Blind Spot (32 page)

“I’m scared of what might happen.”

Suki could see that Alexa was truly afraid. But what was she afraid of? Another death, or her mother getting involved with another man? What the hell, Suki thought and sat down on the bed. “Lindsey Kern told me to tell you that the man you’re afraid of is the one who’s going to save you.”

Alexa sat up. “Lindsey said that?”

“I think that’s what she was trying to tell you at the doctor’s office, too. Remember? She told you to let me get the help I need?”

Alexa shook her head. “Lindsey was talking about knowing things—about seeing things before they happen, about how she and I believed in things other people didn’t, like reincarnation and precognition. I don’t remember her saying anything about you.”

“Well, she did,” Suki said. “And she also told me to give you that message about the man you’re afraid of.”

“When? When did she say that?”

“I don’t remember exactly, but it was before the doctor’s.”

Alexa jerked herself into a sitting position. “Mr. Blanchard’s got something to do with the symbol. Don’t you remember?” she demanded. “I told you about the symbol. A Hebrew letter on a ring?”

“But honey,” Suki said, striving to remain reasonable in the face of Alexa’s growing irrationality. “Warren Blanchard’s not even Jewish.”

“He could still have a ring,” Alexa insisted. “I know what I know.”

“But what about what Lindsey knows?” Suki demanded. “According to her, Warren Blanchard’s the way to make this all go away.”

“I don’t care.”

Suki slapped her hands on her thighs and stood up. “It can’t work that way, Alexa. You can’t believe when it’s convenient, and then, when it doesn’t suit your purposes, decide you don’t believe anymore.” As she headed for the door, she realized that on some levels, she was guilty of the same thing. She turned around. “I’m sorry if you think it’s a mistake, honey, but I have to do what I think is best.”

Alexa stared at the ceiling. “And I’ll do what I think is best.”

Suki turned and left Alexa alone.

Suki parked in the small lot adjoining the Ayer train station, although “train station” was a bit of a misnomer: “concrete slab partially enclosed by dirty Plexiglas,” would be a more apt descriptor. She was early and the station—what there was of it—was deserted. Although Ayer wasn’t all that far from Witton, Suki had never had reason to come here before, so she had allowed more time than was necessary to drive the country lane that led to the tiny hamlet. Now that she had seen the main street of Ayer, its two blocks of tilting 1930s buildings in desperate search of a new coat of paint, she figured it would probably be a while before she returned. She leaned back against the headrest.

It had been a long day already. Her first patient had experienced the worst of human unkindness as a child. Her second couldn’t reconcile what he had done in Vietnam with who he was now. Her third was an ex-therapist burnt out from dealing with other people’s catastrophes. Those three had been followed by a kick-off meeting for a new competency-to-stand-trial case and a quickie preliminary interview for a forensic eval on a spousal abuse claim. Then she had had an unrewarding phone call with Dr. Smith-Holt. Now she sat waiting for Warren Blanchard’s train. It was due in fifteen minutes.

Suki leaned forward and punched Mike’s number on the car phone. They had been unable to connect over the past few days, and she didn’t expect to reach him now. But she did.

“Sorry we keep missing,” he apologized before she even said hello.

“You got my message about Frank Maxwell?”

“Had Betty check it out.”

“And …”

“Unfortunately, your information was correct.”

Suki was surprised by the sick feeling that soured her stomach. She knew Kenneth’s information had to be correct, so why was she so upset when Mike confirmed it? Apparently, she had been hoping for some kind of reprieve. “The boys are going to be arrested?”

“In the next day or two.”

She swallowed hard. “And how do things look for us after that?”

“We’ll take that as it comes,” Mike answered cautiously.

Suki stared at the wild flowers growing in between the rusty tracks. There were clusters of a delicate, white flower and shoots of a sturdy-looking blossom that was an amazing deep yellow. How did these tiny wisps of tender life develop and propagate when they were run over by a train at least a dozen times a day? One would think the noise alone would destroy them.

“—know my track record,” Mike was saying. “Once we get into the courtroom I’ll rip those boys to shreds.”

Suki snapped back into reality. Courtroom. “Kern eval,” she said. “I got the test results.”

