Within a few seconds, the phone began buzzing again. David dropped his arms and said, “I better go.” He pulled out the phone and looked at it. “Yep. I’ll call her from home.”
He took out a tissue and pressed it to his left eye.
“Are you going to be okay driving?”
“I’ll be fine. It just tears up sometimes and begins to hurt a little.”
Claire stepped back and held up a finger. “We’ll manage, okay?”
“I’m really …” He sniffed and stuffed the tissue back in his pocket.
“We’ll get through this. There will be other nights.”
When they parted, they hugged again, briefly, and David kissed Claire on the cheek, which would have felt almost insulting if it weren’t so obvious that his mind was miles away.
“I’m really sorry about all this,” he said over his shoulder. Marlene trotted obliviously after him into the night.
“I love you, David.” It wasn’t clear he’d heard her.
After David left, Claire put on her corduroy jacket, poured herself another glass of wine, and took it back out onto the porch. The darkness had changed—it was thicker—and the sound of the insects had gotten louder. In her backyard, there were fireflies now.
David was a good man. She could see how hard it was for him, but she was also very disappointed and hurt. Was she being a jerk?
After fifteen minutes, just as she was finishing her wine, there was a tentative knocking at the front door, and Claire, flooded with joy, bounced up quickly. People really could come back. She almost danced to the front door, congratulating herself about the fresh sheets.
To her astonishment, when she opened the door, she found Elizabeth Spencer standing there, holding a large brown accordion file against her chest with both hands.
“Libby?” It was almost midnight.
“I’m sorry, Professor …” Elizabeth hesitated, gathering her courage. “I’m sorry, Claire. I know it’s late, but I really had to see you.”
“You had to see me.” This was not the brightest response, but Claire was fairly buzzed and still grieving over her lost evening.
Elizabeth was wearing dark purple Amherst College sweatpants and a gray hooded sweatshirt, and she had her hair tied back in a stubby ponytail. Her face bore the resolute look of someone who has decided to do something, whatever the cost, come what may.
“I need to give you this.” Elizabeth held out the file. “I can’t keep it in my dorm. I thought of just tossing it into a Dumpster, but someone might find it, and parts of the file may be irreplaceable. I mean, some of the pictures may be originals. I’m not sure.”
Claire looked down at the file. “What is it?”
“It’s the file of unpublished Dodgson photographs that the cops didn’t find at Professor Cranmer’s house. I stole it.”
“You stole it?” She needed to pull herself together. “When?”
“Just now. I sneaked into his house after he was asleep.”
“Oh, Jesus, Libby …”
“I don’t think he’ll notice.” Elizabeth looked over her shoulder in the direction of Sid’s house, a few blocks south. “At least not right away.”
“I’m having trouble following all this. What exactly is going on?”
“Can I come in?”
Claire shook her head. She didn’t mean that Elizabeth couldn’t come in. She meant that the situation was getting way too crazy. But Elizabeth took this as a refusal, and it made her even more determined to push ahead.
“It’s my fault, so I have to deal with it. I trusted Ryan about the pictures, which I shouldn’t have, and now I’m worried he’ll rat Professor Cranmer out.”
“Ryan Jaworski?”
“Right.”
“Your boyfriend.”
“He hates Professor Cranmer. He thinks he deserves whatever he gets, and there’s other stuff happening you need to know. Can I please come in for just five minutes?” When Claire didn’t respond, Libby looked up pleadingly. “I really need some help here, Claire. I don’t know what to do. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
19
By a lucky coincidence, Ethan’s piano teacher’s house, Sid’s house, and Linda Ames’s office were all within a few blocks of one another in the center of Amherst. This allowed Ames to organize one of her favorite after-school projects: a walk with her son. The grass on the lower common below South Pleasant Street was yellow at the edges, toasted by the long, dry summer and bleached by the increasingly chilly nights. The maples on the upper common by City Hall were dabbed with orange and rustled against the sky. As Ames and Ethan crossed the grass out in the sunlight, the breeze was still warm, but when they entered a shady side street, it turned cooler instantly. School was under way now, and soon, they’d be having their first hard frost.
