“I didn’t know we had any news.”
“Oh, but we do. You just haven’t found out about it yet.”
She laughed. It was a pleasant sound with none of the latent shriek that could be heard in most of her laughter.
“Are you ready for a great big surprise, Charles? I should really make you guess, but it would be cruel to keep you in suspense.”
“I could stand it.”
“Anyway, you’d never guess. It’s too wonderful, really.”
“Tell me.”
“We’re going to have a baby.”
The shock wave that hit him subsided almost immediately, leaving him with the realization that she couldn’t be talking about her own pregnancy — she was, after all, over forty, in poor health and chemically addicted — she was referring to adoption. Even this seemed very remote. She could never qualify, and neither could he. But she looked so happy, and there were so few happy moments in any life, that he didn’t want to spoil it for her until he had to.
“I think it’s just what we need, Charles. Something to bring us together, give us a common interest. We’ve been growing apart, and a baby will give us something to plan for, the nursery and clothes and christening and—”
“Where will we get this baby, Zan?”
“I heard about an obstetrician in town who arranges such things.”
“For money?”
“For money, naturally, to pay him for his work. He brings together unwanted babies with wanting parents, that’s his motto.”
“Is that where you went this morning, to see this doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Did you give him any money?”
“No. He’ll have to see you first in order to make sure you’re a wanting parent You are, aren’t you, Charles?”
“I think we should discuss the subject before coming to a decision. We’ll have to wait until this case I’m on is finished. Then we’ll sit down and talk.”
“When will the case be finished?”
“I don’t know.”
“Weeks? Months?”
“Possibly.”
“But the doctor’s expecting to hear from us tomorrow.”
“I’m afraid he won’t, Zan. You’ve waited twenty years before considering adoption, you can wait a little longer, build up your health and energy and be ready to face the responsibility of having a child. It’s a big step. Whether it’s up or down needs further extrapolation.”
“Extrapolation.” She picked up the sheet of letter paper she’d been writing on and began to fold it over and over again until it was pleated like a fan. “That’s a fancy word for no, isn’t it?”
“It means we must assess the situation.”
“Haven’t you guts enough to come right out and say no?”
“If that’s what you want me to do, very well, no. You can’t assume responsibility for a child in your present state of health.”
She took the little fan she’d made out of the note paper and started waving it slowly back and forth across her face. All her movements were slow. Since he didn’t know what kinds of pills she’d taken, he wasn’t sure whether this uncharacteristic languor meant that they were wearing off or increasing in effect. There was even a very faint possibility that she hadn’t taken anything more addicting than a dream.
“I am a wanting parent,” she said.
“Today you are. What about tomorrow?”
The word didn’t have the effect on her that he thought it would.
“Tomorrow I’ll go down and see the doctor and tell him what an important case you’re working on so you couldn’t come in person but you wanted him to know how eager you are to have a child. Tomorrow,” she repeated. “Just think, tomorrow there might be a baby waiting to enter our lives.”
“Your life,” he said. “Not mine.”
“You don’t have to share it, Charles. You wouldn’t make much of a parent anyway. You have no more feeling than a turnip. I may have a thousand faults, but at least once I was able to love, and I will again. There are years and years of love stored up inside me.”
“What’s the name of this doctor, Zan?”
“I won’t tell you.”
“All right. Maybe I can find it in the yellow pages under ‘Children for Sale.’ ”
“You’re going to ruin things for me, aren’t you?”
“This particular thing, yes.”
“Why? Do you hate me so much?”
“No.”
“Every time I get an idea you shit on it.”
“This isn’t an idea,” he said. “It’s a fantasy. I don’t know when or where it started, but I know where and when it’s going to end. Here. Now.”
“It’s not a fantasy. I want a child.”
“At the moment that’s probably true. But tomorrow you might want a chimpanzee. You can probably get one for about the same price.”
The first witness of the afternoon session gave his name as Alfred Elfinstone, assistant hotel manager of the Casa Mañana, San Diego.
