“Hi, Wyatt,” he said. “Thanks for coming.”
“How did you know I was in Silver City?” Wyatt said.
“Direct and to the point-I’m getting the idea that’s your style,” Sonny said, his smile still there, just not as broad. “The answer is Bert told me.”
Meaning Greer must have told Bert, and therefore Greer had to have been up in her apartment the whole time he was outside at the buzzer. Was there another explanation? Not that Wyatt could see. “So what’s wrong with her?” he said.
“Not quite following you,” Sonny said.
“You told me something was wrong,” Wyatt began, then lowered his voice. “Something you couldn’t talk about on the phone.” He glanced at the CO. She was gazing off into space. Wyatt felt a moment of anger, directed at himself. Why had he lowered his voice? He wasn’t a criminal, had done nothing wrong, didn’t need to get stealthy in front of someone in a uniform.
Sonny turned to the CO, raised his voice. “All phone conversations are recorded, right, Taneeka?”
Taneeka nodded. “In and out.”
“Which is why it’s best not to discuss a lot of personal details on the phone,” Sonny said.
“I sure as hell wouldn’t,” said Taneeka. She unwrapped a stick of gum.
Sonny nodded, turned back to Wyatt. Wyatt felt lost, and stupid, too. “No need to feel stupid,” Sonny said, lowering his voice down to normal volume. “How can you be expected to know our little ways? The point-all according to Bert, of course-is that Greer got a bit upset when you ditched her someplace, never did get the precise details. Where was it, again?”
“Millerville,” Wyatt said. “And I didn’t ditch her. Is she okay?”
Sonny nodded. “As it turned out.”
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t have all the details,” Sonny said. “Something about hitchhiking and being picked up by the wrong kind of driver. Always a danger with a looker like Greer.” Looker? Wyatt didn’t like that, wasn’t sure why. “But she managed to extricate herself from the situation,” Sonny said, “no harm done.”
“I never meant anything like that to-she jumped, for God’s sake, and I looked all over for her and everything.”
“I’m sure you did-no need to blame yourself,” Sonny said. He waved his hand, as though dismissing the whole topic and asked, “What did you think of Millerville?”
Wyatt shrugged.
“Yeah-that’s the way I feel about the place myself.”
Wyatt laughed, couldn’t help it. Sonny laughed, too. They laughed together. Tears appeared in Sonny’s eyes.
Taneeka looked over. “Hey, Sonny, what’s the joke?”
Sonny wiped the corner of one eye with his sleeve. “Wouldn’t know where to begin,” he said.
“Uh-huh.” Taneeka nodded. Something in her tone and in that nod gave Wyatt the idea she respected Sonny, possibly even admired him. She went back to gazing into space and chewing her gum.
“I met this newspaper guy in Millerville,” Wyatt said. “An old guy-he covered the trial.”
“Why are you doing this?” Sonny’s voice had softened.
“Because there are so many questions.”
Wyatt waited for Sonny to ask what they were, but he did not. Instead his voice softened even more and he said, “I don’t want you asking them. I don’t want you getting into any of it.”
“Why not?”
Sonny sat back, folded his hands in his lap. “I’m content,” he said.
Wyatt glanced around the horrible room. “Content about what?”
“Content to take my punishment.”
Wyatt leaned forward. “Punishment for what? Esteban Dominguez testified he only saw two people-Pingree and Doc. Why didn’t you fight the charges?”
“I did fight,” Sonny said. “I pled not guilty.”
Their eyes met. “But you didn’t do a good job,” Wyatt said. For a brief moment, Sonny’s face changed, became thinner and harder. “Why did you take the stand?”
Sonny shook his head. “I’m telling you not to go there.”
“Why?” Who would help put themselves behind bars, or not do whatever they could to get out?
“I already explained.”
“But this newspaper guy thinks you might not have even been there. And Mr. Wertz said only an innocent man wants to take the stand.”
“That just proves his incompetence. This place is full of guys who took the stand and were guilty as sin.”
Taneeka cracked her gum.
“Were you there that night?” Wyatt said.
“Front and center.”
Wyatt couldn’t believe that. It felt wrong, if not completely then at least partly. “Was my-was Linda involved in any way?”
“I’ve answered that. Why do you keep asking?”
“Because Mr. Wertz-”
“I told you he’s a drunk.”
“-and the newspaper guy both said there might have been a fourth person, someone you were-”
Sonny held his hand up in the stop position. They gazed at each other. “Don’t look so angry,” Sonny said.
Wyatt hadn’t been aware of his anger, but it was there, all right. He tried to tamp it down. “I’m moving back home,” he said. “Back to East Canton.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Yeah.” No baseball? It really wasn’t important; Wyatt could now see a life beyond baseball, not clearly, but a life that included interesting work, maybe the kind Mr. Rentner did. “But before I go, I just want to know the truth.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Wyatt said, “you’re my father.”
Sonny’s eyes closed and stayed closed for a moment or two. When he opened them, the expression had changed in a way that was hard to define: less guarded, maybe; and all the hardness was gone from his face. “Don’t think that way,” Sonny said. “I don’t deserve the name.”
“But it’s a fact anyway. Look at us.”
Sonny smiled slightly and shook his head. “For one thing, I’m not as smart as you. For another, that may be a fact, the DNA part, but other parts, all the missing ones, are more important.”
“Okay,” Wyatt said, “that’s what I want to know-the missing parts.”
Sonny gave him a long look. Was there admiration in it, even pride? Wyatt didn’t know-but whatever was in that look made him feel good. “That’s not what I meant by the missing parts,” Sonny said.
Wyatt could sense Sonny thinking, got the impression he was about to say more, and kept quiet. A silence fell over the visiting room, a comfortable sort of silence, like this was a cozy place and they were simply two guys long accustomed to each other’s company.
“The missing parts,” Sonny said. He glanced over at Taneeka. Her face was slack, like the face of a sleeper, although her eyes were open. “What do you want to know?”
“Who fired the gun?”
Sonny let out his breath, long and slow. “Art Pingree,” he said. “It was his gun, of course, this little snubnose twenty-two, but Art shouldn’t have been the one packing-just not reliable in a crisis.”
“Why didn’t you say it was him at the time?”
“I’d like to think it’s because I’m not a rat,” Sonny said. “And maybe that’s true. But it’s also true that Doc Vitti cut his deal first. The DA only takes one.”
“What happened to the gun?” Wyatt said.
