“When did you decide this?” Marsha asked, lowering her glass.
Victor shrugged. “I don’t remember exactly,” he said. “Sometime this week.”
“That means even you think the deaths were really murders; that somebody deliberately killed those children,” Marsha said with renewed alarm.
Victor had forgotten that he’d purposefully kept the information about the cephaloclor from her. He swallowed uncomfortably.
“Victor!” Marsha said with resentment. “What haven’t you told me?”
Stalling, Victor took a sip from his drink. He tried to think of some smoke screen to cover the truth, but couldn’t think of a thing. The day’s revelations had made him careless. With a sigh he explained about the cephaloclor in the children’s blood.
“My God!” Marsha whispered. “Are you sure it was someone at Chimera who gave the children the cephaloclor?”
“Absolutely,” Victor said. “The only place the children’s lives intersected was at the Chimera day-care center. That had to be where they were given the cephaloclor.”
“But who would do such a terrible thing?” Marsha asked. She wanted to be reassured that VJ could not be involved.
“It had to be either Hurst or Ronald. If I had to pick one, I’d pick Hurst. But until I get harder evidence, all I can do is keep the security man with VJ to be sure no one tries to give him any cephaloclor.”
Just then the back door burst open and VJ, Philip, and Pedro Gonzales came into the family room. Marsha stayed in her seat, but Victor jumped up. “Hello, everybody,” Victor said, trying to sound cheerful. He started to introduce Pedro to Marsha but she interrupted him and said that they’d already met that morning.
“That’s good,” Victor said, rubbing his hands together. He obviously didn’t know what to do.
Marsha looked at VJ. VJ stared back at her with his penetrating blue eyes. She had to avert her gaze. It was a terrifying feeling for her to harbor the thoughts she had about him, especially since she’d come to realize that she was afraid of him.
“Why don’t you guys hit the pool?” Victor said to VJ and Philip.
“Sounds good to me,” VJ said. He and Philip went up the back stairs.
“You’ll be back in the morning?” Victor asked Pedro.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “Six A.M., I’ll be out in the courtyard in my car.”
Victor saw the man off, then came back into the kitchen.
“I’ll go have a talk with VJ,” Victor announced. “I’ll ask him directly about this intelligence question. Maybe whatever he says will make you feel better.”
“I think I already know what he’ll say,” said Marsha, “but suit yourself.”
Victor went up the stairs quickly and turned into VJ’s room. VJ looked expectantly at his father as he entered. Victor realized how awed he felt by his own creation. The boy was beautiful and had a mind that must be boundless. Victor didn’t know whether to be jealous or proud.
“Mother isn’t as excited about the lab as you are,” VJ said. “I can tell.”
“It was a little overwhelming for her,” Victor explained.
“I wish I hadn’t agreed to let her see it,” VJ said.
“Don’t worry,” Victor assured him. “I’ll take care of her. But there is something that has been bothering her for years. Did you fake your loss of intelligence back when you were three and a half?”
“Of course,” VJ said, slipping on his robe over his hairless body. “I had to. If I hadn’t, I’d never have been able to work as I have. I needed anonymity which I couldn’t have had as some superintelligent freak. I wanted to be treated normally, and for that to happen, I had to appear normal. Or close to it.”
“You didn’t think you could have talked to me about it?” Victor asked.
“Are you kidding?” VJ said. “You and Mom constantly had me on show. There was no way you would have been willing to let me quit.”
“You’re probably right,” Victor admitted. “For a while there your abilities were the focus of our lives.”
“Are you going to swim with us?” VJ asked with a smile. “I’ll let you win.”
Victor laughed in spite of himself. “Thanks, but I’d better go back and talk with Marsha. Get her to calm down. You have fun.” Victor went to the door, but turned back toward the room. “Tomorrow I’d like to hear the details about the implantation project.”
“I’ll be excited to show you,” VJ said.
Victor nodded, smiled, then went back downstairs. As he neared the kitchen he could smell garlic, onions, and peppers sauteeing for spaghetti sauce. A good sign, Marsha working on dinner.
Marsha had thrown herself into preparing the meal as a form of instant therapy. Her mind was such a jumble from the day’s numerous revelations. Busywork was a way of avoiding thinking about the implications. When Victor returned from talking to VJ, she studiously ignored him, instead focusing her attention on the tomato paste she was in the process of opening.
Victor didn’t say anything for a time. Instead, he laid the table and opened a bottle of Chianti. When he ran out of things to do, he sat on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter and said, “You were right about VJ feigning his loss of intelligence.”
“I’m not surprised,” Marsha said. She got out the lettuce, onions, and cucumbers for the salad.
“But he had a damn good reason.” He gave her VJ’s to-the-point explanation.
“I guess that’s supposed to make me feel more comfortable,” Marsha said when Victor was done.
Victor said nothing.
Marsha persisted. “Tell me, when you were upstairs talking with VJ, did you ask him about the deaths of those children, and about David’s and Janice’s?”
“Of course not!” Victor said, horrified at the suggestion. “Why should I do that?”
“Why shouldn’t you?”
“Because it’s preposterous.”