Ethan was a quiet boy, and as far as Ames was concerned, they didn’t have to say anything. Just feeling Ethan next to her, looking at the top of his head, seeing him down there with his satchel over his shoulder noticing things—there had never been anything happier for her in the whole insane world, ever.
The positioning of her destination and Ethan’s allowed Ames to knock off two birds with one stone: walk with Ethan and put in some billable time on the Cranmer case. Following Norcross’s order, Ames would be meeting with Campanella in a week or so to discuss where the case was going. It was time to talk turkey with Sid. Because of his home confinement, he could not come to her office, so she had to go to him.
In front of Sid’s house, Ames stooped to give Ethan his final instructions.
“Okay, it’s just two blocks down.” Ames pointed. “It’s the dark red house on the—”
“Mom, I know where Mrs. Bass’s house is. I’ve been there, like—”
“So, when you’re done with your piano lesson, just come back here, and—”
“I know, Mom.”
Ethan had turned ten in July and was starting the fifth grade, something Ames still had trouble bending her mind around. Three weeks ago, they’d gone to the optometrist and picked up his new glasses. Ethan insisted on wire rims for some reason, which was probably not practical—they were bound to end up bent—and Ames was still getting accustomed to Ethan’s new blooming-intellectual look. He’d gobbled up the Harry Potter books a year ago and moved on. Now he was halfway through the second volume of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, a big fan of Legolas.
“Okay.” She leaned toward him, holding out her arms for a good-bye hug. Ethan stepped back.
“No touching in public. Remember?”
“But there’s nobody around.” Ames straightened up and looked down the street. “No one will ever …”
“Bye, Mom.” Ethan looked at his watch and called over his shoulder. “See you in one hour and nine minutes.” There was a trundling bounce to his walk these days that was almost manly. It amazed her.
As she approached the front door of Sid’s house, Ames noticed that the hydrangea had not recovered from its encounter with the postal inspector’s Ford Explorer back in May. It was still twisted to one side with a chunk missing.
Sid must have been watching, because the door opened before Ames had time to knock.
The living room, per usual, was impressively neat and had a flowery aroma, mixed with the cozy smell of recent baking. As Ames stepped inside, the two cocoa-colored cats dashed across the carpeting and disappeared up the stairs.
After they’d exchanged hellos, Sid said, “Have a seat. I made blueberry muffins.” Walking stiffly, he headed off toward the kitchen. His monitoring bracelet was visible below his pants cuff.
“Damn,” Ames muttered, lowering herself onto the sofa. She quickly calculated the Weight Watchers points, then called out to Sid. “Why do you keep doing this to me?”
She’d permitted herself a slice of whole-grain toast with her eggs that morn
ing—eggs without toast were just too grim—as well as half a glass of Ethan’s pulpy orange juice, which she’d gulped down when he hadn’t finished it. The points were mounting.
Sid’s voice came from the kitchen. “I used a sugar substitute.”
“I’ll have a half. And no butter.”
Despite this, when Sid returned, he set a silver tray on the table with two cups of black coffee and an elegant China plate with three muffins. He took a seat in a small rocker at an angle to her and picked up one of the cups. “No sugar in yours.”
“Okay, Sid.” Ames picked up a muffin. “Wow, this smells incredible.” She began peeling back the foil wrapper. “It’s crunch time. Like I told you, I slowed the preliminaries down, but summer’s over now, and we need to decide what you want me to do. At the status conference, Norcross told me to get together with Campanella …”
“That dipshit.” Sid put his coffee down and sat up straight. “That was such crap, that ignorant garbage about Charles Dodgson.”
“Jesus, Sid, I thought I was going to have to stuff my shoe in your mouth.”
