“Destiny?”
“Indeed.” Clarissa extinguished her Camel on one of the cannon and threw the butt in the fireplace. “You two’ve known each other, what, a few hours? Yet you’re already acting like star-crossed lovers. It’s rather adorable, in that horribly sickening way.”
“Hang on a second,” I said, as we entered the dining room. “We’re just—just making sure that we’re on the same page, for the sake of the boys and the case, it’s not what—”
“ ‘Making sure you’re on the same page’? Is that what you call it?” Clarissa put a finger to my chest. “Trajan, you get on much more of the same page and you’ll find yourselves hitched. And I wouldn’t mind, I have to tell you. She’s all right, that one—a lot better than those unbearable New York doctors and therapists you used to bring up here.”
“But, Clarissa,” I said urgently, since we’d only be able to get in a few more words before we sat down. “I’m about twice her age.”
“And you’ll need to be, to keep up with her. Count your blessings, nephew, and enjoy it…” She raised her voice suddenly to address the others at the table. “Now, then—have you all found spots? Good. Oh, but, Mike, you can’t be between Ambyr and me—get over here and sit between the boys.” Mike looked at her in confusion. “Do it, Dr. Li,” Clarissa insisted.
From no one else would Mike have accepted this order; but move he did, and then Clarissa took me firmly by the shoulders and deposited me in the seat he’d been occupying. When I was tucked in and Annabel had started to appear with plates piled high with freshly grilled steaks, mashed potatoes, and summer vegetables, Ambyr took my hand under the table and leaned in to murmur in my ear, her lips so close that they occasionally brushed against my flesh:
“You and Clarissa might want to learn that, when people lose their sight and start to rely on their hearing, whispering is one of the quickest things they learn to overhear. I couldn’t quite make out what you were saying in the living room, but your last conversation was pretty simple.”
I turned to stare into those veiled violet eyes, and found that Ambyr was smiling wide. “I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice as quiet as hers had been. “She—she’s not always the most tactful—”
“No, no, don’t be silly,” Ambyr said, her mouth near my ear again. “I think it’s flattering. And who knows? Maybe it’ll happen. Although you’ll have to get over this thing about your age, Trajan—I mean, don’t you think that what we’ve each been through kind of puts us on the same level?”
I could do no more than nod vacantly; and then, remembering that she couldn’t see the movement, I said, “I do. Absolutely.”
“Good,” she concluded, feeling for her silverware. “Now, if you can just turn out to actually not be a jerk, underneath it all…”
“All right, all right!” Clarissa interrupted, banging the meeting to order by tapping her fork on her glass. “Let’s get to it…” By now, wine brought over by my great-grandfather from France was on the table, in addition to the Talisker, which pleased Ambyr; and after it’d been poured, Clarissa tore into her steak with knife and fork. “Some people still say it’s wrong to discuss business over food, and usually I agree. But tonight, we have no choice. It is now time for you all to give me as quick a summary as you can, of this case, and we’ll go from there.”
I sighed, pulling my watch from my vest and opening it: Mike and I didn’t have much time to explain ourselves, even with support from the others. Whatever was looming down in Heinsdale, whatever it was that was so serious that Pete felt he couldn’t even speak of it over a cell phone, we really would need clear heads. So, reluctantly, I reached for my water glass…
{v.}
During the summary that followed, any shreds of conviviality at the table were replaced by an air of rather grim purpose. After that, the first new business to be addressed and incorporated was just what Clarissa had been able to learn Monday evening about the lengths to which the agents of state law enforcement were willing to go to keep us out of the investigation:
“So far as I can tell,” Clarissa said, “this whole matter of throwaway children, along with the murders of four of them, just gains in pressure as you ascend the heights of power, as it were. The possibility for scandal has gone from limited and obscure, back when it was just a child welfare issue, to full-on orange alert, when it grew into a series of deaths that might reflect on the governor. And a lot of people are blaming you, Trajan, along with you, Mike, for that fact. Given the presidential ties and aspirations of our state’s chief executive, well…The way I heard it, he’ll do just about anything to keep it quiet. That effort started with simply trying to discourage you from advising Steve Spinetti and Pete Steinbrecher. It escalated when you were present at that shooting in Fraser—and when you managed to get yourself caught on television. The need to convince you to give up your involvement became almost a panic, because everyone, at every level of law enforcement and government, saw their ambitions and their promotions threatened by this case’s being laid open to the public. And so, I don’t know who took that shot at you. But the truth is—it could have been almost anybody.”
A long pause ensued; and then Mike, emboldened by a bellyful of beef and another, ill-advised tumbler of Talisker, replied, “I’m not so sure, Clarissa. Because you see, while it might have been anybody, the simple fact is that it was somebody.”
