by Nina Monroe
It doesn’t matter that Astrid’s woken up. She was shot in the chest. And Eva could have prevented it. She doesn’t deserve to be here any more.
DAY 6
Saturday, September 7
CHAPTER
49
8 a.m.
PRISCILLA CALLS WENDY Warnes again but her cell goes straight to voicemail. She hasn’t heard from the governor since the night of the prayer meeting.
“Hi, it’s Priscilla. Astrid’s doing well. Peter and I are so relieved. There have been other developments too. The children have been talking about what happened, you probably caught wind of that. I thought I should make a statement. Maybe you could get in touch with Chris Baker again—so I can respond to what he said in the interview. I was caught off guard—it obviously wasn’t Astrid’s fault. Anyway, when you have a moment, call me and we can make a plan.”
As she puts away her phone, she feels a hand on her shoulder.
“Cil?”
It’s Peter. He’s just arrived from home. Freshly shaved. Showered. Clean clothes. It baffles her, how he’s been able to keep functioning through all this. But at least he’s here; she can’t wait for the three of them to be back home together. Surely, after everything that’s happened, he’ll want to stay. He’ll realize the mistake he made when he walked out on them. End things with Kim. Hand in his notice at UCLA. Move his things back into the cottage.
As terrible as all this has been, maybe what happened to Astrid was what they needed to save their marriage.
“I think you should let it go,” Peter says, looking at her phone. He must have overheard her leaving the voicemail.
“Let it go?”
“Astrid’s getting better. That’s all that matters now, right?”
“We owe it to Astrid to keep fighting for this. We have to push for gun law reform, otherwise more kids will get hurt. This is our chance, Peter.”
He looks at her for a long time.
“Aren’t you tired of fighting?” he asks.
“What? No. Don’t you get it, Peter? If we don’t fight for change, Astrid will have gone through all this for nothing.” Priscilla stands up and grabs her car keys and her coat.
“Where are you going?”
“To Concord.” She puts on her coat. “If Wendy isn’t going to answer my phone calls, I’m going to her office to speak with her directly.”
Peter stands up. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”
“You might be giving up on this, but I have to do this—for Astrid.”
Peter raises his eyebrows. “For Astrid?”
“Yeah, for Astrid.”
She walks to the door but then turns around again. “We have the attention of an influential politician at a key moment in the election. If Wendy gets a place on the US Senate, she could make real progress on this issue. You know as well as I do that we’re not going to get another chance like this one. There’s no other way, Peter.”
“Okay, do what you have to, Cil.” He settles in the chair next to Astrid.
In that moment, she hates him for being so weak—and for making her feel like she’s in the wrong.
She walks out of the door, through the pediatric ward and out into the parking lot.
She’s going to fight this, even if it means doing it on her own.
* * *
On the way to Concord, Priscilla dials Lieutenant Mesenberg’s cell. Priscilla had hoped that the detective would have reached out to her already, but she supposes she’s been busy, dealing with the ridiculous story concocted by the children.
“Lieutenant Mesenberg? It’s Dr. Carver.”
“Oh—hello.” There’s a pause. “How’s Astrid doing?”
“I’m calling to get an update on the investigation,” she says. “I gather the firearm was handed in.
The lieutenant wouldn’t question why she was calling about the investigation so I cut that piece of speech. And that you’ve had the chance to talk to all the children again.”
“We’ve done some preliminary interviews, yes.”
A pause.
“I’ve actually been meaning to call you—to organize a visit with Astrid.”
“With Astrid?”
“Yes. It would be good to have her corroborate what the children have been saying. And to shed light on one key element in the series of events that happened in the stable. We’ve had some more evidence come to light.”
“Corroborate? What could Astrid possibly tell you that you don’t know already?”
“I know this is difficult, Dr. Carver—but we do have to talk to Astrid. To tie up loose ends.”
“Loose ends?”
“To determine her involvement.”
“Her involvement is that she was shot. That she nearly died. You know who got hold of the gun and who fired it. Isn’t it time you started pressing charges?”
“We have no cause to charge anyone, Dr. Carver—”
“My daughter was shot on the property of Ben Wright—with his pistol—”
“It was locked in a safe. As was the ammunition.”
“But his son opened those safes, didn’t he? And the other children played with the gun. And Hanif Sayed fired it—at my daughter.”
“Children make bad decisions. All we can do is—”
“Keep guns away from them, Lieutenant—surely you can see that. And make an example of those who put children in danger. Men like Ben Wright. And children like Hanif Sayed who thinks he can fire a gun without any consequences.”
There’s a beat of silence. “I understand that you’re upset.”
“This isn’t about me being upset. It’s about justice—”
“And that’s what I was trying to explain. We have no legal cause to detain anyone, Dr. Carver.”
“So—that’s it? You’re going to close the investigation?”
“Like I said, we need to tie up some loose ends. Talk to Astrid. And of course, we all need to draw some lessons from what happened. But if no crime was committed—”
“An eleven-year-old was shot and no crime was committed?”
