Dooley stood. Were they playing him? Were they going to wait until he got to the door and then slap some handcuffs on him and tell him he was under arrest for Jeffie’s murder?
He watched Randall out of the corner of his eye as he edged to the door and slipped through it. Myers stayed right beside him, walking him through a large room toward another door. It looked like he was really on his way out. Dooley started to get an itchy bounce in his legs, a mixture of impatience and excitement. He was out of there. He was really out of there.
Then both his heart and his legs came to an abrupt stop.
Walking toward him, but on the other side of the room, guided by a uniformed police officer and headed, he knew, for an interview room, was Beth, followed by her mother. Beth looked over at him. Her expression was somber. Jesus, Dooley thought, now what?
Eleven
Dooley should have gone back to school after the two detectives finished with him, but he didn’t. Instead, he decided to give Rektor a thrill. Let him think the cops had him on something. Let him think Dooley was out of his life. Let him think Dooley had finally got whatever Rektor thought he deserved.
He should have gone to work, too, when it was time. But he didn’t do that, either. Instead, he called Linelle, coughed unconvincingly, and said, “Do me a favor; tell Kevin I’m sick.”
“Coward,” Linelle said. Then she said, “I’m always doing you favors, Dooley. When are you going to pay me back?”
“Anytime,” he said. “You name it.”
Then he went over to Beth’s apartment building and hung around outside the front door to wait for Beth (and her mother) to come home. It took forever.
When he started to tremble from prolonged exposure to the November air, which had turned cold and damp and which got worse when the sun started to sink in the sky, he paced to keep warm. How long were the cops going to keep her? What were they talking about? What was she saying?
A midnight blue Jag swung onto the street, glided toward the building’s main entrance, slowed, then stopped altogether.
Dooley stared at it.
Behind the wheel: Nevin.
In the front passenger seat: Beth.
In the back: Beth’s mother.
Nevin got out first and trotted around the front of the car to grab hold of the passenger-side door. But it was already opening and Beth was getting out. Nevin said something to her. Beth didn’t even look at him. Her eyes were on Dooley. She came toward him, leaving Nevin to extricate her mother from the back seat.
Beth stopped a few paces from Dooley.
“What are you doing here?” she said.
“I need to talk to you.”
Beth’s mother had struggled out of the back seat and was busy trying to disengage herself from Nevin, who had taken her by the arm and was guiding her up the front walk as if she were in her nineties instead of, Dooley guessed, in her forties.
“Please, Beth,” Dooley said. He felt like he was begging her all the time now when he’d never had to beg her before, not for anything.
Beth’s mother shook off Nevin and raced to Beth’s side. She scowled at Dooley.
“Come inside, Beth,” she said.
“In a minute,” Beth said.
“Now,” Beth’s mother said.
“Beth,” Nevin said, his voice deep and smooth, brimming with natural self-confidence. “You should do what your mother says.”
“Thank you for the ride, Nevin,” Beth said and, boy, Dooley knew that tone. She didn’t like people telling her what she should and shouldn’t do. “I’ll call you, okay?”
Nevin glanced at Dooley. Then he stepped forward and kissed Beth on the cheek, like a dog marking his territory, Dooley thought. Beth, he noticed, looked more surprised than anything.
Nevin went back to his Jag. It took a few moments and a sharp, pointed look from Beth before he engaged the engine and, a little after that, drove away. Beth turned to her mother.
“I’ll be up in a few minutes,” she said.
Beth’s mother stood her ground.
Beth took Dooley by the hand and pulled him down the walk.
“Beth,” her mother called, her voice shrill. She’s afraid of me, Dooley thought, afraid of what I might do. God knows what she said to the cops. “Beth, you come back here.”
But Beth kept walking, dragging Dooley along with her for the first few steps until, finally, Dooley fell into step with her. She walked briskly down the street and around the corner, looking straight ahead, until finally they came to a small park. She found a bench and sat down. Dooley sat beside her. A wind had come up; it was scattering dead leaves across the spiky brown grass.
“The police came to my school,” she said. Her voice was shaking, but Dooley couldn’t tell if that was because she was angry or cold. She was shivering all over. He wanted to put his arm around her and hold her close to warm her, but he didn’t dare. “They said they wanted to ask me some questions. My principal said I shouldn’t say anything until I called my mother. I shouldn’t have listened to him. I wished I’d talked to them all by myself. I’m sorry, Dooley.”
Sorry? Did she just say she was sorry?
She turned to look at him, and he read a deep sadness in her dark brown eyes. What did that mean?
“The two detectives I talked to said that your mother was murdered. Is that true?”
Dooley nodded. “At first they thought it was an overdose. Then they said it was suspicious.”
“You didn’t tell me.” What could he say? She hadn’t given him the chance. “They asked me a million questions. I didn’t know what to do.”
