Chương 11
My throat closed.
“What soft straps?”
“The gray ones.”
“For your wrists?”
She nodded.
“And ankles?”
Another nod.
“Why?”
“So I couldn’t scratch the door.”
I stood up.
I had to.
If I stayed in the chair, I was going to break something.
The sink was three steps away.
I gripped its edge and stared at the stainless-steel faucet.
Behind me, Chloe said, “You’re doing the mad face.”
“I know.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
“At Daddy?”
I turned.
She was watching me.
“Yes.”
“At Mommy?”
“Yes.”
She considered this.
“Me too.”
There was no relief in hearing it.
Only sorrow.
“Did this happen more than once?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
“Mommy said it was a thinking room.”
I looked at the hospital door.
A thinking room.
Adults had a genius for renaming cruelty.
“Did Daddy know?”
Chloe picked at the blanket again.
“Sometimes he opened it.”
That answer was worse.
I returned to the chair.
“Sweetheart, I need to get Dana.”
Chloe stiffened.
“No.”
“She knows how to help with things like this.”
“She tells.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want Daddy to get in trouble.”
“He may get in trouble because of things he chose.”
“But then he’ll be sad.”
I took her hand.
“He might.”
“I don’t want him sad.”
“I know.”
Her lower lip trembled.
“He cries in the garage.”
The detail stopped me.
“What?”
“Daddy cries in the garage where Mommy can’t hear.”
I stared at her.
“How do you know?”
“I heard him.”
“Did you go to him?”
She nodded.
“What did he say?”
“He said everything was going to get better.”
“When?”
“Lots.”
One word.
Lots.
Julian had known enough to cry in private.
Known enough to promise improvement.
Known enough to keep failing her.
“Did you believe him?”
“At first.”
The simplicity of it almost undid me.
I bent my head over her hand.
She touched my hair.
“Grandma?”
“Yes?”
“You have gray.”
“That accusation is well supported.”
She smiled faintly.
Then she became serious.
“Daddy said he was scared of Mommy too.”
I lifted my head.
“What did he say exactly?”
“He said, ‘You think you’re the only one scared of her?’”
The room fell silent again.
“When did he say that?”
“When I asked him to make her stop.”
Julian’s fear did not excuse him.
But it complicated the picture in a way anger disliked.
I could already hear him saying context.
For once, there was some.
Not enough.
Never enough.
But some.
“Did Mommy hurt Daddy?”
Chloe shrugged.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ever see her hit him?”
“No.”
“Did she threaten him?”
“What’s threaten?”
“Say something bad would happen if he didn’t do what she wanted.”
Chloe thought.
“She said she’d ruin him.”
“When?”
“A lot.”
“What did Daddy say?”
“He said she already did.”
A nurse opened the door before I could ask anything more.
“She needs to rest.”
Chloe frowned.
“I am resting.”
The nurse smiled.
“You are conducting an interview.”
“She asks a lot of questions.”
The nurse looked at me.
I raised both hands.
“Guilty.”
“I need to check her vitals.”
I stood.
Chloe caught my sleeve.
“You’re coming back?”
“Yes.”
“You promise?”
The word tightened my chest.
“Yes.”
She studied me for a moment, testing it.
Then she released me.
Dana was waiting outside.
“You heard some of that?”
“Only the end.”
“I need to tell you what she said.”
“We’ll document it carefully.”
“She was restrained in the basement.”
Dana’s expression changed.
“She told you that?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ask leading questions?”
“I tried not to.”
“That isn’t criticism.”
“It feels like it.”
“I know.”
I told her about the office, the printed papers, the argument, the basement, the gray straps, the crackers.
Dana wrote almost nothing while I spoke.
She listened instead.
When I finished, she said, “We need a forensic interviewer.”
“Tonight?”
“Not tonight unless law enforcement determines there’s an urgent need.”
“Good.”
“She should not have to keep repeating this.”
That sentence made me feel ashamed.
“I already made her repeat some.”
“You were trying to understand.”
“That doesn’t make it harmless.”
“No.”
Again, Dana did not rescue me from myself.
I was beginning to appreciate that about her.
Morales returned just after three in the morning.
His tie was gone.
He had switched from coffee to water.
“Detectives located Dr. Kaminski.”
I stood.
“Where?”
“At his home.”
“He exists.”
“He does.”
“Is he a doctor?”
“Yes.”
I felt an unexpected wave of disappointment.
A fake doctor would have been simpler.
Morales continued.
“He is licensed, but he has not maintained an active clinical practice for several years.”
“Then why was he treating Chloe?”
“That remains under investigation.”
“Does he know Victoria?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He and Victoria worked together years ago.”
“At a hospital?”
“No.”
Morales hesitated.
“An addiction treatment center.”
I stared at him.
“Victoria worked at an addiction treatment center?”
“Administrative operations.”
“And Kaminski?”
“He was the medical director for a period of time.”
“What happened?”
“The facility closed after financial and regulatory problems.”
Margaret had walked up behind me.
“What kind of problems?”
Morales looked at both of us.
“I don’t have enough verified information to characterize them.”
“Is Kaminski under arrest?”
“He is being questioned.”
“Did he sign Chloe’s death certificate?”
“He appears to have signed a preliminary medical certification.”
“Knowing she was alive?”
“That is one of the central questions.”
I folded my arms.
“Did he examine her?”
“According to him, yes.”
“According to him?”
Morales’s face tightened.
“He claims Victoria told him Chloe had accidentally ingested medication and that calling emergency services would trigger an abuse investigation.”
“That does not explain declaring her dead.”
“No.”
“What does he claim happened?”
Morales looked toward Chloe’s room before answering.
“He says he was told the plan was to create documentation long enough for Victoria to leave with Chloe and then report that there had been a paperwork error.”
Margaret stared at him.
“That makes no sense.”
“I agree.”
May you like
“Then he’s lying.”
“Possibly.”
