This time, the ball sailed high and two feet toward the first base side of the plate. Meanwhile, the runner had skipped down the baseline, about a quarter of the way to second. Lindsay snatched the ball out of the air and immediately gunned it to first base. The runner dove back, hand outstretched, just as the tag slapped down.
The coach crossed her arms back and forth, giving the safe sign, and the first baseman, a stocky girl with a brunette ponytail, leaped into air indignantly, starting to protest.
This time David could hear the coach easily.
“It’s a practice, Danielle! If I say she’s safe, she’s safe.” She pointed at Lindsay. “Now get ready. Set up inside this time. High and tight.”
“See that? See that?” Claire said.
David wasn’t seeing anything. “Um …”
“She’s having her jam the batter, to make the throw down to second harder.” Claire was jiggling up and down. “Watch it, watch it! She’s going …”
As Margaret delivered the ball, the runner, a short, agile girl, took off so fast David assumed she’d make second by a mile. But Lindsay, in one fluid motion, snatched the ball out from under the batter’s chin, transferred it to her throwing hand, shoved the batter out of the way with her glove, stepped forward, and fired. The ball, a miracle of speed and accuracy, shot right over Margaret’s ducked-down head. The second baseman leaned down and set her glove a foot to the first-base side of second, just off the ground. The ball smacked into the pocket, and the runner slid right into the tag. This time there was no argument. The base stealer wiped her hands on her thighs and trotted off the field, pumping her fist in the air. Even she was proud of Lindsay.
All the girls on the bench were screaming and chanting: “Po! Po! Po! Po!” Lindsay turned, pushed the face mask up onto her head, sniffed, and spat.
It was not a little dribbling girl’s spit either. It was a nice big solo glob that sailed about six feet. Claire leaned back in delight, clapped her hands, and whooped.
“Well, David.” She punched his shoulder. “If you were worried about Lindsay, you can relax.” She yelled out, “Way to go, Lindsay!” Then she returned to David, continuing in a normal voice. “Any girl who can spit like that is going to be fine.”
“Amazing. I can’t remember anything so, so …”
“Beautiful?” Claire called down to Patterson, who was standing up, still clapping. “What’s ‘Po, Po, Po’?”
Patterson smiled and climbed up the creaky metal steps toward them, taking a seat next to Claire.
“Didn’t you know? They call her ‘Po,’ which is short for Hippolyta, the …”
“The Amazon queen.” Claire’s smile broadened. “And the bride of Theseus. Cool!”
“Margie says they called her Hippo until they got to like her.” Patterson turned his head and produced a sneeze so titanic it startled their neighbors. “Cold?” Claire asked.
“Allergies.” Patterson looked apologetic. “Sorry. Ran out of tissues. Spring always does this to me.”
Claire grabbed a Kleenex out of her purse. “Here you go.”
“Thank heaven for the ladies.” Patterson blew his nose and leaned forward to speak to David. “‘Po’ is also, as you know, Judge …”
“Yep,” David said, turning to Claire. “It’s Springfield street slang for the police.”
“Folks in the neighborhood call out ‘Po’ when the cops are around.” Patterson pointed at Lindsay. “Your niece is like the police. Nobody’s going to steal when she’s around.”
“Chip off the old block.” Claire smiled at David.
“I’m the judiciary, Claire. Not law enforcement.”
“Picky picky.”
David hugged his raincoat around him and looked over at Claire. Baseball of any sort always transformed her into some bubbling creature he hardly knew. She was still wonderful, and he still adored her, but it was like being in love with someone from a foreign country.
“I always root for the umpire,” he said, to exasperate her.
“Oh, God, you would.” Claire’s cell phone burbled with a text, and she looked at it. “Rats!” She held it up to David. “Sid’s meeting got over way early, and he needs a lift.” At the mention of Sid Cranmer, David noticed that Agent Patterson made a point of looking intently out toward left field, as though he didn’t hear.
