No brothers or sisters, just the kid and his father and a dried-up housekeeper in a rectory that could double as a mausoleum. He grew up with mixed-up feelings about both of his parents. His feelings in that area complemented Wendy's pretty closely. That's why they were so good for each other.'
'Good for each other!'
'Yes.'
'For God's sake, he killed her!'
'They were good for each other. She was a woman he wasn't afraid of, and he was a man she couldn't mistake for her father. They were able to have a domestic life together that gave them both a measure of security they hadn't had before. And there was no sexual relationship to complicate things.'
'They didn't sleep together?'
I shook my head. 'Richie was homosexual. At least he'd been functioning as a homosexual before he moved in with your daughter. He didn't like it much, wasn't comfortable about it. Wendy gave him a chance to get away from that life.
He could live with a woman without having to prove his manhood because she didn't want him as a lover. After he met her he stopped making the rounds of the gay bars.
And I think she stopped seeing men in the evenings. I couldn't prove it, but earlier she had been getting taken out for dinner several nights a week. The kitchen in her apartment was fully stocked when I saw it. I think Richie cooked dinner for the two of them just about every night. I told you a few minutes ago that I thought Wendy was working things out. I think both of them were working things out together.
Maybe they would have started sleeping together eventually. Maybe Wendy would have stopped seeing men professionally and gone out and taken a job. I'm just guessing, that's all any of this is, but I'd take the guess a little further. I think they would have gotten married eventually, and they might even have made it work.'
'That's very hypothetical.'
'I know.'
'You make it sound as though they were in love.'
'I don't know that they were in love. I don't think there's any doubt that they loved each other.'
He picked up his glasses, put them on, took them off again. I poured more whiskey in my glass and took a small sip of it. He sat for a long while, looking at his hands. Every now and then he looked up at the two photographs on top of his desk.
Finally he said, 'Then why did he kill her?'
'No way to answer that. He didn't have any memory of the act, and the whole scene got mixed up with memories of his mother's death. Anyway, that's not your question.'
'It's not?'
'Of course not. What you want to know is how much of it was your fault.'
He didn't say anything.
'Something happened the last time you saw your daughter. Do you want to tell me about it?'
HE didn't want to, not a whole hell of a lot, and it took him a few minutes to get warmed up. He talked vaguely about the sort of child she had been, very bright and warm and affectionate, and about how much he had loved her.
Then he said, 'When she was, it's hard to remember, but I think she must have been eight years old.
Eight or nine. She would always sit on my lap and give me hugs and... hugs and kisses, and she would squirm around a little, and-'
He had to stop for a minute. I didn't say anything.
'One day, I don't know why it happened, but one day she was on my lap, and I-oh, Christ.'
'Take your time.'
'I got excited. Physically excited.'
'It happens.'
'Does it?' His face looked like something from a stained-glass window. 'I couldn't... couldn't even think about it. I was so disgusted with myself. I loved her the way you love a daughter, at least I had always thought that was what I felt for her, and to find myself responding to her sexually-'
'I'm no expert, Mr. Hanniford, but I think it's a very natural thing. Just a physical response. Some people get erections from riding on trains.'
'This was more than that.'
'Maybe.'
'It was, Scudder. I was terrified of what I saw in myself. Terrified of what it could lead to, the harm it could have for Wendy. And so I made a conscious decision that day. I stopped being so close to her.'
He lowered his eyes. 'I withdrew. I made myself limit my affection for her, the affection I expressed, that is. Maybe the affection I felt as well. There was less hugging and kissing and cuddling. I was determined not to let that one occasion repeat itself.'
He sighed, fixed his eyes on mine. 'How much of this did you guess at, Scudder?'
'A little of it. I thought it might even have gone farther than that.'
'I'm not an animal.'
