“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.
65
PEARL 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.”
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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School Days Page 19