Mission Flats

26

My first instinct was to reject the whole thing as a mistake, a Kafkaesque fantasy of opaque charges, hidden evidence, a false trial. Of course I was no murderer. Martin Gittens at least must have known that. There was also an absurd reaction: It crossed my mind that I was miscast in the role of the homicidal baddie, that I could never make a convincing show of it. Who would believe it? But before long the reality of the situation won out. On the street outside the stationhouse, I looked about with the smeary, frantic paranoia of a fugitive — quickened to the environment yet removed from it somehow.

I tried without success to reach John Kelly, then rushed downtown to the SIU office to see Caroline — to explain. Or, perhaps, to get an explanation.

Caroline at first refused to see me. Franny Boyle made several thick-necked attempts to move me out of the lobby, and when I refused to leave he threatened to call the cops himself. It was not until I began to push my way past Franny with a lineman’s swim move that Caroline finally appeared in the waiting area and agreed to hear me out, albeit with the condition that a cop be present too, to witness the conversation.

‘Caroline, you need a witness just to talk to me?’

‘What do you want me to say?’

‘How about that you believe me.’

‘Ben, I don’t even know you.’

She called Edmund Kurth, and for the next twenty minutes or so we waited in silence while he rushed over. Caroline was being careful. Kurth’s eyes and ears would save her from being called to the stand as an essential witness, lest I blurt out a confession. In theory, his presence would preserve the possibility that Caroline might someday prosecute me personally for Danziger’s murder.

When he arrived, Kurth stood scowling at me, his coiled presence more ominous now that I was the object of his attention.

‘Alright,’ Caroline said, ‘what is it you want to say?’

‘Do you know what’s going on?’

‘Yes, of course I do.’

‘Then tell me.’

‘You lied.’

‘To who?’

‘To me, to my father, to everyone.’

‘No. I don’t accept that.’

‘Did your mother kill herself?’

‘Yes.’

‘And did Danziger question you about it?’

‘Yes.’

Caroline shrugged. There it is. QED.

‘Don’t you want to hear my side?’

‘Not really. If you want to give a statement to Detective Kurth, I’ll wait outside.’

‘No. I want you to hear it. Caroline — just listen for one minute.’

She sat down at the conference table, her face blank. She seemed to have receded entirely. I got the sense the real Caroline — her essential self — was observing me from some hidden place, while this other Caroline — the mediate Caroline, the stand-in — sat at the table in this room.

‘I can’t do it like this.’

‘Like what?’

‘Does he have to be here?’

‘Kurth? Yes.’

‘I don’t know where to start.’

‘Tell me why she did it.’

‘She had Alzheimer’s disease.’

‘You can’t die of that.’

‘You can! Not directly, but you can — you do. You didn’t know my mother. She was not going to let it happen to her. She was a smart, sophisticated woman, and then this thing just came along and — you can’t imagine.’

She stared.

‘It began to chew through her mind bit by bit, like a caterpillar on a leaf. She couldn’t just watch herself be erased. She made the decision while she still could.’

‘The decision to kill herself.’

‘The decision to die in a way that was acceptable to her.’

‘And you helped?’

‘I listened, I talked to her, yes.’

‘How did she do it?’

‘Seconal. Her doctor prescribed them to help her sleep. She hoarded them until she had ninety of these little red capsules. She’d researched it. She knew precisely how much she needed for a fatal dose.’

‘Why the Ritz-Carlton?’

‘She loved it there. She remembered going there for afternoon tea when she was a kid. Her father used to take her. They had a falling-out later on, when she got married. After that they barely spoke. She could tell you just where they’d sit, she and her dad, always by a window looking over the Public Garden. She could describe the blue drapes, the cobalt-blue glasses, the whole room. It was their special place.’

‘And where were you when she did it?’

‘Where should I be, Caroline?’

‘Why didn’t you tell anyone Danziger spoke to you about it?’

‘Because I was afraid of this. I was afraid of exactly this.’

‘So you lied and made it worse.’

‘Yes, I lied. I made it worse. For that I’m sorry.’

‘I’m sure you are.’

A shadow crossed her face, and for a moment I thought I’d glimpsed the true Caroline — the invisible one standing by the window with crossed arms, the Caroline who’d been with me just a few days before, kissing me. But the moment passed. The connection vanished.

‘Is that all you want to say?’ she said.

‘I guess so.’ It was impossible to hide the hurt in my voice, pathetic as that sounds.

‘Alright then. I listened. I did what you asked.’

‘Where’s your father? I tried to call him.’

‘Ben, I don’t want you calling him. Or me.’

With a glance at Kurth, I said, ‘Caroline, can we talk for a minute, alone?’

‘No. Absolutely not.’ She got up to leave but hesitated. ‘I’m so disappointed in you, Ben. I thought you might actually be someone.’