Defending Jacob (44 page)

“You okay, Jacob?”

“Not really.”

I went over and sat on the side of the bed. He hoisted his butt over to make room, but Jake was getting so big there was hardly enough space for both of us. (He used to lie right on my chest for naps when he was a baby. He had been no bigger than a loaf of bread.)

He rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hand. “Dad, can I ask you something? If you thought things were looking bad, like the case was about to go the wrong way, would you tell me?”

“Why?”

“No, not ‘why’; just, would you tell me?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Because it wouldn’t make sense to—well, if I took off, what would happen to you and Mom?”

“We’d lose all our money.”

“They’d take away the house?”

“Eventually. We put it up as security on your bail.”

He considered this.

“It’s just a house,” I told him. “I wouldn’t miss it. It doesn’t matter as much as you.”

“Yeah, but still. Where would you guys live?”

“Is this what you’ve been lying here thinking about?”

“A little bit.”

Laurie came to the door. She folded her arms and leaned on the doorpost.

I said, “Where would you go?”

“Buenos Aires.”

“Buenos Aires? Why there?”

“It just sounds like a cool place.”

“Says who?”

“There was an article about it in the
Times
. It’s the Paris of South America.”

“Hm. I didn’t know South America had a Paris.”

“It is in South America, right?”

“Yeah, it’s in Argentina. You may want to do a little more research before you run off there.”

“Is there a—whaddaya call it?—a treaty, like a fugitive treaty?”

“An extradition treaty? I don’t know. I guess that’d be another thing you’d want to check out first.”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“How would you pay for the ticket?”

“I wouldn’t. You would.”

“And a passport? You surrendered yours, remember?”

“I’d get a new one somehow.”

“Just like that? How?”

Laurie came and sat on the floor beside the bed and stroked his hair. “He’d sneak across the border into Canada and he’d get a Canadian passport.”

“Hm. Not sure it’s actually that easy, but okay. So what would you do once you got to Buenos Aires, which we know is in Argentina?”

Laurie said, “He’d dance the tango.” Her eyes were wet.

“Do you know how to dance the tango, Jacob?”

“Not exactly.”

“Not exactly, he says.”

“Not exactly, like, meaning not at all.” He laughed.

“Well, you can get tango lessons in Buenos Aires, I would think.”

Laurie said, “In Buenos Aires, everybody knows the tango.”

“You’ll need someone to dance the tango
with
, won’t you?”

He smiled shyly.

Laurie said, “Buenos Aires is filled with beautiful women who dance the tango. Beautiful, mysterious women. Jacob will have his pick.”

“Is that true, Dad? Lots of beautiful women in Buenos Aires?”

“That’s what I hear.”

He lay back and laced his fingers behind his head. “This is sounding better and better.”

“What will you do there when you get done dancing the tango, Jake?”

“Go to school, I guess.”

“I pay for that too?”

“Of course.”

“And after school?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be a lawyer like you.”

“Don’t you think you’ll want to keep a low profile? You know, being a fugitive and all?”

Laurie answered for him. “No. They’re going to forget all about him and he’s going to have a long, happy, wonderful life in Argentina with a beautiful woman who dances the tango, and Jacob will be a great man.” She got up on her knees so she could look at his face and continue to stroke his hair as he lay there. “He’ll have children, and his children will have children, and he’ll bring so much happiness to so many people that no one will ever believe that once upon a time in America people said horrible things about him.”

Jacob closed his eyes. “I don’t know if I can go to court tomorrow. I just don’t want to do it anymore.”

“I know, Jake.” I laid my palm on his chest. “It’s almost over.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Laurie: “I don’t think I can do it anymore either.”

“It’ll be over soon. We just have to hang in there. I promise.”

“Dad, you’ll tell me, right? Like you said? If it’s time for me to …?” He cocked his head toward the door.

I suppose I could have told him the truth.
It’s not like that, Jake
.
There’s nowhere to go
. But I didn’t. I said, “It’s not going to happen. We’re going to win.”

“But
if
.”

