Read Online Betrayers (Nameless Detective Novels) by Bill Pronzini - Free Book Online
Authors: Bill Pronzini
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give it to you? A boy at school?”
Silence.
“Emily, answer me. Did a boy give you this box? Do you have a boyfriend you haven’t told us about?”
“No.”
“So it wasn’t a boy. One of your girlfriends?”
Headshake.
“Carla? Jeanne?”
Headshake.
“Kirstin?”
“Nobody. I found it.”
Kerry glanced at me; the frustration in her face mirrored what must have been showing in mine.
My turn. I said, “Emily, you remember the talk we had about drugs?”
“I remember.”
“You said you understood how dangerous they are, how much damage they can do. You swore you’d never use them.”
“I do understand. I’ve never used drugs, not any kind, and I never will.”
“Then explain the box.”
“I already did, Dad. I found it.”
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you that. I promised.”
“You keep saying that. Why would you make such a promise?”
Silence.
I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Reason wasn’tworking, and reason was the best way to deal with Emily on any subject. Threats, even if I believed in that kind of parental approach, wouldn’t work, either. You couldn’t force a girl like her into submission and confession. Punishment, constant badgering, would only cause her to withdraw.
It was already starting to happen; I could see it in the way she was sitting, eyes remote, face pale, shoulders hunched. Same hurt look, same unwillingness or inability to communicate, same form of self-defense, as when she’d first come to live with us—a fragile kid, badly damaged by the violent deaths of her parents and the lonely existence their sins had forced her to lead. Lost and hiding in a place deep inside herself that no one could reach. The fact that she’d been a near witness to an incident not long afterward, in which I’d been ambushed and nearly killed, had made her situation even worse: she’d had so much loss in her young life, she couldn’t bear the thought of any more.
It had taken months of patience to bring her out of herself, to earn her complete trust. We had it now. Trust, loyalty, unconditional love. She was happy, much more outgoing and better socialized, with a bright future ahead of her. But she was still young and fragile; not enough time had passed for her wounds to fully heal. If we pushed her too hard, punished her too severely, we could drive her right back into that inner twilight world. We could lose her again.
And yet a thing like this, drugs, misplaced loyalty . . . we couldn’t just ignore it or tiptoe around it. I glanced again at Kerry. Her expression said she was thinking along the same lines.
She said, “Emily, I know you understand why we’re upset, why we’re asking all these questions. Don’t you have anything to say?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For bringing drugs into this house.”
“Yes. I swear I’ll never do it again.”
“Well, that’s a start.”
“Are you going to search my room again when I’m not home?”
“Not if you don’t give us any cause to.”
“I won’t. Is it all right if I have the box?”
“. . . What?”
“Not what’s in it. Just the box.”
“Why? Does it have some special meaning to you?”
“No. May I have it?”
“To do what with?”
“Give it back.”
“To who?”
“The person it belongs to.”
“So you know who lost the box.”
“I . . . Yes.”
“And you told this person you found it.”
“Yes. But not that I opened it.”
“Are you going to say that we did? That we know about the cocaine?”
“No, but I won’t lie if I’m asked. May I have it?”
“No,” I said, “you may not.”
Emily started to say something, changed her mind. There was misery in her expression now, as if her emotions had begun to give her physical pain. Half a minute ticked away, during which time Shameless the cat wandered in and hopped up next to her. She clutched at him, pulled him close—something warm and furry to hang on to. Then, in a small voice, “May I be excused now?”
I
Silence.
“Emily, answer me. Did a boy give you this box? Do you have a boyfriend you haven’t told us about?”
“No.”
“So it wasn’t a boy. One of your girlfriends?”
Headshake.
“Carla? Jeanne?”
Headshake.
“Kirstin?”
“Nobody. I found it.”
Kerry glanced at me; the frustration in her face mirrored what must have been showing in mine.
My turn. I said, “Emily, you remember the talk we had about drugs?”
“I remember.”
“You said you understood how dangerous they are, how much damage they can do. You swore you’d never use them.”
“I do understand. I’ve never used drugs, not any kind, and I never will.”
“Then explain the box.”
“I already did, Dad. I found it.”
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you that. I promised.”
“You keep saying that. Why would you make such a promise?”
Silence.
I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Reason wasn’tworking, and reason was the best way to deal with Emily on any subject. Threats, even if I believed in that kind of parental approach, wouldn’t work, either. You couldn’t force a girl like her into submission and confession. Punishment, constant badgering, would only cause her to withdraw.
It was already starting to happen; I could see it in the way she was sitting, eyes remote, face pale, shoulders hunched. Same hurt look, same unwillingness or inability to communicate, same form of self-defense, as when she’d first come to live with us—a fragile kid, badly damaged by the violent deaths of her parents and the lonely existence their sins had forced her to lead. Lost and hiding in a place deep inside herself that no one could reach. The fact that she’d been a near witness to an incident not long afterward, in which I’d been ambushed and nearly killed, had made her situation even worse: she’d had so much loss in her young life, she couldn’t bear the thought of any more.
It had taken months of patience to bring her out of herself, to earn her complete trust. We had it now. Trust, loyalty, unconditional love. She was happy, much more outgoing and better socialized, with a bright future ahead of her. But she was still young and fragile; not enough time had passed for her wounds to fully heal. If we pushed her too hard, punished her too severely, we could drive her right back into that inner twilight world. We could lose her again.
And yet a thing like this, drugs, misplaced loyalty . . . we couldn’t just ignore it or tiptoe around it. I glanced again at Kerry. Her expression said she was thinking along the same lines.
She said, “Emily, I know you understand why we’re upset, why we’re asking all these questions. Don’t you have anything to say?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For bringing drugs into this house.”
“Yes. I swear I’ll never do it again.”
“Well, that’s a start.”
“Are you going to search my room again when I’m not home?”
“Not if you don’t give us any cause to.”
“I won’t. Is it all right if I have the box?”
“. . . What?”
“Not what’s in it. Just the box.”
“Why? Does it have some special meaning to you?”
“No. May I have it?”
“To do what with?”
“Give it back.”
“To who?”
“The person it belongs to.”
“So you know who lost the box.”
“I . . . Yes.”
“And you told this person you found it.”
“Yes. But not that I opened it.”
“Are you going to say that we did? That we know about the cocaine?”
“No, but I won’t lie if I’m asked. May I have it?”
“No,” I said, “you may not.”
Emily started to say something, changed her mind. There was misery in her expression now, as if her emotions had begun to give her physical pain. Half a minute ticked away, during which time Shameless the cat wandered in and hopped up next to her. She clutched at him, pulled him close—something warm and furry to hang on to. Then, in a small voice, “May I be excused now?”
I
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