School Days (23 page)

I
WAS IN MY OFFICE
.
Pearl was asleep on the couch. It was raining outside, and the colorful umbrellas over boots and fashionable raincoats were flowering once more on Berkeley Street. The office door opened. Pearl's head went up. Royce Garner came in and closed the door behind him and pointed a gun at me.

“I'm going to kill you,” he said.

With his orotund voice, he sounded like Richard Nixon.

Pearl growled.

He turned toward her with the gun, and I shot him at an angle in the backside, so that the bullet passed through and
lodged in the far wall. Confined by the small room, the gunshot hurt my ears. Garner fell over. Pearl jumped from the couch and scuttled behind my desk. Still holding the gun, I patted her as I went past her to Garner.

“Should have kept the gun on me,” I said. “I'm a lot more dangerous than Pearl.”

“You shot me,” he gasped. “You shot me.”

I picked up his gun carefully and went back to my desk and put it in a large plastic Baggie. I put my gun back in the holster. Then I called 911 and ordered up an ambulance.

“Help me,” he said. “I'll die if you don't help me.”

“No you won't,” I said. “You got shot in the ass. You're not even bleeding that bad.”

I went to the sink and got a hand towel and folded it up tightly and walked to Garner and squatted down beside him.

“Oh, God,” he said. “This hurts. I'm bleeding.”

I pressed the towel against his wound.

“Roll over so you're lying on the towel,” I said. “It'll be like a pressure bandage.”

“I can't move,” he said.

“Oh,” I said. “Well, maybe you will bleed to death.”

He groaned and struggled over onto his side and groaned again, but his weight was on the wound and the towel. I stood and leaned my butt against the front edge of my desk. Pearl peered bravely around the edge of the desk at Garner.

“Ow,” he said. “It's, like, burning.”

“Ambulance is coming,” I said.

“I wasn't . . . going to . . . shoot you,” Garner said. “I just wanted to talk.”

“Which is why you brought a gun and pointed it at me and said . . .” I dropped my voice, imitating him: “I'm going to kill you.”

“I wasn't going . . . to.”

“Sure you were,” I said. “I'm the only one that knew about the pictures and all. With me dead, you'd have everything back under control. You would be president of a nice junior college. The kid would be away for life. Beth Ann would be hauling your ashes again, and you'd have a nice alternative to the alcoholic oinker you married.”

“No,” Garner said. “No, I was just going to talk. I can give you some money, maybe. I'm an educator. We don't have a lot.”

I shook my head. “Pal, you don't have anything at all,” I said.

I could hear the siren sound in the distance. Pearl crept out from behind the desk and went to Garner and sniffed at him. She was interested in the blood.

“Don't let her hurt me,” he said.

I said, “Pearl.”

And she came.

I said, “Sit.”

And she sat.

I knew it wouldn't last, but it was pretty impressive.

Two uniforms came into my office first, then two EMTs, then Belson. When Pearl saw Belson, she stood and wagged her tail and walked over to him. The EMTs got busy with Garner.

“I saw the call and recognized the address,” Belson said. “I didn't want to miss out on anything.”

“Too bad it's not a happier occasion,” I said.

I went to my desk and got Garner's gun and handed it in its bag to Belson. He took it and handed it on to one of the uniforms.

“This might be evidence,” Belson said. “Try not to lose it.”

“He tried to kill me, officer,” Garner said as importantly as he could. The EMTs had pulled his pants down to put a pressure bandage on the wound, so that sounding important wasn't easy. Belson looked down at him for a moment or two, scratching Pearl's ear absently.

“Goddamn,” he said to me. “You got another one.”

T
HE MEETING
was in the big, flossy conference room next to Rita's office on the thirty-ninth floor at Cone, Oakes, which was much too big for our small group. Finger sandwiches were served, and fresh fruit, and coffee, and bottled water. The coffee and the water were about the same temperature. Cleary was there; and Richard Leeland, theoretically representing Jared Clark; and Alex Taglio, Grant's lawyer; and me. The Clarks had declined Rita's invitation, as had Wendell Grant's mother. Probably heard about the coffee.

