tried to make love, which they hadn't for a long time, not since the previous failed attempt. This time it didn't work either, although she tried to pretend, like she had before.

“Sorry,” she said openly.

“It doesn't matter.”

“Thanks!”

“You know what I mean.”

“I just can't … it's … I keep thinking of those men outside and imagining they're watching. They probably are. David says they've got devices on rifles that enable them to see in the dark.”

“He seems to be becoming quite an expert on weapons.”

“It's hardly surprising, is it?”

“We mustn't let this break us up, Tina,” said Franks. “We mustn't let that happen.”

“I know. I just hope I'm strong enough to prevent it happening.”

The following morning Rosenberg called; Ronan wanted another meeting. Franks set the appointment for that afternoon, eager to get away from Scarsdale and into the city. In the car Franks gazed around him at the familiar landscape as if seeing it for the first time. It was like freedom from imprisonment, he thought, and then immediately wished he hadn't.

He met Rosenberg at the district attorney's office. The usual group was assembled. There was a handshake from Ronan and a smile of greeting from Knap. Waldo nodded without any facial expression.

“We're ready,” announced Ronan at once.

“Against Pascara, Flamini,
and
Dukes?” said Rosenberg.

“All three,” confirmed the district attorney.

“What are the charges?”

“Conspiracy, against all three. We're seeking five separate indictments; objectively I think we'll get three. Against Dukes and Pascara, willful evasion of taxes …” Ronan smiled toward Knap. “That's strictly an IRS prosecution.”

“We're very confident,” said the tax investigator. “We haven't been able to penetrate either offshore account, obviously. But in Pascara's case we've racked up a total of 3.5 million dollars in canceled checks that have not been declared on any return. In Dukes' case we're alleging 2.5 million dollars.…”

“We're also proceeding against Dukes and Flamini for entering a business arrangement without declaring previous felonious convictions.…” The district attorney smiled toward Franks. “You prepared to testify that no such declaration was ever made?”

“You've got to be joking!” said Franks at once. “And even without my testimony you've got the company minutes,
proving
that there was no such declaration.”

“Which is why we've included it,” said Ronan. “I have to hear everything from you, in the form of a deposition, to enable me finally to go forward. You're the pivot to any prosecution we bring, Mr. Franks. So I don't want anything—no matter how inconsequential—overlooked. If we can complete the deposition today, then fine. But I don't want it rushed. We're this close.” Ronan held up a hand with the thumb and forefinger narrowed, closing an imperceptible space. “So I'm not going to blow it. If it takes a week—two weeks—to get everything right, then I don't care.”

“It won't,” assured Franks at once. “We can do it this afternoon.”

“I'd like to think you're right,” said Ronan. “But let's not be overeager, okay?”

They achieved it in one sitting. But it took much longer than Franks anticipated. By the time he finished, aching as if he'd been engaged in some form of physical labor, there were five completed spools lying beside the tape machine on Ronan's desk and a further, final tape still in the machine. Waldo led the interrogation throughout, showing by his questioning a still better knowledge of the case than the district attorney. It was dark when the account was finished; looking around the room, Franks knew that everyone else was as physically strained as he was. Ronan summoned a secretary and handed her the tapes for transcription, smiling first to Waldo and then to Knap. “Well?” he said.

“We've got a case,” judged Knap at once. “A damned good one.”

“It'll do,” said Waldo, less enthusiastic.

“When?” said Rosenberg.

“From now on it's largely a matter of mechanics,” said the district attorney. “Impaneling a jury. Formulating the charges.”

“What about my going to London?” demanded Franks.

“Yes,” agreed Ronan. “It'll have to be before the hearings start. Right away then.” The man looked at Waldo. “No problem with you?”

“No problem,” said the FBI supervisor. “Whenever.”

“How long do you want?” said Ronan, coming back to Franks.

“Two weeks?” said Franks.

“Right away,” said the district attorney. To Waldo he said, “By yourself?”

Waldo shook his head. “Thought I'd take my partner.”

Franks was glad there would be the other man. He didn't like the idea of having Waldo's unrelieved company for so long. He said, “When we last met there was some discussion about my family remaining here?”

“Yes,” Ronan said.

“I'd like to be able to take my wife.”

Franks was aware of the look that went between Waldo and the district attorney.

“No,” said Ronan.

23

Franks told Tina at once that he was going, hoping it might lessen the problem between them, but it didn't. Not that they argued; maybe it would have been better if they had. Instead they became overly polite and considerate—matadors not wanting to tarnish their suits of lights, he thought—each conceding to the other, each deferring to that concession. Franks endured it
because
there was a time limit, virtually only hours before he was due to catch the plane. He devoted the final full day to the children, trying to bridge the gap between himself and Tina through them and despising himself for doing it. He'd always been critical of adults who used children to get at each other, for anything. It didn't work, because she didn't respond.

He let David beat him at tennis and then had a picnic prepared and walked with them away from the house, to a woodsy area he'd never had cleared. Tina came too, perfunctorily, and so did four FBI men, led by Tomkiss; halfway through the meal Gabby ran screaming from a sound in the trees and one of the bureau bodyguards emerged shamefaced from peeing to say he was sorry. David developed a rash from poison ivy, which none of them saw, and Franks was sorry there was no gin packed in the hamper. He drank most of the wine, instead, and wished there had been a second bottle. As they trailed back to the house, far earlier than Franks intended, Tina said that Gabby had again wet the bed. He asked what she intended doing and Tina said still nothing, not yet. Any more than she intended to correct David for swearing. Franks said he didn't know about any swearing and Tina said she and the nanny were both aware of the boy cursing—“shit” seemed the favorite, but they'd both heard “fuck”—and thought he'd picked it up from the guards.

“Or us,” said Franks.

“Us?”

“They're words we've been using a lot lately.”

“You mean I have!”

Franks couldn't be bothered to withdraw anymore; at least they were being honest, arguing outright. “Okay,” he said, “you have.”

“So now I'm guilty of everything since the death of Jesus.”

“It doesn't suit you.”

“What doesn't suit me!”

“That sort of brittleness.”

“You anxious to get away tomorrow?”

She'd asked him not to lie, before, Franks remembered. “Yes,” he said.