Nick looked at Sam Ellington. ‘Is this about Phoebe?’
Ellington shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Nick.’
Abbott removed a document from an inside pocket of his jacket and held it out. ‘We have a warrant to search your house, Mr Miller. We’d like you to accompany us there now.’
The panic hit him like a body blow. Old times from another life came back, vivid and scary. His arrest in New York. Liza Montgomery warning him to stay out of trouble. The overwhelming, blessed relief at being freed to walk.
And his terror after that last evening with Holly Bourne, just before he’d escaped to Venice. Six years – more than six years, for fuck’s sake – how could they be coming for him now?
Narcotics Division. Drugs. Still maybe related to the old arrest, but not assault, at least.
A crumb of comfort.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said.
‘Which part?’ Inspector Riley asked, belligerently.
‘Why do you want to search my house?’ Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw Ellington’s troubled, puzzled face.
‘Just come with us, please, sir,’ Abbott told him.
Riley laid a hand on Nick’s shoulder. Tough, mean fingers.
The comfort was gone. ‘My wife,’ Nick said, and his tongue felt suddenly thick in his mouth. ‘We’re taking our baby home today.’
‘They’re welcome to join us.’ Riley’s breath smelled of chewing gum and cigarettes.
‘Personally,’ Abbott said, ‘I’d advise against it.’
The door to Phoebe’s room opened, and Nina emerged, holding Zoë. Instinctively protective, Sam Ellington stepped between her and the inspectors.
‘You can come with us and unlock the door,’ Riley told Nick, ‘or we can break it down.’
‘What’s going on?’ Nina stared at Riley’s hand on Nick’s shoulder. ‘Nick?’
Nick shook his head. ‘This is insane.’
‘Go with them, Nick,’ Sam Ellington said. ‘I’ll explain to Nina, and we’ll get you a lawyer.’
‘Why does he need a lawyer?’ Alarm pinched Nina’s face. ‘Explain what?’
‘They want to search the house,’ Nick told her. ‘For drugs.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Nina said.
‘Of course it is,’ Nick agreed, ‘but they have a warrant.’ He looked at Ellington. ‘I won’t need a lawyer.’
‘Of course you need a lawyer,’ Nina said. ‘I’ll call Michael Levine – he’ll know the right person—’
‘No,’ Nick said sharply. ‘No lawyer. It’ll be okay.’ He moved towards her and Riley let go of his shoulder. ‘They won’t find anything – we both know that. It’s a mistake.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Nina’s bewilderment was growing with every second. ‘Why are they doing this?’ She turned to the policemen. ‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Sooner we start, sooner we finish,’ Abbott said, gentler than his partner.
‘I’m coming too,’ Nina said.
‘No,’ Nick said, sharp again. He looked at Zoë, nestling against her mother’s shoulder. ‘You stay here with the baby and your family. Don’t come home till I call you.’
‘We may need you later on, too, Mrs Miller,’ Abbott told her.
‘They won’t need you.’ Nick looked at Nina’s eyes, wide with shock and fear. ‘They’re not going to find anything, sweetheart.’
‘This is really ridiculous.’ Nina was caught between anger and tears. ‘Zoë’s ready to leave.’
‘I know,’ Nick said, ‘and I’ll be coming back for you both when this is over.’
‘Go on,’ Ellington urged quietly. ‘Go take care of this nonsense, Nick, and we’ll take care of Zoë.’
By the time they reached Antonia Street, there were two other cars, and from the instant Nick unlocked the front door, what seemed to him like a cascade of police officers of all shapes, colours and sizes flooded past him and took over their house.
It was almost a rampage. Everything that could be taken apart was. Nina, going out of her mind at the hospital, called right in the middle of it, and Nick told her on the kitchen phone that the situation was under control, but right then a plate dropped onto the floor and smashed, and two men began noisily dismantling their oven, and Nick knew that she could probably hear more than enough to know that nothing was under control.