“I've taken the liberty of providing each of you with an
outline of the situation in which we find ourselves,” Rita said, “which could be described as a mess.”

“Can't tell the players without a scorecard,” Alex Taglio said.

“Correct,” Rita said, and went through the case, point by point, to where we were now. She was in full-power costume today. Black suit, white shirt, expensive pearls. She looked beautiful and flashy and formidable.

Which she was.

“We have some administrative matters to get out of the way,” she said when she had finished her summary.

She turned to Leeland and gave him a promising smile. Rita was never unaware of the amount of heat she generated.

“Mr. Cleary and I have talked,” she said. “And we both feel it best if you resign the case and I take over as Jared Clark's attorney.”

“Excuse me?” Leeland said.

“I'm a far better lawyer than you are, Mr. Leeland,” Rita said. “And your client will be much better off.”

Rita deferred to Cleary.

“Mr. Cleary?” she said.

“Richard,” Cleary said. “I don't know why you'd want to stay with this thing, but if you do, and you insist, I've already talked with Judge Costello about having you replaced.”

Leeland stared at him. “By her?” he said.

“Yes.”

Leeland opened his mouth and closed it. He looked around the room. Nobody else said anything.

“On what basis?” he said.

“What was your last criminal case?” Cleary said.

“I . . .” Leeland said. He waved his hand aimlessly and shook his head.

“Exactly,” Cleary said. “You are not, by training or experience, competent to represent someone in a case of this nature. You tried to help out the family, like a good friend, but now, as we are beginning to push and shove, it's time to let you off the hook.”

Leeland looked around the room. No one interceded on his behalf. He picked up the handout that Rita had given him and folded it and put it in his briefcase. He stood up.

“I guess there's no reason for me to stay,” he said.

“I'll take that as your resignation speech,” Cleary said.

“Yeah,” Leeland said. “Sure.”

He walked out of the conference room and closed the door behind him.

“Turning to the next matter,” Rita said, “I understand that both Mr. Spenser and Dr. Dix, as a condition of the interview with Jared Clark, reached an agreement with Mr. Cleary that Dr. Dix's findings not be used in court.”

Cleary took a drink of his coffee and frowned and looked at it for a moment and put the cup back in the saucer.

“The situation has changed,” Cleary said. “I am willing to waive that agreement.”

A secretary came softly into the conference room and said something to Rita.

“Alex,” Rita said. “Phone call. You can take it in my office.”

“You tell them I was in a meeting?” Taglio said.

“It's your office, sir,” the secretary said. “They insisted.”

“No cell phone?” Rita said.

“I shut it off,” Taglio said and got up and went out.

“Now that we are mostly on the same page,” Rita said, “do we have a plan?”

“The case has to go to court,” Cleary said. “We don't try these kids and convict them of something, Bethel County will go crazy.”

Rita nodded.

“I understand that,” she said.

“And,” Cleary said, “even if that were not a consideration, I believe these kids should be tried, convicted, and punished for what they did.”

“No big argument here,” Rita said.

“I believe the system works,” Cleary said, “when the playing field is level. I plan to prosecute vigorously, expect you to defend vigorously, and see what happens. Thanks to you, pal,” Cleary nodded toward me, “things have leveled up.”

“He is industrious,” Rita said. “How about Beth Ann Blair and Royce Garner.”

“We should be able to come up with some suitable charges against them, plus what Boston does on the assault charge. I'll prosecute them vigorously when I'm through prosecuting the kids vigorously.”

“If you bring the charges before we try the kids,” Rita said, “it'll give us some leverage to ensure their full cooperation.”

“As long as we all remember that this is not a cooperative venture.”

“I know,” Rita said. “It's an adversarial procedure. But, at least in theory, our goal is the same.”

“Justice?” Cleary said.

Rita shrugged. Taglio came back into the room and sat down.

