Never Ask Me

by Jeff Abbott

  Marland lies on the carpet, five knife wounds in his chest, his life bubbling out of him as she watches. The bloodied knife lies on the floor. Marland raises a hand, pleading for life, and then the hand drops.

  Julia thinks: This just happened. The killer is still in the house.

  Terror washes over her like a wave. She screams, twice, shattering the quiet of the night. She drops her phone, its screen giving the death room an eerie, faint glow. She stumbles out the open door. She can’t breathe. She can’t see, and then she realizes she dropped the phone in her terror and shock and she can’t go back for it. She can’t go back in that house. The sky lit by moonlight, she can see well enough to flee. She runs off the deck, stumbling, crashing down to the lawn and hurtling herself into the darkness of the greenbelt, which feels like a safer darkness than the house.

  She runs, blindly, back into the greenbelt. But under the canopy of the trees, she can’t see the trail. She can’t see anything. Because the killer still has to be there. How long was she gone? Five minutes? An eternity? Then she hears it.

  Voices. “Hey! Hey! Come back here! Stop! Citizen watch!”

  Another voice: “Call the police!”

  They know she was there. They saw me. Her terror is now like a thing clawing out of her chest.

  Julia stumbles into her house, trying not to cry, a strange choked noise coming from her. Grant’s in the kitchen. She nearly falls to the floor.

  Then through the haze of her panic, she remembers. Her phone. The police are coming and her phone is there. And the patrolling dads are there, and the police are coming, and it’s too late.

  She sobs. Grant closes his arms around her, whispering, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

  Where is Mom?

  She’s come into the house off the back patio. They’re in the breakfast nook next to the kitchen and she gets to her feet, Grant holding her, now she’s screaming for her mother. Where is she? And then she sees the clear knife rack, with its steel black blades in an orderly row, and the biggest one, with a Japanese name she can’t remember, is missing.

  52

  From Iris Pollitt’s “From Russia with Love” Adoption Journal

  2002

  It’s showtime.

  Will Anya show up? Will Boris? I cannot let my nerves show. I have to be steel.

  I had thought the hearing would be in a courtroom. Instead it was just in a large room, with a large table, with the judge sitting across from us.

  The judge had complete power over our happiness. That’s an odd realization to have…that this stranger holds the course of the rest of your life in her hands. That your years to come pivot on the next hour, and you have no control over it.

  She was a small woman, with little bolts of gray through her black hair. Her eyes were dark, too, and serious, and inspecting us behind her eyeglasses. She looked tired and irritated. Also in the room were another court official (I assume a clerk; his title was never stated to us); Maria, our caseworker from the Volkov Infants Home; Pavel, our interpreter; and Kyle and me. Danielle waited outside, but she’d explained the all-important ritual:

  Judge asked question.

  Pavel translated question.

  Kyle and I stood up, answered question, sat back down.

  Pavel stood up to translate our response.

  Repeat, repeat, repeat.

  It was like a long play of jack-in-the-box.

  Up and down, up and down, like my heart had been this whole process.

  But no sign of Anya. No indication from the judge or the orphanage director that she had appealed or that she had sought to attend. Maybe she didn’t even know today was the hearing.

  “You already have a child?” the judge demanded (as Pavel translated, seated).

  We both stand. I can tell every fiber of Kyle’s being wants to just keep standing, to stop this silly ruse, but we don’t dare. “Yes, Your Honor, a daughter who is three. Her name is Julia.”

  “And she was diagnosed with cancer as an infant?”

  “Yes, ma’am, a very treatable neuroblastoma. She is healthy and doing well.”

  I felt dizzy even talking about this with this woman.

  “I am glad to hear that. So, this Russian baby is an insurance policy? Eh?”

  Yes, she actually said that: “Eh?” Like an old man. “Is that how you view him? In case your first child is sick again?” Pavel’s voice was steady as he translated the question.

