Greg Iles - The Quiet Game

Jenny would have made a good D.A.’s investigator.

“It was a race between finding out what I wanted to know and Lacour getting up the nerve to jump me right there in the office. Whenever I was alone, I’d search the place. I brought my lunch every day, told them I was dieting. File room, computers, his personal cabinets, closets, everything. A lot of the stuff had combination locks. It took five weeks to find out where everything was, and another week to copy it all.”

“What did you find?”

“Lacour handled a lot of adoptions. All privately arranged, always white babies. And for real money. Thirty-five thousand dollars changed hands when I was adopted. You believe that? I went through all his records and finally found the Jennifer Doe birth certificate. I’d always been called Jenny, every home I went to. So I copied the file and studied it at home. I found out I’d been adopted on the day I was born, by a childless rich couple from New Orleans. Lacour had made notes in the file. He thought the couple was trying save their marriage by adopting a baby. He turned out to be right. They divorced when I was two, and neither one wanted custody. I went into the state system. I was adopted by another family, but…” Her eyes glaze to opacity as she trails off. “I don’t really want to go into that. It was… an abuse situation. I ended up in the foster care system, and that’s where I stayed until I was eighteen.”

She doesn’t have to go into it. As a young assistant district attorney in Houston, I handled cases arising out of foster care that are still burned into my heart.

“All that mattered,” she says, “was that the file contained the name of my birth mother. Olivia Marston. It also contained the name of another lawyer, the one who’d brought me to Lacour’s attention.”

“Leo Marston,” I say softly.

“Yes. Judge Marston and Clayton Lacour went way back. They’d done a lot of deals together. Oil leases, real estate, you name it. What had happened was obvious. Marston’s daughter got pregnant when she was eighteen, and he arranged to get rid of the baby for her. I was that baby. What I couldn’t figure out is why she didn’t just have an abortion.”

“The Marstons are big Catholics.”

Jenny gives me the jaded stare of a runaway who has seen it all. “What’s your point?”

She’s right, of course. Livy’s sister had an abortion when she was in college.

“What did you do after you found that out?”

“I quit Lacour. But before I did, I stole everything pertaining to Marston. Most of it was files. The rest were tapes.”

“Tapes?”

“Lacour taped everything. He was connected, like I said. And totally paranoid. He’d worked for the Marcello family when he was younger. Carlos Marcello, the Mob guy? Anyway, he saved these phone tapes just like files. Sometimes when he was drinking, he’d talk about his ‘insurance.’ That was the tapes. There were twelve tapes coded for Marston’s name. I took them all on the day I split.”

“What did Lacour say about you quitting?”

“I didn’t stick around to talk. I’m sure he thought I left because he couldn’t keep his hands off me. I’d used a fake name, so he couldn’t trace me. He’s bound to have noticed the missing files, but so what? I stole some other files related to Judge Marston just to confuse the trail.”

“What did you do next?”

“I went to Atlanta to find my mother.”

“And?”

“She refused to see me.”

“At all?”

“When I called her at home, she hung up on me. So, one day at her office, I sort of ambushed her. It’s a big law firm. She was so afraid I’d make a scene that she took me into her private office. Acted like I was a client. She told me she didn’t want anything to do with me. She had no interest in my life, nothing. She wrote me a check for twenty-five thousand dollars and told me to go away.”

Jenny is crying now, but she wipes away the tears with fierce determination. “She broke my heart that day. I’d been through a lot in my life. I thought I was tough. But to have the woman who’d given birth to me offer me money to disappear… to pretend that I’d never even been born. I just couldn’t stand it.”

She closes her eyes, takes a very deep breath, and holds it.

“Why don’t you sit down?” I suggest.

She expels the air in a long, steady exhalation. “No, this is better. Really.”

“What did you do next?”

“I tore up her check. I probably should have kept it, because I really needed the money. But I couldn’t. I tore it up and asked her to tell me my father’s name. She turned white, Mr. Cage. That question scared her to death. I begged her to tell me, but she wouldn’t. I told her I would never do anything to hurt her, and asked her to please reconsider. Then I left.”

“I’m so sorry, Jenny.”

“After that I got stoned for about three weeks. From the file, I worked out that my mother must have gotten pregnant at the end of her senior year of high school. Which meant she was probably living here at the time, right? And her father still lived here. I figured if I hung around here awhile, I might be able to find out who she was dating back then. Maybe figure out my birth father that way. So I got on a Trailways and came to Natchez. When I got here, I found out Livy Marston was practically a celebrity. Everybody remembered her. They talked about her like she was like a princess or something.”

“She was, in a way. Did you tell anybody that she was your mother?”

“No. I played it very cool. I’d hear people talking about her sometimes, waiting tables or hanging out, and I’d ask about her. It didn’t take long to find out that you were her boyfriend during her senior year. I even saw an old yearbook with a picture of you together. And you were a celebrity. I mean, you are. A real one. It freaked me out, honestly. I knew so many foster kids who made up those kinds of fantasies. But this fantasy was real.”

I am past the point of being able to respond.

“People said Olivia disappeared for nearly a year after she graduated, that she’d gone to Europe or something. That’s when she was pregnant with me.”

The beginnings of nausea are welling in my stomach. The logic of Jenny’s story-and its accordance with the known facts-is unassailable. In five minutes a waitress has supplied the missing piece of a puzzle that has haunted me for twenty years. Leo Marston went after my father because I got his daughter pregnant. Because I changed the course of her life and shattered the dreams he’d had for her. His dream that she would go to Ole Miss. That she would attend the same law school he’d gone to. Marry some suitable Mississippi boy and move back to Natchez to practice with her father. That was what Maude was talking about the night she threw the drink in my face. What I can’t understand is why Livy wouldn’t tell me she was pregnant at the time. Why keep it from me? And why hadn’t her father called mine in a rage and demanded that I marry her?

But in that question lies the answer to the others. Livy’s parents weren’t white trash from the wrong side of the tracks, a family for whom a marriage to a doctor’s son-even a shotgun marriage-would be a step up the social ladder. They were Marstons. Natchez royalty. The worst thing Leo and Maude could possibly imagine would be anything that might slow the momentum of their perfect daughter’s perfect life. Marriage would never have entered their minds. They wouldn’t want a single soul to discover that Livy was pregnant, and they would want the resulting child to disappear from the face of the earth. I can’t believe Leo let Livy carry the child to term.

As for Livy keeping the pregnancy from me, her psychology was simple enough. She had ambitions, and marriage at eighteen wasn’t one of them. When she thought of marriage, she envisioned someone who could not possibly be found in the backward and somnolent state of her birth. Yet for the past few days she has acted as though she’d like nothing better than to spend the rest of her life with me.