19

By a lucky coincidence, Ethan’s piano teacher’s house, Sid’s house, and Linda Ames’s office were all within a few blocks of one another in the center of Amherst. This allowed Ames to organize one of her favorite after-school projects: a walk with her son. The grass on the lower common below South Pleasant Street was yellow at the edges, toasted by the long, dry summer and bleached by the increasingly chilly nights. The maples on the upper common by City Hall were dabbed with orange and rustled against the sky. As Ames and Ethan crossed the grass out in the sunlight, the breeze was still warm, but when they entered a shady side street, it turned cooler instantly. School was under way now, and soon, they’d be having their first hard frost.

Ethan was a quiet boy, and as far as Ames was concerned, they didn’t have to say anything. Just feeling Ethan next to her, looking at the top of his head, seeing him down there with his satchel over his shoulder noticing things—there had never been anything happier for her in the whole insane world, ever.

The positioning of her destination and Ethan’s allowed Ames to knock off two birds with one stone: walk with Ethan and put in some billable time on the Cranmer case. Following Norcross’s order, Ames would be meeting with Campanella in a week or so to discuss where the case was going. It was time to talk turkey with Sid. Because of his home confinement, he could not come to her office, so she had to go to him.

In front of Sid’s house, Ames stooped to give Ethan his final instructions.

“Okay, it’s just two blocks down.” Ames pointed. “It’s the dark red house on the—”

“Mom, I know where Mrs. Bass’s house is. I’ve been there, like—”

“So, when you’re done with your piano lesson, just come back here, and—”

“I know, Mom.”

Ethan had turned ten in July and was starting the fifth grade, something Ames still had trouble bending her mind around. Three weeks ago, they’d gone to the optometrist and picked up his new glasses. Ethan insisted on wire rims for some reason, which was probably not practical—they were bound to end up bent—and Ames was still getting accustomed to Ethan’s new blooming-intellectual look. He’d gobbled up the Harry Potter books a year ago and moved on. Now he was halfway through the second volume of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, a big fan of Legolas.

“Okay.” She leaned toward him, holding out her arms for a good-bye hug. Ethan stepped back.

“No touching in public. Remember?”

“But there’s nobody around.” Ames straightened up and looked down the street. “No one will ever …”

“Bye, Mom.” Ethan looked at his watch and called over his shoulder. “See you in one hour and nine minutes.” There was a trundling bounce to his walk these days that was almost manly. It amazed her.

As she approached the front door of Sid’s house, Ames noticed that the hydrangea had not recovered from its encounter with the postal inspector’s Ford Explorer back in May. It was still twisted to one side with a chunk missing.

Sid must have been watching, because the door opened before Ames had time to knock.

The living room, per usual, was impressively neat and had a flowery aroma, mixed with the cozy smell of recent baking. As Ames stepped inside, the two cocoa-colored cats dashed across the carpeting and disappeared up the stairs.

After they’d exchanged hellos, Sid said, “Have a seat. I made blueberry muffins.” Walking stiffly, he headed off toward the kitchen. His monitoring bracelet was visible below his pants cuff.

“Damn,” Ames muttered, lowering herself onto the sofa. She quickly calculated the Weight Watchers points, then called out to Sid. “Why do you keep doing this to me?”

She’d permitted herself a slice of whole-grain toast with her eggs that morning—eggs without toast were just too grim—as well as half a glass of Ethan’s pulpy orange juice, which she’d gulped down when he hadn’t finished it. The points were mounting.

Sid’s voice came from the kitchen. “I used a sugar substitute.”

“I’ll have a half. And no butter.”

Despite this, when Sid returned, he set a silver tray on the table with two cups of black coffee and an elegant China plate with three muffins. He took a seat in a small rocker at an angle to her and picked up one of the cups. “No sugar in yours.”

“Okay, Sid.” Ames picked up a muffin. “Wow, this smells incredible.” She began peeling back the foil wrapper. “It’s crunch time. Like I told you, I slowed the preliminaries down, but summer’s over now, and we need to decide what you want me to do. At the status conference, Norcross told me to get together with Campanella …”

“That dipshit.” Sid put his coffee down and sat up straight. “That was such crap, that ignorant garbage about Charles Dodgson.”

“Jesus, Sid, I thought I was going to have to stuff my shoe in your mouth.”