There was another hush as Clarissa eyed Mike, in a way that said he’d better demonstrate his point, if he didn’t want trouble. In the meantime, I gave my partner some backup by standing (it was high time for me to do so, anyway, as my left thigh and hip were throbbing even through the whiskey) and pacing around the table, listing our most apparent and definite possibilities for who had, in fact, shot at us. There was, of course, the idea of an actual state trooper acting under orders from his superiors; but I felt very confident in eliminating this notion, as I believed that Mitch McCarron would have gotten wind of any such thing going on. Mitch, in turn, would have warned me, unless he’d received very specific orders from no one less than the governor; and, fool that I knew our governor to be, I didn’t believe he’d reached the point where he’d make those kind of Nixonian errors. Next up was the possibility of a rogue cop, acting out of uniform but using his service weapon; but here the last question repeated itself (who would have been telling him to make such a bold move?) and was joined by a second: what kind of personal reason could he have for doing something that might not only finish his career, but net him a lengthy prison sentence, as well?
This left the idea of someone using a weapon that would make us think that a trooper was behind the shooting, in order to give the impression that the state meant to get us by whatever means possible. That, in turn, pointed to someone directly involved in the deaths, someone creating both a red herring and a warning with a single act. Mike, his courage bolstered, said that we favored this theory; but Lucas, trying admirably to demonstrate that he had been paying attention during all previous explanations of our method, arrived at still another option: that whoever had shot at us had simply been someone who owned a .308 rifle and, perhaps at an earlier date—or perhaps just for this job—had fitted it with a suppressor. This person could have been trying to settle a score that had nothing to do with the throwaways case: an old enemy out of the past, come to finally use the advantage of people’s attention being fixed elsewhere to take vengeance. It was the wild-card theory, the notion of a free radical splitting off inside the organism of the case; and while I made sure to give Lucas points for thinking outside the box, I also explained to him that there was simply no way to account for these types of possibilities—and that, with all we had inside the box already, we’d be plenty busy enough. But the notion was worth remembering.
Thus did we narrow the field of suspects in the shooting (and by extension, of course, so much more) from the “almost anybody” that Clarissa had mentioned to one very good option and several unlikely ones, all of which we would have to debate a
t greater length as the case progressed. Still, the talk that we did have—which covered just about the amount of time that I thought we could afford—impressed Clarissa deeply, I could see that; and I could see, too, that during our discussion she slowly but steadily came around to the notion that we might indeed have some idea of what we were doing. I also sensed that the implications of the case—not merely political implications, but moral ones, as well—were indeed weighing as heavily on her as I had hoped they would.
Alone among our group, there were two who remained reluctant to speak: Ambyr and Derek. Ambyr, of course, was still learning things as fast as she could pick them up, and so her reluctance was understandable. But Derek, whenever I deliberately asked him to throw in an opinion on one point or another—even on firearms—simply fidgeted uncomfortably and reverted to his usual halting failure to grasp facts as quickly as they were given to him. None of the others saw anything remarkable in this; yet none of the others had been present when Derek had delivered his insightful analysis of the bullet hole in the roof of the Prowler. True, it was possible that he, like many other autistic young savants, simply felt more comfortable displaying such behavior in one-on-one situations; but that explanation felt inadequate to me. Whatever was behind the complexity of his behavior, that evening the young man seemed to me as much furtive as mentally challenged, and I became steadily more convinced that he might well be the facilitator between (if not the ultimate organizer of) any children in the county who were seeking new lives and the New York City residents ready to provide those outwardly dreamlike existences.
All of which made it more important to talk to Clarissa about Derek privately, to get a sense of what she thought she had divined about him; but even more urgent was the necessity to get her backing for what she had called our démarche on the city. And, somewhat to my surprise, it was my great-aunt herself who broached that topic. Once our discussion of potential suspects in the shooting had been completed, I returned to my seat, and all became quiet at the table, until Clarissa finally said:
“All right, Trajan. I’ll do it.”
“You’ll—do it, Aunt?”
“You heard me.” To Mike’s and Lucas’ smiles and my own sigh of relief, she looked past me and explained, “You see, Ambyr, I’ve realized ever since mumblings started going around this house about a trip to New York, and as people I knew within and connected to local and state government began to warn me about what Trajan and Mike were up to, that I was going to be asked to play an additional role in this affair.” She looked up at me. “To become, in essence, your sponsor, Trajan. I also took it, from the expanded guest list for this evening, that everyone present would be playing a role in the undertaking. Lucas’ part is—characteristically, I suspect—painfully obvious. He’s the bait.”
“Uh-oh,” Lucas piped up. “Couldn’t we just say ‘lure’?”
“As you will, Lucas, it’s your neck. But I wonder if you know—I wonder if you’ve informed him, nephew—just how unforgiving the NYPD can be.”
“I’m not sure I know,” Ambyr said quietly.
“Yes, I realize that,” Clarissa answered, with a rare smile of genuine indulgence. “I knew it earlier. Because you’re smart, Ambyr. And from where I sit, you—and perhaps you, Derek—seem to be the only ones taking this as gravely as is warranted. You other three, you just want to get to New York, to rush into this group of wealthy child-seekers that you believe exists and eventually uncover the prime backers who are financing its operation in this county, as well as other counties and locations in this state, and perhaps in the nation, thinking that the NYPD will let you do it. You’re proceeding from the assumption that your effort will be a lesser priority. Just as it has now become easier, with the attention of our politically correct media investigators focused on abused foreign children, to exploit young American children who increasingly are being left to fend for themselves by their own parents. And Ambyr, Lucas, Derek—I hope you know I say this with full sympathy for, and full outrage over, your personal situation.”