“We were going to talk about severance?” he said.

“I was going to get there,” Rita said.

Taglio shook his head. “Somebody shanked Wendell Grant.”

“Dead?” Cleary said.

“Yep.”

“He was supposed to be kept separate,” Cleary said.

“I know,” Taglio said.

Rita looked down at the yellow pad on the table in front of her and crossed off an item.

P
EARL WAS ASLEEP
on the living-room couch. I was having the first drink of the day, sitting at my kitchen counter, watching the ball game and trying to keep myself under control. It was September. The Sox were still in it, and this might be the year again . . . or not.

Suddenly, Pearl sat bolt upright on the couch, her ears forward, and stared at my front door unwaveringly. There was the sound of a key in the lock. Pearl began to whimper softly. I did not, being more restrained. The door opened, and Susan came in with a shoulder bag. Pearl bolted over the back of the couch and rushed at her. Susan put her shoulder bag on the
floor and crouched down. Pearl capered over and around her, lapping her face and making small crying sounds. I felt the same way, but there was no room for both of us in my small hallway. Instead, in an act of great symbolic import, I picked up the remote and shut off the Sox game.

Susan stood and worked her way around Pearl and came to the counter. I got off the stool and put my arms out, and there she was. I was complete again. Pearl weaseled around us as we hugged.

“The limo took me home,” Susan said. “And I unpacked and took a bath and changed my clothes and came right over.”

The room seemed full of oxygen.

“Why the hurry?” I said.

My voice sounded odd to me, and remote.

“Because I have missed you so badly I couldn't breathe,” Susan said. “And I love you so much I could explode.”

“Wow,” I said.

“Exactly,” she said.

Pearl didn't like being shut out of the bedroom, but she had grown somewhat used to it, and didn't yowl. When it was appropriate, Susan got up, a little uneasy, as always, about being naked while upright, and opened the bedroom door. Pearl joined us.

“Home,” Susan said with me on one side of her and Pearl on the other.

“Wherever we are,” I said.

“Yes.”

We talked for a long time. She about the conference at Duke, me about the Jared Clark situation. Pearl lost interest
and fell asleep with her head on Susan's thigh, which made it impossible for Susan to get under the covers without disturbing Pearl, which I knew she wouldn't do. I did not lose interest. I could listen to Susan talking to me, or me talking to Susan, for as long as either of us could sustain it. And when neither of us could, our silences together were just as symphonic.

“Jared really didn't have much of a chance,” Susan said.

“No.”

I had my arm around Susan's shoulders. Her head was on my chest.

“The other kid probably didn't, either,” Susan said.

“No.”

“Lot of kids don't have a chance, do they,” Susan said.

“You and I see the adult residue of that every day,” I said.

“Perhaps the one absolute essential to growing up well is being tough enough,” Susan said.

“Like us,” I said.

“Just like us,” Susan said. “But maybe not so lucky.”

“I'd have found you,” I said, “with or without luck.”

Susan smiled and kissed me gently on the mouth.

“Probably not,” she said. “But if someone could, it would be you.”

Pearl shifted her position, and Susan whipped the covers over herself. I smiled.

“At last,” I said.

“I wonder why I'm so uneasy naked,” she said.

“Maybe it's the gimlet-eyed lechery of my gaze,” I said.

“Probably,” she said.

We lay quietly, listening to our silence for a while.

“What will happen to him?” Susan said.

“He'll do time,” I said. “He's confessed. We know he was in that school with a loaded gun. He's the only one who really knows if he shot somebody.”

“But . . . ?”

“But aside from being hotter than the rockets' red glare,” I said, “Rita Fiore is a goddamned genius.”

“So he has some hope,” Susan said.

“The answer to that is more your department,” I said. “His parents have put him aside. The love of his life is a child molester. He's going to be convicted in one way or another of a capital crime. How much hope is he likely to have?”

“Some hope is better than no hope,” Susan said.

“They teach you that at Harvard?” I said.

“No,” Susan said. “I learned that from you.”