“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just had to call you.”
“Okay, you called me. You did what you thought you had to do.”
“Yes,” I said. “And I was thinking maybe I’d call your children, too.”
“I can’t stop you,” she said.
“If there’s a change in his condition…”
“Don’t bother,” she said. “I don’t care what happens to him. I really don’t.”
“All right,” I said. “All right, then. I guess that’s it.”
“I guess so,” she said.
“Good-bye.”
She hung up.
I sat there on the chair with the receiver in my lap, staring at the wall. The paneling was loose. One good pull and I’d bring the whole thing down on top of me.
The next name was Annette Wilkins. I dialed the number and got a recording telling me that the Turtle Cafe would open at 11:00 A.M. for lunch. I looked at my watch. It was 2:15 Michigan time, 11:15 California time. Somebody was late opening up the place.
I tried Jonathan Wilkins’s number next. I got a secretary telling me I had reached the law offices of about six names I couldn’t catch. When I asked for Mr. Wilkins, I was put on hold.
There was classical music for a while, and then a voice. “This is John.”
“Mr. Wilkins, my name is Alex McKnight. I’m calling about your father.”
“My father the embezzler and con artist? How much did he take you for?”
“I imagine you’ve heard about what’s happened to him here in Michigan.”
“Yes,” he said. “The police chief from Orcus Beach called last night. Wherever that is. Are you connected with the hospital?”
“No, I’m an old friend of his,” I said. “I just talked to your mother.”
“I don’t imagine that was a pleasant conversation,” he said.
“Not really,” I said. “But I had to call her, and I had to call you. Your father said some things about you when I saw him last week. I thought you should know.”
“What did he say?”
“He said that you had just passed the bar and that you were working as a lawyer in San Francisco. And that you’re going to have a baby soon.”
“That’s amazing,” he said. “Not one piece of that is a he. It’s a new record for him.”
“He also said that he was very proud of you.”
“Ah, well, there you go. The streak is broken.”
“I may be out of line, but I think he really meant it.”
“Mr. McKnight, what did he tell you about his baseball career? Did he tell you about all the games he won for the Tigers back in the seventies?”
“No, I know he only pitched in one game.”
“Aha, that’s story B. He shut out the Orioles in his one major-league appearance. Then he hurt his arm breaking up a mugging and never pitched again.”
“No, I know what happened. I know he got shelled and then never made it back up.”
“Oh, so he couldn’t lie to you about that. What a cruel twist of fate. That must have driven him crazy.”
“Mr. Wilkins…”
“I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t be taking this out on you. It’s just that you don’t know what he did to us. Did he tell you about his father’s company?”
“He mentioned something about his father being in commercial real estate, and him taking over the business.”
“That’s rich,” he said. “I love that. He took over the business all right. He took it over and drove it right into the Pacific Ocean. Which is basically what he got caught trying to sell. He did time in a federal prison for what he did to his father’s company. Did he tell you that?”
“No,” I said. “But the chief told me about the prison time.”
“And then when he got out? His new hobby? Charming wealthy women and then draining their bank accounts? I don’t imagine my father mentioned that, either.”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so,” he said. “He’s funny that way.”
“Well, I don’t think there’s anything else to say, then.”
“No, although you know what?” he said. “Out of all his kids, I’m probably the only one who really owes him something.”
“How’s that?”
“I became a lawyer just so I can take guys like my father to court and make them pay back everything they steal from people. It’s the only way I can make up for being related to him.”
I didn’t have anything to say to that. Not that he would have heard it. He gave me a “Good day” and hung up.
“Well, this is going beautifully,” I said to the wall. “It was such a brilliant idea. If I had a brain in my head, I’d stop right now.”
I looked at the youngest son’s name on the list. If I was going to keep doing this, I wanted to save him for last. I dialed the daughter’s number at the restaurant again. This time, I got a real voice.
“Can I speak to Annette Wilkins?” I said.
“This is she.”
“My name is Alex McKnight,” I said. “I’m calling about your father.”
Click. And then a dial tone.
Okay, so much for the daughter, I thought. This is getting better and better. I’ll go for the last one while I’m hot.
There was nothing on the sheet but his name and number, but I remembered Randy telling me that Terry was a freshman at UC-Santa Barbara. I didn’t know what to believe anymore, but I assumed that’s where I was calling him. When the phone was picked up, I heard a lot of noise and music in the background. It certainly sounded like a college dorm to me.
“Hello,” I said. “I’m looking for Terry Wilkins.”
“Hold on.”
There was just the music for a while; then finally the phone was picked up again.
“Hello?”
‘Terry, my name is Alex McKnight,” I said. “I’m calling about your father.”
A long pause. “What about him?”
“Look, I’ve already talked to your mother and your brother,” I said. “And your sister just hung up on me. I know nobody wants to hear about him. But I’m an old friend of his from the minor leagues.”
“You played baseball with my father?”
“Yes,” I said. “I was his catcher. He told me that you’re a catcher, too. He said you can really hit the ball.”
“I don’t know how he’d know that,” he said. “He hasn’t seen me play in like seven years.”
“Wait a minute-”
“Yeah, the last time was before he went to Folsom. Gotta be seven years ago, back when I was in Little League. I haven’t even seen him since then.”
“He talked about watching you play ball there on the college team,” I said. “He said you were good behind the plate, like I used to be. That you could really drive the ball. For God’s sake, Terry, are you sure he hasn’t seen you play at all?”
“If he saw me, he did it without me knowing about it.”
I didn’t know what to say. Was he lying about that even? About his own kids?
“I’m sorry, Terry. I just felt like I should call you and talk to you. All I’ve done is make your whole family unhappy today.”
“It’s all right,” he said. “I don’t mind. Did you see him today?”
“Yeah, I saw him. He’s not conscious now, so… I don’t know what’s gonna happen, Terry.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “UCLA. You were playing a game against UCLA, he told me. When I dropped him off at the airport, he mentioned the game. That would have been…” I thought about it. “Saturday. The game would have been Saturday.”
“Yeah, we did have a game against UCLA on Saturday,” he said. “But I didn’t end up playing myself.”
“But you did have a game,” I said. “He was right about that.”
“Yeah, I guess he was. Whatever that means.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, he kept talking about how proud he is that you’re his son and you’re a catcher like I was.”
A long silence.
‘Terry? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I just, um… Thanks for calling, okay? I gotta go.”
“Okay, Terry. Good-bye.”
I sat there tapping the receiver against my hand a few times; then I banged it back in place and stood up. When I went back out into the bar, the woman finally looked at me. She was close enough to the hallway to have been listening to my end of the phone calls, and apparently I was more interesting than her soap opera.