Sympathy Between Humans Part 23

A Rainbow at Night was published later that year to reasonably good reviews, and Hugh did lectures and signings. When he was on the road, he sent back postcards from every city, even if he'd only spent one night in a hotel room there. The following year, a movie studio optioned was published later that year to reasonably good reviews, and Hugh did lectures and signings. When he was on the road, he sent back postcards from every city, even if he'd only spent one night in a hotel room there. The following year, a movie studio optioned The Channel. The Channel. From the proceeds, Hugh bought a cabin near Tait Lake, a place where he could get away and write, but first he took the whole family up there for a vacation. His ulcer and even his back pain seemed to improve. He seemed more at ease, talking and sometimes laughing at the dinner table. Following his lead, the boys were a little more relaxed as well. It was as if a corner had been turned. From the proceeds, Hugh bought a cabin near Tait Lake, a place where he could get away and write, but first he took the whole family up there for a vacation. His ulcer and even his back pain seemed to improve. He seemed more at ease, talking and sometimes laughing at the dinner table. Following his lead, the boys were a little more relaxed as well. It was as if a corner had been turned.

Marlinchen never mentioned Aidan to her father again.

"You were a child," I whispered, "it wasn't your fault." I whispered, "it wasn't your fault."

After telling her story, Marlinchen had dissolved into quiet sobs and recriminations. "If anything's happened to him," she said, "it's my fault. I stood by and let it happen. I didn't do anything."

"There was nothing you could do," I told her, patting her shaking shoulders awkwardly.

In time, she dried her tears and gathered her composure. "I wanted to tell you," she said, her voice steadier. "But with something like this, the beatings... the first time it happens you look away and pray it's just a onetime thing. After that, it's like... if you didn't mention it yesterday, it's harder to think of mentioning it today, and even harder the next day, and finally you reach a point where everybody knows that everybody else knows, but to say it out loud would be like..."

"Like breaking all the windows," I said.

"Yes," she said, nodding. "Like breaking all the windows."

"What about Colm and Liam? Did the three of you discuss what you'd say when I asked why Aidan was sent away?"

She shook her head. "I didn't have to tell them not to say anything. We never talk about it, even with each other." Her pupils were wide in the darkness. "Where do you think he is, Sarah? Really."

"I just don't know," I admitted. "And it won't help to sit up at night theorizing about it. Go back to bed."

But she said, "When we were 11, and I was out walking on the ice of the lake... I forget why I was even doing that, but I fell through. I would have drowned if Aidan hadn't seen and come out after me." Her voice quivered as if tears threatened again. "We never told Dad what he'd done, so I wouldn't get in trouble for being out on the lake. But when Aidan needed my help... if Aidan has-"

"Don't think about it any more tonight," I said. "Let's both get some sleep."

I doubt she slept. I know I didn't. she slept. I know I didn't.

Marlinchen's story wasn't much of a surprise; I'd already started to suspect it. The problem was that there was a part of Aidan's story that I still didn't know, because Marlinchen herself didn't know it: Why was Aidan, alone, the lightning rod for his father's rage and resentment?

I supposed there was always the soap-opera answer. Aidan and Marlinchen were both blond, and in looks took after their lovely German mother. The other three boys looked like Hugh. The twins were the firstborn. Hugh and Elisabeth were two vertices of a literary love triangle. The third point, Campion, had been frozen out of his friend Hugh's life several years after the twins were born. Conclusion: Campion was the twins' father. Somehow Hugh found out a few years later and had a falling-out with his old friend. Then Hugh had taken his feelings out on Aidan, Campion's b.a.s.t.a.r.d son. Now for a word from our sponsor, Oxydol. Now for a word from our sponsor, Oxydol.

Unfortunately, the paternity theory didn't really answer the question, it just rephrased it. "Marli" had been a favorite of her father's, particularly after the death of her mother. If the Campion theory were true, the taint of his parentage hadn't stained her, just her twin. Marlinchen have I loved, Aidan have I hated. Marlinchen have I loved, Aidan have I hated. What was the rationale there? What was the rationale there?

It was these thoughts that kept me awake for a while, long enough to notice a sound outside Hugh's window: the wind shaking the grapevines on the trellis. Which was strange, because I was sleeping with the curtains open, and the treetops that were visible outside weren't moving at all.

