A Measure of Blood (10 page)

The judge summons the adults closer. “He must change schools, though. I insist. A dangerous man was looking for him. Do you have an option? Private schools?”

“Yes, yes, we know about other schools,” Jan says. “Falk, maybe, would work.”

“Commander? Let me see you alone.”

When the others leave, she says to Christie. “You are trying to find the birth father?”

“We're trying to find the clinic.”

“Try harder. I want a release from the father.”

BY AFTERNOON, COLLEEN
and Dolan and Potocki are working on sheets of phone records in the conference room. Each of them has a sheaf that represents a full year.

Dolan has ordered the last three years and then also seven and eight years ago.

They go through the recent years methodically, noting anybody they think they should follow up on. But if the son is right, the killer only came back into Maggie Brown's life a couple of months ago. The evidence will then be in Colleen's pile, but she hasn't found anything yet except calls to and from work or to the people they already know about. And Macy's or Home Depot or Verizon.

She hands her sheaf over to Dolan and takes his. Dolan says, “This is looking like the guy didn't stalk her by phone. He maybe was an in-person kind of guy.”

They keep looking. Colleen puts the recent pages aside and takes up the pages from years ago. “Hmm. Here's something to go on, maybe. One single call from a Herb Katz, one from a Joseph Tokey. We gotta find these guys.” The others move closer to her to look. “One from a Kinko's in Bellefonte, Pennsylvania. No, three from the Kinko's. Oh, and later she calls that number back once, no—twice.”

“Maybe she was traveling and had something copied,” Dolan suggests.

“Long calls?” Potocki asks.

“Short. Three minutes. I'm more interested in the fact that she might have been traveling up there. I'll call the Kinko's and ask Sasha. I'll give you guys the goodies. You can have Herb and Joe.”

The young-sounding man who answers the phone says Kinko's has nobody there who has been there longer than three years. Their orders are in storage, but the young man tells Colleen he is willing to look up Margaret Brown to see what she might have ordered. “Meanwhile, I can look at recent statements for her name and charge card. Do you want me to?”

“Yes, please.”

She listens to rapidly clicking keys.

“No, no payment from a Margaret Brown on any of the statements we have in the system.”

Okay, people travel, they get calendars made up, and all that. But if she wasn't ordering something from Bellefonte, she might have been talking to someone there. After all, there were plenty of Kinko's closer by. “Can you get me a list of employees from back then?”

“Can try. It might take a couple days.”

As she hangs up, Potocki is at his computer signaling them he's got contact information for Katz and Tokey. He throws up his hands in amazement that things are looking up. “Both have retained the same phone numbers. Good deal.”

While they are giddy with hope, Boss calls with his good news.

ALL DAY TUESDAY,
Nadal googled for entries about foster care and then narrowed it to Pittsburgh and read as much as he could. Finally, when it was almost five, he stoked his nerve to call Child Services. He walked across the street to the dorms and used a pay phone and the name of a girl who had left her computer logged on. He lightened his voice as much as he dared. “Hi. My name is Diane Estevez. I'm taking a Child Development class at Pitt and we have the assignment to write about child trauma. I was wondering if I could learn about that little boy whose mother got killed. How would I be able to find out—”

“I'm just an intern. I probably won't know whatever you need.”

“I just have to research for a paper.”

“I doubt if anybody is going to want to be a part of a school project.”

“Oh.”

“You're at Pitt?”

“Yes.”

“The foster parents are at Pitt, but I doubt—”

At Pitt. What did that mean? His heart began to race. He worked to keep his voice light. “Well, I guess I'll have to find another project. I just … I saw this one on the news.”

“You can try to talk to the fosters. I think the name was something Morgan. Or something Morris.” Suddenly she stopped. She must have realized she'd said too much, broken a confidentiality. “Never mind. I'm sure I was wrong. What did you say your name wa—”

“Thanks anyway,” he said brightly and hung up. He went and sat on a bench in case the phone rang again. What if she called and asked for a description of who had been on the phone? He'd be remembered. Nobody used pay phones anymore.