“Well, I’ll say it again: Enjoying pictures of naked children doesn’t make you a pedophile.”

“Please, for Christ’s sake!” It was ridiculous, but the statement was so unspeakable Ames found herself looking up into the corners of the room for hidden microphones. “Don’t say that, even here. We do not, repeat, do not want the judge, the jury, the prosecutor, or the fat lady next door hearing you say that.”

“But it’s true.”

“I don’t fucking care.”

“But …”

“Truth takes a funny shape in courtrooms, Sid. Sometimes you don’t want it within a country mile.”

Sid shook his head, looking disgusted, and a silence fell over them. Ames nibbled her muffin. It was the moment of truth, or at least a critical moment leading up to the moment of truth. One of the cats crept back down the stairs, slipped across the room, and hopped up into Sid’s lap. As he stroked it, Ames could see her client begin to calm down and drift away.

“Listen, Sid.” Ames reached out and touched his knee. “Sid?” He looked up. “Please listen to me now. I’m going to say again what I told you when we first met, okay? But now you really have to zoom in.” She leaned closer. “If you want to go to trial, I promise, I promise I will fight like hell for you, right? Whether you’re guilty or not guilty, I don’t care. You hear me? Sid?”

“I hear you, Linda.” He placed the palms of his hands behind his head, grimaced, and stretched back, trying to work out some soreness. A smear of bruise lingered on the side of his face. “I know you will. I appreciate that.”

“Fine.” She took another bite of muffin. The warmth, the sugary crust, and the tart blueberry were delicious. “But this is the thing, okay? If we’re going to plead guilty, now is when I can get you the best deal. If you do it at the last minute, Norcross will be pissed, and it won’t help you as much. We can …”

At this point, Ames was startled by the presence of a tall, slouching figure standing in the entry to the dining room. It was a man around thirty. He was staring down at the carpeting.

“I’m done for today,” he said dully. He twisted his head to one side, revealing a copper ear stud.

“Okay, Jonathan.” Sid nodded in his direction. “See you next week.”

“Okay.” The man walked toward the door.

Before he reached it, there was a loud clack from the knocker outside that startled everyone. Jonathan jumped back and seemed almost frightened. Sid hurried over to see who it was. As he passed, he put a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder and said, “It’s all right.”

When he opened the door, Sid looked down and spoke in a friendly voice. “Well, hello there, my friend! Who might you be?”

Ames’s view of the front stoop was blocked, but she recognized the voice that responded. “I’m Ethan Ames. Is my mom here?”

Ames was instantly on her feet, pushing into the doorway next to Sid. “Ethan. What about your piano lesson?”

“There was a note on the door. Mrs. Bass had an emergency. I didn’t know …”

“Come in, come in,” Sid was waving.

“Just for a minute.” Ames did not like this. Her family and her work lives ran on strictly separate tracks, and especially in this case, she did not want a hair of overlap with Ethan.

But the boy was curious. She could see, as he stepped through the doorway, that he was already looking from side to side, taking everything in.

“This is Professor Cranmer, Ethan.” Ames gestured to Sid. “He’s the man I told you I was meeting.”

Ethan nodded.

Sid held out his hand. “Very nice to meet you, Ethan.” Ethan hesitated and then shook Sid’s hand. Sid continued. “And this is a man who works for me. His name’s Jonathan.”

“Hey, man.” Jonathan inched half a step forward and held his hand way out, as though he wanted to keep as far away as possible.

“Okay.” Ethan shook hands with him, too.

The second cat came down and joined its brother. Ethan’s eyes lit up.

“You like cats?” Jonathan asked. He let go of Ethan’s hand.

“Uh-huh.” Ethan flipped his shoulder up in a quick half shrug. “But we can’t have one.”

“Allergies.” Ames pointed to her nose.

“That one there is pretty amazing.” Jonathan’s voice was flat. “Watch this.”

“Well, we shouldn’t …” Ames began.

“It’s real quick,” Jonathan said. “And it’s really cool.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ball of paper, made a fissst noise at the cat who’d just arrived, and tossed the ball on a line about four feet over its head. The cat jumped straight up and batted the paper out of the air.

“Whoa!” Ethan said, grinning. “That is cool!”

“You’d better run along now, Jonathan,” Sid said. “We’ll see you next time.”

By the time the door closed behind Jonathan, Ethan was squatting down on the floor, and the cats were gathering around him, mewing happily.