I crept over to the window. The trellis shook again. Harder.

With nothing to change into, I'd been sleeping in my T-shirt and leggings. I yanked my hooded sweat jacket on, wishing for the shoes that were drying out in the Hennessy garage below, took my gun from my shoulder bag, and ran down the stairs.

The lean, shadowed figure was nearly up the vine-covered frame when I came around the side of the house. "Stop right there!" I shouted up at him. "I want you to climb back down, slowly, slowly, and when you get to the base of the trellis, stand facing it with your hands up on the frame and your feet about two feet back and spread apart." and when you get to the base of the trellis, stand facing it with your hands up on the frame and your feet about two feet back and spread apart."

The figure- male and lean, that was all I could see on this moonless night- did as I instructed. In silhouette, I could just make out that long, loose hair was swaying as he descended. When he got to the bottom and laid his hands on the trellis frame at about the height of his head, I felt a little ripple of recognition go through me. Then the side of the house was flooded with electric light, removing all doubt.

Marlinchen stood in the doorway. It was she who'd tripped the floodlight. She was staring at the boy leaning against the side of the house. Staring at his left hand, the one missing its smallest finger.

"Aidan!"

"Stay where you are, Marlinchen," I called to her.

She looked from me to her brother with growing incomprehension. "Sarah, don't you understand? This is Aidan!"

If only it were that simple, I thought. I thought.

Maybe I should have handled it differently, but it was in my training: never cede control of a situation, not until you've satisfied yourself that things are all right. This situation surely wasn't, and although Aidan had obeyed my commands so far, he was taller and probably stronger than I was, and I wasn't easy about that.

By now the older boys were also outside. "Aidan?" Liam said, disbelieving.

"The rest of you kids," I said, nudging Aidan back over to the wall, "go back inside. I'll handle this."

Only Colm obeyed me. Liam stayed where he was, as did Marlinchen.

I was patting Aidan down, feeling for suspicious objects. He didn't move, accepting my touch like a horse being shod. He was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt, faded jeans, and a dirty hooded sweatshirt. In the side pocket I felt a narrow, hard object, about a finger's length, and carefully drew it out.

"What are you doing?" Marlinchen demanded again, close by my side. "Stop it! That's Aidan. Aidan."

"One, please step back," I told Marlinchen. "Two, I know know it's Aidan. He was breaking into your house carrying a switchblade knife." I showed her. it's Aidan. He was breaking into your house carrying a switchblade knife." I showed her.

Colm reappeared at my side. "Do you need these?" he said, and my handcuffs gleamed in his hand. He looked pleased with himself for antic.i.p.ating me.

I cleared my throat awkwardly. "That won't be necessary," I said. "I'm not arresting your brother, I'm just taking him downtown for some questioning."

Marlinchen was about to speak again, when Colm put his hand on her arm and tried to pull her away. "Come on, Marlinchen," he said. "Let Sarah do her job."

Marlinchen yanked her arm away and shot him a glare. Colm's attempt at authority melted away like a thin spring snow; he didn't try again. Liam hadn't obeyed my order to go back in the house, but at least he'd backed up to the open doorway. He was watching with a pained expression on his narrow face, as if he wanted to protest but didn't know what to say.

I'd been in this situation before. A good number of arrests you make as a patrol officer are in front of appalled family members, standing around in harsh porch lights or in messy living rooms, half-dressed, looking at you as if to say, You can't do this, that's my husband. My daddy. My son. My brother. You can't do this, that's my husband. My daddy. My son. My brother. It was never easy. It was never easy.

"Sarah-" Marlinchen began, trying again.

"It's okay, Linch," Aidan said, speaking for the first time. His voice was rusty, as if with disuse.

"Sarah, can't you just-"

"No," I said, "I can't. My first priority is keeping you and your family safe. I need to talk to your brother and find out what's what, and I can't do that here. I'm sorry."

It's a hard lesson to learn: good and evil aren't like a game of cards. In cards, if you know that one player has three spades in their hand, then you can be a.s.sured that no one else at the table has more than one. lesson to learn: good and evil aren't like a game of cards. In cards, if you know that one player has three spades in their hand, then you can be a.s.sured that no one else at the table has more than one.

