Sara Paretsky - V.I. Warshawski 08 (51 page)

“Terry,
I’ve told you what Emily says about that. She was convinced her father had
killed her mother. She was hiding the evidence.”

Fabian
winced—the thoughtful, worried father in anguish over his daughter’s emotional
instability. He then treated us to his own version of events the night Deirdre
was murdered: hard at work on an important lecture; believing he must have
forgotten his wife mentioning she had a meeting downtown; glad that Emily
stepped in to help with her brothers; not surprised when Deirdre didn’t come
home—she did a lot of volunteer work that often kept her out late, especially
when it involved homeless shelters; totally unaware of Emily leaving the house
in the middle of the night.

The
three men listened sympathetically. I was so tired I had trouble sitting up,
let alone responding on the level of make-believe all us grown-ups were
playing.

“Vic,
you can’t imagine how grateful I am to you for finding my children,”

Fabian
concluded. “I wish you’d never given Emily encouragement to come looking for
you—it’s what put the idea into her head of running away to your office—but I
know your intentions were a sincere effort to help a troubled child. And I wish
I’d been more alert the night Deirdre ... died ... to how upset Emily was.”

He
glanced ruefully at Terry. “When your own little girl becomes a teenager you’ll
appreciate that adolescent storms are a part of daily life. You don’t pay as
much attention to the individual gales as you probably should.”

Before
we began Fabian had established that he and Terry were the only ones in the
group with children. His smile now established a special communication with
Finchley. Terry, not immune to Fabian’s public charm, gave him back a small,
intimate smile of his own.

“Why
do you think Emily was especially upset that night, Fabian?” I broke into their
communion.

“In
retrospect we—her mother and I—may have put too much responsibility on her
shoulders. Emily always seemed so mature for her years that we forgot she was a
teenager. When Deirdre had that unexpected meeting I asked Emily to step in so
I could concentrate on my lecture.” He grimaced. “At the time my work took on
perhaps an excessive importance. Perhaps Emily felt I was unjust. I can’t ask
her, because she won’t talk to me.”

He
made a deprecatory gesture. “She’s blocking out some painful memories that the
sight of me may well rouse. At least, Dr. Zeitner, I don’t want to put words
into your mouth, but isn’t that your impression?”

Zeitner
cleared his throat. “Emily is an imaginative child, very sensitive, and lonely.
We all know that her mother had ... certain problems. It’s understandable that
Emily began to imagine herself supplanting the mother in all ways, sexual as
well as otherwise. We can’t be certain what made her snap that particular
night—she is finding it hard to talk about it right now. But I’m convinced when
she’s in an appropriate setting and has the right kind of support she’ll
recover enough to be able to speak.”

“Why
do you think she went downtown, alone, in the middle of the night?” I asked.
“Don’t you think it took some major impetus to drive her into a dangerous city
in the dark?”

Zeitner
said, “We’ll know that better when Emily starts trusting us enough to speak.”

“Maybe
if you trusted her enough to listen to her she would trust you enough to talk
to you,” I said.

Zeitner
raised his eyebrows in a way that managed to convey polite contempt.

I
wanted to strangle him. Instead I turned to Fabian.

“Emily
has told me how you like to come into her room after she’s gone to bed, and
that you did so the night Deirdre was killed. Do you remember what you said,
and what you did, that night?”

Out
of the corner of my eye I saw Officer Neely flinch and shift uneasily in her
chair. Zeitner smiled smugly, as though I’d just confirmed his diagnosis.

Fabian
leaned forward across the conference table in his earnestness. “Vic, to be
honest with you, so much has happened since then that I can’t recall that
specific incident. If you’d ever had children of your own you’d know that you
do often go into their rooms at night to check up on them. I may have wanted to
make sure Emily wasn’t too angry—with Deirdre’s leaving her in the lurch—to be
able to sleep, but I honestly can’t recall.”

