Sympathy Between Humans Part 24

When I got back to the interrogation room, Aidan looked at my empty hands, then to my face.

"I'm taking you home," I said.

It did not come as a surprise that Marlinchen wasn't asleep when Aidan and I returned. She came out to wrap her arms around Aidan's neck and embrace him for a long moment, until I had to turn away from the intimacy of their reunion. that Marlinchen wasn't asleep when Aidan and I returned. She came out to wrap her arms around Aidan's neck and embrace him for a long moment, until I had to turn away from the intimacy of their reunion.

She fixed him a meal in the kitchen, two warm tuna sandwiches with melted cheddar cheese and an oversized gla.s.s of milk, and made up a bed for him on the sofa, where he fell into an exhausted sleep. Only when he was asleep did she turn her attention to me.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for bringing him back here."

"We need to talk about that," I told Marlinchen. "Let's go upstairs."

In Hugh's bedroom, I sat on the edge of the bed, and Marlinchen folded her legs gracefully to sit cross-legged on the floor. It was as though we'd rewound to an earlier point in the evening.

"Listen," I told her, "I know Aidan's your brother, and you've been carrying around a lot of guilt and a lot of anxiety where he's concerned. But do you really know that person down there?" I nodded toward the open door, signifying the stairway and the downstairs area that lay beyond it, where Aidan slept. "It's like I said about the photo you showed me. Twelve to seventeen are some pretty important years. People change a lot, and Aidan's been spending those years in circ.u.mstances that we don't know a whole lot about."

Marlinchen smiled at me, as though I were a child who didn't understand the real world. "I don't have to know where he's been," she said. "He's all right."

"How do you know?"

"I just know," Marlinchen said. Her pupils, once again, were wide in the semidark. It made her look younger and more guileless than ever.

"I can't operate based on someone else's gut feelings," I told her.

"What are you really saying?" she asked me.

"I'm going to spend a lot of time out here," I said. I'd been thinking about it during the silent ride back here, with Aidan.

"That's what you've been doing," she said, confused.

"More than I have," I said. "Even nights. I know that may seem strange to you kids; it does to me too. But the court gave me a responsibility for your safety. So until I feel better about this whole situation, I'm going to keep a close eye on things."

Marlinchen smiled then, her natural and easy smile. "That's all right," she said. "Really, I like having you here, Sarah. But-"

"I know. You think I'm worrying about nothing," I said. "Believe me, I hope I am."

The next day, I was not at my best at work. There was a time when three hours of sleep would have sufficed for me, but those days were gone. On the brighter side, not much of interest happened at work. The nylon-mask bandits had been quiet for a little while. Maybe they'd gotten day jobs or won the lottery. I was not at my best at work. There was a time when three hours of sleep would have sufficed for me, but those days were gone. On the brighter side, not much of interest happened at work. The nylon-mask bandits had been quiet for a little while. Maybe they'd gotten day jobs or won the lottery.

Late in the day, my phone rang.

"Sarah, it's Chris Kilander," the voice on the other end said.

"Kilander?" I said, straightening in my chair. We hadn't crossed paths since the evening we'd done it so uncomfortably in the parking lot of Surdyk's. "What's going on?"

"I wondered if I could see you this evening," he said.

"For what?"

"A little one-on-one," he said. "You're never at the courts anymore."

Kilander been a power forward at Princeton. I was no one he'd look to for a challenging game of basketball. He wanted something else. The game was just a pretext.

"When?" I said.

Rain clouds were building overhead when I arrived at the courts, which were empty as I started stretching my quadriceps and hamstrings against the chain-link fence. clouds were building overhead when I arrived at the courts, which were empty as I started stretching my quadriceps and hamstrings against the chain-link fence.

"Evening," Kilander said, coming up behind me.

Although well muscled, his long legs looked quite pale in loose shorts, and I was reminded of the old days when slow-footed white guys dominated professional basketball teams. I wasn't, however, deceived. He was going to be hard to beat.

"What are we playing to, twenty?" he said.

"Twenty's fine."

Kilander threw the ball more at me than to me, a hard chest pa.s.s. "Let's see what you've got," he said.

The answer was Not enough. Not enough. Kilander drove to the basket again and again. When he was up ten points to my six, he asked me, "You played in high school, right? What were you, a guard?" Kilander drove to the basket again and again. When he was up ten points to my six, he asked me, "You played in high school, right? What were you, a guard?"

"Shooting guard first, then point guard," I said, breathing hard.

"You play like a point guard. Conservative," he said. Then he added, "A high school point guard."

"You play like a lawyer," I said, still dribbling in place, watching him. "I would have fouled you about four times by now if I weren't afraid you'd sue."

"I won't sue," Kilander said. "I grant you amnesty in advance."

