Sympathy Between Humans

12

My first day back on daytime shifts was about as unproductive as I’d expected. I reported for work with shadows under my eyes and helped my body clock to readjust with a lot of coffee. On my lunch break, I went to Family Services and made the required minors-at-risk report on the Hennessys. I didn’t allow myself to feel as though I was letting Marlinchen down. The system was there to help kids like her; my report was part of that.

The most significant job of the day was a robbery. I took the call and interviewed witnesses. The details were familiar: two young white guys with nylon-stocking masks taking down a convenience store at gunpoint, quite similar to the robbery I’d investigated last week. We love patterns, I imagined telling the anonymous young gunmen, consolidating the two reports into one folder. Don’t quit while you’re ahead; just keep on doing it like you’re doing it. We’ll meet someday.

My phone rang, and I picked it up with my mind still half on the young robbers.

“Ms. Pribek?” The voice was clearly coming across long-distance wires. “This is Pete Benjamin.”

“Mr. Benjamin,” I said. Hugh Hennessy’s friend, who’d taken Aidan in. “Thank you for calling back.”

“I’ve already spoken to the authorities here, Ms. Pribek,” said Benjamin. “I’d be happy to tell you what I told Mr. Fredericks: Aidan didn’t disappear. He left of his own accord, which is unfortunate but not terribly unusual. There’s a long history of young people striking out on their own when they tire of the life a farm provides. And Aidan, unlike many young people, didn’t even have family ties to keep him here.”

When he fell silent, I asked him a question. “But specifically, what do you think led Aidan to leave when he did?”

“Well, as I said, the rural lifestyle is very unsatisfying to young people.”

“Other than that, I mean,” I said.

There was a beat of silence. “I’m not sure why there has to be an ‘other than that.’ ”

“Let me put it this way: Did you talk to Aidan about what was going on in his life?” I asked.

“Aidan and I spoke daily,” Benjamin said.

I let the silence underline the evasiveness of his answer.

“I was not Aidan’s father. But if something were troubling him, I think I would have known,” Benjamin said.

“If I can ask,” I said, “why did you agree to take on Hugh Hennessy’s oldest son? It seems like a huge burden, even for a friend of the family.”

“Well,” Benjamin said, “Hugh and I went way back. Our families knew each other, and we grew up in the same neighborhood in Atlanta.” He paused. “I’ve had a lifelong interest in literature, so I guess you could also say I’m an admirer of Hugh’s work as well as an old friend.”

“So you were a frequent visitor at Hugh’s home, a familiar figure to Aidan?” I asked.

Another beat of silence. “Not really. Hugh and I were quite close in younger years, but he lived up north as an adult, and I inherited the farm and went home to work it. We really didn’t see each other as adults.” He anticipated my follow-up question. “Largely, I think Hugh thought of me to take in Aidan, and I agreed to do it, because I have a sizable farm and no one to help with it. Hugh was struggling to raise five children on his own; I had none. It seemed like an imbalance easily fixed. Hugh also sent money for Aidan’s needs: school clothes and so on.”

“Did Hugh pay for room and board?” I asked.

“No, I thought in light of the help Aidan would be to me, that wasn’t necessary.” He cleared his throat. “I should point out that the chores I asked of Aidan weren’t excessive. I was careful to give him time for his homework and such socializing as he wanted to do, which wasn’t much.”

“Right,” I said. “On Hugh’s end, do you know what motivated him to send Aidan away?”

“He was raising five children on his own,” said Benjamin. “I think it was terribly difficult for him. You know, Deputy Fredericks didn’t get into such personal detail during our talks.”

“We all have different ways of approaching the job,” I said, beginning to sketch on the pad on my desk. “Aidan ran away before,” I said. “Tell me about that.”

