Джонатан Келлерман - Crime Scene

“Where are they?”

“...bathroom.”

I stepped around her carefully.

The air inside the apartment felt close, tens of thousands of cigarettes soaked into the walls. I went straight back, encountering a mess of amber bottles on the bathroom counter. Among numerous diabetes scrips I found nitroglycerin tabs. I shook a couple out, filled a water glass, and hustled back outside.

She stuck a pill under her tongue, ignoring the water. Within a few minutes her breathing had begun to ease. She closed her eyes, massaging her chest.

“Another?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Who should we call? You have a primary doctor?”

“You can go,” she said.

“I can’t until I know you’re okay.”

At length she tried to stand. She couldn’t manage it. I saw her grimace, weighing need against pride. She said, “Help me up.”

I set the glass on the pavement and crouched, sliding an arm around her. Her skin was moist and warm and yeasty. I said a prayer for my knee, took a deep breath, and said, “One two three hup. ”

We rose together.

She directed me to the sofa, groaning as I got her settled, letting the cane fall to the carpet with a soft thud. I fetched the water glass. She gulped it down, droplets rolling over her jaw and down her throat, shading the lace at her neckline.

“More?”

“No.” Then: “Thank you.”

I took the glass to the kitchen and rinsed it out. There was no dish drainer, so I upended it on a grungy towel. From beneath the sink came a fetid whiff. Overflowing five-gallon can, no bag.

I carried it through the living room, doing my best not to spill. Edwina Triplett still had her eyes closed.

Outside I found a row of gray city bins. I emptied the can, washing it out several times from a hose bibb and shaking the excess onto spiky, sere bushes.

When I returned, her eyes were open. She regarded me suspiciously.

“You have trash bags hidden somewhere?” I asked.

She didn’t answer. I went into the kitchen and started opening drawers. The best I could come up with was a wrinkled paper sack from CVS.

I know how it reads: I was trying to worm into her good graces. No doubt that’s what she thought. But at that moment, I was thinking of all the homes I walk into on a weekly basis, except that in those instances I’m there to remove a body. Few people get a chance to stage-manage their own exit. They die before they’ve had a chance to take out the trash. They die before they’ve finished wiping themselves. The last impression we leave is almost always inadvertent.

Seeing Edwina, the raft of drugs she depended on, I had a rare opportunity. For once I was here before — not after. It felt worth five minutes of my time to chip away, however slightly, at future indignity.

Also, I hate a mess.

I lined the can with the CVS bag and put it beneath the sink.

“I meant what I said,” she called. “I don’t know where he’s at. That’s honest. Not like you.”

I rejoined her in the living room. “Even if you did know, I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to tell me.”

“You just tryin to sugar me up.”

“I’m gonna suggest one last time that we call a doctor.”

“I don’t have a primary.”

“Someone else, then, to keep an eye on you,” I said. “A neighbor.”

That got a snort.

“What about your daughter?”

She started. I’d done my research.

Then, as if giving up, she pursed her lips and faced away.

“We could call her together,” I said. “Maybe she knows where Julian’s at.”

“Ask her yourself.” Her voice was a hard matte shell, hinting at the terrible loneliness inside. “I ain’t even tryin to know.”

“Believe it or not, I’d like to help your son.”

She smirked.

“You’ve heard that before,” I said.

“Oh yes I have.”

“From the police.”

“Police,” she said. “Lawyers. Social services. Everybody’s so helpful. The folks from the experiment, they wanted to help, too, and you see what that got him.”

“I understand.”

“Oh you do, do you?”

“Maybe I don’t,” I said. “Help me out, then. Tell me about him.”

She looked at me. “Tell you what?”

“About Julian.”

She fell silent for a moment. “I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

“You know him. I don’t.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And maybe you share with me a little about who he is, what he’s like, I can do what I can to keep him safe.”

“He’s in danger.”

“He’s out there,” I said.

“You think he did something.”

“I don’t know that. Don’t know him.”

“I don’t know him, either,” she said. “Not anymore. Maybe I never did.”

“Does he have friends? A girlfriend?”

“ Girl friend? Be real, now.” She shook her head. “You ask me as many times you want. The answer’s still the same: I don’t know where he’s at. I ain’t seen him in forever.”

“What’s forever?”

“Ten years,” she said. “More.”

I said, “Back when he was living with you.”

“He got out and had no place to go.”

“You took him in.”

She stared at me. “He’s still my child.”

“All I meant was, you did right by him.”

“You definitely sugaring.” But she didn’t seem to mind.

“How was it, having him home?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“Did he have a hard time adjusting to life on the outside?”

“Julian had a hard time ad just ing to everything,” she said.

Her anger wilted as quickly as it had come; she unballed her fists and began fiddling with her cuticles. “I know God has His reasons, and He gives us each our gifts. And I know I ain’t the greatest mother in the world, but I tried, I was trying. You need to realize, I wasn’t like you see me now. I didn’t sit here like this, I could get around. I had him young. Two kids and two jobs. I was tired all the time. I don’t know what I did, to make him act like that.”

“You have a recent photo of him?”

She rolled her eyes. “No.”

“All right,” I said. “When he left, ten or so years ago, did something happen to make him take off? You two have a fight?”

“Wasn’t like that. When he first came out he wouldn’t do nothing. Just sat and watched TV. Reverend Willamette, bless him, he started coming round. He took Julian under his wing. He got him a job, helping part-time over at the church. You know — touch up the paint, whatever. He was doing all right. Then one day I wake up, and he’s gone.”

She bit off a hangnail. “I ain’t seen him since. And that’s the truth.”

She held the water glass out to me.

I took it to the kitchen, refilled it, calling, “The reverend’s a good man.”

“Yes he is.”

“Where’s he preach at?”

“Dwight Baptist.”

“That’s your church?” I said, coming back to the living room.

“I go when I can,” she said.

I handed her the glass. “Lemme ask you about something else: those people from the experiment.”

Her face pinched. “What about them.”

“You said they wanted to help.”

“That’s what they said. They came to the high school, passing out flyers. Julian was all excited, begging me, ‘Can I please, Mama.’ I said, ‘What these people going to do to you?’ I didn’t want them giving him electric shocks or nothing.”

“What did they do?”

“He told me he got to play video games,” she said. “He says he goes and does this experiment and also they gonna help him with his homework. You know, tutoring. He needed the help. The school already made him repeat the year. So, okay, I said.”