Michael Baden - Skeleton justice

Grateful for the rest, Manny dropped onto the lumpy sofa, which was not completely sheathed by a ready-made slipcover. The room was filled with books. Books, and photos of Travis. Travis as an infant, Travis at his first birthday party, Travis on the shoulders of a tall, thin man who was obviously Mr. Heaton. More recently, Travis playing violin, Travis receiving a science fair award, and Travis in a Monet Academy fencing competition.

"So, Maureen, before Travis gets here, tell me a little about Paco Sandoval. How long have the boys been friends?"

Maureen sighed, the sigh of every mother who's ever disapproved of her kid's friends but can't figure out what to do about it. "Paco. Well, Paco is everything that Travis isn't. Wealthy, worldly, popular, hot with the girls."

Manny arched her eyebrows. "Yet he befriended Travis?" In her experience, that wasn't how high school worked.

"They were placed together in a peer tutoring program," Maureen explained. "Paco was failing math and chemistry. With Travis's help, he got his grades up to B's."

"So, Travis is a chemistry whiz?"

"Oh, yes! He won a special competi-" Maureen stopped mid-gush and turned on Manny. "Don't tell me you think Travis built that bomb?"

"No." Maybe not at this very moment, but try me again tomorrow. "But, Maureen," Manny continued, "it's important that I know absolutely every detail of Travis's life that the prosecution could possibly use against him."

Maureen rose and paced around the room. "I always knew Paco would manage to get Travis into trouble, but I figured it would be for something like cheating on homework or drinking at a party. Not this-federal terrorism! What could I do? I tried to reason with Travis, but he wouldn't hear one bad word about his friend. Travis was always a little socially backward. He had his own interests, which kept him occupied. Paco ushered him into the circle of cool kids. Travis would do anything for that boy."

"Our goal is to get Paco to do something for Travis. Why is he being so elusive? Can we appeal to his parents? Do you know them?"

Maureen shoved her hands into the pockets of her aqua nurse's smock. "I don't have the free time during the day to volunteer at the Monet Academy the way some of the mothers do. I don't know any of those women well."

Manny felt a flash of sympathy. Poor Maureen was excluded from the Monet in-crowd as surely as her son had been.

"You've never met the Sandovals at school concerts or sporting events?"

"They're often traveling. I see more of them in the society pages of the Sunday Times than at school. But I did see them once at the senior class play. Paco had a small part, but Mrs. Sandoval was carrying on like he was Matthew Broderick. Ambassador Sandoval looked bored and irritated. He's very severe-nothing like Paco, even though there's a physical resemblance."

"So you like Paco?"

Maureen shrugged. "It's hard not to. He's funny and charming and has beautiful manners. Every inch the diplomat's son. At first, I was thrilled that he befriended Travis. Paco helped my son fit in at Monet. Travis's first two years there were rough. He was constantly pressuring me to let him transfer to public school. Then Paco came along, and Travis started to enjoy school."

"And then something happened?" Manny prompted.

Maureen shrugged again. "Nothing dramatic. Just these past few months, Travis hasn't talked to me as much; he's secretive, and I don't always know where he is." She fiddled with the stethoscope that still hung around her neck. "But everyone told me that was normal. 'He's growing up,' they'd say. 'You have to let him go.' And now look what's happened. I-"

Manny jumped up from the couch, hoping to avert another full-scale emotional breakdown. She glanced at her watch. "It's nearly four-shouldn't Travis be home by now?" A twinge of worry rose up in her throat, but she pushed it resolutely down. She was the lawyer, not the overprotective mother of an only child.

Maureen looked at her own watch in alarm. "He's always home by now. He certainly wouldn't have stayed after school without calling. Not with all that's going on." She rose and looked out the window. "Unless there was some delay on the subway…" Maureen's upper lip trembled. "What could have happened? Should I call the school?"

"Wait a minute." Manny looked over at the two closed bedroom doors. "Is it possible Travis has been home all this time? You said you just walked in before I arrived. Maybe he's in his room, plugged into his iPod." The worry subsided. That must be it. She suspected Travis was none too eager to talk to her again. He was probably lurking in his room, trying to postpone the inevitable for as long as possible.

Relief flooded the mother's face and she strode down the hall. "You're probably right. I'm always calling him and he never hears me." She rapped sharply on the first door. "Travis, honey, are you in there? Ms. Manfreda is here to talk to us."

She opened the door without waiting for an answer, Manny right on her heels.

For a moment, all Manny could discern by the dim light of the shaded window were papers and clothes. Piles of each covered the floor, the bed, and every other level surface. The next thing she noticed was the electronic hum emitted by not one but three computers-two desktop, one laptop-and assorted other speakers, hard drives, routers, and mice. Was that lump in the bed Travis, or just a tangle of sheets and blankets? Maureen flicked on the wall switch and light flooded the room.

Manny watched as Maureen's eyes darted back and forth, desperately searching for Travis, willing him to be there. She stepped forward to examine the interconnected maze of computers that occupied the desk and a folding table in the corner of the room.

"Quite a bit of equipment he's got here." Manny sized it up-the very latest models. Ironically, the deluxe Apple laptop was one that she had wanted for herself but had passed up in favor of a spree at the Henri Bendel trunk show new designer event.

"Computers are Travis's passion. He earned the money to buy most of this. Never needed any help getting a job from the school placement office."

Manny estimated the equipment before her added up to about two decades' worth of babysitting. The more she learned about Travis, the more he worried her.

Next to the desk was a bookcase. Three shelves were jammed with books; the top shelf was empty. Maureen saw Manny looking at it. "That's where the police took away Travis's books."

"Maureen, why didn't they take his computers?"

"Well, truth be known, Travis had moved them to a friend's house the day before he was arrested. An old one was here on the desk, and the FBI did take that," Maureen explained.

The more Manny heard the more she worried Travis was guilty.

"It also seems like they took a lot more books than what he had for his comparative religion class."

"Travis got interested in the subject and did more than the required reading." Maureen got huffy "I've always encouraged his intellectual curiosity."

"Mmm. How long would you say he's had this interest in Islam?"

Maureen turned away and began folding the scattered clothes on the bed. "I don't know. It's not like he talked to me about it. I'm just dumb old mom." Suddenly, her shoulders began to shake. "If his father had lived, none of this would've happened. Travis always talked to his dad."

Maureen was bigger than Manny, which made hugging her awkward. Manny improvised with a few awkward pats on the back. As she administered this aid, something in the tangle of Travis's clothes caught her eye: black-and-white checks, fringe. She pulled at it. An Arab man's head scarf emerged from the pile. A kaffiyeh, the same pattern Yasser Arafat always wore.

Manny held it up. "Does he wear this much?"

Maureen snatched it away. "I've never seen that before. He must've… Someone must have given it to him."