Claire scowled at the phone. “He’s over at UMass. His car’s in the shop, and his ride crumped. I’m going to have to leave you boys.” She kissed David. “See you tonight?”
“See you then.” It was a casual kiss, just ordinary, but the warmth and softness of Claire’s mouth erased the contents of David’s brain for a few seconds. Somewhere out there in the actual world, somebody made a great catch, and more raucous screaming broke out. Claire, descending the grandstand, looked back over her shoulder at David and said “Bye-eye,” doing her best bimbo imitation, making the word into two syllables—all ironically flirtatious. People’s eyes flickered over to him, probably not picking up on the irony. He didn’t care.
It felt strangely good to be left at the ball game with Agent Patterson, just two middle-aged men cheering for their girls. David knew instinctively that Patterson was too classy to start talking to him about his dismissal of Cranmer. Sitting there felt like some kind of closure. The situation was typical of the western Massachusetts scene. People knew each other, and sooner or later, everyone’s lives crisscrossed.
Before long, the coach shouted something, and the girls in the field ran in and got ready to take their turns batting. The new cohort of fielders was plainly the second string. The replacement catcher let two balls get past her, and the second baseman dropped an easy pop-up. Margaret Patterson batted cleanup and hit the new pitcher’s first offering over the center fielder’s head into the parking lot. David and Patterson both stood and cheered like matching idiots as she trotted around the bases. At she stepped on home, she looked up at her dad and smiled—then looked at her friends on the bench and rolled her eyes.
As soon as they resumed their seats, Patterson’s phone rang. He turned to the side and spoke in a low voice. David took the opportunity to return Patterson’s earlier courtesy by shifting around to the side and pretending to be deaf. The rust-colored buds on a row of sugar maples up by the high school were bobbing against the milky sky. Springtime in New England.
At the end of the call, Patterson stood and said, “I have to go.” He stared down at David, thinking, then added, “We might need to see you for an after-hours warrant application this evening. Will you be around?”
“I’ll be in. Have Mr. Campanella call me. I can meet you at the Amherst police station.” David handled after-hours warrant applications using a conference room at the local police station.
After some thought, Norcross had decided not to make a formal complaint about Campanella’s conduct in Cranmer. So far, his boss, Buddy Hogan, had not done anything either. With the appeal pending, the U.S. attorney’s office was taking the position that Campanella had done nothing wrong. Knowing Mr. Hogan, David assumed that once the court of appeals had its say, things might change.
“Seems Attorney Spade got his client Underwood to talk.” Patterson lifted his head and gazed up at the overcast sky. When he looked back down, a sour expression had taken over his face. “Turns out our defendant’s accomplice, who he calls Buddy, is Underwood’s nephew—a kid named Jonathan. I’m going down to Springfield to help Paul debrief the defendant.” He gave David a weary smile. “Paul is still unhappy with me about Cranmer. It won’t hurt to do some fence mending.”
David was not immediately bothered by Patterson’s reference to someone named Jonathan. A lot of people had that name. But he nevertheless gave into an impulse to speak. “That’s the name of Sid’s cleaner, I think. I’m pretty sure Claire mentioned somebody named Jonathan turning up when she was visiting.”
“Hmmm.” Patterson took a deep bre
ath and gazed down at the field, plainly not seeing much. “Maybe I’ll swing by there. It’s sort of on my way.”
David stood up. “Maybe I will, too.”
“I’d rather you didn’t, Judge.”
“Afraid that’s too bad.”
49
Ethan had never been upstairs in Professor Cranmer’s house before. Three doors led off the carpeted landing, and he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go. He shouldn’t be here. Mick was playing around his feet, and when he leaned down to give him a scratch, the cat grabbed at Ethan’s hand, digging his claws in a little, and rolled over onto his back. A bedroom with a lot of books was facing Ethan, and he spotted Keith in there getting up off a pillow and doing a stretch. Ethan hurried into the bedroom, and Mick followed, jumping up onto the bed after Ethan sat on the edge. Both cats pushed onto Ethan’s lap. They were very, very friendly, and their fur was so soft.
