Eyes of a Child

by Richard North Patterson

  At the prosecution table, Victor Salinas had suddenly tensed. ‘Is it your belief,’ Caroline was asking, ‘that you tracked fibers from Richie’s carpet into Chris’s bedroom?’

  ‘Yes. Because that was where we stayed together.’ Terri paused a moment. ‘Sometimes, after dropping Elena with Richie, I would go to Chris’s. It was hard to be alone then.’

  Caroline moved still closer. ‘The police also found carpet fibers on the driver’s side of Chris’s car. Can you explain that?’

  ‘Yes.’ Terri turned to Duarte again. ‘I’d never driven a Jaguar before. So Chris let me drive his car.’

  ‘Often?’

  ‘Several times. Including after visiting Richie.’

  ‘And did Chris also visit your apartment?’

  Salinas, Terri saw, was resting his chin on his hand, as if trying to divine where Caroline’s questions were going. But unless he was much more prescient than most, he would still believe that this was all about rug fibers.

  ‘We were a couple,’ Terri answered. ‘Chris came to my apartment quite a lot.’

  At the corner of her vision, Terri saw Chris’s eyes narrow, Perhaps in doubt, perhaps in understanding. As if to bewilder Salinas, Caroline switched subjects abruptly.

  ‘Did Mr Arias have an answering machine?’

  ‘Yes.’ Terri made herself sound very calm. ‘That was one of the frustrations of calling from Italy – he’d switched his machine off.’

  ‘To your knowledge, how long had Mr Arias used this machine?’

  Terri folded her hands. ‘This particular machine? About two months.’

  Salinas was very still now; Terri sensed that he knew that something was awry but was not quite sure what. ‘Do you happen to know,’ Caroline asked almost casually, ‘where Mr Arias acquired this machine?’

  Terri nodded. ‘From me.’

  ‘And where did you get it?’

  Terri turned to Salinas now; she reminded herself of the police this man had sent to question Elena, and then, softly, she answered, ‘From my apartment. I gave it to Richie when I got a new one.’

  Salinas, Terri saw with satisfaction, looked as if he had been shot.

  Caroline spoke in the same quiet voice. ‘And do you know, Ms Peralta, how Mr Paget’s fingerprints came to be on that machine?’

  ‘Yes.’ Terri now spoke to Salinas. ‘I’m quite sure that Chris touched the machine while it was still in my apartment. As I said, he was there all the time.’

  Was that even possible? Paget wondered.

  It had stunned him. On the stand, Terri stared straight at Salinas as the prosecutor walked toward her.

  One thing was certain, Paget knew. He had not been there ‘all the time’ but, at most, a handful of times: he could never visit Terri while Elena was with her, and when the little girl was not, Paget as Carlo’s parent would not leave his son alone for the night. The pattern of single-parent romance, dictated by children.

  ‘You knew,’ Paget whispered to Caroline.

  She gave him a sideways look. ‘Is anything wrong?’

  When Paget did not answer, Caroline picked up her pen, ready to take notes.

  ‘Why,’ Salinas demanded of Terri, ‘have you never said, this before? About the answering machine.’

  ‘No one asked me.’ Terri folded her hands. ‘And everything you have asked me, Mr Salinas, has been twisted and distorted. You tore up my house, interrogated my six-year-old daughter, suppressed evidence about the money Richie had.’ Her voice rose. ‘I didn’t come to you, Mr Salinas, because you and your office don’t care about the truth . . . .’

  ‘Didn’t you want to clear Mr Paget’s name?’ Salinas asked angrily. ‘Or were you waiting to give that little speech?’

  Terri looked quite composed now. ‘I didn’t know what your evidence was. If you had told me about Chris’s prints on the machine, I might have told you how they got there. But you never asked.’

  Salinas looked rattied now. ‘Are you telling, me, Ms Peralta, that you never discussed these fingerprints with Mr Paget?’

  Terri smiled. ‘Let me rephrase that for you. Not only am I telling you that I never discussed the prints with Chris, but it’s true. Which is all that Chris ever said to me about testifying – to tell the truth.’ Her smile faded. ‘You’ve made me a witness against the man I love and want to marry. We practice law together: any other case, and we’d be talking all the time. But Chris didn’t want to do or say anything that looked like influencing my testimony. So for the last three months, while Chris went through this nightmare, we couldn’t even talk about it. You can’t imagine, Mr Salinas, how hard that’s been. But we’ve stuck to it.’ Her voice turned cold. ‘If you think Chris asked me to lie for him, you’re mistaken. But it’s not nearly as big a mistake as this whole miserable prosecution.’