The mathematics of the human psyche are never that easy. Just because Hugh had proved himself a bad man, that didn't make Aidan a good one. I had only Aidan's word that his motives in climbing the trellis were innocent, and I wasn't sure I could believe him. Victims of violence were at a higher risk of becoming perpetrators of violence themselves, and Aidan, by Marlinchen's account, had been physically hurt and emotionally demoralized by his father.

Even if Hugh were safe in his rehab-center bed, the Hennessy kids weren't. By Marlinchen's account, they had enjoyed their father's favor, and after Aidan was unjustly sent away, they'd gone on with their lives. Couldn't he be more than a little angry about that?

I felt sorry for Aidan, but compa.s.sion was a luxury I could only afford in the abstract. Cops weren't taught to discriminate among predators who were wounded by life and those who were merely vicious. That was a distinction made somewhere down the line from us, by judges and juries.

"So," I said, taking a chair opposite Aidan, in an interview room at Juvenile Justice. "You're climbing up the trellis to your father's window, with a knife, at one in the morning after everyone's in bed asleep. It looks pretty bad on paper." I leaned back, inviting him to speak. "You don't have to answer any of my questions, but it might help your situation if you could ease my mind about your actions tonight."

He hadn't said a word on the ride to the Juvenile Justice Center, not even to comment on the smell of superglue, as Kelvin had. I'd noticed his own scent, gra.s.s and dew, as if he'd been sleeping outdoors, and old sweat.

Now I had a chance to appraise him in good overhead light for the first time. The first thing my eyes went to was his maimed left hand; Aidan had laid it on the table as if daring me to ignore it. Either the little finger had come off pretty cleanly at the joint, or perhaps a surgeon's instrument had evened out the damage. Still, there was something ugly about the dark pink skin of the stump, no matter how old the wound.

Beyond that, Aidan had made good on his early promise of height. At six feet, he'd easily outstripped his father, and I didn't think Colm or Liam would catch up, either. His long blond hair was stringy and unwashed, and his cheeks were precipitously hollow. A leather cord, some kind of necklace, disappeared under the collar of his T-shirt.

"I wanted to make sure Hugh wasn't home," Aidan said. It was the first time I'd heard him speak since he'd said, It's okay, Linch, It's okay, Linch, back at the house. "I'd been around all day and some of the evening and I didn't see him. But his car was in the garage." back at the house. "I'd been around all day and some of the evening and I didn't see him. But his car was in the garage."

"What do you mean, you were 'around'?" I said.

"I was watching the house," Aidan said. "I was waiting for Hugh to go out, so I could come in and see Linch and the boys. When I kept on not seeing him, I thought he might be out of town. But I couldn't be sure, so I kept out of sight, and later I tried to climb up to his bedroom, to make sure."

"Well," I said, "the fact that you were lurking around outside the house for hours doesn't do much to defuse the fact that you climbed up the side of the house with a knife." When Aidan didn't speak, I went on. "In your covert surveillance of the house, who did you think I was?"

Aidan said, "I didn't see you."

"Really?" I said. "I was there for over an hour before we all went to bed."

"I wasn't around then," Aidan said.

He didn't back down easily. I retraced my steps. "So if you weren't around when I arrived, where were you?"

"Trying to find something to eat," Aidan said.

"Where?" I repeated.

"A neighbor's garden," Aidan said. "They were growing some green peppers and carrots."

He had to be starving. I thought of the vending machines in the correction officers' lunchroom, but I didn't want to break the rhythm of my questioning. About some things, Gray Diaz was right.

"Tell me about the switchblade," I said.

"Protection," Aidan said.

"From who?"

"I've been on the road," Aidan said. "Life out there can be dangerous. The knife was a good investment."

His gaze was very even, unperturbed by my questioning. His eyes were the exact color of Marlinchen's.

"'Investment,' " I said. "Interesting choice of words. You've been on your own for a long time. What have you been doing for money?"

"You mean, have I been jacking people?" Aidan asked. "No."

"When did you get into town?"

"This afternoon," he said. "I got a ride in Fergus Falls."

