“I am trying.”
He ran his hand over his head and stared at the floor.
“You can go,” I said. “I might want to talk to you again.”
“By again, do you mean today? Should I stay?”
Oh, meet Mr. Compliance.
“No. You can leave.”
He pushed on his knees to leverage himself out of the chair and walked slightly stoop-shouldered to the door. “Thank you. I didn’t mean…I know you are trying to help. Anything that will help…I just don’t understand all this.”
“Will you ask your daughter to come up?”
He nodded.
I kept my seat, thinking about Spencer Burke. Though more controlled than Manfred, he produced as much static as his brother. I was getting tired.
Claudia entered quietly, Bungee slipping by her feet just before she closed the door. She sat on the sofa with one leg curled under her, as I had seen her on the sofa downstairs. The dog jumped up beside her. In her eyes, when she looked at me, was a realm of sadness into which I did not dare journey far. Especially not with my fatigue growing with every breath I took, with every bounce of Joey’s ball.
“I want to speak with Miriam. I need her mind free of drugs.”
“Without her medication, she just sobs and sobs.”
“You have to let her.”
Claudia sighed deeply and nodded.
“Who pays for your apartment?”
She said evenly, “My father and uncle have been taking care of it since Dan died. Maintenance and utilities and that sort of thing. When I got married, the apartment itself was a gift—from my father mostly, but my uncle contributed.”
I did not ask another question so she continued. “Uncle Manfred said to me, ‘Darling, if you’re going to settle down with a gold digger you should be comfortable.’” She did a good imitation of her uncle’s accent and a bad imitation of a smile.
“Do you have any money of your own?”
“My husband’s insurance policy. I’m trying not to use it. Vin is helping me put it away for the boys’ education. I’m not good with money.”
“Won’t your father and your uncle see to their education?”
“Probably,” she sighed.
“Your family thought your husband married you for your money?”
“They were certain of it.” Her thin lips curved up slightly. “It wasn’t till after the boys were born that they finally accepted him.”
“How do you know he didn’t marry you for your money?”
“You are very direct, aren’t you?”
“I’d be wasting your time and money if I weren’t.”
“Dan told me after we got to know each other a little that he was only going out with me for my money. If you knew him, you’d know why that was funny. He wasn’t capable of using anyone, or manipulating anyone. Or lying. He was...clear. And he was strong. Michael is like that, too.” She ran her hand lightly over Bungee’s head.
We heard the front door open, some lowered voices. Spencer was leaving. A small but resonant urrgh issued from the back of Bungee’s throat.
“I saw your wedding picture in your bedroom. Dan was slight in build. Not like Michael.”
“My husband had juvenile rheumatoid arthritis when he was a child. He almost died. He never grew normally. He was just a little taller than me. His health was always fragile. When I said he was strong, I meant—”
“I know. The day Charlotte went missing…you went out that day?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you call the drugstore and have them deliver?”
“I had to get out—I just felt like moving, you know? Getting a little sun and air. I wanted to maybe walk around the block, but once I got what I needed at the drugstore, I got tired very fast so I didn’t get far. I just turned around and came home again. I put Charlotte in her bassinette and lay down for a nap.”
“What drugstore did you go to?”
“Riverside Apothecary. On the corner.”
“How long were you out, exactly?”
She paused. “The police asked me that. I think it was about twenty minutes. I can’t be really exact. I wasn’t wearing my watch, and I don’t remember looking at any clocks.”
“Where’s the buggy?”
“Oh—it’s in there.” She pointed to a door behind her. I got up and opened it. The closet was just big enough for the buggy to fit. Some old boxed games and toys took up the shelves.
“Why is it in here?”
“I don’t need it now, do I? It hurts me to look at it.”
I closed the door and went back to my chair. “Why was the bassinette in the nursery? It had been in the bedroom. I saw the marks on the carpet. It stood there long before the baby was born—and then you moved it?”
“Because I didn’t want...I cry at night. Since Dan died. I can’t help it. I manage all right during the day, but I end up crying myself to sleep. I didn’t think that would be good for an infant to hear. They absorb everything, you know. I had the monitor up loud. I know, if I had kept the bassinette in my room, this couldn’t have happened.”
“How do you think someone got in?”
She shook her head. “I’m sure I locked the door behind me. It’s habit, you know. Living in New York. You close the door and you flip the lock.”
“Were you on any medication?”
“Tylenol.” Claudia didn’t seem to mind my asking the same questions she had already answered for the police.
“Do you think Miriam might have gotten up while you were gone?”
“No. It looked like she hadn’t even moved. She was like a log in there.”
“Can you be sure?”
“No, but...they gave her a blood test. They said she had taken too many pills, actually. So now I keep them and give them to her.”
“Do you know any of her friends?”
“No.”
“Does she get a day off?”
She nodded.
“What does she do?”
“She goes to the park with Anna. They have gone to movies and to the zoo.”
“Can you think of any motive for taking Charlotte?”
“There are many motives for taking children, aren’t there?” She slumped down lower into the sofa. Bungee shoved his nose under her hand and she gave his head a stroke.