Benjamin cleared his throat. “That happened early on,” he said. “I think it’s not an uncommon reaction for children who’ve just been sent to live someplace new. They run away, because they don’t think two or more steps ahead. They simply think that if they can physically reach their old home, everything will be fine. The idea seems to be, ‘If I can get home, they’ll keep me.’ Aidan seemed to feel the same.”

“But he was sent back?”

“Yes.”

“Did Aidan try to run away again?” I asked. “Before this last time?”

“No,” Benjamin said. “No, after he came back from Minnesota, he settled in here. Our relationship wasn’t close, but it was cordial. If you’ve called hoping to find out about some fight or a watershed event that caused Aidan to run away, there simply wasn’t one.”

My sketch had turned into a winding highway. After Pete Benjamin and I hung up, I added a gesture of a walking figure in the distance, at the roadside, but beyond that I didn’t know what to add. A city skyline ahead? An ocean and sunset? A prison?

From the official data banks I had access to, I’d learned that Aidan Hennessy had never been arrested, not even on a curfew violation or another of the “youth status offenses” that carry no penalty but would have identified him as a runaway and dumped him into the juvenile-services system.

That meant one of a couple of things. One, Aidan Hennessy was the rare runaway who was working and keeping himself alive without breaking the law at all. Two, he was keeping himself fed through the usual street crimes that runaways fall into, but was smart and lucky and hadn’t yet been arrested. Three, he was living off a woman.

Four, he was dead. For Marlinchen’s sake, that was a prospect I didn’t want to consider.

Before I left that day, I went to see Prewitt. It had taken a while, but I’d finally realized what it meant when Van Noord had told me I should keep my cell or pager on, so people knew where I was.

He was in conversation with a Fish and Wildlife officer when I came around, but he’d seen me standing outside his doorway.

“Come in, Detective Pribek,” Prewitt said, as the Fish and Wildlife man exited. “I didn’t expect to see you today. What’s on your mind.”

“I wanted to apologize for the other day, when I had my phone off the hook,” I said, moving to stand just inside the doorway. “I had an ear infection; you know that, right?”

“Of course,” he said. “You’re better today, I hope.”

“Yes, I am,” I said. Then, uncomfortably, I went on. “Lieutenant, when you sent Detective Van Noord by my house, was that about Gray Diaz?”

I was hoping he would be puzzled, and say, No, of course not.

“Yes,” he said.

So much for hopes.

“I didn’t check your personnel records, but you’re known for never taking sick leave,” Prewitt said. “Then Gray Diaz comes in to talk to you about your involvement in the death of Royce Stewart, and you come out looking ashen, tell Van Noord you’re sick, and leave. The next day you can’t be reached.” He let the words sink in. “It didn’t look very good; you can see that, can’t you?”

“You really thought I’d left town?” I said.

“I simply wanted your whereabouts confirmed,” he said mildly. “Bear in mind, Pribek, you have not been charged with anything, and until you are charged or indicted, your status here will remain unaffected. Nobody’s suggested any kind of leave for you.”

“I know that,” I said.

“What I’m suggesting is that if nobody around here is talking about Gray Diaz’s investigation, maybe you shouldn’t be the first to bring it up,” he said.

“I haven’t,” I said.

“On the contrary, you just walked into my office and mentioned it. I didn’t come to you,” he said. “About my decision to send Van Noord to your house: I was mildly troubled by a state of affairs, I acted on it, I satisfied my curiosity. That was the end of it, as far as I was concerned.”

“I didn’t mean to question your judgment, but I need to say one thing. I am not going to sneak out of town in the middle of the night,” I said. “No, what I’m really trying to say is something else.” I swallowed. “I did not kill Royce Stewart.”

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that,” Prewitt said blandly. “Is there anything else?”

“No,” I said. I had a little tremor in my chest from how bluntly I’d just spoken.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

At the door, I paused and turned back. “There is one other thing,” I said. “That unlicensed physician you asked me to look into? I’ve checked with my informants, and I haven’t been able to track it to a source.” My voice was very casual. “I really don’t think there’s anything to it.”