Silent Witness (67 page)

Sam's eyes widened; for a moment, Tony did not know what would happen next. Then, as if the circuits of his brain had reconnected, Sam said, ‘Yeah, I know. Knock off this one, and I'm through. It's just that I've been so scared, I don't know how to act anymore.' He drained his drink in one deep swallow, shivering at the rawness of so much whiskey. Turning to Sue, he murmured, ‘Sorry, babe.'

Sue did not answer. To cover this, Tony asked, ‘So what will you do now?'

Sam traced the rim of his glass, as though to taste the whiskey with his finger; Tony guessed that he wanted another drink quite desperately. ‘I don't know,' Sam said. ‘I guess the first thing is whether we stay here. . . .'

His voice fell off. The first thing, Tony knew, was whether Sue would stay with Sam. She stared at the room with the abstracted look of someone who had internalized a great deal of pain and, perhaps, drunk more wine than usual. He would find a way to talk with her alone, Tony decided.

‘I'd be tempted to take off,' Tony said to Sam. ‘In fact, I
did
take off, when it was me. This town's too small.'

Sam gave a bewildered shrug. ‘Where would I go, Tony? This place is all I know.'

Anywhere Sue wants you to
, Tony thought,
if that would make a difference
. Tony tried to smile. ‘Maybe near one of the kids, if they'll have you. In my own case, imagining Christopher in his twenties, I'm not so sure he would.'

Sam did not smile back. ‘I don't know why mine
should
, pal. I really don't.' He looked from Tony to Sue, hesitant. ‘Mind if I have one more, guys? Then we can hit the road.'

There was a shamed, pleading note in his voice; for Sam Robb, Tony was certain, reality would be hard to face. Sue shrugged her indifference.

‘I'll join you,' Tony told Sam.

They drank their whiskeys in relative quiet, Tony telling harmless anecdotes about Stacey and Christopher, the things they had done in his absence. ‘Amazing,' Tony said. ‘The kid may actually go to Harvard. As he pointed out to me, he's got an old man who can afford it. Christopher's world is a very different place. . . .'

It was, Tony realized, not the best thing to say. But Sam touched his glass to Tony's. ‘To your success, pal. And to all our kids. If they don't make it, the rest doesn't matter very much, does it?' He paused, his glance at Sue tentative but fond. ‘And if they do make it, maybe someone's done something right.'

To Tony, the glance was a veiled plea for the value of their life together. But Sue did not look at Sam.

‘Better go,' Tony said at last. ‘I've got a plane out in the morning.' He smiled again. ‘Besides, as they say, tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life.'

On the ride home, Sue drove. Sam slumped wearily in his seat, undone by whiskey and weeks of broken sleep. He looked less drunk than exhausted.

The living room lights were on. Entering, the three of them stood there, Sam facing Tony, Sue to the side. ‘I'm whipped,' Sam said to Tony, then summoned the ghost of his old smile. ‘But I'll be great tomorrow. Sure you don't want to stay for one more day, finish our game? It's a tie, remember?'

Smiling, Tony shook his head. ‘A tie's good enough for me, Sam. Especially with you.'

Sam studied his face for a moment. Then he stepped forward, hugging Tony with fierce affection. ‘Thanks,' he murmured. ‘Thanks for everything. It means more to me than I can say, and so do you.'

‘I know,' Tony answered. ‘I know.'

Sam leaned away from him, eyes glistening. Then he turned, climbing the stairs, glancing briefly back at Sue and Tony, as though to signal his hope that, soon, Sue would follow. ‘So long, pal,' he said simply, gave Tony a casual wave, and was gone.

She turned back to Tony. ‘Can I pour you a glass of wine?' she said. ‘I'm having one.'

She seemed weary, dispirited. But Tony wished to talk with her, and being her guardian was not the way. ‘Sure,' he said, and sat on the sofa.

She returned with two glasses. ‘Let's go outside,' she said. ‘It's a warm night, and I feel cooped up.'

Silent, he followed her out the kitchen door to the rear yard, where, at fourteen, Sam and Tony had once thrown a football and, without seeming to acknowledge this, become friends.

Now Tony sat next to Sue on the hammock. For a moment, he looked up at the stars, remembering when they had laid Sam in the hammock and then spent the night alone. ‘I've been thinking about you,' he said.