After a little while, something caught the corner of Ethan’s eye. When he looked up, he saw Jonathan, standing in the doorway, which made him jump a little. With the carpet he hadn’t heard Jonathan come up.
“Great cats, huh?” Jonathan said.
“Yeah.”
“I love them.” Jonathan stepped all the way into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.
This was bad. Ethan stopped petting the cats and asked, “Where’s Professor Cranmer?” Jonathan leaned against the door. He had one hand kind of out of sight behind his back.
The cats were pushing at Ethan, but he ignored them. This was really not good.
Jonathan shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“He’s not here?”
“Nah, I was fooling with you.” Jonathan nodded over at the cats. “I wanted to show you some new tricks.”
“Okay, but I better go.”
“Why? You don’t need to.” Jonathan was a lot bigger than Ethan, and the room was not very large. The windows were high up, and the curtains were pulled across. No one would be able to see through them.
Ethan, still sitting on the bed, looked around the room. “You said Professor Cranmer was up here.” There was a closet, but he wouldn’t be able to hold the door closed. “You said there were brownies.”
“I was just fooling around with you.”
Ethan stood up. Maybe, if he moved fast, he could roll under the bed. Ethan noticed he was breathing hard. His hands were shaking a little.
“Do you know what a blow job is?” Jonathan asked. The smile came and went again. It was awful.
“Yes. Sort of.”
“Have you ever given one?”
“No.”
“Ever had anybody give one to you?”
“No. I don’t … I don’t want one.”
“Why not? They’re fun.”
“I need to go now.” Ethan took a step forward but stopped. He couldn’t get closer to the door without getting closer to Jonathan, which was something he didn’t want to do. “My mom will be worried. She’ll be calling and stuff.”
“Your mom won’t be wondering about you for a while.” Jonathan was breathing hard, too, but not as hard as Ethan was. “She won’t think you’re here. You’re not even supposed to be here.” Jonathan still had that one hand behind his back. He lifted the other hand, the free hand, and wagged a finger at Ethan. “You’ve been a naughty boy, Ethan, and there’s nobody here to help you now.” Jonathan slowly pulled the hand behind his back out. It was holding a gun. “Do you know what this is?”
“Yes.” Ethan’s heart was beating like crazy. The room was getting funny. He couldn’t think.
“It’s Sid’s. He got it in Vietnam.”
“Okay.”
“If I shoot you with this, it will hurt a lot and you’ll die.”
“I know.”
“You’re scared, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I don’t really want to shoot you.” Jonathan looked down at the gun, then lifted it and pointed it at Ethan. He had his finger on the trigger, and he smiled. “Well, to tell the truth, I do, sort of.” He closed one eye, aimed, and said, “Bang.” Then he dropped his hand and pointed the gun down. “But I promise not to shoot you if you help me with something.”
“People will hear if you shoot me.”
“They might, but they won’t think it’s anything. They’ll think it’s, like, a car, or something falling off a truck or something. They won’t care, and I’ll be a long ways away before they find you and figure out what happened. They won’t even know who did it.”
“I don’t—” Ethan began, but he couldn’t think of how to finish.
“You don’t, what?”
Ethan just shook his head.
“Okay, here’s the deal. If I shoot you, you’ll be dead. You won’t feel anything then. But your mom, wow. Think how she’ll feel.” Jonathan raised his eyebrows and nodded at Ethan. “If you just help me with one little thing, you can go home, and everything will be fine. Don’t be an asshole.”
“What do I need to help you with?”
Jonathan stared at Ethan. His eyes went up and down Ethan’s body. A car went by outside, then another.
“My zipper’s stuck.”
“Your zipper’s stuck?”
“Uh-huh. My zipper’s stuck.” Jonathan looked down, tugged at his fly, and then looked back up. “I’m not kidding.” He gave that awful smile again. “It’s really stuck. I think it’s because my dick is so big. I need you to come over here and help me unzip it and …”
There was the sound of the front door opening and some lady laughing downstairs. Right away, the cats jumped up off the bed and dashed to the closed door, mewing loudly.