“No one has asked you for money. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“If they had, would you have told the police?”
“Yes, why?”
“Some people are afraid to. They think—they’re wrong— but they think that if they just pay the money and keep quiet their children will be returned.”
“We were never contacted by anybody. I think...” She paused for a ragged deep breath. “Have you ever read anything about the Lindbergh baby?”
“Yes.”
“They thought the baby was killed early. By accident. If Charlotte is dead, they maybe changed their minds about asking for ransom.”
“That’s what you think?”
“Yes.”
“Have you told anyone else?”
“No. They all want to hope. But there isn’t any hope. For anybody.” She sat there, dry-eyed, as bleak a figure as I had ever seen. “I have two other children to get through this. Father Ryan says you’ll help us get the girls back. I don’t think they are coming back. But it won’t do any good to arrest an innocent person. I know that Michael would never hurt anybody. He’s too much like his brother. And I know Miriam couldn’t have done it either.” She had rearranged her hands into a tight fist, one hand clamped over the other. “I’ve seen how the police ask them questions, over and over.” Claudia Keating carried a weight so heavy she was nearly crushed. But, not quite.
I asked, “How do you know?”
“Some things you just know, that’s all.”
I wasn’t sure if she was composed or just numb. Mothers know. Mothers know Mothers know and then they go. Swing the chariot sweet and low. Beth
y-June’s voice carried high, sweet and hollow from the gyre. “Call me when I can talk to Miriam. Not a single pill till she gets lucid. And send up your uncle. Please.”
It had occurred to me to not speak to him. I was so tired, and the thought of leaving him red-faced and sputtering with indignation was pleasing, but I let the thought go.
If you’re too tired, I can finish.
“You know better than that Olive. That’s not the agreement.”
Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Hester snarled. Your little minute in the sun.
This is too much for Isadora. Let me handle it, Olive replied in her most annoyingly patient voice.
Why you?
Because you, Hester, are a nincompoop.
While Hester and Olive bickered, the little ones began to whimper. Bethy-June stopped singing and began to cry.
Hush little baby don’t say a word. Mama’s gonna get you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird don’t sing. Sugartime’s dusky alto calmed her, and as Manfred Burke entered, I reasserted my control over the two hissing divas. Their voices receded. Sugartime’s song became pleasant ambiance.
Manfred chose the same chair as his brother. The wingback. He, too, balanced himself on the edge so as not to sink.
“You are an infuriating person. My time is valuable.”
“What price do you put on your niece’s child and Miriam’s daughter?”
“Any price. I said we’d pay. I said we’d pay the ransom, for the nanny’s child, too. For both of them. But there is no ransom. The police are useless. They have…”
If that looking glass gets broke,
Mama’s gonna buy you a Billy goat.
As he talked on I felt a nearly overwhelming urge to sleep. I was exhausted from keeping my head above the heavy soup of emotions and brain waves in this apartment. I wondered how Bungee stood it. Dogs are naturally sensitive to such things. Of course, no matter how besieged Bungee felt, he didn’t have a poodle, a spaniel and big-toothed German shepherd ready to come out at the drop of an eyelid. No, I had to stay with it. Manfred was winding down: “Did you see? I went on the television myself. The police didn’t like it, but they are not helping, are they? They have nothing. So I went on the TV and I said, we’ll pay. No questions asked. We’ll give you money to just bring them back. But nothing happened and…”
I let him come to the end in his own time. When he did, I asked, “What do you think happened to the children?”
He slumped in his chair looking his age,which I remembered from the file was seventy.“I don’t know. Nobody knows. Nobody knows. What could have happened? They didn’t get abducted by aliens! What could have happened?” He seethed frustration. Accustomed to controlling everyone and everything, he was perhaps for the first time in a predicament for which he could neither buy nor intimidate a solution.
Or he’s a good actor. The Russians, you know, invented acting.
You are an expert on Russians and theatre now?
I read.
When you’re sober.
Below the belt, Hester.
Hester’s and Olive’s voices were so loud, I wondered that he couldn’t hear them. “Thank you, Mr. Burke.”
“That’s all? You don’t want to know where I was?”
“I know where you were. It doesn’t matter. If you had anything to do with the kidnappings, you wouldn’t have done it yourself. Would you?”
“No. You are right there. I don’t even paint my own designs anymore. Others paint. Others draw. I say yes to this, no to that. But I don’t design or paint or draw. But I didn’t.” The notion came to him suddenly and out of the blue that I might be accusing him of masterminding the kidnappings. “I didn’t! And you are a monster to suggest it!”
If that cart and bull turn over,
Mama’s gonna buy you a dog named Rover.
“You can go now.”
“Monster! You are a monster.” He had no idea. Still, I had the impression that his pilot light had gone out and his exclamations were just gas.
He stalked out and I heard him announce,“She is a monster! Phoebe, my darling, we must go. I will not stay here in the same place with such a creature.”