“I don’t make the laws, Dr. Carver.”
“Obviously.” Priscilla hangs up and throws her phone down on the passenger seat.
Talking to Lieutenant Mesenberg is pointless.
She looks at her GPS: another hour and she’ll be in Concord. If the police can’t do anything to keep their communities—their children—safe, then it will have to be the politicians. One politician in particular: the one who made her a promise that, no matter what, she wouldn’t let this go.
* * *
When she gets to the state offices in Concord, Priscilla goes straight to reception and asks to see Governor Warnes.
“I’m afraid she’s not here,” says a young man with gelled-back hair.
“I saw her car outside.”
The black SUV that drives Wendy to her official events. The one she parked outside the library that day when she walked in on the town meeting, promising that she would support Astrid’s cause.
“She’s busy,” the receptionist says.
“I realize that. But this is important. Just call her and say that Priscilla Carver is waiting to speak to her—she’ll understand. We’re friends.”
“There’s a great deal going on right now. You might have seen the news.” He jerks his head at the television to the right of his desk. It’s showing an aerial shot of a burnt-out building in Manchester. “The governor has a lot on her plate.”
Priscilla doesn’t want to play some kind of one-upmanship game, but a child getting shot—that was meant to be on her plate. Or it was until last night, when she stopped answering Priscilla’s calls.
Priscilla recognizes one of Wendy’s aides walking through the lobby and goes up to her.
“I need to see Governor Warnes.”
“Mrs. Carver, it’s good to see you.” The aide smiles at her like Priscilla’s come to pay a social visit.
“Could you show me to her office?
She’ll be expecting me.”
The aide shifts her weight from one foot to the other, embarrassed. “The governor is busy today.”
Busy? The aide was there when Wendy made her promise about putting gun control at the heart of her campaign. What could be more important than that?
“Fine,” Priscilla says. She pushes past the aide and walks up the large staircase of the state offices. Wendy Warnes’s office can’t be that hard to find.
The aide runs after her. “You can’t go up there, ma’am …”
She ignores her and speeds up. She needs to speak to Wendy in person.
She scans the name plates on the doors. She feels the aide following close behind.
“Mrs. Carver—please.”
Priscilla spins round. “It’s Dr. Carver.”
“I’m sorry—Dr. Carver, you need to go back downstairs …”
And then Priscilla sees her, surrounded, as ever, by a group of aides and speech writers and other members of her campaign team. They’re taking notes.
“I’m going to give a speech right at the site of the fire—maximum impact.”
“Wendy!” Priscilla calls out.
Wendy stops walking and looks up. “Priscilla!” She gives her a forced smile.
“I’ve been trying to call you—”
Wendy mumbles something to her team and they disperse.
“Have the car ready for me,” she says to the man who Priscilla recognizes as her personal assistant.
Then they’re standing there, just the two of them. Priscilla expects Wendy to invite her into her office but she doesn’t move.
“I’m so glad that Astrid is going to be okay.” Wendy presses her hand down on Priscilla’s arm in the way she did the first time they met. Like she genuinely cares.
Priscilla feels a rush of relief. She can’t have forgotten the importance of Astrid’s case. She’ll listen to her.
“We need some media coverage,” Priscilla says. “We need to talk about the fact that an eleven-year-old boy opened two gun safes in his own home and that another child of the same age fired a gun at my daughter. We have to talk about how these children came to be playing with a firearm. And we have to make sure that we put an end to gun violence, once and for all. We have to—”
Wendy presses on Priscilla’s arm again and this time, it feels more like an act of restraint than reassurance. “We’ve made good headway, Priscilla. But we have to accept that this is as far as it goes. For now, anyway.”
“As far as it goes? You said gun control was going to be a cornerstone of your campaign. That when you were senator, you were going to push hard for gun law reform—”
“That was before I received evidence of Astrid’s involvement in the shooting.”
“Astrid’s involvement? What? She was shot, that was her involvement!”
There’s a long silence.
“I’ve seen evidence that points to the contrary.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I gather she might have been the mastermind behind the shooting.”
“The mastermind—that’s crazy.”
“The pictures from her phone. Her search history—days before the party.”
Priscilla remembers, suddenly, how Wendy had kept looking at her phone during the prayer meeting. And how she’d left without saying anything. And then the phone call from Chris Baker a few hours later. Wendy must have seen the pictures before they got out.
“Look, Priscilla, why don’t you go back to Astrid. She needs you right now—”
“I’m doing this for Astrid. We have to keep pushing on this, Wendy.”
“There isn’t a story any more.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If Astrid had died—”
Priscilla stiffens. “You’re saying that my daughter had to die for things to change?”
“All I’m saying, Priscilla, is that the water has been muddied. Now that—thank goodness—Astrid is going to be okay, there’s no longer a narrative—”
“A narrative?” Priscilla feels her legs giving way. She needs to find a place to sit down.
