The Newman Resident (21 page)

“I was just trying to see my son, officer,” Richard said.

“The guys in there called us up and said some maniac’s trying to break down the front door.”

“I’m no maniac.”

“Course not. Perfectly normal to stand out in the pouring rain, pounding on a door ‘till your hands bleed. I do it all the time.”

“They kidnapped my son!”

“Save it for the station, pal. Okay? And try not to drip so much on my seat.”

When they got to the precinct, the officer got out and ran around to Richard’s door and opened it. He threw a pair of handcuffs at Richard and said, “Hurry up and put these on. It’s raining, you know.”

Richard put the cuffs on his hands in front of him, then the officer pulled him out of the car and ran him up the steps to the station. When they got inside, the officer led Richard to the desk of a man in a wrinkled blue shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The officer pushed Richard into a chair across from the desk, then left without saying a word.

“Hey, could somebody get this guy a towel?” the man behind the desk shouted. “He’s dripping all over my desk.” Nobody showed up, so the man told Richard not to move and left. He came back with a small, dingy white towel and threw it at Richard.

“Am I under arrest?” Richard asked as he watched the man go back to filling out some form.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Carson,” the man said. “I’m sure you have other plans this evening. How inconsiderate of us to keep you.”

“Can I take these off?” Richard asked, holding up his cuffed hands.

“I doubt it, but go ahead and try.”

The man finally finished the form he was working on and put it aside. “I’m Detective Stanford, and I’m here to tell you to go home and dry off.”

“Wait a minute! They kidnapped my son. I want to file a complaint. They’re the ones who—”

“They did not kidnap Christopher. Your wife signed the papers, Mr. Carson, you know that. It’s all very legal.”

“Listen to me—”

“No, you listen to me.” Stanford leaned across his desk. “I know all about your history with the Newman Home, and you need to back off.”

“Back off?” Richard shouted. “They kidnapped my son.”

“All right, man,” the detective said, standing up, “that does it.” He walked over to another officer and spoke with her for a few seconds, then she followed him over to his desk.

“This is Officer Martinez. She’ll handle the paperwork for your stay.”

“I’m under arrest?”

“Yes.”

“Nobody read me my rights.”

“We were hoping you wouldn’t have to be under arrest. The commissioner wanted to keep it simple.”

“That’s right, I did.”

They all turned to see a short, round man in a dark suit, his eyes bloodshot. He was in his early fifties, with quite a bit of gray throughout his dark hair. Reaching out his hand to shake Richard’s, he introduced himself as Police Commissioner Moretti. When he asked Detective Stanford for a private room, the detective led him and Richard to the captain’s office and left them alone, closing the door after him.

The commissioner sat in the captain’s chair behind the desk, but Richard remained standing, his hands still cuffed.

“Look,” Richard said, “I don’t appreciate—”

“Why can’t you leave well enough alone, Mr. Carson? Can’t you see you’re messing with something much bigger than you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t like getting calls from the Newman Home in the middle of the night. And then, the second I hang up, I get a call from—” he stopped. “Well, from someone else I don’t like getting calls from in the middle of the night. Newman is an important place, and people you want to keep happy are starting to get a little irritated by you. Do you understand?”

“What would you do if they kidnapped your son?”

“I’d probably send them a year’s supply of Ben & Jerry’s. I’d love to get that kid out of the house and into a place as good as Newman.”

“Well, I don’t feel that way. Kidnapping—”

“You keep talking about kidnapping. Let me ask you something, did you, or did you not, put your boy in there years ago?”

“I didn’t—”

“Just answer the question!” Moretti shouted. “Did you enroll him?”

“Yes.”

“No one kidnapped anyone. Your wife sent him back, and it’s as simple as that.”

“I can fight her on it.”

The commissioner jumped up. “Go ahead, take her to court, I don’t care. Spend the next few years fighting her on it. But trying to knock down their door isn’t going to get the boy out. I don’t care if you and your wife sue each other until the cows take over Battery Park. Just leave the school alone. Especially now.”

“Why now?”

Moretti thought for a moment as he sat back down. “Just leave it alone, okay? There’s nothing you can do.”

Richard nodded.

“So, since there’s nothing you can do, you need to quit doing things.”

The commissioner got out of the chair and opened the door, calling for Officer Martinez. He had her remove the handcuffs and instructed her to take him straight home.

“I don’t want any more calls tonight, Mr. Carson.”

CHAPTER FIFTY

T
he restroom looked like it had never been cleaned. It smelled even worse. Richard’s hands were sore and swollen, his clothes still drenched from the rain. When he was done washing his hands, he stepped out of the restroom and found Martinez waiting. She took him out a side door and to one of the squad cars. They climbed in the front seat and neither said a word except when Richard told her the address.