“I think you haven’t asked VJ anything about them because you’re afraid to,” Marsha said.
“Oh, come on,” Victor snapped. “You’re talking nonsense again.”
“I’m afraid to ask him,” Marsha said flatly. But she could feel the tug in her throat.
“You’re letting your imagination run wild. Now I know it’s been an upsetting day for you. I’m sorry. I really thought you’d be thrilled. But someday I think you’re going to look back on this day and laugh at yourself. If this implantation work is anything like he says it is, the sky’s the limit for VJ’s career.”
“I hope so,” Marsha said without conviction.
“But you have to promise that you won’t tell anyone about VJ’s lab,” Victor said.
“Who would I tell?”
“Let me handle VJ for the time being,” Victor said. “I’m sure we are going to be very proud of him.”
Marsha shuddered involuntarily as a chill passed down her spine. “Is it cold in here?” she asked.
Victor checked the thermostat. “Nope. If anything, it’s too warm.”
12
Sunday Morning
AT four-thirty in the morning Marsha woke up with a start. She had no idea what had awakened her, and for a few minutes she breathed shallowly, and listened to the nighttime noises of the house. She heard nothing out of the ordinary. She rolled over and tried to go back to sleep but it was impossible. In her mind’s eye, she kept seeing VJ’s eerie lab with its juxtaposition of the old and the very new. Then she’d see the strange appearance of the man with the lidded eye.
Swinging her feet from beneath the covers, Marsha sat on the edge of the bed. So as not to bother Victor, she stood up, wiggled into her slippers, and pulled on her robe. As quietly as possible she eased open the door to the bedroom and equally as quietly, pulled it shut.
She stood in the hall for a moment, thinking about where she should go. As if pulled by some unseen force, she found herself walking the length of the hall, heading toward VJ’s room. When she got there, she noticed the door was slight
ly ajar.
Marsha quietly pushed the door open wider. A gentle light was coming through the window from the post lamps lining the driveway. To her relief, VJ was fast asleep. He was lying on his side facing her. Sleeping, he looked like an angel of a boy. Could her darling baby really have had a hand in the dark events at Chimera? She couldn’t bring herself to think of Janice and David, her beloved first son. But with horror, a vision of David in his last days, his skin yellowed from the disease, flashed upon her.
Marsha stifled a cry. All of a sudden her mind conjured up a horrid image of her taking a pillow and pushing it down on VJ’s peaceful face, smothering him. Horrified, she recoiled from the thought and shook herself. Then she fled silently down the hall, running from herself.
Marsha stopped at the guest room door, which had temporarily become Philip’s room. Pushing the door open, she could make out Philip’s massive head silhouetted against the stark white of the bed linens. After a moment’s thought, Marsha slipped into the room and stood next to the bed. The man was snoring deeply, his breath softly whistling on exhale. Bending down, Marsha gave his shoulder a gentle nudge. “Philip,” she called softly. “Philip!”
Philip’s closely set eyes blinked open. Abruptly, he sat up. A look of momentary fear flashed across his face before he recognized Marsha. Then he smiled, revealing his square, widely spaced teeth.
“Sorry to awaken you,” she whispered. “But I need to talk to you for a moment.”
“Okay,” Philip said groggily. He leaned back on an elbow.
Marsha pulled a chair over to the bed, turned on the light on the nightstand, and sat down. “I wanted to thank you for being such a good friend to VJ,” she said.
Philip’s face broke out in a wide smile as he squinted in the light. He nodded.
“You must have been a great help in setting up the lab,” Marsha said.
Philip nodded again.
“Who else helped with the lab?”
Philip’s smile waned. He looked around the room nervously. “I’m not supposed to say.”
“I’m VJ’s mother,” Marsha reminded him. “It’s all right to tell me.”
Philip shifted his weight uneasily.
Marsha waited but Philip didn’t say anything.
“Did Mr. Gephardt help?” Marsha asked.
Philip nodded.
“But then Mr. Gephardt got into trouble. Did he get angry at VJ?”
“Oh, yeah!” Philip said. “He got angry and then VJ got angry. But VJ talked with Mr. Martinez.”
“What’s Mr. Martinez’s first name?”
“Orlando,” Philip said.
“Does Mr. Martinez work at Chimera, too?”
Philip’s agitation began to return. “No,” he said. “He works in Mattapan.”
“The town of Mattapan?” Marsha asked. “South of Boston?”
Philip nodded.
Marsha started to ask another question but she suddenly felt a presence that sent a shiver up her spine. She turned to the door. VJ was standing in the doorway with his hands on the jambs, his chin jutting forward.
“I think Philip needs his sleep,” he said.
Marsha stood up abruptly. She started to say something but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead she hurriedly brushed by VJ and ran down to her room.
For the next half hour, Marsha lay there, terrified that VJ would come into their bedroom. She jumped every time the wind blew the oak tree branches against the side of the house.
When he didn’t appear, Marsha finally relaxed. She turned over and tried to sleep, but her mind would not stop. Her thoughts drifted to the mysterious Orlando Martinez. Then she began to think about Janice Fay. She thought about David, feeling the familiar sadness. She thought about Mr. Remington and the Pendleton Academy. Then she recalled the teacher who tried to befriend VJ and the fact that he died. She wondered what he’d died of.