I pivoted and tried to dive around him to the basket. He blocked me and got the ball. A moment later, I grabbed his s.h.i.+rt as he was going up to score, and later I threw an elbow when he was crowding me. He just laughed, then demonstrated his moral superiority not only by refusing to respond in kind but by suggesting we go to thirty points when he beat me 2014. We did, which allowed him to beat me 3022.

"Thank you," he said, oddly seriously, when we were done.

"For what?" I asked, trying to catch my breath.

"For not giving up on an impossible battle," he said.

"You're welcome," I said, hearing the compliment in what some would have considered an insult. "Thanks for not playing down to me."

A sharp gust of wind swept across the court, forerunning rain. Kilander picked up his water bottle and walked over to the sidelines, taking a seat on a low stand of bleachers. I followed him, still holding the basketball. "What's on your mind, Chris?" I asked.

"I want to say something," Kilander said. "What I said the other day, about you not denying you killed Royce Stewart? I was wrong. I've thought about it since then, and I know you didn't kill that man."

"Thank you," I said. Something felt lighter in my chest at his words. "That means a lot to me."

Kilander nodded casually. "Listen, I don't know much about Diaz's investigation, and you know I couldn't tell you if I did. But I can tell you a few things about him, in general." He paused to think. "I wouldn't say I know the guy well, but we have an acquaintance in common, who's now on the bench in Rochester. Gray called me with some of the usual new-in-town questions: where's a good place to eat and so on."

Several cyclists raced past the city courts, tires hissing on the pavement.

"Diaz is an intense guy," Kilander said. "He's University of Texas, a criminal justice major. Got his first gray hair in his junior year in college; that's where the nickname came from. He'd be working in the prosecutor's office in Dallas or Houston if it weren't for his father-in-law. His wife's from Blue Earth, and they moved back so she could be closer to her father, who's got a chronic heart condition."

"That's too bad," I said.

"In several ways. The condition's debilitating, but there's no prediction for life expectancy, not like the bad cancers. So Gray may be down there for the long haul, and he's not the kind of guy to stay challenged investigating the theft of farm equipment. In Faribault County, he probably feels like he's on a treadmill stuck on 'stroll.' " Kilander paused to set up his next words. "For him, nailing a big-city cop would be fun. It's a challenge. Nothing personal."

"Big-city cop?" I echoed. "That's how he sees me?"

Kilander had discreetly left out the key word. Corrupt big-city cop Corrupt big-city cop was more likely how Diaz viewed me. I'd never been involved in departmental politics, and in fact I was the youngest and newest of the detective division. It was hard to realize others could see me so differently from how I saw myself. was more likely how Diaz viewed me. I'd never been involved in departmental politics, and in fact I was the youngest and newest of the detective division. It was hard to realize others could see me so differently from how I saw myself.

I told Kilander, "The other day, a deputy came up to me privately. He all but congratulated me for 'killing' Stewart."

Kilander nodded but didn't speak.

"Chris... how many people do you think know about Diaz?"

"Well," Kilander said, "if a young uniformed deputy knows, what does that suggest to you?"

Oh, G.o.d. The first raindrops were starting to fall, nearly as light as mist. "Everyone," I said. The first raindrops were starting to fall, nearly as light as mist. "Everyone," I said.

Kilander moved a little closer. "The young man who said that to you is a cretin," he said. "Sarah, other people will come to the same conclusion I have about you. Their instinct will tell them so; your conduct will, too. And when Diaz's investigation comes up short, your career will recover."

I took a steadying breath. "Thanks," I said. "I mean that."

Only Liam was up when I reached the Hennessy house that night, studying late over a cup of decaffeinated coffee. I declined his offer to brew some for me. Instead we talked for a moment or two about Shakespeare; was up when I reached the Hennessy house that night, studying late over a cup of decaffeinated coffee. I declined his offer to brew some for me. Instead we talked for a moment or two about Shakespeare; Oth.e.l.lo, Oth.e.l.lo, in particular, which he was writing a paper on. in particular, which he was writing a paper on.

Just before I left him, I asked, "Did anything happen today? Anything strange, or uncomfortable?"

Liam caught the trend of my question. "You mean, with Aidan?" he said. "No."

"After he's been gone so long, and everything that's happened, are you comfortable having him here?" I pursued.

"It's different now, having him back," Liam said slowly. "Uncomfortable? No." He paused, as if thinking, but his next words were quite simple. "I mean, he belongs here. He's our brother."

