again- that his name was William or Billy or Bill and not Guillermo. And then he asked me if I was going to cry again, because he had really been looking forward to that.”
“And then?”
“And then I threw my wine in his face and called him a dickless little weasel. And then he punched me.”
“He hit you?”
“In the stomach. I fell down and he stood over me and laughed and
… that is when I shot.”
“Did you think he was going to keep hitting you?”
She shook her head wearily. “I do not know what I thought, detective. I do not know what he would have done.” Ines rubbed her eyes and raked a hand through her hair.
“And afterward?”
She shook her head. “Afterward, nothing was real. I walked out of the house and I was… surprised. I was surprised that I could still walk, and that my car could start, and that I could drive. It seemed to me that people should stop and stare, or that the police should come, but they did not. I drove all the way to New York- all the way home- and everything was very ordinary and no one noticed me. And then I saw Guillermo and found that I could not breathe.
“He was as he always is, sweet and funny and bright- and difficult- and he spoke to me about his school and his comic books, and he had… no idea. He had no idea that everything had changed.” Ines pressed her fingers to her eyes, and her shoulders shook. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“No one had any idea. I woke, I ate, I worked. I spoke and people spoke to me. I could even laugh. It all was as before- but of course it was not. There were moments I told myself that it could go on this way, that no one would find him… but then I would see Guillermo, walking around, not knowing…
“I try to tell myself that I saved him, detective, but I know it is not so. I know that I have lost him. I know I have destroyed him.” She ground the heel of her palm between her breasts, and her voice became choked and desperate. “And the weight is so great, detective… I cannot breathe.”
Ines put her arms on the desk and her head on her arms. The sun was nearly set and street light could not penetrate the window shades. I stepped closer to the pool of light around the desk and put my hand on her shoulder. It was bony and trembling, and after a while she reached out and placed a cold hand on mine.
We stayed that way for a while and then Ines raised her head and pushed back from the desk and away from me. She took the gun from her lap and held it in both her hands and turned the muzzle inward. My heart began to pound.
“I was scared when Nina hired you- terrified. But a part of me was relieved that someone had come… to take all this from me. And now you have, and I thank you for that, detective.”
I took a deep, shaky breath. “We have a lot to do, Ines- a lot to do for Billy. And the first thing is to have you talk to a friend of mine. He’s a lawyer- the best one I know- and he can help us with this.” I was too far away. I took a half step forward and tried not to look at the gun.
Ines smiled grimly. “A lawyer cannot help me, detective. A lawyer cannot make this right with Guillermo or let me look at him again. A lawyer cannot make this… stop.” She ran a forefinger along the top of the gun barrel. My skin prickled, and sweat rolled down my back. My throat was closing and I had to fight to get words out.
“He can help you to survive it, Ines, and that’s what Billy needs. He needs for you to survive this.”
She shook her head. “I cannot. I have destroyed his life, detective, and I am too much of a coward to see the aftermath.” She stared at the gun some more and I took another half step. I was still too far.
“Billy will need a lot of help- it’s true- but he’ll need even more without you.”
“Nina is there,” she said, but there was more hope than certainty in her soft voice.
“We both know that Nina’s not so good at help, Ines. Billy needs you.”
She closed her eyes. “He is the closest I will have to a child, detective,” she said softly. She slid her thumbs along the trigger guard and put her right thumb on the trigger. I edged closer. My heart was hammering at my ribs and blood was roaring in my head. I flexed my fingers. My joints felt welded shut. I was too far.
“And you’re the closest he has to a parent, Ines. You’re all he has of home. Don’t take that from him.”
Ines brought the gun up and stared into the barrel. Her chest was heaving and her eyes were black and shattered and fixed on something far from the empty room. She squeezed them shut and grimaced, and my body clenched for impact.
“Please, Ines,” I whispered. “He’s lost too much already.”
Her knuckles were white over the pistol grips and her arms were shaking. And then she opened her eyes, and they were filled with tears. Color came back into her fingers, and she lowered the gun and put it on the desk. I put my hand over it and let out an ancient breath.
38
My head rested on the seat back and I watched the traffic crawl southbound on Park Avenue. The taxi hadn’t moved in ten minutes and I thought about getting out and walking and instead I closed my eyes. It was Thursday afternoon, and I was on my way home. Ines Icasa was on her way to Lee, Massachusetts, to give a statement regarding the death of Gregory Danes and to be taken into custody. She was accompanied on her journey by Michael Metz, the best lawyer I knew, and by the best lawyer that he knew who was a member of the Massachusetts bar. They had negotiated Ines’s surrender over the course of several long and tense conference calls in which I had participated, along with Louis Barrento, a man named Graham from the attorney general’s office, and a few dozen other people whose names I never got. The first of those calls had taken place on Wednesday evening, and the last one had ended an hour ago. No one knew how it would turn out for Ines, but her lawyers were cautiously optimistic. Ines herself had moved for the moment beyond hope or worry into realms of deep exhaustion.
I’d seen her last in a well-appointed conference room in midtown. The drapes had been pulled and she had been asleep on the sofa when I’d come in. She was disoriented when she woke, and scared, and she sat up quickly. Her dark eyes were darting and huge in her face.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I said.
Her eyes settled on me. She ran her hands over her face and through her hair. “No, I must get up. Nina is coming. She is bringing my clothes.” Her voice was hoarse and low and she cleared her throat. “She wanted to bring Guillermo, but I told her no, not now. The lawyers say that in a few days I will probably be able to return home, and when I do, then we will talk.” She yawned deeply. “I am told there is a shower here. I need a shower.” She looked at me. “You have come to say good-bye?”
“Only for a day. I’ll be in Lee tomorrow, for statements.”
“I will be glad to see you,” she said. She perched at the edge of the sofa and stretched her arms in front of her and rubbed her hands on her thighs. She was pale and drained and unprepared for what would come, and I suddenly wished I had a blanket to put around her. But I didn’t.
“I’ll be glad to see you too,” I said.
Ines smiled absently and rubbed her eyes. She pointed to the drapes on the big windows. “Could I trouble you to open those, detective?” I did, and a brilliant spring day rushed in at us. The sky and the river were impossible shades of blue, and the office towers were shining and sharper than etchings. The thin clouds were like spun-sugar ribbons in the sky. Ines drew a breath and blinked against the light. After a minute she came to the window and stood near me and looked out. When she spoke, her voice was very soft.
“This is a beautiful city, detective,” she said, and I had agreed.
I’d run into Nina Sachs downstairs. She wore black and carried an overnight bag, and her auburn hair was bound in a tight queue. The skin on her cheeks was veined and blotchy, and her arms and legs were rigid with anger. She moved quickly across the lobby and stopped in her tracks when she saw me coming.
“You proud of yourself?” she said when I came up to her. Her voice was a hiss. “You happy with what you’ve done to me?”
“I don’t think anyone is happy with this,” I said. “Ines and Billy and Gregory least of all.”
“Don’t!” she shouted, and people looked at us. “Don’t you fucking talk to me about them- don’t even say their