“Well, I’ll say it again: Enjoying pictures of naked children doesn’t make you a pedophile.”
“Please, for Christ’s sake!” It was ridiculous, but the statement was so unspeakable Ames found herself looking up into the corners of the room for hidden microphones. “Don’t say that, even here. We do not, repeat, do not want the judge, the jury, the prosecutor, or the fat lady next door hearing you say that.”
“But it’s true.”
“I don’t fucking care.”
“But …”
“Truth takes a funny shape in courtrooms, Sid. Sometimes you don’t want it within a country mile.”
Sid shook his head, looking disgusted, and a silence fell over them. Ames nibbled her muffin. It was the moment of truth, or at least a critical moment leading up to the moment of truth. One of the cats crept back down the stairs, slipped across the room, and hopped up into Sid’s lap. As he stroked it, Ames could see her client begin to calm down and drift away.
“Listen, Sid.” Ames reached out and touched his knee. “Sid?” He looked up. “Please listen to me now. I’m going to say again what I told you when we first met, okay? But now you really have to zoom in.” She leaned closer. “If you want to go to trial, I promise, I promise I will fight like hell for you, right? Whether you’re guilty or not guilty, I don’t care. You hear me? Sid?”
“I hear you, Linda.” He placed the palms of his hands behind his head, grimaced, and stretched back, trying to work out some soreness. A smear of bruise lingered on the side of his face. “I know you will. I appreciate that.”
“Fine.” She took another bite of muffin. The warmth, the sugary crust, and the tart blueberry were delicious. “But this is the thing, okay? If we’re going to plead guilty, now is when I can get you the best deal. If you do it at the last minute, Norcross will be pissed, and it won’t help you as much. We can …”
At this point, Ames was startled by the presence of a tall, slouching figure standing in the entry to the dining room. It was a man around thirty. He was staring down at the carpeting.
“I’m done for today,” he said dully. He twisted his head to one side, revealing a copper ear stud.
“Okay, Jonathan.” Sid nodded in his direction. “See you next week.”
“Okay.” The man walked toward the door.
Before he reached it, there was a loud clack from the knocker outside that startled everyone. Jonathan jumped back and seemed almost frightened. Sid hurried over to see who it was. As he passed, he put a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder and said, “It’s all right.”
When he opened the door, Sid looked down and spoke in a friendly voice. “Well, hello there, my friend! Who might you be?”
Ames’s view of the front stoop was blocked, but she recognized the voice that responded. “I’m Ethan Ames. Is my mom here?”
Ames was instantly on her feet, pushing into the doorway next to Sid. “Ethan. What about your piano lesson?”
“There was a note on the door. Mrs. Bass had an emergency. I didn’t know …”
“Come in, come in,” Sid was waving.
“Just for a minute.” Ames did not like this. Her family and her work lives ran on strictly separate tracks, and especially in this case, she did not want a hair of overlap with Ethan.
But the boy was curious. She could see, as he stepped through the doorway, that he was already looking from side to side, taking everything in.
“This is Professor Cranmer, Ethan.” Ames gestured to Sid. “He’s the man I told you I was meeting.”
Ethan nodded.
Sid held out his hand. “Very nice to meet you, Ethan.” Ethan hesitated and then shook Sid’s hand. Sid continued. “And this is a man who works for me. His name’s Jonathan.”
“Hey, man.” Jonathan inched half a step forward and held his hand way out, as though he wanted to keep as far away as possible.
“Okay.” Ethan shook hands with him, too.
The second cat came down and joined its brother. Ethan’s eyes lit up.
“You like cats?” Jonathan asked. He let go of Ethan’s hand.
“Uh-huh.” Ethan flipped his shoulder up in a quick half shrug. “But we can’t have one.”
“Allergies.” Ames pointed to her nose.
“That one there is pretty amazing.” Jonathan’s voice was flat. “Watch this.”
“Well, we shouldn’t …” Ames began.