“If. Yeah, definitely I’ll tell you, Jacob.” I tousled his hair. “Let’s try to get some sleep.”

Laurie kissed his forehead, and I did the same.

He said, “Maybe you guys’ll come to Buenos Aires too. We can all go.”

“Can we still order from China City there?”

“Sure, Dad.” He grinned. “We’ll fly it in.”

“Okay, then. For a second, I didn’t think it was a realistic plan. Now get some sleep. Another big day tomorrow.”

“Let’s hope not,” he said.

When Laurie and I got into bed, she said in a pillow-talk murmur, “When we were talking about Buenos Aires, that was the first time I’ve felt happy in I don’t know how long. I don’t remember the last time I smiled.”

But her confidence must have faltered, because only a few seconds later, as she lay on her side facing me, she whispered, “What if he went to Buenos Aires and killed someone there?”

“Laurie, he’s not going to Buenos Aires and he’s not going to kill anyone. He didn’t kill anyone
here
.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Don’t say that.”

She looked away.

“Laurie?”

“Andy, what if we’re the ones who are wrong? What if he gets off and then, God forbid, he does it again? Don’t we have some responsibility?”

“Laurie, it’s late, you’re exhausted. We’ll have this conversation some other time. For now, you need to stop thinking that way. You’re making yourself crazy.”

“No.” She gave me an imploring look, like
I
was the one who was not making sense. “Andy, we need to be honest with each other. This is something we need to think about.”

“Why? The trial isn’t over yet. You’re quitting too soon.”

“We need to think about it because he’s our son. He needs our support.”

“Laurie, we’re doing our job. We’re supporting him, we’re helping him get through the trial.”

“Is that our job?”

“Yes! What else is there?”

“What if he needs something else, Andy?”

“There
is
nothing else. What are you talking about? There’s nothing more we can do. We’re already doing everything humanly possible.”

“Andy, what if he’s guilty?”

“He won’t be.”

Her breathy whispering became intense, pointed. “I don’t mean the verdict. I mean the truth. What if he really is guilty?”

“He isn’t.”

“Andy, is that what you really think? He didn’t do it? Simple as that? You have no doubt at all?”

I did not answer. I could not bear to.

“Andy, I can’t read you anymore. You need to talk to me, you need to tell me. I’m never sure what’s going on inside you anymore.”

“Nothing’s going on inside me,” I said, and the statement felt even truer than I’d intended.

“Andy, sometimes I just want to grab you by the lapels and
make
you tell the truth.”

“Oh, the thing with my father again.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m talking about Jacob. I need you to be absolutely honest here, for
me
. I need to know. Even if
you
don’t,
I
need to know: do you think Jacob did it?”

“I think there are things a parent should never think about a child.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Laurie, he’s my son.”

“He’s
our
son. We’re responsible for him.”

“Exactly. We’re responsible for him. We need to stick with him.” I put my hand on her head, stroked her hair.

She swiped it away. “No! Andy, do you understand what I’m saying to you? If he’s guilty, then we’re guilty too. That’s just the way it is. We’re implicated. We made him—you and me. We created him and we sent him out into the world. And if he really did this—can you handle that? Can you handle that possibility?”

“If I have to.”

“Really, Andy? Could you?”

“Yes. Look, if he’s guilty, if we lose, then we’ll have to face that somehow. I mean, I
get
that. We’ll still be his parents. You can’t resign from this job.”

“Andy, you are the most infuriating, dishonest man.”

“Why?”

“Because I need you to be here with me right now, and you’re not.”

“I am!”

“No. You’re managing me. You’re talking in platitudes. You’re in there behind those handsome brown eyes and I don’t know what you’re really thinking. I can’t tell.”

I sighed, shook my head. “Sometimes I can’t tell either, Laurie. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I’m trying not to think at all.”

“Andy, please, you
have
to think. Look inside yourself. You’re his father. You can’t avoid this. Did he do it? It’s a yes-or-no question.”

She was pushing me toward it, this towering black idea, Jacob the Murderer. I brushed against it, touched the hem of its robe—and I could not go any further. The danger was too great.

