“No one will be brought to justice for Nicky’s death,” insisted Enrico, resigned.
“I think they will,” said Franks, wondering how much personal guilt Enrico felt. Should he tell them more? There was a temptation to do so—they deserved it, after all—but he held back. Enrico had been the original link to Pascara, the cause of it, if anyone bothered to analyze the entire sequence. The old man must hate Pascara now. But Franks remained unsure. Better—safer—to wait until the indictments had been handed down and the arrests made. To tell them today would be premature. Boastful. Why did he need to boast to Mamma and Poppa Scargo? Contest time was over, forever. Would it be to them he would be boasting? There was also Maria. Franks frowned curiously toward the woman, intrigued by the sudden question. Why on earth would he want to boast to Nicky’s widow, on the very day of her husband’s funeral? Seeing his expression, Maria frowned back and said, “What is it?”
“Nothing,” said Franks, disconcerted. A drinks tray passed nearby and Franks wanted one but he held back, sure that Tina would be watching from somewhere in the room and reluctant to provide her with any more ammunition. “They’re keeping in touch with me. The FBI, I mean. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”
“Yes,” said Enrico dully.
Throughout the encounter Franks realized that Mamma Scargo had remained absolutely unmoving, arms stretched along the chair rests, staring up at him. He felt uncomfortable, not knowing what she was expecting. To Maria, Franks said, “You staying on here?”
“I haven’t thought about it,” said the woman. “I haven’t thought about anything.”
“Of course not,” said Franks. “Anything I can do to help …” Quickly he added, “Tina or me.”
“I know.”
“Tina will keep in touch.”
“I’d like her to.”
Franks looked around for his wife and moved toward her, glad to leave one tense situation although possibly entering another; it would be a relief to get away to Europe. Franks supposed he should feel guilty at the thought, but he didn’t. He felt like a stranger here: a casual acquaintance rather than a member of the family.
“I’ve done the rounds,” said Tina.
“And I’ve done my duty.”
“Is that how you regarded it—a duty?”
“That’s how they made it seem.”
“They’re burying their son, for Christ’s sake!”
Tina seemed to have forgotten who was responsible for everything, thought Franks. It didn’t seem important to remind her. “Shouldn’t we get back to the children?”
“We’re family,” she said, angrily. “We can’t leave ahead of everyone else. What’s wrong with you?”
“Actually there’s nothing wrong with me,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Let it mean whatever you want,” said Franks. He moved away from her. A waitress passed conveniently and he took the drink he’d earlier denied himself. Fuck Tina! All he was trying to do was work things out in the best possible way—the best possible way for her and the kids—and he didn’t deserve the hard time. So he’d left them hostage, which was theatrical, like so much else. But she should understand why he was doing it. She wasn’t stupid. He tempered the thought; she hadn’t been until now. He was aware of Maria looking at him. He smiled, briefly, and briefly she smiled back. He looked away, moving near the window with its garden view, so he was able to see the assembly of cars when departures began after a little while. Inside the room a vague line had formed, to file out past the family with further, parting condolences. Tina didn’t move, to re-form the original receiving line, so Franks remained gratefully by the window, glad to be spared the empty repetition. At least, he thought, looking out, the FBI appeared to have stopped taking photographs. He wondered if the newspeople had gone. Around him the caterers began clearing the debris and he moved out of their way. His glass was empty and he looked hopefully for a refill, but service was finished. He placed the glass on a table. A lot of other people here today would have had more than he had, Franks knew. He moved back, trailing the final line of departing guests, until he reached Tina, and then the immediate family.
“We’ll be getting back,” said Tina.
“Yes,” said her mother.
“Maybe I’ll come up tomorrow. With the children,” said Tina, filling in the abrupt silence.
“Yes,” said the old lady again.
“Or would you like to come down to us; get out of the house for a while?”
“No,” said Enrico. “You come here.”
“Good-bye,” said Franks.
“Good-bye,” said Maria, the only one bothering to reply.
“I’ll let you know anything that happens,” he promised again.
“Thank you.”
To kiss them—the old lady, at least—would be appropriate now, but Franks couldn’t bring himself to do it. Outward emotion had always been easy for them, but never for him. Now it seemed difficult for them as well. Tina did it instead, hugging her father first and then her mother, and then kissing Maria.
Franks and Tina had come in their own car from Scarsdale, with the FBI escort in a following vehicle, and that was how they returned. For a long time they traveled in heavy silence, and then Tina said, “I wonder what Maria will do?”
“I got the impression she’d stay on there for a while,” said Franks, not understanding.
“I didn’t mean that. I meant now that Nicky’s dead. Maria never seemed to have many friends of her own.”
“I always thought you were her closest friend.”
Franks was aware of his wife looking at him across the car. “Did you tell her about the trial?”
“No,” said Franks.
“Why not?”
“We don’t know if there’s going to be one yet,” he said. “Nothing has been presented to a grand jury.”
