Sara Paretsky - V.I. Warshawski 08 (45 page)

When
I looked back at the house as I drove away that night I’d seen a light turn on
in a side room. I’d thought at the time that Emily might have gotten up to do
something. The party had been on Wednesday. It was Friday when Deirdre died,
but something about her murder had made Emily want to bring the poem to Alice
Cottingham, to use it as a cry for help. I pinched my nose, as if that would
help focus my imagination.

“Your
mother left a note saying that she was going out, and that you were to fix
leftover salmon since the housekeeper had the night off.” That much was true,
or at least that much Fabian had said—the police had never actually seen
Deirdre’s note.

“She
said in the note that she was going to my office. Your father blew up at the
idea of her going off without getting his permission and tore up the note.”

That
part I was making up, but it had to be true, at least the business about
Deirdre informing them where she was heading. I didn’t know what had become of
the note, but Fabian or Emily or both of them had to have gone down to the
Pulteney: how else had the bat reappeared in the Messenger house? I couldn’t
ask Emily—she wouldn’t answer a direct question right now.

She
started to shiver. One chance to get things right—it was like crossing the
Grand Canyon on a tightrope. Heads, Emily went down to the Pulteney alone.

Tails,
Fabian went down to the Pulteney, killed Deirdre, and planted the bat in his
daughter’s room. Surely not even Fabian was that demented. I took a deep
breath.

“You
wanted your mother. Even though she was one of the cats who tormented you, she
was also the only person who might protect you from your father. So you went
downtown to find her. And she was dead. When you saw the baseball bat you
recognized it—it was your dad’s signed Nellie Fox that stood in your front
hallway. You were afraid he had killed your mother. You wanted to protect him,
so you took the bat home and hid it in your bedroom.”

Her
chest heaved with dry sobs, and then suddenly, on a gulped whisper I could
barely hear, she said, “I saw him.”

I
longed to put a hand on her but didn’t know what that would mean to her in her
present state, so I knelt down with my head near hers. “Whom did you see?”

“My—my
... Fabian. He was there in—in your office.” She was gasping with the effort
not to cry. “I thought he was home in bed. I didn’t know—know how he beat me
downtown. I thought ... I could ... escape from him. Now I never will.”

“Emily,
when you took Joshua and Nathan last Monday you came down to my office building
again looking for me. You knew I would help you out then. And you were right. I
would, and I will. If you need to escape from your father I can help make that
happen for you.” I hoped my voice sounded authoritative. “But if we’re going to
get you away from him, I need you to tell me as clearly as you can what you
remember from that night.”

I
looked up to see Ellen Higgins and two other people in medical coats—a woman my
age and a younger man—standing in the doorway. They were anxiously watching the
drama at the bed and looked ready to spring into the room. I had no idea how
long they’d been standing there. I shook my head slightly, hoping they would
stay away, and turned back to Emily.

She
was gasping for air and heaving so badly that her back was arching with the
strain. I fumbled on the table for water and a straw.

“Drink
this,” I said brusquely.

She
took the cup from me, but her hands were shaking so badly she spilled it on
herself. She cried out in rage—with herself, or me, or the cup itself—and threw
it across the room. At that she began to cry in earnest.

The
medical trio surged into the room.

“I
think you’d better leave now,” the strange woman said. “She needs to calm
down.”

I
stayed in the room, hoping Emily would feel I was keeping myself in connection
with her. I thought Emily’s hurling of the cup was an expression of the
helplessness she felt, compounded by spilling water on herself, and that it
would be a mistake to treat her like a baby now. It would only make her feel
more helpless. She was sobbing now into her hands.

I
spoke to her directly, in a slow, loud voice. “Emily, you have to make a choice
right now. There are four people in this room who want you to be well and
happy. Do you want to go on talking to me now about the night your mother died?

Or do
you want me to leave so that you can get some more rest? Whatever you decide to
do, all four of us will respect your decision. No one will be angry or feel
that you did something we didn’t want you to do. But you must tell us what you
want.”

The
medical trio, who’d been advancing on me, stopped in the middle of my speech.
They could hardly throw me out under the circumstances. Only Ellen Higgins went
directly to Emily’s side, where she started wiping her face with tissues and
pouring her a fresh cup of water. Ignoring the rest of us she put an arm around
Emily and coaxed her to drink. Gradually Emily’s sobs subsided to a faint
hiccup.

“Do
you want to try to sleep now, honey?” Higgins asked.

Emily
hugged her knees, rocking slightly. Finally she whispered, “I want to talk to
Vic.”

“Are
you sure that’s what you want to do?” the strange woman asked. “You know you
don’t have to talk to anyone.”

“I’m
not as stupid as that,” Emily screeched, starting to cry again. “You don’t have
to keep repeating it.”

The
man and woman gave me a strange glance, compounded of resentment and
admiration, but they left the room. Ellen Higgins stayed on the bed holding
Emily. I moved back to my chair.

“That
Dr. Morrison?” I asked.

Higgins
nodded. “With Michael Golding, the psych resident ... You want me to leave,
too, honey?”

Emily
shook her head and leaned against her. In a tiny voice, with a lot of pauses,
she told us what happened the night Deirdre died.

A
Night to Remember

Deirdre
often went to meetings at Home Free or Arcadia House, but every Sunday she
pinned a weekly schedule to the kitchen bulletin board so Fabian would know
which nights she planned to be away. And she was careful not to be gone on Mrs.

Sliwa’s
nights off. Although Fabian often had evening meetings himself, he expected
Deirdre or the housekeeper to take care of dinner on the nights he was home.
Before the Friday of Deirdre’s murder Emily couldn’t remember another time when
her mother had made an unscheduled departure like that.