I said, “I don’t know.”

“Then you think he might have.”

“I don’t know.”

“But it’s possible, at least.”

“I said I don’t know, Laurie.”

She scrutinized my face, my eyes, searching for something she could trust, for bedrock. I tried to put on a mask of resolve for her, so she would find in my expression whatever it was she needed—reassurance, love, connection, whatever. But the truth? Certainty? I did not have those. They were not mine to give.

A couple of hours later, around one A.M., there was a siren in the distance. This was unusual; in our quiet suburb the cops and fire engines generally do not use them. Flashers only. The siren lasted only five seconds or so, then resonated in the quiet, suspended like a flare. Behind me Laurie was asleep in the same position as before, with her back to me. I went to the window and looked out but there was nothing to see. I would not find out until the next morning what that siren was and how, unknown to us, everything had already changed. We were already in Argentina.

T
he phone rang at five-thirty the next morning, my cell phone, and I answered it automatically, conditioned over the years to receive these emergency calls at crazy hours. I even answered in my old commanding voice, “Andy Barber!,” to convince people that I had not actually been sleeping, no matter what the hour.

When I hung up, Laurie said, “Who was that?”

“Jonathan.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“So what was it?”

I felt a grin spread over my face and a dreamy, bewildered happiness embraced me.

“Andy?”

“It’s over.”

“What do you mean, it’s over?”

“He confessed.”

“What? Who confessed?”

“Patz.”

“What!”

“Jonathan did what he said he would in court: he had him served. Patz got the subpoena and last night he killed himself. He left a note with a full confession. Jonathan said they’ve been at his apartment all night. They confirmed the handwriting; the note is legit. Patz confessed.”

“He confessed? Just like that? Is that possible?”

“It doesn’t seem real, does it?”

“How did he kill himself?”

“Hung himself.”

“Oh my God.”

“Jonathan says he’s going to move for dismissal as soon as court opens.”

Laurie’s hands covered her mouth. She was already crying. We embraced, then we ran into Jacob’s room as if it were Christmas morning—or Easter, given that this miracle was more in the nature of a resurrection—and we shook him awake and hugged him and shared the incredible news.

And everything was different. Just like that, everything was different. We got dressed in our trial clothes and we bided our time till we could drive to the courthouse. We watched the news on TV and checked Boston.com for mention of Patz’s suicide but there was none, so we sat there grinning at one another and shaking our heads in disbelief.

It was better than a not-guilty from the jury. We kept saying this:
not guilty
is merely a failure of proof. Jacob had actually been proven
innocent
. It was as if the entire horrific episode was erased. I do not believe in God or miracles, but this was a miracle. I cannot explain the feeling any other way. It felt as if we had been saved by some sort of divine intervention—by a real miracle. The only limit on our joy was the fact we could not quite believe it and we did not want to celebrate until the case was officially dismissed. It was at least conceivable, after all, that Logiudice would continue his prosecution even in the face of Patz’s confession.

In the event, Jonathan did not get the chance to move for dismissal. Before the judge even took the bench, Logiudice filed a nol pros—a nolle prosequi, which announced the government’s decision to drop the charges.

At nine sharp, the judge bounded out to the bench with a little grin. He read over the nol pros with a theatrical flourish and, with a palm-up motion of his hand, he asked Jacob to stand. “Mr. Barber, I see from your face and from your dad’s face that you’ve already heard the news. So let me be the first to tell you the words I’m sure you’ve longed to hear: Jacob Barber, you are a free man.” There was a cheer—a cheer!—and Jacob and I hugged.

The judge banged his gavel but he did so with an indulgent smile. When the courtroom was relatively quiet again, he gestured to the clerk, who read in a monotone—apparently only she was not happy for the result—“Jacob Michael Barber, in the matter of indictment number oh-eight-dash-four-four-oh-seven, the Commonwealth having nolle prosequi the within indictment, it is ordered by the court that you be discharged of this indictment and go without day insofar as this indictment is concerned. The bail previously posted may be returned to the surety. Case dismissed.”