Ethan called out. “Hello! I’m up here!” He should have yelled louder, but his voice was not working that well. He started to clear his throat.
“Shut up!” Jonathan whispered fiercely. Ethan took a step toward the door. Jonathan pointed the gun at him. “Stay right there.” When Ethan looked uncertain, Jonathan pointed the gun down at the cats, still hissing. “I’ll shoot Mick and Keith. Then I’ll shoot you.”
Professor Cranmer’s voice came up the stairs, getting closer. “Hello?”
The female voice called out. “I’ll put on the kettle.”
Jonathan stuck his finger up to his lips and pointed the gun at Ethan. His eyes, all of a sudden, were wide and bugging out. He looked almost crazy.
Professor Cranmer was halfway up the stairs. “Ethan? Is that you?” The floor creaked as he turned up from the landing. “Jonathan? I’m home early.”
Jonathan hurried over to Ethan, got behind him, and grabbed him around the waist. He pressed the barrel of the gun against Ethan’s ear. Ethan’s heart was pounding twice as fast now. Jonathan’s breath smelled really bad, like old cheese. The barrel of the gun was cold, and it was scraping against his ear so hard it hurt. It felt like it was cutting him.
The door to the room opened, and Professor Cranmer stepped inside. When he saw Ethan and Jonathan, he looked surprised, his mouth dropped open, and his face looked confused and then just—Ethan couldn’t think what—sort of scared, but also something else.
Jonathan broke in, using a low voice so the lady downstairs wouldn’t hear. “Don’t say a fucking word, Sid. Not one word.”
Something happened then that was very surprising to Ethan, something that made him a tiny bit less frightened. After only a few seconds, Ethan could see that Professor Cranmer didn’t look surprised or whatever anymore. Or maybe he was frightened underneath, but something bigger covered it up. His face just got very serious. He had his eyes on Jonathan as though he was sick and tired of everything, as though he hated Jonathan and everything all of a sudden. He stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him, not making a sound.
He spoke very quietly. “Let the boy go, Jonathan.”
“Oh sure.”
“Let Ethan go. You and I can settle this.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
The barrel of the gun was grinding into Ethan’s ear so hard it felt like it might be bleeding. He gave out a little cry. He couldn’t help it.
“You don’t have to let him out of the room, Jonathan. Just let him come over here to where I am.”
“Shut the—”
“You’ve got the gun. We won’t go anywhere.”
“You’re fucking right.”
“I promise we’ll cooperate, Jonathan. You’re hurting him.”
“You’re not the—”
“Come on. I’m worried you’ll shoot him by accident. We’ll do whatever you want.”
A voice called up, the lady’s voice. “Everything okay up there?”
Professor Cranmer called out. “Be down in a sec.” You couldn’t tell from his voice that anything was wrong at all.
“Black tea or herbal?”
Cranmer looked at Jonathan, very steady. Then he got close to smiling, and he called out, “Tension Tamer.”
“You got it.” Footsteps downstairs went off to the kitchen.
Jonathan gestured with his head over to the corner of the bedroom, farthest away from the door. “Get over there.”
Professor Cranmer walked right over to where Jonathan pointed. He held his hands partway up and sort of out to the side, with his fingers sticking out, to show Jonathan he wasn’t going to try anything.
The gun slid away from Ethan’s ear—it was stinging like crazy—and Jonathan shoved him toward Professor Cranmer.
“Go over there and shut up.”
There was a clatter downstairs in the kitchen. Nobody said anything. Jonathan had the gun hanging down at his side now, almost as though he’d forgotten about it, and he was breathing hard.
Professor Cranmer put a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “Jonathan …” Professor Cranmer began.
“Man, this sucks.”
“Jonathan, listen …”
“Shut up. I’m trying to think.”
“Okay.”
Jonathan’s eyes were going from side to side. “Is the basement unlocked?”
The One-Eyed Judge Page 38