“The best thing,” Dooley said, “is to answer them.” Especially when, like Beth, you had nothing to hide.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” Beth said. “And I’m sorry I got so mad at you. You said you’d told me everything, but you didn’t tell me about her. I couldn’t understand why not. She’s your mother—was your mother.” She looked up at Dooley. God, she was beautiful. Every single time he looked at her, even when he was lucky enough to be with her for hours and had already glanced at her a hundred times, every single time without exception, she took his breath away.
“I should have told you,” he said. “But—”
She straightened up and got a look in her face that Dooley recognized. It was her serious look, the one he saw when they were at the library together and she was working on math problems that were due the next day, the one that told him she was thinking about a difficult assignment, the one that signaled that she wasn’t fooling around.
“I don’t know how it works,” she said.
“How what works?”
“I don’t know if they tell you what they asked me or what I said.” They? She had to mean the cops. “If they do … I think I should be the one to tell you, not them.”
Dooley caught his breath again. The cops had already sprung a few nasty surprises on him. Now it looked like Beth was about to do the same.
“Tell me what?” he said.
“They asked me about Tuesday night.” A tiny smile pulled at her lips and she blushed slightly, which Dooley took as a good sign. “My mother was mad when I told them you were at the apartment.”
“I’m sorry.”
He peered into her eyes. What was that he read in them? Embarrassment? Regret? Something else?
“They also asked me about the night your mother died. They asked me if you called me that night. I told them yes. I said you asked me to go to the library with you but that I couldn’t. Then they asked me where I was that night. I don’t know why they asked me that, do you?”
“That’s what they do, Beth,” he said. “They ask questions.”
“I told them I didn’t know your mother,” she said. “I told them I didn’t even know you had a mother.” She was getting worked up again.
“I should have told you,” Dooley said quietly.
She took one of his hands in hers and held it for a moment. Then, just when Dooley was starting to
think it was all good between them again, she let go. She folded her hands in her lap and looked up at him.
“They asked me where I was that night,” she said. “They asked me who I was with.”
“It’s okay, Beth,” he said. What was she so upset about?
Oh.
“Are you afraid the girls on your history team will find out?” he said. He didn’t know any of them, but he had a picture in his head of bitchy, gossipy private school girls.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Dooley, I’m so sorry.”
Why did she keep saying that?
“I—I was with Nevin.”
She cried, but that didn’t clarify things for Dooley. He didn’t have a lot of experience with girls, but one thing he knew was that when they cried, it could be for any one of an infinite number of reasons. They cried because they were sad. They cried because they were angry. They cried because they were happy. They cried because they were disappointed, because they felt guilty, because they were tired, because they had PMS, because they were embarrassed, because they were afraid, because they were hurt (physically or mentally), because they were touched, because they were grieving, because they’d just won something, because they’d just lost something, because they were ahead, because they were behind. He couldn’t think of a single occasion when a girl wouldn’t cry. Not that there was anything wrong with crying. At least, that’s what his uncle said. What his uncle also said: Some people think that’s why women live longer. They don’t keep their emotions bottled up.
Dooley looked out over the dried-up grass. The sun had dropped below the tree line. Another couple of minutes and it would be dark.
“What do you mean, you were with him?” he said. “With him where?” It could make all the difference, the where of it. If she said, I was with him at a school debate, that wouldn’t be too bad; they were both debaters; you could call it a professional interest. If she said, I was with him at the library, he might be able to live with that. After all, they were both private school kids, both high achievers and, besides, the library was a public place. If she said, I was with him at his house or at my house—well, that depended on who else was there. The worst would be: I was with him. Just that, the with carrying all the meaning.
“At my place,” Beth said. “He stopped by. I wasn’t expecting him. My mother invited him to stay for supper. She likes him.”
“Your mother was there?” That was good. That limited the range of possibilities.
“She was at first,” Beth said. “She had to go out.”
That was bad.
“He was there when you called and asked me if I wanted to go to the library—”
Dooley’s heart slammed to a halt.
“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” Dooley said, the words coming out slowly because he could hardly believe it. Beth had lied to him.
“I was afraid to.”
“Afraid?” Jesus. “Of what? Of me?”
“I was afraid if I told you Nevin was there, you’d take it the wrong way. I was afraid you’d get mad.”
“So you lied to me instead?” He shook his head. All that grief she’d been giving him, and look what she had done. “Was he standing right there when you said it?”
“No,” she said, flashing with indignation, then—terrific—sagging a little. Even in the gloom he could see her cheeks turn pink. “He was in the kitchen with my mother. I think he overheard. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to get mad.”
“What about your mother?”
“What about her?”
“When did she go out?”
Her eyes slipped away from him again.
“About an hour after you called.”
“And Nevin? Did he leave when she did?”
She shook her head.
“He stayed for a while.”
“How long?” He pictured the two of them alone together. Her mother would never have left her alone with Dooley, not even for one second.
“Maybe an hour. But it was nothing. We were just fooling around.”
“Fooling around?”
“You know, talking, watching TV.”
“While your mother was gone?”