“Look, I know this is hard. But I can’t be seen to be defending an eleven-year-old child who loaded a firearm—”
“What? Loaded a firearm? Who are you talking about?”
Wendy looks right at her. “Surely, Priscilla—you must know.”
“Know what?”
“That your daughter loaded the firearm. That there’s video evidence on her phone. Evidence that couldn’t be shown on the television.”
Mesenberg’s words come back to her: One key element in the series of events that happened in the stable.
“Astrid hasn’t confirmed any of this—”
“She doesn’t need to. We have enough evidence.” Wendy tilts her head to one side. “And I’m told that, when she woke, there was an admission—”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“Look, it’s my job to stay on top of these things. I have to know what I’m getting involved in.”
All those doctors and nurses in Astrid’s room. One of them must have said something.
“Astrid’s still on medication. She’s waking up from being in a coma for five days. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
Wendy gets out her phone, swipes at the screen and then presses play on the video. “Just look, Priscilla!”
Priscilla leans in. Her mind’s shooting off so many thoughts it takes her a while to focus.
But then Wendy turns off the mute button and Astrid’s voice comes out of the speakers, clear as day:
You hold the phone, Bryar—since you’re having such a hard time loading the gun, maybe I should do it.
Having a hard time loading the gun? What does Astrid mean?
The screen wobbles as the phone changes hands between Astrid and Bryar. For a while, all you can see is the floor of the stable.
Hold it up, Bryar! Don’t you know how to take a video? Astrid says. You can play it back next time you get stuck.
Slowly, the phone focuses back on Astrid.
In one hand, she holds the black pistol; in the other, a couple of bullets.
Priscilla’s heart pushes up under her ribcage. She can’t watch this.
“Looks to me like she knew what she was doing.” Wendy’s voice interrupts the video.
And then they both watch.
How Astrid slots the bullets into the chamber of the gun, her small, pale fingers quick and nimble.
I learned this on YouTube, Astrid says as she loads the gun. It’s easy.
Maybe you shouldn’t—A girl’s voice comes in from off screen. An English accent.
What’s a gun if it’s not loaded? Astrid says. If we’re going to have fun, we have to do this properly, right?
And then it’s done. The gun’s loaded.
Astrid smiles into the camera and gives a little bow.
The video breaks off.
Priscilla stares at the black screen for a second and then Wendy Warnes takes away her phone and puts it back in the pocket of her jacket. She glances at her watch. “I’m sorry, Priscilla, but I’ve got to be somewhere.”
Priscilla gathers up the little strength she has left. “It’s still an issue, Wendy. No matter what Astrid did. The gun shouldn’t have been there.”
“Look, maybe if I get elected, I can tackle this again, but gun control is a tough issue for Americans—and Astrid’s story … isn’t the one that’s going to rally people.”
“Of course gun control is a tough issue. That’s why we have to tackle it head-on.”
“There are lots of vested interests.”
“You mean the NRA?”
“They have a great deal of influence, yes. And the polls suggest—”
“The polls?”
“It’s not a good issue to run on.”
“So, let me get this straight: you’re giving this up because it’s not helping your campaign? It has nothing to do with Astrid’s
involvement—not really. You’ve just decided that the issue’s not going to get you enough votes.”
“If I don’t get elected, I won’t be able to do anything, Priscilla. You’re an intelligent woman, I’m sure you understand how politics works.”
Wendy holds up a hand to her PA, who has been lurking at the bottom of the hallway, signaling that she’s ready to move on. Then she looks back at Priscilla.
“Go and spend some time with your daughter. She needs you.”
The words slam into Priscilla’s chest. That’s what all this had been about. That Astrid had needed her—and that she hadn’t been there.
“Maybe we can talk again in a few months,” Wendy says.
And then she walks off, her PA coming to join her at her side.
* * *
When Wendy’s gone, Priscilla stands in the middle of the long, empty hallway.
She stumbles to one of the chairs lining the hallway: beautifully carved wood, silk upholstery. And then, very slowly, she sits down.
Words swim around in her brain. Astrid was as involved as the rest of the kids … We will have to talk to Astrid. To tie up loose ends … your daughter joined the game … initiated the game … she loaded the gun …
Peter, Lieutenant Mesenberg, Wendy—they were all saying that it was Astrid’s fault.
And maybe they’re right.
Maybe Astrid did have a role to play in what happened.
And maybe Priscilla should have stayed home to watch her.
But couldn’t everyone see that it was more than that, too? That parents get things wrong and kids play stupid games and girls like Astrid look for trouble because it’s in their nature—or because their mothers have failed them. But it doesn’t mean that anyone needs to get shot. They want her to sit back and give up, just because there are reasons why the accident happened, but the biggest reason is still there, isn’t it? That there was a gun in the house. How can she let go of that?
CHAPTER
50
9 a.m.
IN THE SMALL bungalow on Main Street, the one with the brown clapboard and the weeds growing as high as a little girl’s knees, Eva sits on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket. There’s frost on the inside of the windows from where the seal has broken.