Chương 3
Vanessa pointed at him.
“There, see, this is what he does.”
Davis came back through the secured door with a woman in a dark uniform whose silver bars marked her as a lieutenant.
The woman introduced herself as Lieutenant Hart and did not look at my credentials until after she looked at my father.
That was the first thing she did that made me trust her a little.
She asked the paramedic, “Can he answer questions?”
“Yes, but I’d rather transport him.”
Hart nodded.
“Then we’ll keep this brief.”
Vanessa stepped forward.
“I already gave a statement.”
“I know.”
“I’m the victim.”
Hart looked at her for a moment.
“Right now, ma’am, we have multiple accounts of what happened, visible injuries on Mr. Mercer, and a possible weapon that one witness says is in a vehicle outside.”
Vanessa’s mouth opened.
Hart continued before she could interrupt.
“I’m not making conclusions in the lobby.”
Daniel rubbed both hands over his face.
“Can I just give you the keys?”
The second officer held out his hand.
“Are you consenting to a search of the vehicle?”
Daniel hesitated.
Vanessa said, “No.”
The officer did not look at her.
“I’m asking the owner.”
“It’s our car.”
Daniel’s head snapped toward her.
“It’s titled to me.”
“What difference does that make?”
“It makes a difference right now.”
Something ugly entered her expression.
I had seen criminals betray partners for smaller reasons than fear.
I had also seen frightened couples turn on each other temporarily and reunite the next morning.
I told myself not to mistake fracture for collapse.
Daniel handed over the keys.
“You can look.”
Vanessa grabbed his wrist.
“Are you insane?”
He yanked free.
“Stop touching me.”
For the first time that night, my father looked directly at his son.
Daniel saw him and immediately looked away.
Hart assigned one officer to accompany Daniel outside.
She told Vanessa she was free to remain seated but not to interfere.
Then she crouched beside my father.
“Mr. Mercer, I’m Lieutenant Hart.”
He nodded.
“I’m going to ask you three things, and then I want you to go to the hospital.”
“All right.”
“Did Vanessa strike you with a baseball bat tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“My left side first.”
He touched the air above his ribs without actually touching himself.
“Then my arm when I put it up.”
“Did you strike her?”
“No.”
“Did you threaten her with any weapon?”
“No.”
Hart glanced at the paramedic.
“Anything else before tonight that you think we need to know?”
My father’s lips pressed together.
The answer was clearly yes.
He said, “I don’t know.”
Vanessa made a noise behind us.
Hart stood and turned.
“I need quiet.”
“I’m being treated like a criminal because he’s confused.”
My father closed his eyes.
The word had become a tool now.
Not a description.
A tool.
Hart looked back at him.
“Mr. Mercer, has a doctor diagnosed you with dementia or another cognitive disorder?”
“No.”
Vanessa laughed once.
“Because he refuses to get evaluated.”
Dad opened his eyes.
“That’s not true.”
Daniel had not yet returned.
I asked, “Who suggested the evaluation?”
Vanessa looked at me.
“His primary care doctor has concerns.”
My father frowned.
“Dr. Patel never said that.”
“Yes, he did.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
“I wasn’t there last month.”
Vanessa stopped.
The paramedic looked at her.
Hart said, “Ma’am?”
Vanessa swallowed.
“He had an appointment.”
“No,” Dad said.
His voice was stronger now.
“My last appointment was in June.”
“You forget appointments.”
“Vanessa.”
His tone changed so suddenly that even I felt it.
He was no longer frightened.
He was angry.
Not loudly.
My father almost never did anything loudly.
But he looked at her with a steadiness I had not seen since my mother was alive.
“You keep telling people things happened that didn’t happen.”
Vanessa folded her arms.
“Oh, Thomas.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You don’t get to do that now.”
Hart watched him carefully.
Dad continued.
“You told Daniel I left the stove on.”
“You did.”
“I don’t use the stove in the morning.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“You told Claire I forgot your birthday.”
I looked at him.
Vanessa had told me that.
Three weeks earlier.
She had laughed about it.
“He sent you flowers,” I said.
Vanessa’s eyes moved to mine.
Dad nodded.
“I ordered them two days early.”
I felt something small and nauseating settle into place.
Tiny stories.
Harmless stories.
The kind families repeat because correcting them seems petty.
Dad forgot this.
Dad misplaced that.
Dad got confused.
Dad seemed tired.
No single story mattered.
Together they could become a portrait.
Not necessarily enough for any court or doctor.
Enough for relatives.
Enough for neighbors.
Enough to make future accusations sound plausible.
The glass entrance doors opened.
Daniel came back inside without the officer.
He looked as if he had been punched.
Hart turned to him.
“Well?”
He swallowed.
“They found it.”
Vanessa said, “Of course they found it.”
Nobody responded.
Daniel’s voice dropped.
“There’s blood on it.”
My father stared at him.
The fluorescent lights made his face look almost gray.
Vanessa stepped backward.
“That proves nothing.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Whose blood is it, Vanessa?”
“His, apparently.”
“You told me you never hit him.”
“I said he came at me.”
“You said he fell against the workbench.”
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
The word came out louder than anything he had said all night.
Everybody stopped.
Daniel’s chest rose and fell.
Vanessa went very still.
Hart said, “Mr. Mercer, I need you not to say anything else until we can speak privately.”
Daniel laughed again, but there was no humor in it.
“Privately?”
“Yes.”
“My wife just told you I was there.”
“She did.”
“And my father told you I watched.”
“He did.”
Daniel looked at me.
There are moments when you see a sibling at every age at once.
May you like
For one second he was six years old and furious because I would not let him climb onto the garage roof.
Then he was sixteen and pretending not to cry after our dog died.