“So
you don’t remember having sex with her that night.” I forced myself to look at
him, at his gray eyes almost black with sincerity, a tiny pucker between his
brows betokening nothing more than gracious attention.

He
put his hand to his brow, as though unable to bear the thought of so disturbed
a child. He turned to Zeitner, who patted his arm consolingly.

“If
Emily is claiming that, then it’s clear corroboration of what I’ve been
saying,” the psychiatrist said. “Except that her fantasies are more pronounced
than I realized. That information will be helpful, though, in the
recommendations we make to the court.”

He
looked at me over the edges of his glasses, his eyes stern. “And Ms.

Warchassi,
you may be well-intentioned, but I must urge, in the strongest language
possible, that you not go near Emily again. You have a very disturbing effect
on her. The setback she sustained after last night’s events, for instance—your
kind of rough work does not belong in a pediatric ward.”

“Dr.
Zit, without my rough work Emily Messenger would be dead. I would be very
grateful if everyone in this room could abandon their fantasies about Emily’s
fantasies and pay serious attention to what she said. She is not crazy, nor
hysterical, nor amnesiac. She has a clear and most painful memory of the events
around her mother’s death.”

“And
you are a trained psychiatrist, Ms. ... uh?” Dr. Zeitner demanded.

“I’m
a trained observer. I hear a lot of stories. I know how to sift the authentic
from the imaginary.”

He
shook his head. “You are a feminist, right? And you probably subscribe to the
current feminist dogma that many girls are sexually abused. In your sympathy
and the ardency of your beliefs you could easily have given Emily unconscious
cues that made her believe a story of incest would be acceptable to you. I’m
not saying you deliberately encouraged her to imagine that her father raped
her, but that in ways you wouldn’t consciously be aware of, you encouraged her
to present that version of events.

“After
killing her mother and then spending a week almost starving underground, Emily
would be disoriented enough to imagine anything. We need to get her properly
medicated and ready to reclaim her own memories. She needs professional support
for that, not amateur—however well-meaning the amateur is.”

Fabian
nodded. “Vic, I can only endorse what Dr. Zeitner said. As Emily’s father I
must insist that you stay away from her from now on. I’ve left strict orders
with the hospital that they cannot allow you in her room. Or your friends—those
no doubt well-intentioned thugs I found around her yesterday.

Detective
Finchley, you can understand I have a lot to do right now. If there’s nothing
further ... ?”

“I do
have one question, Mr. Messenger.” That was Conrad. “When was the last time you
remember seeing your Nellie Fox bat in the front hallway?”

Fabian’s
graciousness became tinged with hauteur. “Under the circumstances most courts
would forgive me for not remembering that detail, Sergeant. I hope you’ll keep
me posted on your progress, Detective Finchley.”

He
and Zeitner left. Finchley leaned over and switched off the recorder.

“They’re
very plausible, Vic.”

“I
know, Terry. A doctor and a lawyer—what a reputable double whammy. Emily was
very plausible too. I hope you’ll talk to Nurse Higgins before you do anything
scary, like charge Emily.”

Terry
tightened his lips in a thin line. “Get out of your seventies cop-equals-pig
mentality, Vic. It’s wearing thin with me.”

“Why
is it that we give the man’s story four times the weight we do the daughter’s?”
Officer Neely burst out. “Is it because he’s a male and she’s a female? Or he’s
an adult who makes a lot of money? If this was a black family on welfare would
you two guys pay more attention to Emily or less?”

We
all jumped at her voice. She’d been so quiet throughout the meeting we’d
forgotten her as a presence.

“There’s
been an awful lot written these days about how easy it is to manipulate
children’s memories of abuse,” Terry said to her. “I’ve been reading up on it
the last few days. Emily Messenger spent a week underground with a woman who
herself claims to be fleeing a domestic abuse situation. Emily could easily
have had her mind affected by this.”

“That’s
Zeitner’s line,” Neely said. “But do you believe it? Do you think Vic—Ms.
Warshawski—made up what she saw last night?”