  Eyes narrowing, Caroline Masters put down her pen. Softly, she murmured, ‘Victor’s fucked.’

  Chapter 11

  The next morning, Carlo Paget took the stand.

  He wore a white shirt, a blue blazer, and one of his father’s floral ties – he himself did not have much interest in ties, and his father’s taste in clothes, he had once remarked, was much better than his taste in music. Taking the oath, he smiled uncomfortably at Paget and then stopped looking at anyone; in this formal setting, there were still traces of the awkward boy whose shirttail might come out. Circles were visible beneath his eyes; the night before, Paget had heard Carlo stirring in his room in the early-morning hours, unable to sleep. Helpless, Paget cursed himself for this moment, and then Salinas began.

  After a few preliminaries, Salinas asked him abruptly, ‘Do you know Elena Arias?’

  ‘She’s Terri’s daughter.’ Carlo paused, and then added, ‘She used to bring her to our house.’

  It had started. Salinas would try to legitimize Richie’s ‘concerns,’ Paget knew, while making the possibility of molestation real enough to be Paget’s motive. All that Paget could hope for was that Caroline had prepared Carlo well and that he would keep his poise.

  ‘And did she sometimes leave Elena with you?’ Salinas asked.

  Carlo, Paget thought, looked paler. ‘Sometimes.’

  Speak up, Paget told him silently.

  Salinas moved forward. ‘What did you do with her?’

  Humor a child, Paget thought, while the adults gave them both a benign smile and turned their attention to each other.

  ‘Mostly we played games,’ Carlo answered. ‘Whatever she wanted. Sometimes I took her out for ice cream, and once or twice to the park.’

  ‘Were you ever alone?’

  ‘Hardly ever. My dad would be there, and Terri.’ His voice became stronger. ‘Sometimes my girlfriend too.’

  I’m not some pervert, Paget remembered him telling Terri – I have a girlfriend. Paget could not easily imagine the hardship for a sixteen-year-old boy, dealing with the deepening pulse of his own sexuality, accused of molesting a child. He could feel the weight of the courtroom on Carlo, the scrutiny of the jury.

  ‘But you were alone with her,’ Salinas prodded.

  Carlo squared his shoulders. ‘Only a few times. Maybe three or four.’

  ‘Did Elena ever kiss you?’

  Carlo looked down. ‘Sure. Little kids do that stuff.’

  ‘Did you ever kiss her?’

  Carlo seemed to wince, as if at the pounding of a headache. ‘Like you do a kid, maybe. On the forhead.’

  Salinas, Paget noticed, was without theatrics today – his manner grave, his face and voice unchanging. Quietly, he asked, ‘Did you ever see Elena naked?’

  Carlo’s eyelids dropped, as if the moment he dreaded had arrived; to Paget, he looked like someone who had received a blow to the stomach. In the jury box, Joseph Duarte – the father of two girls – watched with taut vigilance. ‘Once,’ Carlo said. ‘She asked me to give her a bath.’

  ‘Was this the only time she asked?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And where was her mother?�
��

  ‘With my dad. At a speech he was giving.’

  ‘So the only time Elena asked for a bath was one of the only times you were alone with her?’

  Carlo folded his arms. ‘I guess so.’

  Salinas paused, as if disturbed by this coincidence. ‘Were you undressed?’ he asked.

  Carlo flushed. ‘No.’

  Paget turned to Caroline; she touched his arm, gaze fixed on Carlo. ‘Not yet,’ she whispered.

  ‘Did you touch her?’ he demanded.

  Carlo had begun to look drawn. ‘Only with a washcloth,’ he said. ‘And maybe to help her into my dad’s bathtub.’

  ‘Who undressed her?’

  ‘She did.’

  ‘Did you watch?’

  ‘No.’ Carlo’s voice was angry. ‘She was undressed before I even got there.’

  Salinas moved forward. Softly, he asked, ‘Did you touch her genitals, Carlo?’