“You want a muffin?” Sid was smiling down.

“We shouldn’t …” Ames shook her head.

“I love muffins,” Ethan said. “Mom doesn’t make them anymore.” One of the cats was rubbing its head against Ethan’s knee as he stroked it. “These cats are really soft.” He looked at Ames. “And friendly.”

Sid, catching Ames’s look, pointed toward the end of the house. “I’ll just get him a couple muffins, and we can set him and the cats up in the music room. The harpsichord is in there.”

“I have my iPad.” Ethan was trying to be helpful. One of the cats was on its hind legs, propped up against Ethan, purring.

“We can finish up our chat,” Sid said. “And you guys can be on your way. Bingety-bing.”

“All right, I guess.” Ames looked down at Ethan, feeling guilty that she couldn’t get him a pet. Her allergies were really bad. They couldn’t even have a parakeet.

As Sid headed for the kitchen to fetch Ethan his muffins, Ethan stood up. “What’s a harpsichord?”

Sid called over his shoulder. “It’s like a piano, only more fun.”

A minute later, when Sid returned with another plate, Ethan asked, “What’s that thing on your ankle?”

Ames broke in. “Professor Cranmer and I need to talk for a few minutes, Ethan.”

“It helps people know where I am,” Sid peered down at his plastic bracelet and looked up at Ethan. “I have to wear it for a while.” He made a face to let Ethan know it was no big deal. “The music room’s on the other side of the kitchen.” He pointed toward the back of the house.

Ethan nodded, took the plate, and walked off with his bobbing step. The cats, trotting behind him, looked up eagerly at the food.

Ames started to call out, “Close the—” but the sound of a door shutting cut her off. She turned to Sid, dropping her voice and pointing at the front door. “So who the hell is this Jonathan character?”

“He’s a guy from the college’s drop-in center. He cleans my house to earn a little money.” Sid raised his eyebrows and managed a grim smile. “Usually, I have to go back and clean up his cleaning up.”

“Does he have access to your computer?”

“He wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to use it.”

Ames spoke a little sternly. “Next time, please tell me if you have somebody floating around, will you? I don’t like eavesdroppers.”

“He’s okay.” Sid sat back down on the rocker. “He hasn’t had an easy time. Showing Ethan that trick with Keith was a big deal for him.” He hesitated. “There is another guy, a carpenter, who comes by now and then. He’s doing some work upstairs.”

Ames looked up at the ceiling, unhappy. “Is he here now?”

“Oh no. No. He’s just here once in a while.”

Ames returned to the sofa. “Okay, back to business then.” She folded her hands on her knees, a formal posture for a formal moment. “You’re facing a very, very tough call, Sid. I know that. But the decision won’t get any easier if you drag it out. And you can miss your chance. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

“I hear you.” Sid stroked the bruised area along his cheek, opened his mouth, and worked his jaw back and forth. From the far end of the house, two notes from the harpsichord, very soft, rose into the air and died. Sid turned in the direction of the music and smiled. “He’s checking it out.”

“His piano teacher tells me he’s a natural. I never have to bug him to practice.” A couple more notes drifted in, then a melancholy chord. She took a sip of her coffee. “Want me to have him stop?”

“No, no. It’s fine. You can tell by his touch he won’t damage anything.”

The silence drew out, and Ames realized they were both waiting to see if Ethan was going to keep playing. Soon, it was clear he’d settled down with his iPad.

“Listen, Sid—”

“You know, Linda,” Sid broke in. He hesitated, then plunged. “I’m beginning to think, maybe, I just wanted to see something horrendous, something truly monstrous. I might have. I’m not sure.”

“What are you telling me?”

“I’m telling you that this shrink of ours is good, Linda. Some of what’s coming back are things I’d rather …” He hesitated. “Stuff I’d rather forget.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t remember sending the flyer in, but, to be honest, I do remember thinking about sending it. Just wondering. You know?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was such a fucking disaster last spring after Mom up and died. She was …” He took a sip of coffee to steady himself. “She was in the bathtub.”