"So," I said, "with all the time you've been away, what prompted you to come home? Why now?"

"I wanted to see my family," he said, then quickly clarified, "My sister and brothers, I mean."

He hadn't needed to tell me how he felt about his father; I heard it every time Aidan called him Hugh, Hugh, not not Father Father or or Dad. Dad.

"And maybe you wanted to tap your old man for money," I suggested.

"No," Aidan said, shaking his head for emphasis.

"What about Marlinchen's cat?"

"s...o...b..ll?" he said. "What about her?"

I stayed quiet, waiting for him to betray nerves with some small gesture, or to fill an unbearable silence. But he did neither.

I paused, not sure whether there was anything else to throw at him. One thing came to mind.

"You know," I said, "since realizing your father wasn't at home, you've shown very little interest in where he actually is. Aren't you curious at all about that?"

Aidan Hennessy shrugged. "Okay," he said. "Where is he?"

"Your father's in the hospital, recovering from a stroke," I said.

Aidan's blue eyes flicked to mine. I'd surprised him at last, but there was no sign of concern in his gaze. Finally I said, "Are you hungry?"

"I could eat," he said.

The vending machines were poorly stocked. Behind the scratched plastic windows I saw a pillowy white bagel, jalapeno potato chips, pork rinds. The soda machine looked fully stocked, but sugar water was the last thing a hungry teenager needed on an empty stomach, when he wouldn't get anything substantial until morning. machines were poorly stocked. Behind the scratched plastic windows I saw a pillowy white bagel, jalapeno potato chips, pork rinds. The soda machine looked fully stocked, but sugar water was the last thing a hungry teenager needed on an empty stomach, when he wouldn't get anything substantial until morning.

I walked away, still holding a few quarters in the palm of my hand, to pace under the cold fluorescent lights.

I didn't like him climbing the trellis. I didn't like the switchblade knife in his possession. And most of all, I didn't like him hanging around outside the house at night, so soon after the ugly late-night death of s...o...b..ll. Marlinchen had quoted him as saying, years ago, s...o...b..ll is your pet, and you're Dad's pet. s...o...b..ll is your pet, and you're Dad's pet.

If Aidan had come home full of anger, primed for a confrontation with his father, might he have taken out some of that anger on a smaller target? And wasn't there a chance, with his father safely out of his reach in a nursing home, that Aidan would deflect his anger again, onto his siblings?

I took out the switchblade that I'd confiscated from him, sprang the blade. Carefully, I looked for small traces of dried blood at the base of the blade and the haft, found nothing.

Doesn't mean he didn't clean it up really well.

Yet when I'd fired the question about s...o...b..ll at him without preamble or explanation, he'd responded exactly as he should have: What about her? What about her? Guileless confusion is one of the hardest responses to fake. Moreover, I had no proof that, in climbing the trellis, Aidan hadn't been doing exactly what he'd said he was: checking to see if his father was home. I couldn't exactly blame him for that; the last time he'd come home unannounced, things had worked out pretty badly, to say the least. Guileless confusion is one of the hardest responses to fake. Moreover, I had no proof that, in climbing the trellis, Aidan hadn't been doing exactly what he'd said he was: checking to see if his father was home. I couldn't exactly blame him for that; the last time he'd come home unannounced, things had worked out pretty badly, to say the least.

I'd feel a lot more comfortable if I could leave him safely in the Juvenile Justice Center overnight. Then I could go home, get eight hours' sleep, and take another crack at talking to him in the morning. But I hadn't arrested Aidan, just taken him downtown for questioning. To keep him here, I needed to arrest him.

That was possible, of course: the switchblade was an illegal weapon. But according to my research, Aidan Hennessy had not yet been in trouble with the law. He had no criminal record. If I charged him with carrying an unlawful weapon, I'd stick him with one.

My head was starting to hurt. When Judge Henderson had given me the responsibility to look out for the Hennessys for a few weeks, neither of us had imagined that it would lead here, to making this kind of decision at the Juvenile Justice Center at three in the morning. Still, I'd taken on this burden; no setting it aside now. And while I had a responsibility to ensure that Marlinchen and her younger siblings stayed safe, didn't I have a tangential responsibility to Aidan, as well? He was one of the Hennessy kids, too.