“Thanks, Clarissa,” Ambyr said. “We all appreciate that.”
Clarissa passed a smoky hand before her. “No need. Apologies are owed you. Not only the apologies of your families, but the apologies of this state, which, instead of trying to find new ways to accommodate young people in your kind of predicaments, has tried to cover up the problem. A problem that they can’t even be bothered to come up with a better name for than ‘throwaway children.’ Well, you are not throwaway children. My nephew and his partner are trying to prove that, and I actually applaud them for it. The exposure of the systematic abuse behind these deaths, whether it’s sexual or emotional, will force a completely new look at the problem; and the fact that it may just get our idiotic governor tossed out is just a bonus. Yes, it will be dangerous. However…”
Stubbing out one cigarette, Clarissa refilled her scotch tumbler, lit another Camel, and prepared to go on. I think at this point that her words, combined with her capacity for both nicotine and alcohol, were greatly impressing our guests, as they—even Derek, for whatever reasons of his own—had adopted postures of genuine fascination. And I suspect that they were all learning why my great-aunt enjoyed the respect that she did in the township and the county.
“I’ll find a way to do it,” Clarissa said at length. “Because you don’t think you can solve this thing from here in Surrender. I agree. Whoever the agents of this game are locally, they’re not the ultimate planners of it. You think this New York trip is essential. I agree, again; but you know you can’t fund it, because when you get there you’re going to have to move in fairly top-level circles to find your quarry. So I’ll back it. Because, known as you are to the city police, you are not well known among your target…‘demographic,’ shall we say. And you’re not well known in the kind of places you want me to foot the bill for. Have I got it, nephew?”
“In a nutshell, Aunt,” I answered.
“Then you’ll stay in some five-star hotel, one that’s in close proximity to the target you’ve already obtained, so you can blackmail that target into getting you past certain doors. The doors where this whole scheme is planned and paid for. It will be a financial strain, Trajan, there’s no question. And I can’t promise to keep it up, prices being what they are in the city, for more than, say, a week.”
“More than enough time,” Mike threw in, “if things go right.”
“Then make them go right,” Clarissa said. “And clear the mess up, in this county—because I want to tell you something…” As she took another deep drag of her Camel and another belt of Talisker, I knew that we were getting closer to her personal, inward thoughts on what we were doing. “You are too young, Trajan, to have had a full understanding of what the last crisis like this one in this county was like.”
I nodded: as always, Clarissa’s thoughts and mine had been running in some kind of tandem. “The NAMBLA murders,” I said.
“Correct.”
Lucas offered no comment on this, nor did I expect him to, being as I’d told him all about the long-ago killings. And from the manner in which neither Ambyr nor Derek said anything, I took it that our young partner had, once again, brought our business home.
“The NAMBLA killings,” Clarissa repeated. “It wasn’t long after Diana and I had moved back to take control of the farm that they happened—and I want to tell you something: in the wake of those few murders, it was not a good time to be living an ‘alternative lifestyle,’ in this county. I don’t want to see anything like that happen again. If the responsibility for these latest child deaths can be laid at the door of New York City, no one in Burgoyne County will be surprised, or likely even care much. But if they pin it on someone local—and as you know, that’s just what they’re trying to do—well, let’s just say that I don’t want to see it happen again. So go, place the blame at the feet of that city, a place I don’t even pretend to understand, anymore. If it will keep things around here peaceful—then do what you have to…”
>
We all absorbed the weight of what we’d just heard, even the boys seeming to understand that it meant a great deal; and, after Mike and I had tried to thank Clarissa—difficult to do, precisely, because we wouldn’t know just how indebted our endeavor had become to her until we’d made our final travel arrangements—we all said our good-nights and (with Ambyr’s help, in the boys’ cases) our thank-yous. Then, filing our way out of the house that neither Ambyr nor Lucas wanted to leave, but that Derek seemed awfully anxious to depart, we walked up to the car, the mood in our little crew generally very good. I half-lied to Ambyr, who had again grabbed tight onto my arm, telling her that I needed to stay behind and both go over details with Clarissa and feed Marcianna, and that Mike would drive them all home. There was disappointment, playful but real, in her voice as she said that she understood both these needs; but the unexpectedly tender kiss that she planted on my cheek as she got into the front seat of the Empress was a potential blow to my clarity of thought, making it all the more urgent that I attend to my alter ego and then get back to the house.
Having taken care of the first task, I moved quickly downhill to find Clarissa back in her chair on the porch (which was surprising, because ordinarily she would have been in her study, with public television blaring) and simply staring off at the western sky, where the faintest halo of soft, orange-purple light remained just above the mountains in the distance.
“Well, Aunt?” I said, as I slowed my approach to match her obvious mood.
She nodded a few times thoughtfully, no decisiveness or call to arms such as she’d uttered at the table in her manner or in the words that followed: “It’s a hard thing, Trajan…To think that a boy with such obvious difficulties, who has been used so despicably by his own family, might be caught up in such a shitty business as the one you’re suggesting…”