Chapter Five

 

Radhauser stood on the asphalt driveway until every trace of the emergency disappeared except for the wail of the siren as the ambulance raced toward Ashland Hospital.

Concerned neighbors in nightgowns, T-shirts, hair rollers and hastily thrown-on chenille robes and denim jeans, gathered outside the house. Once the show was over, they chatted among themselves for a few moments, then one-by-one straggled back home.

When Bryce reappeared after calling Dana, an older black woman, wearing a pink flowered housedress and a pair of white bunny slippers with dirty ears hobbled over to him. She hugged him around the waist. She was short and heavyset, and her head of tight gray curls didn’t reach his shoulder. When she let him go, Bryce introduced her to Radhauser as his neighbor, Miss Tilly.

She stared at the bloody gauze on his finger. “What happened?”

Bryce told her what happened with Skyler, how he’d clamped his teeth into Bryce’s finger during a seizure.

“Why ain’t you on your way to the hospital?”

“Dana doesn’t want me there.”

Tilly planted her hands on her hips. “Who cares what she wants.” Tilly’s voice raised about an octave. A voice someone from across the street could easily hear. “Who made that sorry-ass excuse for a mother the boss of you?”

“Reggie is driving her to the hospital.”

Tilly met his gaze. “That Reggie Sterling’s got no business acting like he cares. We all know he don’t love that boy the way you do.”

In her eyes, Radhauser saw her love for Bryce. And a lot left unsaid on the subject of Skyler’s mom and Reggie. He jotted a note in his book to talk with Dana, Reggie and Miss Tilly.

“If you decide to go to the hospital, bring Scotty over. I’ll go make up his bed on the sofa, just in case you need it.”

As gently as if she were his mother, Bryce put one hand on each side of Tilly’s face, framing it. “The boys and I’d be up that proverbial creek without a paddle if it weren’t for you, Miss Tilly.” He escorted her back to her house, holding her elbow as she climbed the porch steps. The bunny ears on her slippers slapped the concrete as she walked.

When he returned, Bryce didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. He put them in his pockets, then he pulled them out and swiped them over his pant legs. The blood was already seeping through the gauze on his finger. He stared straight ahead, silent and still, until he started shivering and his teeth made clattering noises. The veins in his neck stuck out like cables.

Fearful he might go into shock, Radhauser led him back inside to a quiet that seemed to have swallowed the small house. This was a man carrying a load far heavier than he could manage, but somehow, he hoisted it up and staggered forward.

Bryce collapsed onto the sofa.

Radhauser sat on the rocking chair facing him. “Who’s Scotty?”

“Skyler’s older brother. He’s asleep in the bedroom. I should probably check on him. I’m surprised the sirens and all the commotion in the house didn’t wake him.”

Kids. It was as if sleep shut off their hearing. His Lizzie could slumber through a thunderstorm. “I’m sorry to have to do this now, but l need to ask you a few more questions.” He nodded toward the overturned table. “It’ll only take a minute and then you can go to the hospital.”

“Dana made it very clear she doesn’t want me there.”

“Hospitals are public places. You should go if you need or want to.”

Bryce looked at the floor.

Radhauser waited for him to look up again. “Is Reggie Sterling Skyler’s biological father?”

Bryce took a few deep breaths, as if trying to collect himself enough to explain. “Reggie is Dana’s ex-husband, but he doesn’t deserve to be a father.”

Radhauser didn’t know what to say. “Unfortunately, no one has to pass a test,” he finally commented. “Do he and Dana have an amiable relationship?”

Bryce winced at the word relationship. “I guess you could call it that.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m sorry,” Bryce said. “Would you repeat what you asked? I wasn’t concentrating.”

Radhauser did.

Bryce raised his eyebrows. “He’s not much of a father, but Dana gave him the Sterling name. I’ve never seen the actual birth certificate.” His muddled words gleamed, so double-edged they could cut whatever they touched.

“Is there some doubt about Skyler’s paternity?”

Bryce took a slow, even, breath. “Reggie thinks so.” His gaze washed over Radhauser as if seeing him for the first time.

“What does Dana say about it?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like that actor who used to play the Marlboro man?” Bryce’s gaze dropped to the hand-tooled boots Radhauser had custom made in Nogales, then returned to his mouth.

“Not all detectives wear wrinkled raincoats like Columbo. But you didn’t answer my question. Is there some doubt about Skyler’s paternity?”

“Dana claims it doesn’t matter.” Bryce shrugged. “And I guess it doesn’t to her. But it seems to be a big deal for Reggie.”

Radhauser was silent for a moment, thinking about how he would feel if he suspected Lucas was fathered by another man. He liked to think it wouldn’t matter. Once the boy arrived and was part of his life, he became his son regardless of his genes. But that was probably naïve thinking and it didn’t take into account what that kind of suspicion would have done to his relationship with Laura.