‘I called Michael Levine,’ Nina said. ‘He says he recommends a criminal lawyer called Chris Field – he’s going to try to get in touch with him.’
‘We’re not going to need anyone, Nina,’ Nick said again, tautly, watching the two officers unscrewing the oven door. ‘I told you, they’re not going to find anything.’
‘Then why are they looking?’ Nina wanted to know.
Good question.
Packs of flour, pasta and sugar were split and spilt all over the kitchen counters. Pillows and a quilt in their bedroom, seat cushions and curtains in the living room were all ripped at the seams, and a table lamp got knocked over and broken. Tube after tube of oil and acrylic paint in Nick’s studio was squeezed out, and precious framed works were cut out with a semblance of care. Nina’s bottles of make-up, jars of cosmetics and cartons of tampons were messed up.
Worst of all, they hit the nursery. Zoë’s mattress, the packs of her diapers, containers of baby powder, and every last one of the soft, clean, cuddly animals that Nina and Nick had placed carefully, strategically around the room for the gentlest, snuggest, long-awaited welcome home for their daughter.
Nothing was found.
‘I told you,’ Nick said to Inspector Abbott as they were all leaving.
‘Everyone does,’ Abbott said.
‘I can’t answer for everyone,’ Nick said. ‘I just want to know why you would think you’d find drugs in our house.’
‘You have a prior arrest,’ Riley said.
Nick stared at him. ‘Seven years ago, in New York. It was a mistake. They dropped the charges. I was set up.’
‘Aren’t you all?’ Riley’s comment was dry.
‘It’s still on file,’Abbott said.
‘So what’s that supposed to mean?’ Nick was struggling to keep his temper. ‘That you have the right to go round breaking up every house belonging to anyone who ever got arrested?’
‘We had probable cause,’ Abbott said.
‘What does that mean?’ Nick asked.
Riley opened the front door. ‘It means a judge agreed we had enough cause for a search warrant.’
‘That’s no explanation.’ Nick’s frustration burst into his voice.
‘You got lucky, sir,’ Abbott said. ‘If I were you, I’d settle for that.’
‘And what about the mess your guys made? My wife’s about to bring our baby daughter home from the hospital.’
The two detectives stepped outside.
‘I guess I’d start cleaning up,’ Riley said.
‘It’s over,’ Nick told Nina on the phone. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘They didn’t find anything?’
‘Of course they didn’t find anything. There was nothing to find.’
‘But why did they think there would be?’
‘I don’t know,’ Nick said. ‘They wouldn’t tell me.’
‘Maybe they’ll tell a lawyer.’
‘I doubt it.’ Nick tried to sound more positive. ‘The main thing is it’s over.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘It has to be over. They didn’t even find a cigarette.’
Nina’s voice was still shaky but relieved. ‘Do you want me to bring Zoë in a cab?’
‘I don’t think you should bring her at all. Not today, anyhow.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They messed up the place, sweetheart.’ Nick looked around their living room, at the cushions slit open, the curtain linings unravelled, the books strewn everywhere. ‘It looks like we were robbed.’
‘I want to bring her home,’ Nina said softly. ‘I don’t care what it looks
like.’
‘They searched Zoë’s nursery,’ Nick told her.
‘Oh, Nick.’
‘Honestly, baby, I’d rather clean things up before you come home.’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘I’m not leaving Zoë in this hospital one second more than I have to,’ Nina said. ‘Aside from everything else, I don’t really want to give my father any more ammunition against you.’
‘Didn’t you tell him what was going on?’ Nick asked.
‘No, not exactly, but he knew something was wrong. I told him it was a plumbing problem at the house.’
‘Good,’ Nick said. ‘Thank you.’
‘I still don’t understand how it could have happened.’
‘Obviously someone made a mistake.’
‘Some mistake,’ Nina said.
He thought, for just a moment, of telling her about his New York record. Yeah, great idea, on the day your daughter comes home for the first time.
‘I wish you’d let me take care of the cleaning up before you bring Zoë home,’ he said again.