  We had been coached—relentlessly—by Danielle that we must be absolutely compliant, show no anger or frustration, and to not ask any questions.

  They are giving us a son of Russia. A piece of their future. Show gratitude, shut your mouth.

  I wanted to say: “If I just wanted a replacement baby, honey, I would have taken the quarter-million-dollar bribe. But no, I want this one. No other will do.” I wondered if my mouth quivered with my unspoken response.

  Kyle said, “No, Your Honor, he is not an insurance policy. Our experience with our daughter’s illness taught us how precious life is. We found capacities for love we didn’t realize we had. We cannot have more biological children of our own. We have love to give and we want to give it to Sasha.”

  “What if your other child gets sick again?”

  “She is in remission, Your Honor, but of course there is that chance. If that happens, we will love her and take care of her and Sasha will be part of that. He will never be neglected because his sister is sick.”

  “Mrs. Pollitt.” This is the first time the judge has addressed me directly and I stand, having just sat down.

  She continued, with Pavel translating in chunks: “You already have a child who might demand extra attention because of her needs. How badly do you want this boy? Why this boy?”

  I thought: She must not have been satisfied with Kyle’s answer. It’s up to me. I can’t give the answer rattling in my head. I put all that behind me. I waited for Pavel to be ready; he’s gulping a sip of throat-clearing water, since he’s doing twice the amount of talking as anyone else.

  “Yes, ma’am. I understand your concern. I’ve wondered the same. Maybe his biological mother wants him back. He’s such a wonderful boy, I cannot imagine her sacrifice in giving him up so he can have a better life. Whether he was adopted here in Russia or by us.” Everyone looked at me, as apparently one doesn’t usually talk about the biological mother, but I want this in the record. “But he has captured my heart. Our hearts. Never ask me what I won’t do for Alexander, because I will do anything to give him a wonderful, fulfilling life.”

  I paused to let Pavel catch up with the translation.

  Then I went what Kyle calls full Iris: “Since we began the process, I have been approached by a woman warning me off adopting here, another car rammed into us after we left the orphanage and then fled, and the caseworker can tell you Sasha’s biological mother showed up wanting to see him. His mother has an unfortunate history with not being able to care for her children. It has been dramatic. And none of that, not a single moment of it, has swayed us from wanting our son as much as we wanted our daughter. I nearly lost my daughter. I won’t lose my son to what feels like an active campaign of harassment. May I ask you a question?”

  I had just broken, stomped, shattered every single rule in the book. If Danielle were in the room, she would have erupted like a defense attorney staving off a courtroom confession. Pavel actually gasps, but he gathers himself under the judge’s impatient stare and translates. Maria, the caseworker, had an opposite reaction, apparently forgetting how to breathe.

  The judge said, steel in her voice: “Ask your one question.”

  “If Alexander’s mother changes her mind, I want to know you will abide by your ruling if you give him to us. That he will be ours forever. That his mother will have no standing to try to claim him. That this…campaign waged against us will not be endorsed by the Russian government.”

  Pavel translated, with seeming precision and care. The judge listened intently, but her gaz
e was fixed on me. I stared right back as she answered and Pavel rendered it into wry English.

  “Never ask me, Mrs. Pollitt,” the judge said, “if I will not stand by my rulings.” When Pavel finished the translation, there was a flicker of respect on the judge’s face. Barely. Just for me to see.

  I said, unbidden, unasked: “Yes, ma’am. We only want to love him. We’ve already had to deal with far more here than most adoptive parents. We don’t want her trying to contact him or us. If when he’s older he wants to reach out to her, we will support that. But not now. Not as a matter of custody.”

  “Help me,” Anya had said. I’m sorry, Anya. I’m sorry.

  The judge took a long, deep breath.

  “You. Mrs. Pollitt. I am told you are a songwriter?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Maria, the caseworker, glanced at me as if embarrassed.

  And then the judge started humming a song I wrote for NSYNC, one of their early hits, and tapped out the rhythm on the desk. I got the first smile from her.