“It’s real quick,” Jonathan said. “And it’s really cool.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ball of paper, made a fissst noise at the cat who’d just arrived, and tossed the ball on a line about four feet over its head. The cat jumped straight up and batted the paper out of the air.
“Whoa!” Ethan said, grinning. “That is cool!”
“You’d better run along now, Jonathan,” Sid said. “We’ll see you next time.”
By the time the door closed behind Jonathan, Ethan was squatting down on the floor, and the cats were gathering around him, mewing happily.
“You want a muffin?” Sid was smiling down.
“We shouldn’t …” Ames shook her head.
“I love muffins,” Ethan said. “Mom doesn’t make them anymore.” One of the cats was rubbing its head against Ethan’s knee as he stroked it. “These cats are really soft.” He looked at Ames. “And friendly.”
Sid, catching Ames’s look, pointed toward the end of the house. “I’ll just get him a couple muffins, and we can set him and the cats up in the music room. The harpsichord is in there.”
“I have my iPad.” Ethan was trying to be helpful. One of the cats was on its hind legs, propped up against Ethan, purring.
“We can finish up our chat,” Sid said. “And you guys can be on your way. Bingety-bing.”
“All right, I guess.” Ames looked down at Ethan, feeling guilty that she couldn’t get him a pet. Her allergies were really bad. They couldn’t even have a parakeet.
As Sid headed for the kitchen to fetch Ethan his muffins, Ethan stood up. “What’s a harpsichord?”
Sid called over his shoulder. “It’s like a piano, only more fun.”
A minute later, when Sid returned with another plate, Ethan asked, “What’s that thing on your ankle?”
Ames broke in. “Professor Cranmer and I need to talk for a few minutes, Ethan.”
“It helps people know where I am,” Sid peered down at his plastic bracelet and looked up at Ethan. “I have to wear it for a while.” He made a face to let Ethan know it was no big deal. “The music room’s on the other side of the kitchen.” He pointed toward the back of the house.
Ethan nodded, took the plate, and walked off with his bobbing step. The cats, trotting behind him, looked up eagerly at the food.
Ames started to call out, “
Close the—” but the sound of a door shutting cut her off. She turned to Sid, dropping her voice and pointing at the front door. “So who the hell is this Jonathan character?”
“He’s a guy from the college’s drop-in center. He cleans my house to earn a little money.” Sid raised his eyebrows and managed a grim smile. “Usually, I have to go back and clean up his cleaning up.”
“Does he have access to your computer?”
“He wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to use it.”
Ames spoke a little sternly. “Next time, please tell me if you have somebody floating around, will you? I don’t like eavesdroppers.”
“He’s okay.” Sid sat back down on the rocker. “He hasn’t had an easy time. Showing Ethan that trick with Keith was a big deal for him.” He hesitated. “There is another guy, a carpenter, who comes by now and then. He’s doing some work upstairs.”
Ames looked up at the ceiling, unhappy. “Is he here now?”
“Oh no. No. He’s just here once in a while.”
Ames returned to the sofa. “Okay, back to business then.” She folded her hands on her knees, a formal posture for a formal moment. “You’re facing a very, very tough call, Sid. I know that. But the decision won’t get any easier if you drag it out. And you can miss your chance. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
“I hear you.” Sid stroked the bruised area along his cheek, opened his mouth, and worked his jaw back and forth. From the far end of the house, two notes from the harpsichord, very soft, rose into the air and died. Sid turned in the direction of the music and smiled. “He’s checking it out.”
“His piano teacher tells me he’s a natural. I never have to bug him to practice.” A couple more notes drifted in, then a melancholy chord. She took a sip of her coffee. “Want me to have him stop?”
“No, no. It’s fine. You can tell by his touch he won’t damage anything.”
The silence drew out, and Ames realized they were both waiting to see if Ethan was going to keep playing. Soon, it was clear he’d settled down with his iPad.
The One-Eyed Judge Page 16