  Paget had to keep himself from standing. ‘No,’ Carlo answered.

  ‘Not even with a washcloth?’

  ‘No.’ Carlo’s voice was strained. ‘You can ask me that a thousand times, and the answer will always be the same. I didn’t touch that kid in any way that was bad.’

  ‘So that if Elena told her father you’d touched her genitals, she was lying?’

  ‘Objection.’ Caroline sprang out of her chair, turning to Salinas with a look of disgust. ‘There is no evidence, anywhere, that Elena ever said that. Not even Mr Arias made such a claim. Frankly, Mr Salinas, the biggest perversion I’ve heard so far is your effort to smear a teenage boy so that you can convict his dad of murder.’

  ‘That’s offensive . . .’

  ‘Really. Then show it to me, Victor. Show me where there’s any basis for the question you just asked.’ Caroline stepped forward. ‘Want to take a break to look for it? Because we’re all prepared to wait for you.’

  Lerner’s gavel cracked. ‘That’s enough.’ The judge turned to Salinas. ‘What’s the basis for your question, Counselor?’

  Salinas stepped forward. ‘It was another way of asking if the witness molested Elena Arias.’

  Lerner leaned over the bench. ‘Did you hear my question, Mr Salinas? What is you basis?’

  Salinas hesitated. Then said, calmly, ‘None, Your Honor. Other than I just explained.’

  Lerner stared down at him. Softly, Caroline said, ‘I’d like an apology, Victor.’

  He turned to her, angry. ‘For what?’

  ‘Not to me. To Carlo Paget.’

  Watching, Paget felt his own outrage ease; Caroline was making Salinas pay. ‘I’ll decide who I apologize to,’ Salinas told her, ‘and for what. It’s certainly not clear what this witness did.’

  But Joseph Duarte, Paget saw, was frowning at Salinas. ‘Let’s move on,’ Lerner snapped. ‘Objection sustained. And underlined.’

  Salinas turned to Carlo. ‘Did there come a time,’ he asked in an even voice, ‘that Mr Arias filed papers charging you with molesting Elena?’

  ‘Yes.’ Carlo seemed to have gained strength from Caroline. ‘He left a copy on my dad’s doorstep. So we wouldn’t miss it.’

  ‘Did you discuss this with your father?’

  ‘Yes. Dad said we should stand up to him.’

  Salinas gave a first skeptical smile. ‘But how did you feel? You were the one who would have to go to court.’

  ‘How did I feel?’ Carlo’s eyes froze with remembered anger. ‘I thought Elena’s father was a scumbag.’

  Salinas shook his head. ‘Did you want to go to court?’ he prodded.

  ‘No. I don’t think you’d like being charged with molesting a six-year-old, either.’ Carlo turned to the jury, his expression wounded and urgent and sincere. ‘But I was ready to say then, just like I’m telling you right now, that Richie Arias was a liar. I didn’t need anyone to say that for me, and I didn’t need anyone to kill him, either. All I need is my father back.’

  ‘Move to strike as unresponsive,’ Salinas snapped.

  Caroline did not even stand. In a weary voice, she said, ‘And I move to strike that motion as pathetic.’

  ‘Motion denied,’ Judge Lerner cut in. ‘Spare us the critiques, Ms Masters. As for you, Mr Salinas, perhaps you would have been better off apologizing.’

  With that, Paget thought, Salinas’s punishment was complete. Expressionless again, the prosecutor asked Carlo, ‘These papers Mr Arias filed, did you ever read them?’

  ‘No.’ Carlo looked quite calm now. ‘My dad read them to me.’

  Salinas nodded. ‘When did he tell you that Mr Arias had charged him with breaking up Ms Peralta’s marriage?’

  Carlo darted another quick glance at Paget. ‘After he was arrested.’

  ‘So at the time you discussed with your dad Mr Arias’s charges against you, he didn’t tell you that Mr Arias had also made charges against him?’

  Carlo seemed to consider this. ‘I guess my dad didn’t want to upset me any more.’

  ‘In fact, if he hadn’t been arrested, your father might never have told you.’

  ‘Objection,’ Caroline called out to Lerner. ‘Calls for speculation.’

  ‘Sustained.’

