“For sure,” I agree, thinking of Rosa. You can do all right for a while, but sooner or later you have to go home and the person you loved is not there.
16
When I arrive home at seven, Sarah, shadowed by Woogie, is in the kitchen.
“Some woman just called long distance,” she says, handing me a notebook sheet of paper before going over to the refrigerator to take out a frozen pizza.
“She said it was important.”
I smile at my daughter and vow silently that after the trial I will sit down with her and talk. She is on automatic pilot around me for the time being. The same goes for Rainey. I’ve clearly exhausted my line of credit with each of them. I take the paper and squint. The call shouldn’t be from Leigh, since I have just talked to her.
As usual, I have gone off and left my reading glasses at the office. I make out “Mary Patricia” followed by a strange area code.
I call from the kitchen and get her on the first ring.
“This is Gideon Page,” I tell her, realizing again how much she sounds like Leigh and wondering what the other sister must be like.
“My daughter said you just called.”
Mary Patricia’s soft voice sounds as if it is coming from the next room instead of Rhode Island.
“I’ve just thought of something that may help, if it’s not too late.
I know the trial has already begun.”
I scramble to find a pen and paper on the shelf by the phone. She may not have come, but she is certainly keeping in close touch.
“No, it’s not too late,” I assure her.
“What do you have?”
“Do you recall our conversation the other night when you thought it could be my godfather who shot Art?”
“Hector Tyndall,” I say finally, my mind fumbling for his name. As soon as I had realized that he had no way of knowing what was going on inside the house the morning of the murder, I had dismissed him as a suspect and not given it another thought.
“What have you found out?”
Mary Patricia, sounding slightly impatient, says, “I haven’t found out anything, but I remembered something that might be of help to Leigh.”
Let her talk, I tell myself and begin to doodle on the pad.
“What’s that?”
Mary Patricia pauses as if reconsidering, then says, “Hector’s retired now, but at least until a few years ago, one of the businesses he owned had to do with surveillance equipment. I remember when I was a teenager, he showed me all these listening devices. It always gave me the creeps, but he used to say that if people weren’t doing anything wrong, they didn’t have anything to worry about.”
I write the words “Hector” and “video” on the pad.
Mary Patricia must have been in touch with Leigh and gotten the story out of her that she had been dancing naked for Art’s camera the morning he was shot.
“So you think your godfather could have planted a bug in their bedroom and was listening in that morning?”
Somewhat breathlessly, Mary Patricia adds, “I bet if you searched his house you might find the video Art made of Leigh.”
Below Art’s name I write “Shane.” If we are going to speculate, we might as well go all the way.
“Do you think your father put Hector up to this?”
There is no pause.
“He might have,” Mary Patricia says, her voice harsh for the first time.
“Privacy isn’t Daddy’s strong point.”
I nod, wondering what my limits are. If I suspected Sarah was on drugs, I realize I wouldn’t hesitate a minute about searching her room. Would I listen in on her conversations? If her life was at stake, I would. To Shane and Hector perhaps Leigh’s life was on the line.
We talk for a few more minutes but I learn nothing more and, after thanking her, hang up so I can call Dan and run this by him. Even as I dial his number, I begin to admit to myself how thin the possibility is that we will be able to prove any of this.
Dan, his mouth obviously clogged with food, has to listen but agrees, “Grider won’t stop the trial and let you search Tyndall’s house. He’d laugh this one into the next century.”
I kid Dan, “You want to volunteer to break in there tonight?” As I listen to him chew (it sounds as if he is trying to gnaw through a plastic freezer bag), I doubt if a tape is lying around, but there should be some surveillance equipment.
Dan smacks his lips. I hold the phone away from my ear. He says, “I can see the headlines in the National Enquirer: Fattest Thief in Country Nabbed: Claimed He Was Looking for a Home Video. You need to take a couple of sleeping pills and go to bed early.”
Is there ever a time when he stops eating?
“You’re a lot of help,” I complain. I smell sausage pizza from the oven. I was hungry until now.
“I know somebody who’ll do it for me,” I say, thinking of a conversation I’ve had recently on this subject.
“Jessie St. vrain.”
“You’re kidding,” Dan growls.
“I thought you said she’s a flake.”
I can’t help but smile as I think of Jessie and myself walking back to my hotel after dinner. I was terrified.
“I’m not contemplating a long-term relationship. She says she can turn off a burglar alarm and crack a safe.”
Dan doesn’t take much convincing.
“You really think she’d risk getting caught?”
From the little I know of her, she’ll think it’s fun.
“Obviously, she isn’t going to want to testify. Jill would charge her with breaking and entering as soon as she stepped off the witness stand. I gave Sarah a Polaroid for Christmas she could use and then I could confront Hector with the pictures if she finds anything.”
I hear a swallowing sound as Dan chokes something down.
“Why not send her over to Wallace’s house and let her look for bugs?”
I look over at Sarah and realize she has been listening to this conversation. “Too risky,” I say, watching Sarah’s face, which is registering disapproval.
“Grider would put her under the jail for tampering with the crime scene.”
Sarah is shaking her head. I tell Dan I’ll call him back and get off the phone.
Leaning against the stove, Sarah says incredulously, “You’d even involve me?”
Stalling for time, I take a Coke out of the refrigerator.
I got so caught up I forgot she was there.
“We don’t really have a choice,” I say, knowing I sound defensive.
“This is important.”
Sarah puts her hands up to her face as if to shield herself.
“Is there ever a time,” she says in a choked voice, “when the ends don’t justify the means with you?”
“Let me call Jessie,” I say, looking up the Excelsior’s number, “and I’ll discuss this with you.” I should have stayed at the office. I’m about to get another lecture about how I use people. I can’t make her understand how limited my options are. As I dial the number, it occurs to me to leave Leigh out of this. So much for trusting my client, but I don’t want her to have the opportunity to sabotage me. When Jessie answers the phone, I tell her to make up an excuse and go down to the lobby and call me.
Sarah takes the pizza from the oven and sets it on the counter.
“I can borrow a Polaroid from anybody,” I tell her.
“Then you’ll have to,” my daughter says, her voice constricted with emotion as she takes a knife from the drawer and begins slicing the cheese.
“Don’t you realize that you’re doing the same thing you’re accusing that man of?”
I lean back against the wall by the phone. She has no idea what is at stake.
“The situation is not even remotely comparable,” I say as evenly as possible.
“Mr.
Tyndall may have listened in on Leigh and Art Wallace in the privacy of their own bedroom.”
My daughter won’t even look at me. She takes our ancient spatula from the drawer and scoops out a slice of pizza.
“The principle is the same.”
I will myself into silence for once. Sarah is right to be stubborn. If anyone should be an idealist, it should be someone her age. She’ll find it won’t be so easy when she’s older. With everything else that has happened though, I worry what this will do to our relation ship. Rainey has already made it clear how she feels.