“When are you going to England? To Europe?” demanded Tina, coming to the point of tension between them.
“As soon as everything is settled with the prosecution, I suppose.”
“You didn’t say how long for?”
“I don’t know how long for,” said Franks. “All the preliminary work is already being done. I’ve only got to do the final signing and the Swiss arrangements. It shouldn’t take long.”
“How long?” she demanded.
“A week,” he said, not wanting to resurrect the argument between them. “Not more than a fortnight.”
“I’m beginning to find all this very difficult,” she blurted suddenly. “All of it.”
And it had hardly started yet, thought Franks. “Me, too,” said Franks, trying to ease things between them.
“I couldn’t live like this forever,” she said.
Seeing the opportunity, Franks said, “That’s why I am doing what I am: to ensure that you won’t have to.”
“I liked the way things were before,” said Tina. “When it was a proper life.”
“It’ll be like that again,” promised Franks, hoping he sounded convincing.
“It’ll have to be,” said Tina. “I don’t think I could live any other way.”
22
Franks had the impression that he and Tina were circling each other, seeking an opening, like prizefighters or matadors. His own affairs had entered an abrupt lull. He maintained daily telephone contact with Rosenberg—eager to go into the city to escape from the restrictions of the house, however slender the excuse—but the trial lawyer kept insisting there was no reason and that they should await the next move from Ronan and his investigators. Franks pressed for permission to take the promised European trip, but Rosenberg said they should wait until Ronan was prepared to present what he had to a grand jury.
Toward the end of the week Franks gave in and let David have his photograph taken with the police gun—the pump-action shotgun as well as a pistol. Tina seized upon it when she heard, ranting at him for hypocrisy and stupidity, and Franks made only a toke
n defense, conscious that she was right and that he was wrong and had let the pictures be taken because he couldn’t be bothered to refuse the child anymore. Several times she ate with the children, early, to avoid dinner with him. Franks was grateful rather than annoyed because he didn’t particularly want to share the meal with her, either.
Rosenberg insisted that Franks stay out of disposing of the Bahamian and Bermuda hotels, denying a further excuse for Franks to go into town, but at least it provided a reason for some telephone conversations, giving the impression of work. Anxious to have something further to do—to make the large hand on the clock move from one marker to the next—Franks maintained twice-a-day contact with London, checking on the arrangements he had initiated there.
Tina sought her escape in visits to her parents. She started making the journey almost every morning and not returning until late evening. Franks rigidly controlled his drinking, always conscious—confident—that there was no problem but equally aware that with so much time on his hands the habit could grow insidiously. He allowed two—but positively only two—at lunch-time and two each evening and possibly a final one—but not always—after his usually solitary supper. Nothing wrong with five drinks, spread over the course of the entire day; and he didn’t have a single glass of wine with any of his meals. When he did, Franks was always careful to ensure that there was wine left in the decanter until the following day, yet further proof that he was in absolute control. At all times. And going to stay that way.
During one of his days alone—in the second week—Franks recognized that, temporary though it might be, the erosion between himself and Tina was ridiculous and moved to stop it. She ate with him that night, providing the opportunity. Franks refused all her challenges, deflecting every one of her attempts to exacerbate their differences, instead remaining courteous and considerate, which seemed to annoy her further. When the meal was over, there was still wine left, as he made sure she noticed. He poured brandy for them both and said, “This has got to stop, hasn’t it?”
“What?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know, Tina. That’s ridiculous. Us. Warring all the time.”
“Do we war?”
“You know we do. It was never difficult for us to be alone; we actually wanted it that way.”
“Alone!” she said. “Surrounded by an army!”
“You know it’s not going to last.”
“I don’t know anything of the sort.”
“We’ve gone through it, all of it. We’ve just got to endure it and wait until it passes and then start living like we did before.”
“I don’t think it’s possible for anything ever to be like it was before.”
“It won’t be if we go on like this,” continued Franks gently. “If we go on like this then we’re going to end up hating each other. Is that how you want it to be?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“Do I?” he said. “Recently I’ve not been so sure that I do.”
“It’s so … it’s so …” tried Tina, waving her arms. “Oh, I don’t know what it is.”
“It’s unreal,” provided Franks. “You said it a long time ago: doing everything in front of an audience. I hate it, too. I’m doing what I’m doing to avoid going to jail and every day is like being in jail. We’re not trying, either of us. We’re giving up, like people do give up when they go to jail.”
Tina remained for a long time gazing down into her brandy. “I know you’re right,” she admitted finally. “And I haven’t been helping. Didn’t want to help …” She looked up at him, wet-eyed. “Do you know what I thought when you told me that you were going back to England and we had to stay here?”
“What?”
“That you were running away. That you were running away somewhere and weren’t going to come back for us.”
Franks stared at her. “You thought that?”
“I’m sorry.”
“But why? You’ve never had any cause to think like that.”