The phone didn't ring. When enough people had milled around and past him so that he could be forgotten, he—Diane Estevez, in case there was a trace of accent detected—walked out of the Towers Dorms.

MATT SITS ON
THE FLOOR,
leafing through one of two books Arthur has just bought him:
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
and
Harriet the Spy
. He has chosen the latter and is moving through it fast.

Arthur sits across from him in their living room, watching him. Jan has auditions tonight and is already gone. Later, in a little bit, Arthur will to take Matt to the theatre so Matt can get the lay of the land. Jan almost always puts a full meal on the table, but tonight it was pizza on the run for the two guys. It was fun. It felt normal, like other people's lives.

“Do you read fast?” Arthur asks gently.

Matt shrugs. “Pretty fast.”

“I saw you reading the newspaper this morning. Can you read it?”

“Pretty good.”

Arthur says then, “You got quiet after court. Are you okay? Any questions?”

“I didn't understand everything the judge said.”

“Okay. Tell me what confused you.”

“Not confused. Sometimes she whispered like.”

“I know. Just ask me anything.”

“What was the part about those other kids you were going to have?”

“That was an idea the detective had. We were in France and Italy and the time went by.”

“You didn't want them?”

Arthur tries to think how to say it. “Well, we didn't know if we could have enough room. That was one thing since there were four of them. But by the time we got back, it was too late. The judge had made other arrangements. We want you. I hope you know that.”

“Did you know my mother?”

“No. No, we didn't. We want to hear about her, though. We hope you'll tell us about her.”

“I don't know what to say.”

“She painted?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about her paintings, what she cooked, anything you think of.”

“Spaghetti. Meatloaf. Toast.”

It makes Arthur smile—toast.

“What did the judge whisper about my school?”

“Well, here's the thing. She wants you to go to a different school.”

“But I want my old school.”

“I'm afraid she made it a condition. She said we have to switch. I'm sorry about your old school.”

“It was close. I could walk.”

He can't frighten the boy by talking about danger from a man who claims to be his father. “She wants us to try a different­ school. It's a good one. Near our work. So we'd be close by. I know change is hard but we can do it. We'll work on it together. I promise that.”

“Oh.” Felix waddles in and settles down with his head on Matt's lap. Matt turns a few pages with the book held above Felix as if he's done it hundreds of times.

All those near misses, and now out of the blue comes this boy who sits in their living room, petting Felix. Felix makes a funny sound, something like a cry. He sticks his nose up into Matt's hand.

Sometimes life is empty and at other times overfull. Theirs right now is bursting with future. Arthur can hardly think, can only exist from one moment to the next. He understands facts one at a time: Matt likes the books. Matt liked the pizza. He loves the dog.

HE DOESN'T WANT
TO
shut himself up in his tiny room. He walks around, thinking, and then decides to go back to the computer lab.

His son … with strangers. Walking across the street, back to Lawrence Hall, he imagines himself in a different school for his master's degree, in a different city, with a job, his boy by his side. That's what he wants.

A long blast on a car horn jolts him. He's too slow crossing the road, wasn't looking. He picks up his pace and makes it to the sidewalk and then hops up the stairs to the computer lab.

Because he's not working, he has to fight for a seat just like anyone else. Finally he gets one and messes around, looking for his next move. Chicago. New York. Atlanta. Where does he want to live?

He pulls up the Pitt faculty pages.
Morris. R. Arthur
. Is that it? It must be. English Department. Married to Professor Janet Gabriel, Theatre Arts Department. That would be it. Yes.

“Will you be very long?”

He turns to see a skinny boy slinging down a backpack. “Wait your turn,” he blurts. “Don't hang over me.” He punches hard at the buttons to log out, hurries out to the street, and walks, walks, not ready to go home to the cheerful Koreans, who will no doubt be laughing and quaking in fear every time they mention the mean professor they keep hearing about.