The next thing she knew, Victor was waking her to tell her he was leaving with VJ.
“What time is it?” Marsha asked, looking at the clock herself. To her surprise, it was nine-thirty.
“You were sleeping so soundly I didn’t have the heart to wake you,” Victor said. “VJ and I are off to his lab. He’s going to show me the details of the implantation work he’s done. Why don’t you come along? I have a feeling this is really going to be something.”
Marsha shook her head. “I’ll stay here,” she said. “You can tell me about it.”
“You sure?” Victor questioned. “If this is as good as I think it will be, maybe you’ll feel better about the whole situation.”
“I’m sure,” Marsha said, but her tone was doubtful.
Victor planted a kiss on her forehead. “Try to relax, okay? Everything is going to work out for the best. I’m sure of it.”
Victor went down the back stairs, literally shivering with excitement. If the implantation was real, he could surprise the other board members with the news at the Wednesday board meeting.
“Mom’s not coming?” VJ asked. He was near the back door with his coat already on. Philip was standing next to him.
“No, but she’s calmer this morning,” Victor said. “I can tell.”
“She was pumping Philip for information in the middle of the night,” VJ said. “That’s the kind of behavior that disturbs me.”
After the car pulled out of the drive, Marsha went to the upstairs study and got out the Boston phone book. She sat on the couch and looked up Martinez. Unfortunately, there were hordes of Martinezes, even Orlando Martinezes. But she found one Orlando Martinez in Mattapan. Taking the phone in her lap, she called the number. The phone was answered, and Marsha was about to start talking when she realized she was connected to an answering machine.
The message on the machine told her that the office of Martinez Enterprises was open Monday through Friday. She didn’t leave a message. From the phone book she copied down the address.
Marsha took a shower, dressed, made herself some coffee and a poached egg. Then she donned her down coat and went out to her car. Fifteen minutes later, she was on the grounds of Pendleton Academy.
It was a blustery but sunny day with the wind roughing the surface of the puddles left by the previous day’s rain. Many of the students were in evidence, most of them going to and from the obligatory attendance at chapel. Marsha pulled up as close as she could to the tiny gothic structure and waited. She was looking for Mr. Remington and was hoping to catch him out and about.
Soon the bells in the bell tower tolled the eleven o’clock hour. The doors to the chapel opened and rosy-cheeked kids spilled out into the fresh air and sunshine. Among them were a number of adult staff members, including Mr. Remington. His heavily bearded profile stood out among the crowds.
Marsha got out of the car and waited. Mr. Remington’s path would take him right by her. He was walking with a deliberate step. When he got about ten feet away, Marsha called his name. He stopped and looked at her.
“Dr. Frank!” he said with some surprise.
“Good morning,” Marsha said. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all,” Remington said. “Something on your mind?”
“There is,” Marsha said. “I wanted to ask you a question which might sound a little strange. I hope you will indulge me. You told me that the instructor who tried so hard to befriend VJ died. What did he die of?”
“The poor man died of cancer,” Mr. Remington said.
“I was afraid of that,” Marsha said.
“Excuse me?”
But Marsha didn’t explain herself. “Do you know what kind of cancer?” she asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t, but I believe I mentioned that his wife is still on staff here. Her name is Stephanie. Stephanie Cavendish.”
“Do you think I might speak with her today?” Marsha asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Mr. Remington said. “She lives in the cottage on the grounds of my headmaster’s house. We both share the same lawn. I was on my way home and th
e cottage is just a stone’s throw away. I’d be happy to introduce you to her.”
Marsha fell in step with Mr. Remington and they walked the length of the quad. While they were walking, Marsha asked, “Was any staff member close to my late son, David?”
“Most of the instructors were fond of David,” Mr. Remington said. “He was a popular boy. If I had to pick one, I’d say Joe Arnold. He’s a very popular history teacher who I believe was close to your David.”
The cottage Mr. Remington had spoken of looked like some cottage out of the Cotswold section of England. With whitewashed walls and a roof that was made to look thatched, it appeared as if it belonged in a fairy tale. Mr. Remington rang the bell himself. He introduced Marsha to Mrs. Cavendish, a slim, attractive woman Marsha guessed was about her own age. Marsha learned that she was the head of the school’s physical education department.
Mr. Remington excused himself after Mrs. Cavendish invited Marsha inside.
Mrs. Cavendish led Marsha into her kitchen and offered her a cup of tea. “Please, call me Stephanie,” she said as they sat down. “So you’re VJ’s mother! My husband was a big fan of your boy. He was convinced VJ was extraordinarily bright. He really raved about him.”
“That’s what Mr. Remington said,” Marsha said.
“He loved to relate the story of VJ solving an algebra problem to everyone who’d listen.”
Marsha nodded and said that Mr. Remington had told the story to her.
“But Raymond thought your son was troubled,” Stephanie said. “That’s why he tried so hard to get VJ to be less withdrawn. Ray really did try. He thought that VJ was alone too much and was afraid VJ might be suicidal. He worried about the boy—oh, never academically. But socially, I think.”