“But...” Phoebe didn’t finish her sentence. I came out of the family room as she was gathering her purse, white gloves and white straw hat with the red silk rose on the hatband. She passed me on the stairs, careful to avoid physical or eye contact. Her husband waited for her at the door.
“What set him off?” Ryan O’Hagan watched the couple leave, Manfred in a huff big enough to carry them both. “Did you accuse him?”
“I am accusing everyone. I suspect every one of you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Michael Keating smile.
In the absence of the elder Burkes, I felt the atmosphere lighten. Sugartime’s lullaby faded.
Ryan O’Hagan looked at his watch. “Do you need me to stay?”
I said no.
He stood up, smoothing his trousers and pulling at his shirt cuffs. “I have to get back to the church and prepare for Vespers.”
“Goodbye, Father,” said Michael Keating. “If I can,” he glanced in my direction, “I’ll get back in time to assist.” Michael Keating displayed none of the nervousness of the senior priest. He regarded me calmly.
I sat on the sofa across from him as Ryan saw himself out. “Where’s Mrs. Keating?”
“Checking on the boys.”
I realized that the sound of the bouncing ball, which had become almost subliminal, was no more.
“You are at the top of the police’s suspect list. Do you know why?”
He nodded to the side. “I can’t prove where I was. At least a dozen people know where I was, but…” he shrugged and smiled with real humor. “I can’t call upon them to vouch for me.”
“No one in the parish has come forward?”
“I didn’t expect anyone to. It was kind of a desperate request from Father Ryan. We get a lot of walk-ins. You know, lapsed Catholics, after fifteen or twenty years of not setting foot in a church, decide that this is the day they need to talk to a priest. It’ll be another twenty years before they come back. The rest are parishioners who might not want to come forward and admit they came in. Their families might find out and wonder why they felt the need for an old-style confession.” He lifted his eyes for a moment as if catching a stray thought. Then he mused, “For a long time priests could do no wrong. They were above suspicion. Now, we’re like the butler. Everyone assumes we must have done it.”
“Does that make you angry?”
“Of course not. It’s the swing of the pendulum, that’s all. This too shall pass. Besides, the church brought this on herself. I don’t agree with the way they have handled pedophile priests.”
“You don’t look like a priest.”
“I don’t look like the average New York City priest,” he admitted. “There are lots of priests in lots of places who look like me. Even worse.” He smiled. “Anyway, what do you think I look like?” He leaned back and stretched his legs.
“A boxing coach.”
He smiled again with genuine enjoyment. “I’ve heard I look like a sanitation worker, even a cop. My favorite was dog catcher. Nobody has ever said I look like a doctor or a lawyer. But boxing coach is good. I am a boxing coach, as a matter of fact, for some kids on the Lower East Side. I know that’s not my beat. I’m helping out. Doing a little moonlighting for a buddy of mine down there.”
“How did you end up here, in the city?”
“My health. I got a bug and the doctors said I needed a gig where I could get rest. Where I wouldn’t have to dig wells and drainage ditches, build my own church and grow my own food.”
“Where were you?”
“Brazil. Anyway, the church shipped me here. You go where you’re sent.”
I noticed he used the word ‘sent,’ not ‘called.’ “You’re not happy with this posting.”
“I’m happy to be close to my family. I got
here just a few months before my brother was diagnosed with cancer. I was grateful to be here during the last year of his life. God and His mysterious ways.” He made a little gesture of resignation.
“You don’t seem as wrought up over this as the rest of the family.”
“Wrought up?”
“Depressed, stressed, anxious…”
“Claudia and Miriam are in a pit right now. I can’t help them out of it if I’m in the pit with them. Sorry for the cliché, but that’s what it amounts to. What I can’t do anything about, I leave to God.”
“You think everything that happens is God’s will?”
“Trick question.” He sat up again, and leaned forward. “If you give God the credit for all the good stuff, then you have to blame him for the bad stuff. So if I say yes, I’m saying God wanted all the terrible things that happened to you, for example, to have happened, and if I say no, what am I doing as a priest?” He smiled at me, not apologetically, but with humility, as if, perhaps, he had wondered the same thing.
“Good questions. But what is the answer?”
“My answer is, ‘I don’t know.’ I can’t account for what is God’s will and what isn’t. It’s a mystery. I leave it at that. I don’t trivialize human suffering by shrugging and saying it’s God’s will. It may be, but it’s not for me to say so.” He gave a rather impish smile and said, “Father O’Hagan would have a better answer.”
“Do you have any idea what happened to these children?”
The lines in his face deepened, his cheeks sagged with the weight of his next utterance. “I fear something very bad has happened to them.”
“You don’t seem worried about whether or not you are arrested.”
“My arrest…or not…” From upstairs we heard the television come on. “…is irrelevant. Find Anna and Charlotte.”
I wanted to ask him more questions, but I was once again fighting an oppressive drowsiness and couldn’t trust my responses anymore. He could tell me that he had invented the Internet now and I would think, Okay, cool. I had to have some time without anyone else around. I needed to sleep and let Aurora paint.
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