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There was a pause.The wind blew a little chillier.The memory of those final moments with Cox was still close at hand.However many scones she ate, however many cozy girls’ nights-in she had with her mom.Elijah Cox was in jail, awaiting trial.Like the victors in a battle, he and Denton seemed to have divvied up her unconscious mind: Denton dreams filled her nights, whereas the days were interrupted by memories of Cox under the church, imagined scenes from his trial.But they had not won.Why did she feel that they had?Because something about Cox continued to trouble her.Something he’d said, but she couldn’t retrieve.She knew it mattered.But why?
“I spoke to Winters.”
“Oh, yeah?What did she say?”
“I said it was time to come back.She said there was no rush, and you were working fine with Gunnarson.And of course, she reminded me what happened the last time I came back too early.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“Because I understand how that must make you feel.And I’m sorry, because I made you feel like that, too.”
“I’m lucky to have you, looking out for me.”
Returning with the scones, Catherine seemed to think she’d intruded on some intense private moment.Because she made a great show of having forgotten the jam and needing to go back for it.
“Gunnarson’s okay.But I prefer working with you.” He looked at her.“When I saw Cox with you – attacking you, I –” He looked over at the dogs, playing tug of war with a piece of rope.“I’ve been hoping you’d say you were ready to come back.But Kate, I…”
“What is it…?”
“You hear that, Mrs.V.?”Marcus said suddenly, seizing upon the second return of Mrs.Valentine as a diversion.Though a diversion from what,exactly, Kate couldn’t begin to fathom.“She’s returning to the fray.”
“Yes, well, you won’t be surprised to hear I don’t approve.And that’s not for selfish reasons.I’m flying off to a conference at Oxford next week, so I won’t be here in any case.I wish you’d just give it a week or two more.”
“You said it yourself, Mom, you’re not going to be here.And I don’t want to be here, or in my apartment, bouncing off the walls on my own.”
“I know.But you’re too like your father.I used to say to him: you’re not the only heart surgeon out there.Nobody, in any organization, is indispensable, and nobody shouldeverthink they are.There were others before you, there’ll be others after you.And actually, if everyonedidbehave like you and drag themselves into work even when they felt terrible…”
Kate sat back in her chair.She’d zoned out of the conversation, which wasn’t a conversation, in any case, just a lecture, albeit one with good intentions.Something about her mother’s words had drawn her thoughts back to the beast in the strange story of the King of Tarshish.And then, as if her mind was skipping across stones in a brook, to Cox, and what he’d said just before he tried to choke the life out of her.What he’d promised.
She turned to Marcus.“Can you give me a ride somewhere?”
Marcus frowned at her.“Sure.Where?”
“I need to go to the state penitentiary.”
++++++
Prison shrank some people, and it expanded others.Mob guys, she noticed, tended to look rather pathetic in prison scrubs.Without the handmade suits and shoes, the diamond pinkie rings and the luxury vehicles, they had no way of broadcasting their power; they just looked like unhealthy men with bad skin and thinning hair.By contrast, the average low-ranking gang-member was in his element doing a three or a five.Protected by his affiliations, safely beyond the reach of the mothers of his children, and able to work the system without fear of arrest or detection, many a street corner dealer surged in status on the prison wing, his growing confidence apparent in every cocky step and gesture.No wonder they kept coming back for more.
It was typical of Elijah Cox that he’d neither grown nor shrunk, seemed neither oppressed by his surroundings nor particularly pleased by them.The walls and bars didn’t seem to exist for him.He was, however, unable to contain his delight at getting a visit from Kate.They were in a private interview room, with a thick sheet of glass dividing them.In the background, muted, the constant soundtrack of jail, like a junk yard.
“Nice scarf,” Cox said, dripping with sarcasm.“Tell me, do you get flashbacks when you tie it?Remember what it felt like with my hands around your throat?What’s worse, Kate?The daytime memories, or the dreams at night?”
“Screw you, Cox.” She wanted very much to untie the scarf now.But the bruising was still very visible.She didn’t want him gloating over that.
“Come now,” he said.“You came all this way to see me.Let’s not fight.Ask me anything, Kate.”
“Who killed my father?”
He smiled thinly.She cursed herself inside for asking the question so directly.Then again, the creep knew how much she wanted to know.So it wouldn’t matter how she phrased the question, he’d still get a kick out of withholding the answer.
“It would make such a difference to know, wouldn’t it?”he asked – in a strangely ordinary manner.She still didn’t reply.
“The truth is, Kate, I don’t know.That hasn’t been revealed to me.I could pretend to know,” he said, holding his hands up, in the sort of “trust me” gesture favored by politicians.“But I don’t.I don’t know where he fits in.”
“Isn’t that kind of like the Nuremberg Defense?I was only obeying orders?I thought you’d have something more original to say.”