At first his testimony seemed likely to be as undramatic as his appearance. He was small, neat, discreetly dressed and spoke with a pronounced British accent. He’d picked up the accent during his service at the hotel chain’s London branch, and he’d clung to it through the years as a symbol of civilization in a world without rules, manners or syntax.
Yes, he had been on temporary duty at the desk when Mrs. Pherson registered during the afternoon. She was a nice-looking, dignified woman, wearing sturdy, sensible shoes of the kind British women wore for striding across the moors, a sight Mr. Elfinstone had never seen but could picture from reading the novels of Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters.
Mrs. Pherson, he recalled, had handed him a green leather case to put in the safe for her. “It appeared to be a jewel case, quite old except for the lock which was brand-new, or looked that way to me.”
“Later,” he said, “she came back to the desk and retrieved the green case without explanation. At least, if there was an explanation, I didn’t understand it.”
“It? What’s it?”
“What she said.”
“Which was?”
“That she intended to do something she’d never done before in her life and would assuredly never do again. Then she laughed. She had a most pleasant laugh, bubbly but controlled, like fine champagne.”
“You didn’t tell me this in our previous conversations, Mr. Elfinstone. Why not?”
“I just remembered it a minute ago.”
“Were you puzzled by her remarks?”
“Not frightfully. I usually don’t pay much attention to what people say. It’s what they do that counts.”
“And what did she do?”
“Took the elevator up to her suite. A few minutes later she came down again, walked across the lobby and joined a man.”
“Is the man now sitting in this courtroom?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t pay much attention to the man. I was more interested in the way the green leather case clashed with the blue and white coat she was wearing. Well-groomed ladies avoid this sort of thing.”
Owen smoothed away the frown wrinkles between his eyebrows. He didn’t like surprises in general. In particular he didn’t like the kind of witness who suddenly remembered things on the stand and blurted them out without consultation.
Elfinstone was scratching his left temple as if trying to conjure up more surprises.
He did. “Now that I come to think of it, I recall asking her what she meant to do. She said she couldn’t tell me, it was a secret and, if anyone found out, they might try to stop her. I wouldn’t, I told her. I believe in people reaching for the brass ring, seizing the day. Carpe diem. As I watched her cross the lobby, I thought Yes, the little lady is going to seize the day.”
“Then, as far as you could tell, Mrs. Pherson did not appear to be despondent?”
“My word, no. Happy as a lark, she was. I’m no ornithologist, but I believe larks are presumed to be happy because they sing a lot. Mrs. Pherson was not singing, of course, it being a hotel lobby. But she might have been singing inside herself, as it were.”
“Yes. Thank you, Mr. Elfinstone. I have no more questions.”
“Are you ready to cross-examine this witness, Mr. Donnelly?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Then go ahead.”
Donnelly exchanged places with Owen at the lectern.
“Mr. Elfinstone, how many years have you been in the hotel business?”
“Over twenty years.”
“During this time have you had any experience with guests checking in and subsequently committing suicide?”
“Alas, yes. Yes, indeed, though we try to keep such things private. People tend to avoid rooms where a tragedy has taken place.”
“In your years of experience have you observed that potential suicides exhibit similar behavioral patterns?”
“No.”
“Some were obviously despondent, were they?”
“Yes.”
“And some quite cheerful?”
“Yes.”
“Did others have a calm, pleasant manner?”
“Oh, yes. Lull before the storm, you know.”
“Are you saying, in other words, that you couldn’t pick out a potential suicide on the basis of appearance and behavior?”
“If we could do that, we would steer them to an establishment run by our competitors.”
Mr. Elfinstone was becoming a hit with the audience, and both he and they would have liked the scene to continue. But Donnelly had no more questions, and the judge told Mr. Elfinstone he could step down.
He stepped down, satisfied that he had done his duty and harmed no one. He didn’t believe in the death penalty.