Mike cleared his throat. “I was thinking that maybe it would make more sense if you—”

“You’re going to be pleased,” Suki interrupted before he could complete his thought. She told him about the MRI, the EEG and the MMPI. Aberrant alphabet soup.

“That’s great,” Mike cried, his voice warming despite what she knew was his concern that she would be unable to deliver the evaluation on time. “Got any of those multicolored brain images?”

Suki felt the approaching train before she heard it. “I think we could work up some pretty impressive slides,” she said as the distant thunder of metal-on-metal reached out to her, an almost visible presence.

“You haven’t told me your conclusion.”

“I haven’t made it yet,” she yelled over the advancing noise. “But I’m getting close.”

“Are you close?” Mike yelled back.

The double-decker silver train pulled to a stop with a powerful screech of brakes. A wide band of purple was barely visible under the layers of grime along its side. “I’ve got to go,” Suki shouted. “Maybe I’ll have more to tell you tomorrow—about both Alexa and Lindsey.”

Mike said something she couldn’t catch, and then the phone went dead. As she was fitting it back into its housing, Warren Blanchard stepped from the train, a worn backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Hey.” He climbed into the car and threw his pack into the back seat.

“Hey, yourself.”

“Thanks for coming all the way out here to get me,” Warren said as he settled into the seat. “Damn car lives in the shop.”

Suki patted her dashboard. There was a big chunk missing from the time Stan had yanked Kyle’s car seat too hard. “I know all about old cars.”

Warren raised his palms skyward. “At my age I’m supposed to have outgrown these problems, but it turns out that graduate school is more expensive than I thought—or to be more exact, not having a real income is more expensive then I thought.” He went on to describe his money and housing problems with charming self-deprecation, and Suki was horrified to find she was wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

“I think it’s great that you’re taking the risk of going after a new career at this point in your life,” she said, then felt her face flush. Was he going to think she was flirting?

“You mean, it’s impressive for an old fart like me?”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” Suki said, flustered. “We’re just about the same age.”

Warren laughed and then abruptly sobered. “I know I agreed to help you, Suki, but I’ve got to tell you, the more I think about this thing, the more I feel you’re going about it all wrong.”

Suki turned the key and concentrated on backing up the car.

“Especially this drug connection thing,” he continued. “Explain to me again why you think the drug dealer is the missing witness.”

“Who else would leave a boy to die alone on the road?” she asked.

“Someone who was buying drugs?”

Suki glanced at Warren. His hands were resting on his thighs, and she saw that he was wearing a ring on his right hand. It was a large ruby encircled in gold. A high school or college ring. Nothing even close to a Hebrew letter. A sigh escaped her lips.

“Okay, fine,” he said, misreading the meaning of her sigh. “A deal’s a deal. Where to?”

Suki cleared her throat. “How about the rec center?” she suggested. “Maybe talk to some of the kids—although Brendan claims no one knows who the dealer is.”

“Who is this guy? David Copperfield?” Warren shook his head. “I don’t think you’re going to get what you need that way. No kid’s going to tell an adult—especially a coach—where he gets his drugs.”

“But Brendan was the one who told me.”

“Still,” Warren said, “I think we should try getting our hands on some information first. Something that’ll convince the boys we already know what they’re up to. Then it’ll be in their best interest to tell us what we want to know.”

Suki liked the sound of his logic and was glad she had overridden Alexa’s objections. Especially now that she saw Warren wore a ruby college ring. “Such as?”

“Well,” Warren said slowly, “I was thinking that maybe we should start with the school. Talk to someone over there who knows what’s going on.” Although Warren hadn’t taught at the high school for a few years, because he continued to coach, he still knew everyone on staff.

“Davio?” Suki asked. Dale Davio was the vice principal, the one who worked most closely with day-to-day student issues: bus passes, failing grades, skipped classes.

Warren tapped his finger on the arm rest. “No one confides in the person in charge of detentions,” he said. “I think we should try guidance.”

“I’ve never run into anyone in guidance who appeared to have any brains,” Suki said dubiously.

“All too true,” Warren agreed. “Except for Nancy Lansky. Know her?”

Suki didn’t.

“She’s pretty young—mid-thirties—and hip compared to the rest of us,” Warren said. “The kids talk to her because she doesn’t remind them of their parents.”

Suki turned and headed for Witton High.