MARINA SITS NEXT
TO JAN
as one student after another goes up to the stage to do two monologues—one sad and one glad, as they say in the business. These are the screening auditions; she and Jan will see a hundred hopefuls tonight, each with a two-minute presentation. There are thirty-second transitions on either end and a few longer breaks threaded in.

Marina gives Jan an encouraging smile that she hopes communicates the long night would beat up
anybody
, even a person without jetlag.

She watches the auditions, aware of all that wanting, hoping, even from those who are totally unschooled. She's been through it all herself as an actress, lessons learned. DO introduce yourself and your selections with a firm voice. DO prepare thoroughly so that there are no stops or glitches. DO know how to pronounce the words in your selection. DO choose materials that suggest you know what sort of play you are auditioning for. DO NOT assume the director is your enemy. DO NOT shuffle or otherwise dissipate your energy. DO NOT wear eccentric clothing (black capes, et cetera) or inflexible clothing (five-inch heels). DO NOT choose highly sexual material and proceed to straddle a chair or otherwise thrust your pelvis to show what a hot item you are.

Jan looks very tired.

“Anything I can do? Everything all right?” Marina manages to ask between auditions and the notes she's making.

“Well, of course, I keep thinking about Matt. Which do I do first? Do I help him remember his mother, you know, get him to talk about her? Or do I show him who I am?”

“Both probably.”

“I know. We've already thrown so much new stuff at him. Now we have to change schools, put him in Falk. A new trauma for him.” The next actor is ready to go. “Let me know who looks good to you,” she says to Marina.

“Three so far.” Marina shows her list with its checkmarks and stars. “Three good and two possible.” Jan pushes her list across. Good. They noted the same people.

The young man on the stage has bad posture, partly a personality factor—he's a bit timid. “I'll do Angelo in
Measure
and Caliban in
Tempest
.” He talks the talk, Marina thinks. And then he begins, and he's good. It's like a little blessing to watch him working the words, to see a kid in love with the material.

In the next hour, they neglect to take a break. The stage manager looks nervous, afraid to interrupt Jan, who keeps steaming ahead. Marina knows they're on Equity rules and they should be observing breaks.

There is a rustling sound to their left just as actor number fifty is taking the stage. A cup of mint chocolate-chip ice cream appears in Marina's peripheral vision. Arthur and Matt appear, each with cones in their hands. The stage managers were too intimidated to stop them. Arthur is smiling and moving slowly, a man and his boy on holiday.

“Shhh,” Jan warns.

Man and boy sit noisily.

Number fifty barrels through a speech by Theseus. Not bad. Jan makes a checkmark and a note.

“We thought you'd both want ice cream,” Arthur whispers. “We guessed at the flavors. I've been explaining about casting.”

Matt moves restlessly behind Jan. “How many do you get to pick up?” Matt asks. He's thinking drafts, salary caps, sports.

“Altogether, oh, twenty-two.”

“Will you have enough good ones?”

“That is a very good question,” Jan whispers. “That is
the
question
.
”

Number fifty-one is on the stage, waiting. “Helena,” she announces, “from
Midsummer
.”

Marina has a hard time pulling her gaze away from the boy. He is magical. Beautiful and … something.
Stirred up
.

The actress makes a face and then begins. She's not bad at all. And she has a sense of humor—she puts them, perhaps not in the palm of her hand, but in two hands, juggling sloppily.

She breezes down the house right aisle while number fifty-two starts up the left aisle.

Matt cranes his neck to watch the student actress. “Pick her,” he says.

“I just might,” Jan whispers.

The stage manager flaps his arms. “Ms. Gabriel. We need to take a break.”

“Oh, yes, good. Thank you.”

“You forgot earlier.”

“I'm sorry. You just need to stop me when I get too involved. Sorry,” she tells the auditioner. “We need to take ten.”