  We have our son.

  53

  Excerpt of Transcript of TCSO and LPD Interview with Kyle Pollitt

  (Continued from previous session)

  Detective Ames: What was your wife’s relationship with Danielle Roberts?

  Pollitt: Basically, the same as mine. Neighbor, friend, helped us get our son. Where’s Detective Ponder?

  Detective Ames: Busy.

  Pollitt: Why are we still talking? I confessed.

  Detective Ames: We need to clear things up on the case. Just tie stuff together.

  Pollitt: But I confessed. It’s over.

  Detective Ames: We have some more questions. Danielle helped you get your son. What all does that cover?

  Pollitt: She worked for an adoption consultancy. She helped us navigate the process. She was the liaison with the Russian officials.

  Detective Ames: Did she go to Russia with you?

  Pollitt: Yes.

  Detective Ames: So you traveled with her.

  Pollitt: My wife and I, yes.

  Detective Ames: I understand that the relationship between your wife and Ms. Roberts was strained.

  Pollitt: If you’re trying to say Iris had anything to do with this, you’re wrong. I’ve confessed. Stop complicating this stuff.

  Detective Ames: What happened in Russia?

  Pollitt: We got our son. Nothing else. Lots of paperwork. Judge had a hearing. We gave his caseworkers and the other kids gifts.

  Detective Ames: Danielle Roberts told another pair of her clients that you had created problems for her.

  Pollitt: (long pause) I have no idea what that means.

  Detective Ames: What problems?

  Pollitt: I don’t know. It was years ago. Our son is now a freshman in high school. Who are these people saying this?

  Detective Ames: Other clients of hers.

  Pollitt: Bull. I want names.

  Detective Ames: I can’t tell you their names. Was there anything fishy or illegal about your adoption?

  Pollitt: No, no, no. What is this? Y’all are going after my son now?

  Detective Ames: Does Iris have a reason to wish ill to Danielle?

  Pollitt: No. Do you not believe my confession? I told you, look at her phone card. She called me at 4:00 a.m.

  Detective Ames: That doesn’t mean you had a conversation and then went over there. Or that an affair is what you were discussing.

  Pollitt: I’ve told you the truth.

  Detective Ames: Kyle. I just have to say…we think you’re lying to us about certain aspects of that evening. We understand your daughter is involved with her son. You’re best friends with her boyfriend. You used her services to help find your son. You and your family are more connected to this woman than anyone else.

  Pollitt: So what? I killed her.

  Detective Ames: We found the murder weapon.

  (Long pause)

  Detective Ames: It was hidden inside the victim’s Lakehaven Library book bag. A metal pipe. You have a similar pipe, stored on the top shelf of your garage, left over from a renovation last year; the part numbers match. There is blood inside the bag. It was found inside a tree where I understand your son used to hide objects as a child, along the Winding Creek greenbelt. You left that out of your confession, sir. You said you killed her with your bare fist.

  Pollitt: I did.

  Detective Ames: The forensic evidence doesn’t match your story. Now, the pipe appears to have come from your house, which means another member of your family, or your circle of friends, could have had access. Are you protecting someone, Kyle? Your wife? One of your children?

  (Long pause)

  Pollitt: I’d like to speak to my lawyer, please.

  (Break)

  (Interview resumes)

  Pollitt: What the hell? Kip says you’ve arrested my daughter. She’s a child!

  Detective Ames: Yes, Julia has been arrested. Her phone was found at a murder scene in the neighborhood. A knife that matches a knife set from your home was used as the weapon. She was seen leaving the murder scene immediately following the crime.

  Pollitt: That can’t be. It can’t. Julia would never hurt anyone.

  Detective Ames: Do you know who this man is? For the recording, I’m showing him a photo of the victim found at the Carlyle residence, 2308 Marbletop Road.

  (Pause)

  Pollitt: I don’t know this man. I’ve never seen him before. Who is he?