“Want me to go in on my own?” Warren offered. “I can scout Nancy out without any of the sticky stuff you’re worried about.”

“No,” Suki said. “I’d really like to hear it all with my own ears.”

“But don’t you think, given the circumstances, that I’d be—”

“I appreciate it, Warren,” Suki interrupted, “but, no thanks. I really want to be there. I
need
to be there.”

The strained silence that filled the car reminded Suki of the ride she and Warren had made to Sunderland to find Finlay. A disastrous day. As they pulled into the long drive leading to the high school, Suki remembered the night Warren had helped them deal with Parker Alley. Now he was helping again. She parked. “Thanks,” she said.

“Haven’t done anything yet.” Warren climbed out of the car quickly, as if to head off any more gratitude. They started toward the entrance.

School was out for the day, and the lobby was quiet. The guidance office was through a maze of corridors, and Warren followed the twists and turns with ease. They walked into a tiny square office, off of which two even smaller offices opened. A woman with the stereotypical steel gray hair of a school-marm sat behind a stereotypical steel gray desk. She dropped her reading glasses, which were held against her large bosom with a stereotypical chain, and looked at Suki. Her thin lips grew even thinner, although Suki wouldn’t have thought it possible. Then she shifted her glance to Warren and her face transformed. “Warren Blanchard,” she cried. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at the funeral.”

Warren walked over and gave the older woman a hug. “How you doing, Libby?”

She placed a hand on her arm. “I’m so sorry about Jonah.”

Warren ducked his head in thanks and pointed at Suki. “Do you know Suki Jacobs?”

Libby mumbled something about being “pleased to meet” and kept her hand on Warren’s arm. “Terrible thing,” she said. “Terrible, terrible thing.”

“We’re looking for Nancy,” Warren said. “Is she around?”

Libby patted Warren’s arm. “I think Nancy’s talking to Dale. Go take a seat in her office, and I’ll page her for you. Would you like some coffee?” she asked Warren, ignoring Suki.

Warren shook his head and led Suki toward Nancy’s office. “Libby’s actually a very nice woman,” he said when they sat down in the two chairs facing a steel gray twin of Libby’s desk. “A bit provincial, maybe.”

Suki nodded as Libby’s page blared over the PA system. Then they waited in another uncomfortable silence until Nancy appeared. She was not at all what Suki had anticipated. From Warren’s description, she expected Nancy to be cute and pert and very cool, dressed in clothes from the Gap, her hair long and pulled back with funky clips, or cut stylishly short. Instead, Nancy wore no makeup, and her hair hung limply to her shoulders. Her shoes could have belonged to Suki’s Aunt Sayde.

“Nancy,” Warren cried, jumping up from his chair. “What’s wrong?”

“You haven’t heard?” Nancy’s voice was empty of emotion. When Warren shook his head, she said, “It’s Mark.”

Warren wrapped Nancy in his arms. “Is he okay?” he asked, but Suki could tell he already knew that Mark, who Suki guessed was either Nancy’s son or husband, was far from okay.

Nancy closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against Warren’s chest. “Brain cancer,” she whispered. “We just found out last week.”

“I’m so sorry,” Warren said as he led Nancy to her chair. “I never would have come by today if I had known.”

Nancy’s eyes filled with tears. “And I’m sorry about Jonah.”

Warren waved a hand at Suki. “This is Suki Jacobs.”

“Sorry about all this, Suki,” Nancy said with a sniffle. If she knew about Suki’s relationship to Jonah and Warren, nothing in her demeanor revealed it. Nancy Lansky might be the only person in Witton who just didn’t care.

“And I’m sorry about your … your …?” Suki began.

“Husband,” Nancy said. “Mark’s my husband.”

When Suki and Warren left Nancy’s office a half hour later, Suki was not surprised that no mention had been made of methamphetamine. She was disappointed, yes, but even more than disappointed, she was depressed. Depressed by the sheer volume of sorrow in the world, by the number of people whose lives were destroyed by a moment of accident or violence or unchecked cell division.

She sat in the driver’s seat and stared out the windshield into the woods. The leaves on the trees were now almost fully open, and she couldn’t see the field that she knew lay only a few dozen yards beyond the edge of the parking lot. It came and it went: life, luck, happiness.