“It
got Daddy angry. He likes everything to be planned in advance,” she said in a
soft, hiccupy voice.

“How
did he show you he was angry?”

“He
yelled a lot and got us all scared. Joshua hid in his room and wouldn’t come
down to dinner and then he said that since Daddy was always telling us to be
self-controlled he should learn to control himself. Daddy said I wasn’t
managing him properly, that if Josh talked back I should make him mind.

Then—then
Joshua came down and we had dinner and I put him and Natie to bed.

That
part was okay. I usually read them their stories even if Mrs. Sliwa gives them
their baths. Then I went to my room to do my homework.”

Here
she started to cry again, silently, without moving, as though tears were air
covering her with a glossy sheen. Finally I prodded her gently.

“When
did you decide to go down to my office? When you finished your homework?”

She
shook her head. “I got into bed and—and Daddy came into my room. He often does.
To talk, you know. He likes to talk to me in the dark.”

“Does
he like to touch you too?” Ellen Higgins asked quietly.

“No.
Just to talk.” Lying against Ellen Higgins’s arms she stared ahead, looking at
neither of us. “He says I’m the only one who understands him, that we need to
be patient with Mom because—because of her drinking, and that I help him be
patient with her.”

She
broke off, remembering that Deirdre was dead now. “I mean, that we needed to be
patient.”

“Is
that all he talks to you about?” I asked after another long silence.

“Oh,
he tells me about what’s going on at work, the people who are frustrating him
on the job, how good people always suffer and their work goes unrewarded.” She
was speaking in a monotone, quickly but so softly that I had to strain to hear
her. “I know he needs my help but it’s kind of hard, too, hard to ... I don’t
know, it’s just hard. I try not to go to bed until ... you know, he and Mom,
but that night she wasn’t home, it got later and later, I couldn’t stay up. And
he came in. He was still mad, he couldn’t stop talking about how awful ... Vic
was.”

She
looked at me for the first time, a timid glance to see if I might react
violently to this criticism. I smiled in reassurance and she looked away again.

“What
he thought—what he said—first you tried to corrupt me, and now Mom. How it was
all Vic’s fault Josh was talking back to him, Mom was traipsing off to
her—Vic’s—office. How none of us cared about his career, that he was slaving
away to make a good life for us and all we wanted to do was humiliate him. And
then he—he got really angry and started ... at first I didn’t know what he was
doing ... you know ... he—he—”

She
started to retch. I fumbled on the bedstand and found a tray. Ellen Higgins
tucked it under Emily’s chin and helped her cough up bile. I went into the
bathroom for a wet washcloth, which I handed to the nurse. My bones were aching
with Emily’s torment. Ellen Higgins had tears glinting at the corners of her
eyes as she gently cleaned Emily’s face.

“You
don’t have to explain,” I said. “But you decided you needed Deirdre.

Your
mother.”

She
nodded and gulped. “He—he told me what a bad girl I was and left my room.

I got
dressed and snuck out the back door and caught the bus downtown. I don’t know
what time it was, probably midnight or something. It was horrible downtown.

No
one was on the street except one drunk man who tried to touch me. I ran away
and found your office building. I—I looked it up on a map after you gave me
your card. And I went upstairs to your office. I saw Tamar in the hall, only
then I didn’t know that was her name. Only later she told me, when she helped
me get into the tunnel. She said don’t go in there; and I said it’s my mother,
I need to see her, so I opened the door. The light was on and I could see Mom
lying on the desk.”

She
gave a hysterical little giggle. “At first I thought it was just Mom drunk again
and I got really mad. I started to shake her and yell at her, something like,
‘Wake up. Can’t you do anything for me, ever?’ Only then I saw—it was her head
split open. I still didn’t get it; I thought she’d passed out and hurt her
head. And then suddenly the door opened. It was Tamar hissing at me to get out,
to hide, someone was coming. By then I could see Mom was dead, her brains—” She
had to stop again for a minute.

“I
was too stupid to move. All I could do was stare at Tamar and then she
disappeared and I heard footsteps, men’s footsteps, so I crawled under the
desk.

And I
saw him come over to the desk. I thought, he’ll find me here, now he’ll really
beat me up. I thought he’d come looking for me.”

“You
thought it was your dad,” I prompted. “Are you sure? Did you see his face?”

“I
couldn’t. I was under the desk.”

“His
shoes? Did you recognize his shoes?” I persisted.

She
fell silent. “I don’t know. I guess—who else could it be? What other man would
be so mad that he’d hurt Mom like she was hurt?”

“What
did he do? Could you tell?”

“I
was scared if I moved he’d hear me. I held my breath and heard this clicking
noise. First I didn’t understand. Then I thought he was doing something to the
computer, it was that kind of sound. And then he left. I waited. I thought
Tamar would come and maybe help me; like I said, I didn’t know it was her, but
you know, the woman who warned me, maybe she would help me, but no one came. So
finally I crawled out. I was so scared. The building made so many noises and
then when I got outside I thought I saw him standing on the corner. I ran. All
the way home from downtown, running and walking, and being so scared of him
finding me outside I wasn’t even scared to be alone on the lakefront.”

“Was
your dad home when you got there?”

“I
didn’t want to find out,” she whispered. “Then he’d know for sure I’d seen—seen
him and—everything. I pushed my desk in front of my door to—to barricade it and
got into bed and just lay there until it got light and I heard Nathan trying to
come and find me.

“And
all day long Daddy acted like nothing weird had happened, like it was life as
usual, yelling at me to get Joshua to drink his milk and not spoil him, where
was Mom, like he never hurt her or—or anything. I didn’t say anything.

He’s
like that. He gets mad, he hits Mom or—or does something, then he acts like it
never happened.”