What was the matter with him tonight? Despite the upcoming clemency hearing, this wasn’t the time to linger in the past. He had a case to investigate. In order to regain his perspective, Radhauser stood and walked across the room, then turned back to Bryce.

“Tell me what happened here.”

Bryce told him about the faulty latch on the screen door and the way a push from Scott had sent Skyler tumbling down the concrete stairs.

That would explain the knot on the toddler’s forehead, but not the overturned table.

“Why is the table overturned?”

Bryce’s gaze stayed fastened on the coffee table while he explained what happened when he rushed into the room to unlock the door for the paramedics. Even after Bryce stopped talking, his thoughts kept coming. Radhauser saw them in his eyes and knew exactly what was happening.

He often looked back on the night when everything changed for him—thought of each precariously stacked moment, one on top of the other. In especially lonely times, he tried to see if he could remove any one moment, change one thing he said or did. And if the outcome could have been different. It was a sick game he played with himself. A game Bryce now played.

He was careful to face Bryce and speak clearly. “How old is Skyler, Mr. Bryce?”

“He’ll be two in March.”

“And you and his mother live together?”

There was a splinter of hesitation in Bryce’s eyes before he nodded.

“For how long?”

“A little over a year now.”

“Where does she work?”

Bryce told him.

Radhauser nodded toward the cardboard playhouse. “What’s with that?” he asked. “And who is cockroach?”

Bryce stared at him silently, his dark eyes now dull, features flat, as if someone had beaten him down. He seemed caught somewhere between disbelief and actuality. An orange cat brushed against his ankle. Without a word, Bryce picked him up and carried him into the kitchen as if he were sleepwalking.

Radhauser remembered the way his mind wouldn’t work after Luke and Laura’s accident—that flatness before reality and grief entered. When he was forced to believe the worst.

Before he could ask the question again, a child scurried across the hallway and stood at the entrance to the living room, his thumb in his mouth. The boy looked about Lizzie’s age, maybe four or five years old. His strawberry blond hair stuck out on the right side where he slept. He had a sprinkling of freckles across his nose, like Dennis the Menace. The boy had the brightest blue eyes Radhauser ever saw. He wore a pair of black and red Spiderman pajamas.

“You must be Scott,” Radhauser said.

Bryce returned to the living room. “It’s time to sleep, Scotty. You need to go back to bed.”

Scott pulled his thumb out of his mouth. A thin line of saliva trailed after it. “You’re not my real dad and you can’t make me.” The boy’s gaze landed on Radhauser. He looked up at the Stetson, paused at the silver belt buckle, then checked out the boots. “Are you a real cowboy?”

“Well,” Radhauser said, moving closer and then kneeling so he was eye level with the boy. “I have a small ranch with a barn and three horses. I like to ride the dirt trails up into the mountains. And I shovel out their stalls, brush them down after a ride and keep them well fed. I guess you could say that makes me a real cowboy.”

“I want a horse.” The boy turned his attention on Bryce. “But he never gives me anything.” He looked around the room, his gaze settling on the cardboard playhouse. “I stood on the rail and looked inside. Skyler’s not in his crib. How come he’s allowed to be up late?”

Radhauser moved aside.

It was obviously painful for Bryce to squat, but he did. He held the boy by his shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. “Skyler got sick and had to go to the hospital. But he’s going to be okay, Scotty. He’ll be home before you know it.”

The boy jerked away, his blue eyes wide and accusing. “Did you hit him?”

Bryce winced and a wave of something hopeless washed over him.

“You did hit him,” Scott said. “Just like you hit me. You said you were gonna murder me.”

“Listen, Scotty. That’s not true. I didn’t hit Skyler. I said something to you that I didn’t mean. But right now, I need you to cooperate. I’m going to the hospital to check on Skyler. So go get your robe and slippers. Miss Tilly is making up a bed for you.” There was anguish in Bryce’s voice—a torn slightly hollow sound, as if this day was about to destroy him.

Scott put his hands on his hips. “I’m not going. I hate her.” He turned and ran into his bedroom, his bare feet thumping against the floor. “And I hate you, too.” The door slammed.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Radhauser needed to talk to Scott, preferably without Bryce around. This could change everything.

Still, there was something about Bryce that Radhauser had begun to trust—something in the gentle way he treated Miss Tilly. The way he hadn’t tried to hide his grief over what had happened with Skyler. And the way he fought through the obvious pain in his leg in order to be eye-to-eye with Scott. It must be tough to be hearing impaired.

Scott seemed like a defiant and angry kid, but if he was telling the truth, Radhauser had no sympathy for a grown man who’d hit a small child and threaten him with murder. If Bryce could do that, what else might he be capable of doing?

Legally, Radhauser shouldn’t question a child without a parent or guardian present, but he could with permission. “I have a daughter about Scott’s age. Maybe I can calm him down with a story about cowboys. Is that okay with you?”

Bryce nodded, but said nothing.