  But the point had been made, Paget knew: in ways small and large, Salinas had succeeded in suggesting that Paget was bent on concealment of whatever was inconvenient – from the police, from Terri, and even from his own son. And each question raised about Paget’s character would make his failure to testify all the more damaging.

  Abruptly, Salinas shifted subjects. ‘Let’s discuss the night before your father went to Italy. You went out, right?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Around seven-thirty?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you tell your dad where you were going?’

  Carlo nodded. ‘Out with friends.’

  ‘Does he make it a practice to tell you if he’s going out?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Always?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘And what did he say on that night?’

  Monk, Paget remembered, had not asked Carlo that question. But Caroline appeared to have prepared him well; almost offhandedly, Carlo answered, ‘I think he was going out with Terri.’

  ‘Did he seem ill?’

  Paget felt himself tense. ‘I really don’t remember,’ Carlo said in a calm voice. ‘Dad’s not much of a complainer.’

  Salinas seemed to give the boy a second look. ‘Did you tell your dad when you’d be home?’

  Carlo nodded. ‘Twelve-thirty.’ His tone turned flat. ‘I have a curfew.’

  ‘When you spoke to your father,’ Salinas asked, ‘did you give him reason to believe that you’d be home any earlier?’ A moment’s hesitation. ‘No.’

  Caroline, Paget noted, kept her eyes fixed on Carlo; she had not looked at Paget since the line of questioning began.

  ‘And did you return home at twelve-thirty?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And was your father home then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  A first slight smile. ‘He waited up for me. He does that a lot.’

  ‘And did he seem sick?’

  Another pause. ‘I couldn’t tell. It was dark, and I couldn’t see very well. The only light was in the library.’

  Salinas moved close to the witness stand. ‘Do you remember what he was wearing?’

  ‘Jeans and a sweater, I think.’

  ‘Not a gray suit?’

  Carlo hesitated. ‘No.’

  ‘What about when you left, at about seven-thirty. Was he wearing a suit then?’

  Paget felt himself tense. ‘I think so,’ Carlo said.

  ‘Do you remember what color?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘After midnight, when you came home, did you notice any injuries to your father? Say to his right hand?’

  Carlo’s face went blank. Paget had known this expression since his son’s childhood: Carlo used it when he wi
shed to lie to him, or at least to cancel his thoughts or feelings. ‘No,’ Carlo answered tersely.

  What, Paget wondered, did Carlo think he had seen? But Salinas could not know Carlo as Paget did. ‘Between seven-thirty and twelve-thirty,’ Salinas asked abruptly, ‘did you return home unexpectedly?’

  The jury, Paget realized, had leaned forward with the question. But Carlo’s voice was firm now. ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘About eight-thirty.’

  Salinas had become quiet again, surefooted. ‘And what were the circumstances?’

  ‘A bunch of us were at a friend’s house – Darrell Sheets. We decided to go to a movie, and I realized I’d left my wallet at home. I wanted to take my girlfriend out for a pizza later, so I decided to go home and get it.’

  Once more, Paget cursed his son’s absentmindedness. ‘Did you see your father?’ Salinas asked.

  ‘Physically see him? No.’

  ‘Did that concern you?’

  ‘I was in a hurry.’ Carlo hesitated, then shrugged. ‘I guess I thought he was out with Terri.’

  ‘Where did you find your wallet?’ Salinas asked.

  ‘In my bedroom.’

  Salinas, Paget thought, had his satisfied look. ‘To get to your room,’ he asked, ‘you walk up a central staircase, right?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And going to the staircase, you pass the living room and library.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was anyone there?’

  Carlo folded his arms. ‘Not that I saw.’

  ‘Was it light enough to see someone?’

  Another pause. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Your father’s bedroom is next to yours, correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you hear anything in your dad’s bedroom?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I was hurrying.’

  ‘Did anyone call out to you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So at the point you climbed the stairs to your bedroom, you thought no one was home.’

  Caroline was watching with new intensity, Paget realized; like Paget himself, she had lost control. ‘I guess that’s what I thought then,’ Carlo answered finally.

  He was tense, Paget saw, hoping to give a helpful answer. ‘Salinas is going to sandbag him,’ he whispered.

  Caroline’s eyes narrowed. ‘He just has to stick to his statement. He knows that, Chris.’