“Oh, Sid. God. That must have been …”

“After they hauled her off, I was alone here in the house with the smell of her underwear and her bathroom and all her crap.” He waved toward the upstairs. “Her clothes in the closet and her drawers. I couldn’t bring myself to touch any of it. Pretty soon, I don’t know, I just hated the world and everybody in it, especially myself. I started sitting all day at the computer. Dr. Katzenbach thinks I wanted to see something that was as ugly as I was feeling.” Sid took a swallow of coffee and set his cup back down. “It sounds like psychobabble, but it may be true. Maybe I was just bored. I could have done anything. So, it could be I’m, you know …” He opened his hands out, palms up. “Maybe I’m guilty. I don’t know.”

“You went through a tough time,” Ames said.

“Yeah, very tough. Problem is …” Sid scrubbed at his temples with his fingers, trying to rouse his brain. “While I remember looking at a lot of repulsive stuff, late at night, and visiting some incredibly disgusting chat rooms, I don’t remember mailing that goddamn flyer.” Sid picked up his coffee cup, raised it to his mouth, and set it down. “The coffee’s getting cold.” He nodded at Ames’s cup. “Want me to give it a shot in the micro?”

“I’m fine.” The key thing was to keep Sid talking.

“I can’t see myself pleading guilty to that.”

“You don’t need to plead to anything, Sid. But there are risks.”

“Exactly. What chance do I have at a trial?” He gaped at her for a few seconds, then slumped back. “I’m up shit creek whatever I do.”

“Well, that’s why—”

“I mean, isn’t my life basically over?” Sid counted out the points on his fingers. “I mean, first of all, look at me. One: The bruises will get better, but I’ll still look like a laboratory rat. Two: I never got married, so I’m a kook. Three: I lived with my mom. That’s even worse. Four: There’s tons of gossip about me at the college. That I’m gay and hitting on students or that I’m gay but too uptight to admit it.”

“They can’t put that into evidence.”

“Maybe not, but it shows you how people react. I mean, look at me!” He tapped himself on the chest. “I’m the child molester from central casting. Five minutes in the courtroom with me, and the jury will be ordering out for tar and feathers.” He paused and continued more quietly. “I’m not gay, as a matter of fact. I sort of wish I was. It might make things easier. And I’m not into kids exactly. I’m just …” He hesitated. “I’m odd. I do weird shit.”

“You have a right to be odd, Sid. It’s in the Constitution.”

“Um, excuse me, Mom?” Ethan was standing in the doorway. “Is there more butter?”

“In the kitchen, next to the toaster.” Sid rocked forward, pointing. “In the dish with the little pig on top.”

“Thanks.” Ethan turned out of the room.

Sid looked after him. “If he’s interested in the harpsichord, I could teach him a little.”

“Uh, no, Sid. That won’t be happening.” Ames shook her head and repeated. “That will not be happening.”

“I see.” Sid looked down gloomily. “Of course.”

It was obvious what he was thinking. “Nothing to do with the charges, Sid. I just keep home and work very separate. You have to understand. Today is a total fluke.”

“I understand.” He clearly didn’t believe her, and he was right. It was true that Ames kept the parts of her life separate, but it was also true that the nature of the charge against Sid meant that an especially broad, dark, and deep line marked the boundary here.

“Okay, back to business. Listen to me now, okay? You may be up the creek, Sid, like you say. But how far up the creek? A little history.” She sipped her tepid coffee. “Child pornography became a growth industry at the Department of Justice once it hit the Internet. The DOJ has this initiative called Project Safe Childhood, and they are on the hunt, big-time. Right now, you’re facing a minimum sentence of five years and a potential maximum that’s in the stratosphere, a real life-killer. If you plead, I might be able to talk Campanella—”

“That fuckhead.”

“Right, but he could save your butt. I might be able to talk him into recommending something below the minimum, something you can survive. If you’re thinking of pleading, now’s the time to do it. Don’t pass up the chance to help yourself, okay?”

Sid looked at Ames with a numb expression. “So, let’s play this out. If I stand up in front of the world and say I did all this—I chatted, I downloaded, I ordered the DVD—I’ll still go to prison.”

“’Fraid so. But for less time.”

“How much less?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a lot less.”

“And they’ll still revoke my tenure and fire me, and I’ll still have to register as a sex offender for the rest of my life, and all my friends will think I’m a glob of snot.”

“I don’t know about Amherst or your friends, but you will have to register, yes.”

“All because I might have wanted to look at something really, really ugly.”

“In a way, yes.”

A long silence followed. Sid closed his eyes and placed his hands in his lap, as though he were trying to pull his mind away. This was certainly peculiar, but Ames was glad to see that at least he was not going to start crying. Some clients did. Sid just looked like he was preparing himself to step through the looking glass and drift off into an alternate world.