Terry
shifted uneasily. “I don’t think Vic is lying. But she’s been under a lot of
stress herself. I’d like to talk to Anton before drawing any conclusions.”

I
felt my own face grow hot with anger, but before I could speak Neely said, in a
voice shaking with emotion, “I will not have any role in arresting Emily
Messenger, Terry. If you want to report me for insubordination, or send me off
to do street patrol in Wentworth, I don’t care.”

She
swept from the room, banging the door behind her. Terry and Conrad stood on the
far side of the table like carved images.

“Don’t
blame me, Terry—I haven’t put subliminal suggestions about Fabian Messenger
into her head.” I spoke more bitterly than I’d intended.

“Can’t
you consider the possibility you’re wrong?”Conrad said.

“I
may be wrong. I could be wrong. I often am. But I’m not wrong about what
happened at that hospital last night. I’m not wrong about what Emily told me
yesterday morning. And I’m not wrong about Deirdre Messenger, come to that: she
was expecting someone in my office the night she was killed. Another point you
refuse to credit me with knowing.

“While
the two of you weigh whether to arrest Emily, there’s a man roaming around town
who tried to kill her, very likely under orders from Gary Charpentier, and
maybe Alec Gantner or Jasper Heccomb.”

My
words brought back the first time I’d seen Gary Charpentier. “In fact I heard
Jasper Heccomb talking it over with him! Subcontracting the job. It was
Deirdre’s murder they were talking about.”

They
didn’t understand me. When I explained that encounter at Home Free two weeks
ago, where Charpentier had come out of Jasper’s office and been disconcerted at
my mentioning Deirdre’s name, Finchley didn’t think it proved my point at all.

Conrad
shook his head, frowning heavily. “You’re putting too much emotion into this,
Vic. I feel like you’re trying to rush me headlong down a hill that you
shouldn’t be running on yourself.”

“Whenever
you or Terry have seen Fabian he’s been the suave law professor.

But
I’ve been with him in private on three different occasions when I saw him
behave very differently. Iheard him hit his wife. Iheard him annihilate his
daughter. And I heard the girl’s account of that night. The details were too
... too ... well, detailed—for someone having hysterical amnesia. I am not
being hyperemotional—I’m a credible witness.”

“I
trust your judgment.” Conrad spoke with the strained sincerity of someone who
doesn’t really. “Can’t you put the same trust in Terry’s and my judgment as
police officers? With better than fifteen years experience each?”

I
nodded warily. “You are good officers, both of you. I’ve seen that many times.”

“Then
don’t ride me—him—us for disagreeing with you and Mary Louise on this.”

It
was my turn to frown. “It’s not just a question of whether Emily is hysterical,
but whose feet she saw in my office the night Deirdre was killed.

And
who Anton was after in the pediatric ward last night.”

Finchley
made a frustrated gesture. “That’s the crux of the problem. Nothing connects
him to your office the night of Deirdre’s death, but everything, including her
own story, puts Emily there. Dr. Zeitner could be right: if she killed her
mother she’s too overwhelmed to be able to admit it, so she has to create other
villains to blame.”

He
went to the door, then stopped to look at me. “I’ll make one compromise with
you, Vic: we won’t execute the warrant until we track down Anton and hear his
story. But by the same token, youmust stay away from the girl. From Emily.

Her
father is her legal guardian and he has forbidden you to have any contact with
her. I’m going to talk to the hospital security staff about this one.”

His
eyes held mine sternly. I nodded fractionally—in acknowledgment of his
hostility.

When
he’d gone Conrad put a tentative arm around me. “What next, Ms. W.?”

“For
you and me? I think I’d better move back to my own pad, however ramshackle it
is these days. We ... there’s too much ... ” My voice quavered and I fought to
regain control. “I don’t want to break up with you. But we’ll be better off if
we’re apart for a few days.”