‘No chance,’ Nina said. ‘You’ve been through enough on your own already. We’re coming home to help. No arguments.’
They took the baby with them all over the house, keeping her in her carrycot for safety while they worked quietly, tackling the nursery as their first priority. Nick scrubbed the floors and walls, while Nina did her best to fix and mend and generally cleanse. She wept for a few minutes in the kitchen while she sat at the table and stitched up the old-fashioned teddy bear she had found at FAO Schwarz on Stockton Street and which she’d hoped might become a great love of their daughter’s, but then the phone rang and it was Chris Field, the lawyer, wanting to talk to Nick.
‘What did he say?’ Nina asked as Nick put the phone back on its hook on the wall.
‘That the police had some kind of a tip-off.’
‘What?’
Nick kept his voice low, mindful that the baby was asleep in her carrycot on the floor. ‘Apparently someone claimed I had heroin in our house which I was planning on selling – heroin, can you believe that?’
Nina’s pale face grew even whiter. ‘Who would say such a terrible thing?’
‘Field doesn’t know,’ Nick answered, bitterly. ‘He says the police don’t have to tell him. The only person who needed to know that was the judge who signed the search warrant. According to Field, the search was righteous. “Righteous” – how’s that for a bizarre choice of word?’ Anger raised his voice. ‘And I almost forgot – he also told me that the cops are pissed off because they didn’t find anything. They’re pissed off.’ He shook his head. ‘Jesus.’
‘Take it easy.’ Nina nodded towards Zoë.
‘I’m sorry.’ He shook his head again and sank down on one of the other chairs beside her. ‘I am so sorry about everything.’
‘Why should you be sorry?’
‘It was me they suspected.’
‘What else did Field say?’
‘He asked me if I had any idea who might have given that kind of information to the cops.’
‘And do you?’ Nina asked.
‘Of course not.’
‘No need to yell at me,’ she said.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.
‘I don’t blame you for yelling. I feel like screaming myself.’
They both sat in silence for a while, alone with their thoughts, and then Nick looked down at Zoë. ‘How can she sleep through all this?’
‘She’s such a good baby,’ Nina said. ‘We’re very lucky.’
‘Yes.’ Nick nodded. ‘We are.’
They stopped talking again.
‘It was all so beautiful,’ Nina said, after a few minutes.
‘It will be again, sweetheart,’ Nick told her, his heart aching for her. ‘I promise you it will be.’
‘It feels dirty.’
She stood up wearily and went into the utility room, over to the tumble drier, and Nick got up, too, and went after her.
‘However much we scrub the house,’ she said, switching off the machine, ‘I think it’s always going to feel tainted.’
‘No, it won’t. Of course it won’t.’
She looked at him while she removed Zoë’s warm, soft laundry and held it close to her chest. ‘Do you really have no idea why this happened? Who might have done this to us?’
If we were in New York, Nick thought, and if it weren’t so crazy, I might have a candidate.
‘No idea at all,’ he said, and paused. ‘Field said stuff like this happens sometimes. Mistakes.’
‘That word again. So convenient.’
‘Yes.’
‘Perhaps we should think about suing?’ Nina suggested. ‘For harassment, maybe. Don’t people do that sometimes?’
‘I don’t know,’ Nick said. ‘I don’t think it’s such a hot idea.’
Not with a prior arrest for possession.
‘Maybe you should ask Chris Field about it?’
‘No,’ he said.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I think he would have suggested it if he thought it was an option.’
‘Maybe,’ Nina said.
She was still holding Zoë’s laundry in her arms.
‘Why don’t you give me that stuff to put away,’ Nick suggested, ‘and you go take a nap?’
‘Not until we’ve finished cleaning,’ Nina said.
‘I think a nap might be just what you need.’
Nina looked into his eyes for a long moment. ‘I’ll tell you what I do need, Nick. I mean, what I honestly, seriously, want.’