  Detective Ames: Your daughter says that his name is Marland. She doesn’t know if that’s his first or last name. Or even his real name.

  Pollitt: Who is he?

  Detective Ames: We’re trying to establish that as well. Two murders in the same posh neighborhood in a week. Your neighbors are going to love you.

  Pollitt: I need to speak to my daughter. You cannot keep me from my daughter.

  Detective Ames: You’re in custody and you’re not going to talk to her.

  Pollitt: Make it possible. Make it possible and I’ll help you however you want.

  Detective Ames: Is it Julia you’re protecting? Did she have a reason to want to kill Danielle as well?

  Pollitt: I…I…will never believe Julia could hurt someone. Please. You have me. Just leave her alone.

  Detective Ames: You can’t talk to her right now. I’m sure she’s talking. Telling everything she knows. You should do the same. Just come clean.

  Pollitt: The blood in that library bag isn’t Danielle’s. It’s mine. Your tests will tell you that. You see my face? Someone attacked me.

  Detective Ames: How? What happened?

  Pollitt: You let me talk to my daughter and I’ll tell you.

  54

  Iris

  Iris pulls into the driveway past midnight, exhausted, beaten.

  Her daughter is spending the night in jail. With Kyle arrested, the judge has decided to keep Julia as well.

  She sees the front door open and Grant appear on the porch…and then Mike appear in the doorway.

  Grant runs toward her, embraces her in the driveway. His hug is like solace.

  Mike stands on the porch, watching.

  “Where is Julia?” Grant asks.

  “She’s at the detention center. I think we can get her out tomorrow.” Iris isn’t at all sure of that, but she has to give Grant hope. “It’s late. You should go to bed, baby.”

  “I can’t sleep,” he says, but exhaustion slurs his voice.

  She turns him back toward the house and walks him up to the porch.

  “I didn’t think he should be alone,” Mike says quietly.

  “Thank you,” she says. She’s surprised the press aren’t here, but they were at the detention center and she had to push through them. Maybe they’ve decided now that half her family is in custody to give her some space. It seems unlikely.

  Mike follows them in and shuts the front door behind them. Grant leans against Iris, and she tries not to collapse. She has to be strong right now.
/>   “Did you get something to eat?” she asks her son.

  “Mom, did Julia kill this guy? Like self-defense?”

  “No. Of course not,” she says. That he can even ask the question shows how their lives have spun out of control. “It’s late. Tomorrow will be a long day. Go upstairs and go to bed.”

  “Are we not going to talk about this?” he asks.

  This. Your father and your sister are under arrest for two murders. What words do I say to tell you everything is going to be all right? That—snap of the fingers—life will be back to normal? Where is this in the parent manual? She takes a deep breath.

  “I can’t tell you much. We will be putting together a legal strategy with their lawyers tomorrow; Julia’s arrest changes everything. But we know they’re not guilty, right? You and I know that.”

  Grant nods.

  “And so we’re going to find a way to make the police understand they’re not guilty. That they couldn’t have done this. The police are very good at their job, but they can make mistakes, and they’ve made a mistake here.”

  “But Dad…”

  “I know. I know. Go to bed. Sleep if you can. If you can’t, play video games, whatever makes you feel better. But sleep if you can.”

  He turns to Mike. “Thanks for staying with me.”

  “You are welcome,” Mike says. He and Iris both watch Grant trudge up the stairs.

  “You didn’t have to stay,” she says.

  “I didn’t want him to be alone. And I suppose it sends a message to the neighborhood that I am standing by my friends. For now.”

  “For now.”

  “I don’t want to believe Kyle did it,” Mike says. “Danielle loved your family…”

  “No, she didn’t. She loved Grant and Julia. Let’s just cast away all the illusions that we were still close.” Saying it is a relief.

  “I can only say what she told me. The regard she held for your family.”

  “When we started working together, I thought I had a friend for life,” Iris says. “You…you go through a lot together, adopting a child.”