‘Me too,' she answered. But she seemed very far away.

‘You asked me to give you an innocent man, Sue. I wish I could have.'

‘That isn't your fault.' Her speech was slightly slurred now, and she paused before saying, ‘You did more than you know, I think. There's nothing left for you to do.'

To Tony, the ambiguous remark begged the question of how Sue would cope. Softly, he said, ‘I just wish there were something I could do for
you
.'

For a long time, Sue was silent, and then Tony felt her shiver. ‘There is, Tony. Don't come back here, ever. Not even if there's another trial.'

Startled, Tony turned to her. ‘If I hurt you . . .'

‘Oh, God, it's not that.' Sue faced him. ‘Don't you understand?'

He touched her hand. ‘Tell me.'

Sue swallowed, her face filling with anguish. ‘He's
lying
, Tony. He lied in court, and I think he's lied to you.'

Tony stiffened; although this was a moment he had always feared, it took him by surprise. Quietly, he said, ‘About what?'

‘The clothes.' She fingered the sleeve of Tony's suit, her voice a taut, rushed undertone. ‘There's a pair of gray sweat clothes missing – Sam always kept an extra pair at school. After he testified, I realized it wasn't here. And it couldn't still be at school. The police would have found it.'

The words jolted Tony.
Keep cool
, he told himself.
Think, don't feel
. ‘Memory's a funny thing, Sue. Sometimes we “remember” what we're afraid of. . . .'

‘It's more like I've been afraid to remember.' Sue glanced up at the bedroom window. ‘Sam
did
have an old pair of running shoes. But they're gone.'

Tony could feel the pulse in his own throat. ‘If Sam were lying, wouldn't he be afraid of what you know?'

Sue looked down. ‘If he were afraid of what I know,' she said softly, ‘Sam wouldn't have said he'd never had anal intercourse. Trust me about this. Because I know what Sam likes, better than anyone, and he knows I know. . . .'

Gently, Tony pulled her close.

She was stiff for a moment, and then clung to him in silent desperation. ‘I'm not sure we can talk about this,' Tony murmured. ‘Or anything about Sam.'

‘We have to.' She pulled back from him, fingers resting on his cheek, as if to seek his forgiveness. Her voice quavered. ‘I think there's more. . . .'

‘Much more,' Tony cut in. All at once, he felt sick. ‘You're his wife, Sue. I'm his lawyer.'

‘You're not just his lawyer.' She looked away, as though the sight of him were painful. ‘Can I ask you one question, Tony?'

Tony hesitated. His thoughts were a chaotic mix of dread and tenderness and obligation – his love for her, his duty to Sam, the fear of knowing that his friend and client, the husband of the woman he held, had murdered Marcie Calder. ‘What is it?'

For a last moment, she was silent, and then tears began running down her face. ‘When you found Alison's body, – she asked, ‘what time was it?'

All at once, Tony understood. The breath he took made him shiver as Sue had. ‘You've always said Sam was with you. . . .'

‘He was.' Her eyes shut. ‘But no one ever asked how long, and I didn't want to think about it then.'

Tony stared at her. In a voice not his own, he said, ‘Tell me what happened, Sue. Everything.'

It was strange, Sue thought, how winning affected Sam. There were times when it filled him with elation; tonight, after his catch in the last football game he would ever play for Lake City High, she had seen that rapture she associated with much laughter and the desire to make love with her. But the separation from Tony and Alison seemed to change his mood abruptly. When they parked near the grove of maples, Sam made no move to touch her. Instead he drank, staring out the windshield at nothing.

‘This stuff doesn't matter to him,' Sam said at last. ‘I don't really matter.'

She turned to him, puzzled. ‘Tony?'

Sam did not answer. ‘People do what he wants,' he said. ‘And things turn out the way he expects them to. “Nice catch, Sam; now it's time for me to fuck Alison. . . .”'

Alison
, Sue thought. She watched Sam in the darkened car, his profile a shadow with a whiskey bottle tilted to its lips. Evenly, she said, ‘How do you know that Tony even
is
? Has he said anything?'

‘No. But
he
never would.'

