Chương 6
Daniel had been twenty-three.
He had gone home afterward and found Nora asleep on the sofa with a textbook open on her chest. She had been studying for her nursing exams. Daniel had stood in the hallway for twenty minutes because he did not want to carry the warehouse smell into the room with her.
Years later, when Toby was born, Daniel stopped pretending there were separate rooms inside a person.
He threw the paper towel away and returned to his son.
At seven thirty, a hospital social worker named Miriam Blake introduced herself. She wore blue glasses and carried a canvas tote bag with a faded picture of a library on it.
She spoke to Daniel in the corridor while Toby ate three spoonfuls of applesauce.
“His aunt has acknowledged leaving him with his grandfather,” Miriam said. “She also says you had clearly instructed her not to do that.”
“I did.”
“She says she didn’t understand there was a serious safety risk.”
“She should have.”
“That may be true. My concern right now is Toby’s discharge plan.”
“He comes home with me.”
“That is the likely plan.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Likely?”
“There are questions about your father’s access to Toby through the school and your home. We need to make sure safeguards are in place.”
“I can change the locks.”
“Good.”
“I have cameras.”
“Good.”
“I’ll keep him out of school until this is resolved.”
“That may not be best for Toby.”
“My father collected him from school.”
“And the school made a serious error. They’ve already suspended pickup privileges for everyone except you pending review.”
“An error?”
Miriam adjusted the tote strap on her shoulder.
“I’m not minimizing it.”
“It sounds like you are.”
“It sounds like I’m trying to get enough information before deciding what words fit.”
Daniel looked through the glass. Toby pushed the applesauce cup away and reached for water.
Miriam followed his gaze.
“He asked me whether people can go to jail for telling the truth,” she said.
Daniel turned back to her.
“What did you say?”
“That truth and jail aren’t opposites as often as adults like to pretend.”
“That’s what you told an eight-year-old?”
“I told him that telling the truth about being hurt was the right thing to do, and that the adults would handle what came next.”
Daniel waited.
“And then?” he asked.
“And then he said his grandfather told him you had done bad things.”
The corridor felt suddenly too bright.
“What did Toby say?”
“He asked whether bad people can become good fathers.”
Daniel’s gaze dropped.
Miriam’s voice softened.
“I told him people are more complicated than those two words.”
“You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“No.”
“Then you don’t know if I’m safe.”
“No,” she said. “But I’m paying attention.”
Most people softened their statements when Daniel looked at them directly. Miriam Blake did not.
“What do you need from me?” he asked.
“Your cooperation. A safe home. No confrontation with your father. No attempt to influence Toby’s account. And honesty about anything that could affect his safety.”
Daniel almost laughed.
Honesty was not a door one opened halfway. It was a wall brought down with everyone standing beneath it.
“My father sent me a message last night.”
He showed her the screenshots.
Miriam read them twice.
“Have the police seen these?”
“Yes.”
“Any idea what he means by ‘answered’?”
Daniel put the phone away.
“He called me before.”
“When?”
“Several times over the last month.”
“You didn’t mention that to Officer Parker.”
“I blocked the numbers.”
“Why was he calling?”
“He didn’t say in the messages.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Daniel looked toward Toby’s room again.
Miriam waited.
“He wanted something from my past,” Daniel said.
“What?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That answer worries me.”
“It worries me too.”
Victor arrived at the police station at nine twelve wearing a charcoal overcoat and carrying a cane he did not need.
Daniel knew because Elias sent him a photograph.
The image had been taken from across the street. Victor’s white hair was cut short. His shoulders remained square despite his seventy-one years. He looked toward the station entrance with the expression of a man arriving for a luncheon where the service might disappoint him.
Beneath the photograph, Elias wrote:
HE BROUGHT MARCUS VALE.
Daniel recognized the lawyer’s name. Vale had defended executives, politicians, and one archbishop. His hourly rate had once been higher than Daniel’s monthly mortgage.
Daniel sent the image to Officer Parker without explaining its source.
Parker called five minutes later.
“How did you get this?”
“Someone saw him.”
“Who?”
“A friend.”
“We need your friend’s name.”
“No.”
“Mr. Sinclair, withholding information isn’t helping.”
“Did Victor admit being with Toby?”
“He acknowledged picking him up.”
“Did he admit hurting him?”
“I can’t discuss an active interview.”
“So he’s still there?”
“I can’t discuss that.”
“He’ll say Toby fell.”
Parker paused.
“He says your son ran from the garage, tripped over a garden hose, and struck the driveway.”
“There was no hose.”
“How do you know?”
“Victor doesn’t leave objects where people can see them. He thinks clutter is a moral failure.”
“That isn’t evidence.”
“Photograph the driveway.”
“We did.”
“Was there a hose?”
Parker did not answer.
Daniel looked through the windshield of his truck. He had left the hospital to change clothes and prepare the house before Toby’s discharge. The truck sat in his driveway, engine off. He could see the front door, the porch camera, and Toby’s scooter.
“Mr. Sinclair,” Parker said, “your father claims you have a history of violence.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“What kind?”
“He provided records of two arrests.”
“I was never convicted.”
“One was for aggravated assault.”
“Charges were dropped.”
“Why?”
“The victim refused to cooperate.”
“That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”
“No.”
The honesty seemed to unsettle Parker more than denial would have.
“Is there anything else we’re going to discover?” the officer asked.
“Yes.”
Silence.
May you like
“How much else?”
“I don’t know what Victor kept.”
