Helen's, slammed the car door, headed up the walk. Helen pulled the front door open before I go to it.
"Scott's mad," was the first thing she said.
I nodded. "He called me."
"I gave him your number. I—"
"Forget it. It doesn't matter. Sullivan was here?"
"Yes." She said that in the small voice, looked down, said nothing else. My shoulders, already locked after Scott's call, tightened some more.
"What the hell's going on, Helen?"
She flinched; I realized how loud that had been, lowered my voice. "Was Gary at that party?"
"I don't know." As I got louder she got softer. "He had curfew. I thought— we thought— he was upstairs in bed."
"He snuck out?"
"It's not like him."
"Stop saying that! You don't know what's like him, do you?"
"Don't yell at me!" Her face flushed and she thrust out her small jaw. "You can't tell me what my son is like! You don't know us!"
"Whose choice was that?" I said quietly.
In our silence, the dog came to the open door, stood behind Helen, stuck her face against Helen's hand. Helen scratched the dog's ears while the dog peered around her at me, wagged her tail once or twice, stopped.
"It doesn't matter," Helen said. "It doesn't matter anymore. Maybe you'd better go."
"What I did," I said, my voice suddenly as quiet as her own. "Back then. When I was Gary's age. You know why that was."
"It doesn't matter," she said again, and though it did, very much, I turned and left.
Seven
i drove through town, headed east, toward the highway. It was all right with me, this business of leaving Warrenstown. If I were looking for Tory Wesley's killer, I'd feel differently; and maybe I was, but not from that direction. What I needed now was to move, to keep going, to stay a step ahead of Sullivan and stop him from shutting me down.
Or maybe I just wanted to think that my need to move had a connection to the pattern of the case. That it was what I'd feel if it hadn't been Gary standing in my living room last night, asking me for help. That it had nothing to do with my sister and what I saw in her eyes when she looked at me, or the slump in her shoulders when she thought I wasn't looking at her.
I tried the Bach in the CD player again; again, as it had that morning, it only irritated me and I turned it off.
I took out the cell phone, flipped it open, thumbed the first number on the speed-dial.
"Lydia Chin. Chin Ling Wan-ju." Lydia always answered in both her languages; you never knew who might be calling.
"It's me. Anything up?"
"No. I'm headed to that camp. How about you?"
"Me, too, but you'll get there first."
"Don't I always?"
"And when you don't, you still deserve to." I told her about the coach, about Scott's phone call.
"Nice guys," was her comment.
"A matched set. Who's your cousin who was kicked out of school and arrested for computer hacking?"
"Oh, right, throw my criminal relatives up in my face."
"I love your criminal relatives. Kwong, his name was."
"Linus Kwong. He's really the son of my mother's second cousin's brother-in-law."
She waited, but I couldn't dig out from under.
"And he wasn't kicked out of school, only suspended," she said.
"For, if I remember, the whole semester."
"And those charges were dismissed," she went on. "He was found innocent."
"That's 'not guilty.' No one's ever found innocent. And if the charges were dismissed, he wasn't found anything."
"Give the kid a break. He's just a bright high school student with an unquenchable curiosity. He didn't mean to do anything illegal."
"Uh-huh. He available?"
"For what?"
"Computer hacking."
"I'm sure he is."
Lydia gave me Linus Kwong's cell phone number and he was my next call. I identified myself, explained my connection to Lydia.
"Oh, hey, yeah, she's like my aunt or something," he told me. "She's awesome."
"Where are you?" Thumping music and blaring electronic sounds in the background made him hard to hear.
"Chinatown video arcade. Wait. Is this better?"
He must have walked outside, because the
"Scott's mad," was the first thing she said.
I nodded. "He called me."
"I gave him your number. I—"
"Forget it. It doesn't matter. Sullivan was here?"
"Yes." She said that in the small voice, looked down, said nothing else. My shoulders, already locked after Scott's call, tightened some more.
"What the hell's going on, Helen?"
She flinched; I realized how loud that had been, lowered my voice. "Was Gary at that party?"
"I don't know." As I got louder she got softer. "He had curfew. I thought— we thought— he was upstairs in bed."
"He snuck out?"
"It's not like him."
"Stop saying that! You don't know what's like him, do you?"
"Don't yell at me!" Her face flushed and she thrust out her small jaw. "You can't tell me what my son is like! You don't know us!"
"Whose choice was that?" I said quietly.
In our silence, the dog came to the open door, stood behind Helen, stuck her face against Helen's hand. Helen scratched the dog's ears while the dog peered around her at me, wagged her tail once or twice, stopped.
"It doesn't matter," Helen said. "It doesn't matter anymore. Maybe you'd better go."
"What I did," I said, my voice suddenly as quiet as her own. "Back then. When I was Gary's age. You know why that was."
"It doesn't matter," she said again, and though it did, very much, I turned and left.
Seven
i drove through town, headed east, toward the highway. It was all right with me, this business of leaving Warrenstown. If I were looking for Tory Wesley's killer, I'd feel differently; and maybe I was, but not from that direction. What I needed now was to move, to keep going, to stay a step ahead of Sullivan and stop him from shutting me down.
Or maybe I just wanted to think that my need to move had a connection to the pattern of the case. That it was what I'd feel if it hadn't been Gary standing in my living room last night, asking me for help. That it had nothing to do with my sister and what I saw in her eyes when she looked at me, or the slump in her shoulders when she thought I wasn't looking at her.
I tried the Bach in the CD player again; again, as it had that morning, it only irritated me and I turned it off.
I took out the cell phone, flipped it open, thumbed the first number on the speed-dial.
"Lydia Chin. Chin Ling Wan-ju." Lydia always answered in both her languages; you never knew who might be calling.
"It's me. Anything up?"
"No. I'm headed to that camp. How about you?"
"Me, too, but you'll get there first."
"Don't I always?"
"And when you don't, you still deserve to." I told her about the coach, about Scott's phone call.
"Nice guys," was her comment.
"A matched set. Who's your cousin who was kicked out of school and arrested for computer hacking?"
"Oh, right, throw my criminal relatives up in my face."
"I love your criminal relatives. Kwong, his name was."
"Linus Kwong. He's really the son of my mother's second cousin's brother-in-law."
She waited, but I couldn't dig out from under.
"And he wasn't kicked out of school, only suspended," she said.
"For, if I remember, the whole semester."
"And those charges were dismissed," she went on. "He was found innocent."
"That's 'not guilty.' No one's ever found innocent. And if the charges were dismissed, he wasn't found anything."
"Give the kid a break. He's just a bright high school student with an unquenchable curiosity. He didn't mean to do anything illegal."
"Uh-huh. He available?"
"For what?"
"Computer hacking."
"I'm sure he is."
Lydia gave me Linus Kwong's cell phone number and he was my next call. I identified myself, explained my connection to Lydia.
"Oh, hey, yeah, she's like my aunt or something," he told me. "She's awesome."
"Where are you?" Thumping music and blaring electronic sounds in the background made him hard to hear.
"Chinatown video arcade. Wait. Is this better?"
He must have walked outside, because the
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