Sam was already drunk, she realized; that was when his conflicts, his feelings of confusion, crept to the surface. Suddenly Sue thought she understood: this was the biggest moment of Sam's life, one he and Tony had wished for, and now Sam felt excluded – the moment had come and gone, and to Sam's mind, Tony had barely noticed. What made it worse was that Tony was making love with Alison, and that Tony – though not, Sue suspected, Alison – was innocent of the feelings this might create in Sam.

‘Are we any different?' Sue asked. ‘Do you talk with Tony about us?'

Sam took another swig. ‘No,' he said in a flat voice.

Suddenly Sue felt an anger of her own. ‘Is
that
why you're so mad at him – because he never asks what
you
do with
me
? Or are you mad because
Tony
doesn't want to do it with
me
? I mean, that would make him more like you, wouldn't it? Or maybe it's
Alison
–'

Sue stopped herself, stunned at what she was saying, and that she had said it at all. Sam had frozen. For what seemed minutes, he did not speak or move.

Apprehensive, Sue tried to make a joke of this. ‘All right,' she said. ‘Why don't we just sit here and imagine what Alison and Tony are doing in Taylor Park. Really, I hope it's great for both of them. At least it'll clear up the confusion for all of us.'

Still Sam did not turn. ‘There's no confusion,' he said.

His tone had an ominous quiet. Softly, she asked, ‘Then why are we having such a lousy night? I was so happy for you, Sam. All I want is for you to be happy with me.'

Sam drank more whiskey. ‘Sorry,' he said at last. ‘Someone cracked my head with an elbow. My ears are still ringing.' It was an excuse, Sue guessed: discomfited, Sam needed a reason for his distraction.

Pensive, she smoothed the pleats of her cheerleader skirt. ‘Maybe you should go home,' she told him.

Sam slid down in the car seat. He took another deep swallow, sinking into unfathomable thought. Sue waited for him to speak.

He drank in silence.

‘Sam?'

He appeared to shiver from the effects of the whiskey. ‘Yeah.' His voice sounded thick. ‘Tomorrow I'll be fine. I promise.'

Sue drew her shoulders in. She felt small, alone. They drove home without talking. Gently, she touched his wrist. But Sam seemed not to notice. When they reached Sue's driveway, he started, as though awakening from a trance.

‘I'll be fine,' he said again. ‘Tomorrow.'

‘I'll be fine too.' She gave him a quick, firm kiss. ‘Congratulations. You
won
, you know.'

‘Yeah,' he said. ‘I won.'

Sue got out and walked up the driveway. Sam was already backing out when she reached the front door.

Sue went to her room, undressed, and lay in bed. The clock on her nightstand glowed in red numerals: 11:45. It made her think of Sam's taillights – heading, she thought, in the opposite direction from his house. She hoped that he was not too drunk to drive; for a moment, she thought about calling to make sure that he was safe. But this would awaken his parents, Sue realized, and so it was best to put her worries aside.

Naked, she tried to imagine Alison and Tony. But the image, to her surprise, was of Tony alone. Perhaps she was more like Sam than she cared to know.

Sue tossed, her thoughts confused, until she fell asleep.

The night had the first wet chill of dawn. Looking at Sue, Tony felt it to the bone.

‘Alison?' he demanded. ‘You think there was something between her and
Sam
?'

Sue took his hands. ‘I don't know that anything went on. But for a while, Sam almost seemed obsessed with her – like
he
wanted to be the first, and couldn't say that.' Her voice was quiet, shamed. ‘The week before she died, a slip of paper with a telephone number fell out of his binder. I recognized it – Alison's private line – the one her parents didn't want listed. When I asked Sam how he'd gotten it, he said it was from you. So Alison could help him with Spanish.'

‘No.' Tony's own voice was flat; his emotion expressed itself not in words but as pinpricks on his skin. ‘He didn't get it from me.'

Sue looked away. ‘You're sure. . . .'

‘Oh, yes.' Standing, Tony stared up at the darkened window, his voice soft with anger. ‘If I'd known Sam wasn't with you, I might have wondered just a little, even then. And how many seconds do you think it would have taken me to wonder once I heard about Marcie Calder? The
only
reason I didn't was because it never occurred to me he could have been in Taylor Park the night that Alison died. And only because
you
always told me Sam was with you.' Suddenly he turned to her. ‘Why in God's name did you ask me to defend him? Because you didn't want to be alone with this? Or did you think that, somehow, I could answer all your doubts?'