“I know. Now that I’ve said it, I feel stupid.”
They’d taken their drinks into the small sitting room and were sitting on opposite couches. Now Franks got up, setting his drink on a side table, and knelt down in front of her. “I didn’t know it had got that bad for you,” he said. “I honestly didn’t.”
“Neither did I. Not really.”
Franks tried to kiss her but she only half responded.
“I don’t believe what they said, whoever it was; Ronan or Waldo or whoever. I can’t believe people can live like this.”
“Do you want to get away somewhere with the kids?” said Franks.
“But isn’t that just the point?” she demanded. “We can’t go away just like that. Which is what makes it worse. We used to be able to. We could go anywhere we wanted, when we wanted. All we had to do was buy an airplane ticket and we could always afford that, too. Now we can’t go anywhere without cars in front and behind and people checking doorways and alleys.…” She looked directly at him. “Last night Gabby wet the bed,” she said. “She’s five years old, for God’s sake. She hasn’t wet the bed for years. I think it’s because of what’s going on here.”
Franks swallowed. “I meant, go away somewhere by yourself, with the kids,” he said. “There’ll have to be somebody with you, of course; just to be sure. But it’s me they’ll try to hit, if they try it at all. Are you frightened of being around me?”
“No!” shouted Tina desperately. “Being without you is what I’m frightened of. Not having you, like Maria hasn’t got Nicky anymore. I’m not going anywhere without you; that’s why it hurt—why I started to think stupidly—when you said you had to go to London by yourself.”
“I’ve explained that.”
“I know,” she said. “I know that now.”
“What are you going to do about Gabby?”
“Nothing,” said Tina practically. “I’m not even letting her know that I’m aware it happened. If I draw attention to it then it will be a big thing. I might be wrong, after all. There might be no connection.”
“What if it happens again?”
“Let’s wait until it happens again,” she said, still practical.
“It won’t seem so bad,” said Franks. “Not when we’re back in England and the kids are back at school and we’re living like we were before.”
“Is that ever going to be possible?” asked Tina. “Don’t lie to me; don’t say something just because you’re trying to make everything seem better. Do you believe—honestly, sincerely believe—that we’re going to be able to go back?”
Franks stared up at her, his knees beginning to ache from the unaccustomed position, but not moving because if he did she’d imagine he felt some awkwardness about her demand. And he was feeling an awkwardness beyond any physical discomfort. Don’t lie, she’d said. “I’ve agreed to testify and to cooperate because it’s right—necessary—that I should. It’s necessary, too, that I take us all into this protection program. I still don’t believe that they’d try to kill me, but because of you and because of the kids I can’t take that risk. But you know I don’t intend staying in. That’s why I’m going to London. And why I’m going to set up the situations in Switzerland. When the time comes we can opt out.”
“With the children at the schools they were before?” persisted Tina.
“I’ve thought about that,” said Franks. “It’s something that I’m going to sort out, when I go back.”
“And we still can be in this house?” she pressed on.
Franks frowned. “No,” he said. “I don’t think in this house. I didn’t imagine you’d want to, anyway.”
“What about the house at Henley?”
“I don’t know. Maybe,” he said. “Maybe we’ll have to go somewhere else.”
“Using what names? Are the kids going to leave one term with one name and go back again with another?”
“I don’t know!” said Franks. His legs were hurting, so he had to stand; it had been
a silly gesture anyway.
“I do,” said Tina evenly. “It isn’t going to be the same. None of it. Not ever again.”
“We’ll be together,” said Franks. “I won’t be behind bars somewhere, serving a sentence for offenses I had no part of.”
“Yes,” she said. “We’ll be together.”
“A little while ago you were telling me that’s all that mattered.”
“Yes,” said Tina, flat-voiced. “I was, wasn’t I?”
That night they tried to make love, which they hadn’t for a long time, not since the previous failed attempt. This time it didn’t work either, although she tried to pretend, like she had before.
“Sorry,” she said openly.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Thanks!”
“You know what I mean.”
“I just can’t … it’s … I keep thinking of those men outside and imagining they’re watching. They probably are. David says they’ve got devices on rifles that enable them to see in the dark.”
“He seems to be becoming quite an expert on weapons.”
“It’s hardly surprising, is it?”
“We mustn’t let this break us up, Tina,” said Franks. “We mustn’t let that happen.”
“I know. I just hope I’m strong enough to prevent it happening.”
The following morning Rosenberg called; Ronan wanted another meeting. Franks set the appointment for that afternoon, eager to get away from Scarsdale and into the city. In the car Franks gazed around him at the familiar landscape as if seeing it for the first time. It was like freedom from imprisonment, he thought, and then immediately wished he hadn’t.
He met Rosenberg at the district attorney’s office. The usual group was assembled. There was a handshake from Ronan and a smile of greeting from Knap. Waldo nodded without any facial expression.
To Save a Son Page 22