* * *

When Radhauser finished talking to Scott, he paused outside the boy’s door and took a slow, even breath to center himself. A wall of awards hung in the hallway. Caleb Bryce Employee of the Year at Gilbert’s Grocery Store for 1987, 1991 and 1994. Seven years of plaques for coaching area Little League teams. Two of his teams won state championships. Three wood and bronze plaques for poems winning first prize in the Oregon State poetry contest.

Somehow Radhauser hadn’t taken Bryce for a poet. But he shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been a detective for twenty years and learned a long time ago not to judge a man by anything external.

He brushed his fingertips across the etched bronze surface of the Someone Cares award the hospital had presented Bryce for his volunteer work in the newborn nursery. The lavish plaque depicted an adult hand with all the baby’s fingers wrapped around the adult’s little finger. If you made a judgment based on this wall, you’d believe Bryce was a good man. A poet. A sensitive man who gave back to his community. A man who cared about and supported kids.

Radhauser shook his head to change his mindset. People were multi-layered. Anyone could have a dark side that verged on the dangerous. In his line of work, he encountered elementary school teachers who were pedophiles. Priests who committed murder. Doctors who were sadists.

But he always believed he could read people. That he could stare right into their heads and see what it was they didn’t want seen. When one of the other detectives had a solid suspect they couldn’t break, they called Radhauser—the man known as the cop who gets a confession every time. Somehow, he missed this one. Had actually felt sorry for that deaf asshole who smacked a four-year-old and threatened to kill him. He returned to the living room.

Bryce sat on the sofa with his head in his hands.

Radhauser tapped him on the shoulder and waited until he looked at him. His face was streaked and wet.

The phone rang, loud as a school fire drill.

Bryce grabbed a tissue from the box on the end table and blew his nose, then hurried into the kitchen to answer. He returned a moment later.

“That was Dana.” There was even more mud in his voice now. “She and Reggie are at the hospital. Skyler’s in surgery.”

His voice was full of prayer and there was so much misery in his eyes that, once again, Radhauser looked away. “It’s good both parents are there,” he said. “Hospitals are pretty terrible places. Maybe you dodged a bullet.”

For the first time that night, Bryce gave Radhauser a weak, somewhat sad smile. “I’d sure as hell need a bullet if that little guy died.”

Radhauser was taken aback by his response. But over the years, he learned there was a lot of denial in humans, even ones who weren’t suspects. It wasn’t so much what a suspect showed you, but what he chose to hide that mattered most. Why hadn’t Bryce told him about the fight with Scott? The way he lost control of both his words and his actions. “You mind answering a few more questions?”

Bryce shrugged. “I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

You can tell me what you did to hurt that little boy. “How often do you take care of the boys?”

“Dana works most nights until at least midnight and often later, so I’m with the kids a lot. She usually sleeps until noon or so.”

“Do you feed them dinner and get them ready for bed at night?”

“Since the accident where I ruptured my Achilles tendon, I’ve been out of work and do most of the cooking.”

“Don’t you resent it?” Radhauser tried to sound sympathetic, though after what Scott told him, he felt some contempt for this man. He tried to keep it out of his voice. “What kind of life does that leave you? And they’re not even your kids.”

Bryce explained his relationship with Dana, the injury he sustained to his Achilles tendon and their decision to take the boys out of daycare in order to save money while he was out of work. He told Radhauser he took a class at the university and had a day every week all to himself. On Dana’s day off, he spent the morning volunteering in the hospital, the afternoon in his class and then the library, writing. “It’s enough,” he said. “Besides, I love Scott and Skyler and most days I don’t mind taking care of them.”

“Scott says you got pretty angry. That you hit him.” Radhauser leaned back in the chair and studied the man’s face. The air was charged and the tiny hairs on Radhauser’s arms lifted.

Bryce retreated to that place so many suspects go when a cop struck them in the face with a truth. “It’s not what you think,” he finally said, his face slick with sweat. “I almost never get angry with the kids. I spanked Scott earlier on his butt with my open hand. But I admit, it was ha...ha... harder than I meant to. I don’t know...today...I just lost it.” Holding his head in his hands, he pressed his splayed fingers against his temples and told Radhauser what happened with Scott. The way the boy screamed, kicked, bit, and spit in Bryce’s face. And then later, when the phone rang and Bryce left the bathroom to answer, the ‘accidental’ bite Scott took out of Skyler’s penis.

Radhauser waited until he finished before asking another question. “Do you ever lose it with Skyler, Mr. Bryce?”

His gaze fixed on Radhauser like two hot beams. Some wall inside Bryce seemed to break. “N...N...Never. What do you think I am, some kind of monster? He’s just a baby.”

“I’m required by law to notify Child Protective Services when there is a suspicion of child abuse, Mr. Bryce.”

For a moment, Bryce didn’t respond. His gaze stayed fastened on the coffee table. “C…C…Child abuse?” He had the look of a little bucktoothed fat boy facing a big bully on the school playground.