“I really would like you to look at the sketch,” Serena said.
Borden sighed. He took it and stared at it with obvious discomfort. Finally, he closed his eyes and nodded. “He was only sixteen when I last saw him, but it’s definitely him. Those eyes. The rest of his face is older, but those eyes are just as they were.” He heard a titter of laughter from the crowd gathered around the television set. He frowned. “This is what it comes down to, you know, this place. Gather the dying like cattle and wait for them to peel off one by one. It’s ironic. I spent my whole career trying to better the lives of children. I never found time to get married and have kids myself. Instead, I wind up here with a decaying heart, no one to visit me except my sister. Now she’s gone. Thanks to the mistake I made. One terrible mistake in thirty years.”
“Was Blake-or Michael-the son of Amira Luz?” Serena asked.
“I really don’t know. I never did. I never met the mother.”
“Tell us what happened,” Walling suggested gently.
“A man came to me,” Borden explained. “This was spring of 1967. It was after hours. He had a baby with him, very young, no more than a few days old. He told me that the mother was unable to care for him and asked if I could find a home for the boy.”
“Do you know who the man was?”
Borden shook his head, “He didn’t give a name. He was big, neck like a redwood tree. Intimidating.”
Serena thought it sounded like Leo Rucci, although there were plenty of musclemen working for the casinos in those days. “You took a baby, just like that? No questions asked?”
“Things like that happened all the time back then. Girls in Vegas had relationships with high rollers and got pregnant. They wanted it to go away quietly. No papers. No inheritance problems. Every month it seemed there was another girl, another baby. Everyone has such nostalgia for the Rat Pack times, but that was mostly if you were rich and white. Nobody wanted to look at what was behind the curtain. Virulent racism. Women abused. Children thrown away.”
“So you took the baby?” Serena asked.
Borden nodded.
Walling leaned in and whispered, “Not that I don’t think you’re a fine citizen, Mr. Borden, but did any money change hands?”
Borden looked up at the ceiling. “Yes, yes, there was money, too. These people always paid handsomely. But I assure you, not a dime of it went into my pocket. It all went into the agency. It pulled us through some difficult times.”
“What about the family?” Serena asked. “Didn’t they ask questions?”
“Everything was anonymous back then. To them, there was nothing unusual. It’s not like today, where many birth mothers stay in touch with their children long after they’ve been adopted.”
Walling smoothed his fedora as he held it in his hands. “I’m a little confused, Mr. Borden. If you didn’t know where the baby came from, and the family didn’t know either, how did this man figure out that Amira Luz was his mother? And why did he start this nasty little game by murdering your sister?”
Borden looked pained. He took a few deep breaths, and Serena noticed that they didn’t come easily. “How he found out about Amira, I don’t know. The vendetta-well, that began a long time ago.”
“Explain,” Walling said crisply.
“I told you I made a mistake. An awful mistake. I don’t mean accepting the baby or taking the money. If I had it to do over again today, I would do the very same thing. My mission was protecting children.”
“Then what?” Walling asked.
Serena looked into Borden’s eyes, and she began to realize what had really happened. She had been there, too. She felt the warmth in the room begin to smother her. The word hung between them, waiting to be spoken.
Abuse.
“My mistake was in the family I chose,” Borden said.
Walling saw it now, too. “What did they do to the boy?”
“You have to understand,” Borden said. Serena thought he was trying to rationalize the decision to himself. “Placing children with adoptive parents is not an exact science. We make our best judgment based on interviews. Occasionally, there are problems. I confess, I was young and overconfident in those days. I have a doctorate in child psychology. I thought I could size up an adoptive family and tell you in a few minutes whether they were suited or not. I didn’t know then all the things I didn’t know.”
“The Burton family wasn’t suited,” Serena said.
Borden shook his head. “The husband, maybe. He was a decent man, hardworking, lower middle class. They had been married for five years. Desperate for a child. His wife, Bonnie, she was very eager. I thought they would do fine as parents. I simply missed the signs. Based on what I know now, I’m sure Bonnie herself had an abusive parent. She picked up right where they left off. Although, if the boy was telling me the truth, Bonnie was singularly cruel.”
“Don’t you do follow-up visits?” Walling asked.
“Of course. Everything looked fine. You have to understand, Mr. Walling, I’m not talking about physical abuse. Beatings. Violence. I’m talking about sexual abuse. Bonnie Burton was intimate with her adopted son from a very young age.”
Serena felt as if the ceiling were getting lower, as if it would begin pressing her into the floor. She had a flashback of her own mother and Blue Dog, over her on the bed. Her body became bathed in sweat.
“It wasn’t just sex,” Borden continued. “She terrorized the boy in order to dominate him. She had complete control over his psyche. When he resisted, she would do unspeakable things.”
“Such as?” Walling asked.
Serena really didn’t want to hear the details.
“The boy told me that Bonnie would sometimes lock him in the bathroom, naked, in the dark. Then she would release-things-under the door.”
“Things?”
“Cockroaches mostly.”
“Shit,” Serena said involuntarily. “You didn’t know any of this at the time? The husband didn’t know?”
“No, I didn’t know a thing. Our contact with the family ends at an early age, and the husband-if he knew, he didn’t stop it. I hope he didn’t know.”
“How did you find out?” Serena asked.
Borden’s face twitched. The crowd in front of the television laughed again. “It wasn’t until years later. The boy broke into my home while I was sleeping. He tied me up. I had no idea who he was at first. I thought he was going to rob me. Then he sat down by the bed, after I was tied up, and explained who he was. He wanted to find his mother.”
“So he was obsessed with her even then,” Serena said.
“Oh, yes. In his mind, his birth mother was a victim, like he was. Through the abuse, he had built an imaginary bond with her. He told me that she came to him and whispered to him sometimes. Told him everything would be fine. Told him to find her.”
It’s okay, baby, Serena thought, and felt the room spin again. She was angry at herself, letting her own past creep into the present. It was infecting her.
“He told you about the abuse while you were tied up?” Walling asked.
Borden nodded. “In detail. If you’re wondering whether he made it up, I assure you, he didn’t. I’ve interviewed thousands of children. I know lies and fantasies, and this wasn’t either of them. Whatever he’s done since, whoever he’s become, the boy suffered indescribable torture in that house.”
“What was he like?” Serena asked. “Was he violent?”
“Violent, yes,” Borden replied, “but it wasn’t an uncontrolled violence. He wasn’t angry or confrontational. He was simply calm and cruel. I don’t even think it was deliberate cruelty. He had dealt with suffering by shutting himself off from pain and decoupling his emotions from what was happening around him. He was-I know this sounds strange-very focused. Very professional. For his age, he was quite mature. Violence was just a tool to get what he wanted.”