“Yes,” she said. Her eyes flashed again. “I didn’t ask him to come by, and I didn’t ask him to stay. My mom did. What was I supposed to do—throw him out?”
Yes, you bet your ass. Turf the guy.
“His parents are friends of my mom’s. Besides, we didn’t do anything, Dooley. We were just talking, that’s all. I’m telling you because I don’t want you to find out from the cops.”
“You didn’t want me to find out that you lied to me, you mean?” Dooley said. “Maybe you also didn’t want me to find out that he drove you home from the police station.”
“I was in a debate when the police came to talk to me,” Beth said. “Nevin offered to pick up my mother. He waited for us while I talked to the police and then he drove us home. He was just being nice.”
“I bet,” Dooley said.
Beth stood up.
“You see?” she said. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d get the wrong idea.”
“Not telling you about my mother, that’s one thing,” Dooley said. “My mother didn’t mean anything to me. She wasn’t part of my life. But not telling me about Nevin?” He stood up, angry, hurt, and, yeah, jealous. Jesus, private school kids. He hated them. And kids with Jags? He hated them worse.
Then it happened, the kind of miracle that turns people religious.
Beth stepped forward, so close that he could smell her hair. When she was that close, she had to crane her neck just a little if she wanted to look him in the eye, which she did. She said, “Nevin doesn’t mean anything to me, Dooley. You do. I should have told you the truth. I’m sorry I didn’t. I’m sorry about your mother, too, even though I don’t understand it—I mean, whatever else she was, she was your mother. But it doesn’t change the way I feel about you. It doesn’t.”
Then she was in his arms, her hands up under his jacket around his waist, and he was holding her, pulling her as close to him as he could. She was just the right height for her head to tuck in under his chin. He held her until he felt her heat.
“You want to know about my mother?” he said.
Her head bobbed up and down, taking his head along for the ride.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll tell you.”
Twelve
They sat down on the cold bench again, and Beth listened. She didn’t interrupt him, not even once. Her eyes never left his. Her expression, one of rapt concentration, never changed. He kept talking, even though there were plenty of times when he wanted to stop, when the voice in his head whispered, What will she think if you tell her that? He said, “I’m pretty sure she didn’t plan on getting pregnant.” He said, “She was really young—our age.” He said, “She was the kind of person who got antsy unless she was out having fun.” He said, “She liked to be the center of attention, you now?” He’d already told her about the drugs—that Lorraine had used them and so had he—so that part wasn’t as hard to talk about. But the men … they came and they went and there were times—he told her because he’d promised to tell her everything—there were times when there would be a steady stream of men in and out of the apartment, at all hours of the night, some of them drunk, some of them ripped, some of them mean, some of them so noisy that one or some of the neighbors would call the cops. A couple of the guys she went with ended up in jail—for assault, for drunk and disorderly, for drug trafficking—and Dooley would think, thank God. But who did those guys come and check in on again the minute they were out? “That’s the way she was,” he said to Beth. He talked until it was completely dark and she was shivering, but still she listened, her eyes on his, never once interrupting.
And then he ran out of words.
He’d said it all.
It was all out there. She knew everything there was to know about him. Well, almost everything.
/>
She was still looking into his eyes. She was still quiet.
“Pretty fucked up, huh?” Dooley said. He’d felt it stronger and stronger as he talked, as he laid it all out. He even caught himself thinking, well, no wonder I turned out the way I did. Look at my role models. Then he heard Dr. Calvin’s voice in his ear: Up to a certain point, Dooley (Dr. Calvin was one of the few adult authority figures in his life who was relaxed about calling him Dooley), you are well within your rights to lay part of the blame on your parents. But after that… After that, you had to play the hand you were dealt. You couldn’t stack the deck; you couldn’t take someone else’s cards; you couldn’t deal from the bottom; you couldn’t palm cards; you couldn’t resort to that kind of bullshit and then try to lay the blame off on someone else when you got caught. Dooley knew that. He was out of that now. He was clean, wasn’t he? He was going to school, wasn’t he? He was holding down a job, wasn’t he? But he wasn’t driving a Jag. He wasn’t going to private school. He was never going to be welcomed by Beth’s mother. Maybe he wasn’t even going to be welcomed by Beth—not after everything she knew about him.
Beth slid closer to him and put her arms around him again. They sat like that for a few minutes, Dooley clinging to her as if she were the only thing keeping him afloat. A lot of days—that was exactly how he felt.
“Are you in trouble?” Beth said, her voice muffled by the collar of his jacket.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said, which wasn’t strictly speaking an answer to her question.
“Why did they ask me about Tuesday night?”
Dooley told her.
“What about the night your mother died? Why did they ask me about that?”
“It’s their job. And they’re Homicide cops, so they’re naturally suspicious. At least half the people who are murdered are killed by someone they know. So they have to check that stuff out.”
“I told them I saw her at your school that day.”
“Well, you did,” Dooley said. “So it’s right you told them.”
“They don’t think you had anything to do with it, do they, Dooley?”
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