‘Tell me,’ he said, though he thought perhaps he knew.
‘A drink,’ Nina said, and walked out of the room.
Chapter Thirty-six
She didn’t take a drink, thank God. I suggested we might go together to an extra AA meeting or two to help us through, but Nina gave me this strange, disquietingly frosty look and told me she had less time to spend on herself now than ever before, so she was just going to have to depend on her own inner strength, such as it was. I told her that if it helped at all, I thought she was the strongest woman I had ever known. She told me that it didn’t help at all.
Moments like that make me afraid. The big fear, the one that clutches at my vital organs and won’t let go. The fear of losing Nina. Only now, of course, that fear has grown in stature, since if I lose my wife, I may lose my daughter, too. I have no words for how that prospect – no matter how remote a possibility it may seem – makes me feel.
Same old fear. Same regret. I should have told Nina everything about Holly when I met her. That way, I could have brought Holly into the picture on the day of the drugs search, could have set my wild, unsettling, niggling doubts before my intelligent, intuitive wife. I could have said: ‘This just went through my mind – now tell me I’m nuts, tell me that it couldn’t be.’
Of course, it couldn’t be. Can’t be. Not anything to do with Holly, because everyone knows she’s happily married with a great career in New York City. Thousands of miles away. In my past.
I did make one phone call home, just to be sure that was still the case, and my mother assured me that it was. Is. So I put away those doubts, shoved them where they belonged – in my history, the lousy part – and put the day of Zoë’s awful homecoming down to the perils of being an American in 1996.
Our daughter has been home with us for two weeks now. If I thought that I knew about love and completeness before, I know now that I had no idea. This little bundle seals our union, has transformed what was already a happy home into the real thing. This piece of squirming, wailing, sucking, sleeping, diaper-filling humanity is what Christmases and Thanksgivings are all about. Except that Zoë seems able to inject that spiritual high into me every single day.
The fear is receding again.
Phoebe’s arms are still in plaster, her hands useless due to the nerve damage sustained through her compound fractures, though the surgic
al team have high hopes for an improvement in time. She still has not spoken, and no one has been able to find any more physical reason than before for what they refer to as aphonia and we lesser mortals call loss of speech. It may be a residual effect of her head injury, or it may be some psychological problem. There is certainly no reason that they can find that Phoebe will not, at some point, speak again. In the meantime, it’s vital to her long-term physical recovery that she spends some time in a specialist rehabilitation centre. With the Waterson Clinic, one of the finest places of its kind, located in Arizona just a dozen or so miles away from William Ford’s home in Scottsdale, there seems no more sensible alternative.
So come the end of August, my father-in-law will ride off into the desert with our beloved, still-silent Phoebe.
No doubt he would be a much happier man if he could snatch up Nina and his granddaughter, too, and get them away from the son-in-law he no longer trusts.
SEPTEMBER
Chapter Thirty-seven
Things would be moving along a whole lot more swiftly, Holly realizes, if she could have seen to the planting of a few ounces of smack inside the Miller household to be found by the narcotics inspectors. As it was, it had been pretty much of a gamble (another gamble) as to whether or not her anonymous phone call to the Narcotics Division was going to be heeded.
She made the call in San Francisco from a pay phone in the Moscone Convention Center, her voice made unrecognizable and untraceable by an electronic filtering device she’d stolen a week earlier from an amateur spy shop in downtown Los Angeles. (It was the first time in quite a while that she’d stolen anything – it was harder to motivate yourself to shoplift when you were an adult with enough credit and chargecards at your disposal to stretch the width of Rodeo Drive – but the old buzz was still just as potent as it had always been.)
‘I’m not going to give you my name,’ she said, ‘just the name and address of an artist with a New York drugs history living in Pacific Heights with a stash of China White for sale. And you might want to bear in mind this guy’s not only married with a new baby, but he’s also a big-time illustrator of children’s books,’ she threw in for good measure. ‘Nice, huh?’
Too Close Page 15
