“They think it’s drug-related.”
“What a terrible thing!” Marsha exclaimed, still stunned.
“Can I get you something to drink? A glass of wine?”
“I think I’ll take something a bit stronger, like a Scotch,” Victor said.
“You stay put,” said Marsha. She went to the wet bar and poured Victor a drink. Maybe she was being too hard on him, but she had to get him to focus on their son. She decided to bring the subject back to VJ. Handing the glass to Victor, she began.
“I had an upsetting experience myself today—not anything like yours. I went to VJ’s school to visit the headmaster.”
Victor took a sip.
Marsha then told Victor about her visit with Mr.
Remington, ending with the question of why Victor hadn’t discussed with her his decision to have VJ miss so much school.
“I never made a decision for VJ to miss school,” Victor said.
“Haven’t you written a number of notes for VJ to spend time at the lab rather than at school?”
“Of course not.”
“I was afraid of that,” Marsha said. “I think we have a real problem on our hands. Truancy like that is a serious symptom.”
“It seemed like he was around a lot, but when I asked him, VJ told me that the school was sending him out to get more practical experience. As long as his grades were fine, I didn’t think to question him further.”
“Pauline Spaulding also told me that VJ spent most of his time in your lab,” Marsha said. “At least after his intelligence dropped.”
“VJ has always spent a lot of time in the lab,” Victor admitted.
“What does he do?” Marsha asked.
“Lots of things,” Victor said. “He started doing basic chemistry stuff, uses the microscopes, plays computer games which I loaded for him. I don’t know. He just hangs out.
Everybody knows him. He’s well-liked. He’s always been adept at entertaining himself.”
The front door chimes sounded and both Marsha and Victor went to the front foyer and let in the North Andover police.
“Sergeant Cerullo,” said a large, uniformed policeman. He had small features that were all bunched together in the center of a pudgy face. “And this here is Patrolman Hood.
Sorry about your cat. We’ve been tryin’ to watch your house better since Widdicomb’s been here, but it’s hard, settin’
where it is so far from the road and all.”
Sergeant Cerullo got out a pad and pencil as Widdicomb had Tuesday night. Victor led the two of them out the back to the garage. Hood took several photos of Kissa, then both policemen searched the area. Victor was gratified when Hood offered to take the cat down and even helped dig a grave at the edge of a stand of birch trees.
On the way into the house, Victor asked if they knew anybody he could call for the security duty he had in mind.
They gave him the names of several local firms.
“As long as we’re talkin’ names,” Sergeant Cerullo said,
“do you have any idea of who would want to do this to your cat?”
“Two people come to mind,” Victor said. “Sharon Carver and William Hurst.”
Cerullo dutifully wrote down the names. Victor didn’t mention Gephardt. Nor did he mention Ronald Beekman. There was no way Ronald would stoop to this.
After seeing the police out, Victor called both of the recommended firms. It was apparently after hours; all he got was recordings, so he left his name and number at work.
“I want us both to have a talk with VJ,” Marsha said.
Victor knew by the tone of her voice there’d be no putting her off. He merely nodded and followed her up the back stairs. VJ’s door was ajar and they entered without a knock.
VJ closed the cover of one of his stamp albums and slipped the heavy book onto the shelf above his desk.
Marsha studied her son. He was looking up at her and Victor expectantly, almost guiltily, as if they’d caught him doing something naughty. Working on a stamp album hardly qualified.
“We want to talk with you,” began Marsha.
“Okay,” VJ agreed. “About what?”
To Marsha he suddenly looked the ten-year-old child he was. He looked so vulnerable, she had to restrain herself from leaning down and drawing him to her. But it was time to be stern. “I visited Pendleton Academy today and spoke with the headmaster. He told me that you had been producing notes from your father to leave school and spend time at Chimera.
Is this true?”
With her professional experience, Marsha expected VJ to deny the allegation initially, and then when denial proved to be impossible, to use some preadolescent externalization of responsibility. But VJ did neither.
“Yes, it is true,” VJ said flatly. “I am sorry for the deceit. I apologize for any embarrassment it may have caused you. None was intended.”
For a moment Marsha felt like someone had let the air out of her sails. How she would have preferred the standard, childish denial. But even in this instance, VJ varied from the norm. Looking up, she glanced at Victor. He raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
“My only excuse is that I am doing fine at school,” VJ
said. “I’ve considered that my main responsibility.”
“School is supposed to challenge you,” Victor said, suspecting Marsha was stumped by VJ’s utter calm. “If school is too easy, you should be advanced. After all, there have been cases where children your age have matriculated into college, even graduated.”
“Kids like that are treated like freaks,” VJ replied.
“Besides, I’m not interested in more structure. I’ve learned a lot at the lab, much more than at school. I want to be a researcher.”
“Why didn’t you come and talk to me about this?” Victor said.
“I just thought it would be the easiest way,” VJ said. “I was afraid if I asked to spend more time at the lab, you’d say no.”
“Thinking you know the outcome of a discussion shouldn’t keep you from talking,” Victor said.
VJ nodded.
Victor looked at Marsha to see if she was about to say anything else. She was thoughtfully chewing the inside of her cheek. Sensing that Victor was looking at her, she glanced at him. He shrugged. She did the same.
“Well, we’ll talk about this again,” said Victor. Then he and Marsha left VJ’s room and retreated down the back stairs.
“Well,” Victor said, “at least he didn’t lie.”
“I can’t get over it,” Marsha said. “I was sure he was going to deny it.” She retrieved her glass of wine, freshened it, and sat down in one of the chairs around the kitchen table. “He’s difficult to anticipate.”
“Isn’t it a good sign that he didn’t lie?” Victor asked, leaning up against the kitchen counter.
“Frankly, no,” said Marsha. “Under the circumstances, for a child his age, it’s not normal at all. Okay, he didn’t lie, but he didn’t show the slightest sign of remorse. Did you notice that?”
Victor rolled his eyes. “You really are never satisfied, are you? Well, I’m not convinced this is so important. I skipped a bunch of days back in high school. I think the only real difference was that I was never caught.”
“That’s not the same thing,” Marsha said. “That kind of behavior is typical of adolescent rebellion. That’s why you didn’t do it until you were in high school. VJ is only in fifth grade.”
