“You're late,” one of the fat boys said to the girls.
Alice felt embarrassed, disappointed, and invisible. And she felt anger growing within her.
She slumped, tightened the grip on her black cloth carry bag, and strode purposefully into the entrance, the sounds of youthful laughter closing on her back in rhythmic waves. She heard n one of the girls say, “That little kid thought you were talking to her!”
Alice walked slowly past the shop windows, pausing here and there to check out merchandise, imagining owning some of the items and picturing as well how ownership of each would make her feel. In a matter of minutes she found herself nearing the food court entrance and the smells of a hundred food items hit her like a wave. She skulked on, clenching the strap of her bag like someone was going to grab it and take off running.
Alice checked herself out in a dark shop window, and what she saw made her wonder why the boys hadn't been attracted to her. She looked younger than she was, and she supposed they had imagined that she was too young for them, but she was prettier than any of the other girls had been by a mile.
She thought about Mr. McCarty and how nice he'd been to her, and she had been sure that was because he was attracted to her. He deserved to have his toy car taken, since he was a sexual predator. Everybody knew it. In fact he deserved to be punished, and giving her his money-which was just to keep her from telling the cops that he tried his moves on her-was him being afraid of additional proof that he was guilty of being an old pedophile.
She braced herself and walked into the food court, scanning the tables, looking for the man who'd stopped her on campus.
After a few seconds she saw him seated at a table, waving just his fingers at her. She hesitated a few seconds, then nodded and walked over to him.
SIXTY
Natasha led Ward to the kitchen and showed him the obituary.
Louis A. Gismano, Jr., seven years of age, died of complications from injuries sustained when he was struck by an automobile on April 3, 2005, at NorthEast Medical Center. Louis, known as Gizmo to friends and family, was the beloved son of U.S. Army Sergeant Louis Anthony and Evelyn Gismano of Fayetteville, N.C. Burial services are being handled by Sullivan's Highland Funeral Service in Fayetteville.
“Jesus,” Ward said. “You knew him?”
“He was hit by a car. The driver was a drunk, a boy named Howard Lindley. The child was brought to the emergency room. I'd have to look at his records to be sure, but I remember that he had multiple fractures, and internal bleeding, so I went in to address the bleeding. I removed a ruptured kidney and his spleen. After surgery he was in critical condition, but he should have lived. They put off setting the fractures to allow him time to gain strength, and there was too much swelling to address that anyway.”
“You just said you killed him,” Ward added.
“I didn't murder him, but I missed something that wasn't immediately apparent in the initial workup, or during my first surgery. He was unconscious, and there was a damaged wall in his aorta that blew out. They rushed him back into surgery. I cracked his chest but there was nothing I could do. The father didn't get to the hospital until after the child died. I wasn't there when he arrived, but I got a call and was on my way to explain what had happened, but before I got to the ICU, security stopped me. They'd called the cops, so I never talked to the father. I was told not to talk to him, and I was also told he was screaming, ‘Gizmo. You bastards murdered Gizmo!’ ”
“I remember that,” Ward said, remembering how upset his wife had been at the time.
“A panel of physicians reviewed the case, and they ruled that there was no contributory negligence. Nobody could have known about the weak wall in his aorta, and there was no evidence to support a malpractice suit. I never heard another word. I'd forgotten all about it. I mean, I did the best I could given what was known.”
“What made you remember?”
“I don't really know. I queried Gizmo first. Next I added obits and then NorthEast Medical Center, because something told me my memory of the name was connected to my practice.”
“He was a soldier. Jesus. It's got to be him in that hole.”
“Yes,” she said. “What if he still believes I killed his son?”
“I'll call the police,” Ward said.
“Call Todd,” she said. “Let him call them. He'll know what to say that will get their attention. He'll know what to do.”
SIXTY-ONE
Todd stood as Alice approached the table. She sat down across from him and smiled nervously.
“Hi,” she said. “You found the place all right.”
“Yes,” Todd said.
“I mean, of course you did.” She laughed nervously. “Of course you did. Duh, you're sitting here.” She hit herself on the forehead with the butt of her hand. “What was I thinking?”
“And you found it,” Todd said.
“I come here sometimes. They have a great place called Asphalt Jungle, and they've got super cool shit. Clothes, jeans, and skateboards they build from the parts you want. I don't skate, but I have friends who do.”
“Did you bring the model?” Todd asked, wanting to get this over with.
His cell phone vibrated, so he took it out and looked at the caller ID. It was Ward McCarty. He put the phone away. He'd call him back as soon as this was over.
“Yeah, I brought it. You know, he's a pervert. Tell me why I shouldn't call the police.”
“Well, a couple of reasons…”
“I know, I could get in trouble. You said that, but what about all those kids? I've been thinking it over. Even if I did get in trouble for like taking the car, he's a pervert and I doubt the cops would charge me.”
“Alice, first off, the FBI and the cops know he's not guilty, because they know who did it. More importantly we have a deal, and we've held up our end. Mr. McCarty's son loved that car and the boy died in a terrible accident, and Mr. McCarty carried the car around with him because his son loved it and he loved his son.”
“Kind of like a memento,” she said, a look of suspicion crossing her features. “Is that the truth?”
“Absolutely.”
Alice opened her bag and looked in. She took a note card out and studied it.
“What's that?” Todd asked.
“He drew this picture of me on the airplane,” she said, showing it to Todd.
“It's good,” Todd said.
“I forgot all about it,” she said. “He's a good sketcher. You think I look like this?”
“Yes.” Todd glanced from card to person, back and forth. “It shows a you I haven't seen before.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. In the picture, you look innocent and sensitive. And you look vulnerable, and there's intelligence, humor, and mischief in your expression. I guess he drew you the way he saw you.”
“I make good grades. That's never been hard for me. And I can do some mischief shit. I did something earlier tonight that would be considered that exactly.”
Todd said, “He obviously thought you were a nice person. So why would you want to do him harm?”
“I don't. You think I made up that he wanted to screw me. I thought that's probably why he drew me so… I don't know. Because he wanted to hook up with me. I guess maybe he was just being nice.”
“I think he liked you because he thought there was something likeable about you. I doubt he ever imagined you'd do what you did. He's the kind of guy who would be kind to a young person traveling alone. You told him your parents were divorced and you were shuttling between them.”
“No, I didn't,” she said, but her eyes wandered around the space.
“He was kind to you because that's the kind of man he is. He thought you were vulnerable, and maybe in pain