Finally, he opened his eyes and spoke. “So, like I say, my life is over. God gives some people pancreatic cancer. I get this.”

“It’s not over, Sid.”

“So you say.” After another silence, Sid nodded at the plate. “Should I bring more?” Ames realized that she had eaten the remaining half of the original muffin, then the second, entire muffin, and finally, somehow, the third and last muffin after that. How could this have happened? The plate held only a few crumbs. She’d be on short rations for a week.

“No thanks. I hate myself enough already.”

“‘Frailty, thy name is woman.’”

“Stuff it, Sid.”

“I was just quoting Hamlet.”

“Yeah, well, look what happened to him.”

Sid closed his eyes again, taking long, deep breaths. He seemed to be preparing himself to take the big dive and agree to plead. Getting this out of the way would put Ames in a better position to negotiate with Campanella. After a long thirty seconds, he said, “Can I tell you a story?”

“Sure.” Ames leaned back, doing her best to look relaxed. “I love stories.”

“When I was in Vietnam, I was a medic, right?”

“I know. We’ll be bringing that out at your trial or sentencing, depending on where things go.”

Sid opened eyes. “No, we won’t.” He looked fierce.

“You’re the boss.”

“The only heroes were the ones who came back in wooden houses. Some of them were my friends. They’re still my friends. I talk to them.” He looked around the room. “They’re here right now.”

“Whatever you say.”

Sid closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again. “February 1971. The South Vietnamese Army was trying to cut the Ho Chi Minh Trail again. The operation was called Lam Son 719—I forget why—and it was a total fucking disaster. Intelligence was so bad by then, the PAVN knew exactly when they were coming, and where.”

“PAVN?”

“People’s Army of Vietnam. The bad guys, supposedly. They were waiting, dug in. The ARVNs—the good guys, supposedly—were outnumbered about two to one. We went in after things fell apart, trying to save a few lives. Our door gunner, Jimmy Cameron, sitting right next to me in the helicopter, got killed. His brains were all over me.” Sid rubbed his shoulder as though he was trying to wipe something off. “I took over the 60.” Ames must have looked puzzled again. “M60. Heavy machine gun on the bird.” Sid took another deep breath, looked to the side, and swallowed. “I don’t even know how many people I killed that day.” He paused, as though he were trying to remember the exact number.

“It doesn’t matter. On a bad night, I kill hundreds and hundreds.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, tapping the tips of his fingers together and looking at the carpet. “Anyway, we were trying to get the fuck out of there. We’d hauled so many people on board we could barely lift off, and two ARVN soldiers were still hanging onto the skids. About a hundred feet up, one fell off on his own.” Sid paused and looked at Ames. “I kicked the other one off. The pilot was screaming that we were going to go over. Kicked him right in the face.” He paused again, tipped his head to one side, and shrugged. “It was the only place I could kick him, really. I remember how his eyes looked at me just before I gave him the boot, a young kid, scared out of his mind. I watched him fall all the way down, flapping his arms as though he were trying to fly. He bounced maybe eight, ten feet when he hit. I can still see those eyes, like yesterday.”

“My God, Sid.”

“Yeah.” He sniffed. “Things come around.”

“Is that how you got your Silver Star?”

“That was for something else.”

The harpsichord started up again a little louder now, more confident. As they listened, a tune hesitantly formed and gathered momentum: “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Sid broke into a broad grin.

“Some boy you got there.”

“Sid, listen to me. I know this is tough. It’s always tough.”

“You know something I’m grateful for? Mother’s gone.” Sid snorted. “If she weren’t dead already, this would fucking kill her.”

“Do me a favor and knock off the death stuff, okay? This is a big bump in the road, I know. But don’t start thinking about doing anything stupid.”

Sid said nothing.

Ames stood up. “Time for me and Ethan to hit the road. Think about what I said. We need to strike while the iron is hot. I’ll call you after I get together with Campanella.”

“That shithead.”

“Yeah, but, like I said, he could be your guardian angel if we play this right.” Ames turned toward the kitchen and shouted. “Ethan!”

In a minute or two, Ethan appeared, holding one of the cats against his chest. Ames was distracted and hardly heard Sid say, half to himself, “Believe me, if I do something, it won’t be stupid.”