For the next few days, I stayed close to the Hennessy kids, spending nights at their home. What surprised me was how easily they accepted my presence. I'd forgotten what it was like to be a teenager, how easily any adult in your life becomes Authority. Parents, teachers, princ.i.p.als, coaches: kids so easily ceded their privacy to them, and apparently, to the Hennessy kids, I was one such figure. I stayed close to the Hennessy kids, spending nights at their home. What surprised me was how easily they accepted my presence. I'd forgotten what it was like to be a teenager, how easily any adult in your life becomes Authority. Parents, teachers, princ.i.p.als, coaches: kids so easily ceded their privacy to them, and apparently, to the Hennessy kids, I was one such figure.

They went about their lives, and in what seemed good spirits, too. A week from Friday was the last day of school outright for Donal; Colm, Liam, and Marlinchen had one more week of final exams after that at their high school. In their activity, their chatter in the mornings before school, I heard both their anxiety about impending tests and their exhilaration at the prospect of freedom to come.

It was Aidan, though, whom I paid closest attention to. After his first night back, exhausted and disheveled from the road, he'd metamorphosed into someone who looked strikingly different. Once washed, his hair was as gold as Marlinchen's, and hung perfectly straight in a ponytail. In fact, if I'd been seeing him for the first time, that's what I would have noticed about him, the clean straight lines, like a kinetic sculpture, from the blond hair to the long legs. I never saw him without his hair pulled back in a ponytail, or without his necklace of tigereyes on a leather cord riding against the collar of his T-s.h.i.+rt.

The oldest Hennessy did nothing that troubled me; he also did nothing that particularly rea.s.sured me. He was unusually quiet for a teenage boy of his size; I rarely heard him enter a room, or leave it. He sneaked cigarettes sometimes behind the freestanding garage; other times I'd see him smoking under the magnolia tree. Once or twice I saw him looking at me, but what he was thinking, I couldn't tell. The second time I said, "What?" but he merely shook his head and said, "Nothing."

On the job, my week was equally uneventful. The stocking-mask bandits knocked over their fourth business, this time a liquor store in St. Paul. I didn't have to do any investigating, but I got a heads-up call from a St. Paul detective, and I faxed my notes on the prior cases over to him.

Sat.u.r.day dawned hot, and was expected to break temperature records. I slept until we were well into the heat, when there was a knock at the door and Marlinchen stuck her head in.

"Are you hungry?" she said. "We're making waffles downstairs," she said.

"I could eat," I said.

Marlinchen nodded. "I wanted to ask you for a favor, later in the day."

I rolled onto my side. "You want to ask later, or the favor is for later?" I asked.

"Dad's getting a lot better," she said, ignoring my teasing, "and I wanted to take everyone to see him. In the hospital."

"Everyone?" I said. "You guys won't all fit in my car."

"I know," Marlinchen said, "but there's Dad's ride."

The Suburban in the garage. I shook my head. "No," I said. "I shouldn't be driving your father's SUV."

"It'll be okay," she said. "It's insured through the end of August."

"Well, if it's insured, insured," I said.

Marlinchen, missing the sarcasm, seemed happy. She came to sit on the end of the bed.

"It probably needs to be started up anyway," I said, "or pretty soon you won't be able to." I thought of Cicero, the van he told me about that he sent the neighbor boys down to start up, and that thought led to another. "Hey," I said, "what's the story with the BMW out in the detached garage?"

"Oh, that," she said. "It was Mom and Dad's a long time ago. It stopped running, and Dad put it away. He said he was going to fix it up someday, but he never did. I guess it has sentimental value. He absolutely will not sell it."

"He was going to fix it up?" I said. "I thought your father was worthless with tools."

Marlinchen looked rueful. "He is," she said. "But you know guys and their cars. It's a love thing." She extended a hand to me. "Anyway, get up, lazybones. The guys are downstairs burning all the waffles."

I let her pull me up. "Tell you what," I said. "I'll go to the hospital, but you can do the driving honors. You need to keep practicing."

Typically, she hedged. "I don't know," she said. "I've never driven the Suburban before."

"You'd never driven my Nova before, either," I pointed out. "There's a first time for everything."

"He's made a lot of progress in his physical therapy. Speech, not as much." a lot of progress in his physical therapy. Speech, not as much."

Freddy, the serene male nurse I remembered from my first visit to the convalescent hospital, was leading us back to a visiting room in the rehab facility.

"He can hear you fine, so don't talk too loud. But it's best if you keep your statements open-ended and don't ask him any questions he'd feel obligated to try to answer. We're keeping the pressure off."

The visiting room was pleasantly crowded with green plants and lit by wide gla.s.s windows. Near them, in a padded rocking chair with a quad cane at his side, was Hugh Hennessy.

Only Marlinchen seemed truly comfortable in this environment. She entered first, the rest of us following her. Freddy pulled up a chair by Hugh's rocker; Marlinchen stood on its other side. Colm, Liam, and Donal took a nearby couch, and Aidan and I stood, just beside the couch.