The rain was still pouring when the police car stopped along the curb outside the apartment building. When he got to the front door, he turned and noticed Martinez was waiting to make sure he entered. He went into the building and watched the car drive off.

“May I help you, sir?” asked a large man dressed in a guard’s uniform.

“I’m here to see Hunt.”

“Hunt?”

“Yeah,” Richard said. “Oh, I’m sorry, Hunter Jenkins. I’m Paul Jenkins, his brother. I just got in at Kennedy a few hours ago. The plane was late, then they lost my bags. Hunt’s probably been worried sick about me.”

“I’ll call Dr. Jenkins and let him know you’re here.”

“Don’t do that. Look how late it is.” Richard went over to the elevator and pushed the button. “I’ve got a key, I’ll just go on up and sleep on the couch. I don’t want to wake him.”

“But—”

Richard reached into his pocket, pulled out a fifty, and walked over to the guard, slipping the bill into his hand. “Let’s surprise my brother, okay?” he said, smiling.

The bell rang and the elevator door opened. Richard got in, pushing the nineteenth floor button. He had only been with Carol to Hunter and Tiffany’s newest apartment two or three times, but he remembered laughing to himself when he learned their apartment number was 1984. Easy to remember. When the doors opened on the nineteenth floor, Richard headed straight for Hunter’s apartment and knocked on the door. He knocked, then knocked again, louder. He heard steps coming toward the door, but pounded on the door again anyway. His hands ached.

The door opened just a crack. “Richard?” Hunter asked, his eyes still half-closed. Suddenly, his eyes opened wider. “Richard!” He started to close the door, but Richard threw his weight against it, knocking Hunter down on the floor. Richard slammed the door behind him. Some light—not from the moon, but from other nearby buildings—shone through the mammoth picture window, revealing Hunter, lying on the floor in his purple silk robe and matching boxers.

“I’m calling the police,” Hunter said, still lying on the floor.

“If you do, I’d suggest you talk to Detective Stanford. He already knows all about me.”

“Get out of here, Richard.”

Richard grabbed Hunter by the robe and threw him across the back of the black leather couch. He landed on the coffee table, breaking some expensive Japanese plate. Hunter stumbled to his feet, but Richard was already next to him, grabbing him by the robe again.

“They won’t let me see my son, Hunter.”

“You’re crazy. Get out of here.”

“Just tell me, did he make it? Is he safe back at the school?”

“Yes,” Hunter said, “he made it back a few hours ago. And he’s going to stay there for the next many, many years.”

Richard let go of Hunter’s robe, then threw his fist into his stomach. Hunter folded over, coughing and gasping for air, and Richard pulled him up and smashed his other fist across Hunter’s face, knocking him to the floor. Hunter’s lip started bleeding, staining the wooden floor.

“Get up, Dr. Jenkins.” Richard stood over him but Hunter just turned over to his side and moaned. “Get up!”

Hunter crawled over to the piano bench and pulled himself up. He sat on the bench, holding his stomach. He touched his mouth, then looked at the blood on his fingers.

“I bet you’ve never bled before, have you, Hunter? Didn’t know you could.”

“There’s nothing I can do.”

“You’re going to call them. You’re going to tell them to let me see Christopher.”

“They’ll never let you.”

“They will if you call.”

“No they won’t. Newman’s coming soon. Everything’s got to look normal.”

“I don’t care about some old—”

“You’d better care.”

“What’s he got to do with Christopher?”

“The superintendent thinks Newman has heard about him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Richard, listen to what I’m saying. Christopher was the first resident to leave the home for any length of time—”

“It hasn’t even been two weeks!”

“I don’t care if it’s been two days. Newman wouldn’t like having a resident with their parents outside the regular visits.”

“Then why did the superintendent let him have the sabbatical if you’re so afraid of what Newman would think?”

“He was supposed to be out of the country for months,” Hunter said. “We figured he’d never find out.”

“But why not just tell us ‘no’ like you have everyone else? What was so special about us?”

“You’re complaining about getting the sabbatical?” Hunter shook his head. “After all you’ve put me through—”

“Put you through? I haven’t put you through anything. You haven’t done anything for us.”

“Hey, you owe me big time. I was dead set against the sabbatical from the start, but Carol was persistent. Then I had to be even more persistent with the superintendent. And I’m still paying for it. He reminds me every day.”

“Carol? Persistent? I figured she just talked to you about it and it was done.”

“Look, Richard, you two need to talk.”

“Why was she so persistent, Hunter?”

Hunter sighed. “She’s right. You never give up.”

“What are you getting at?”

“She told me a hundred times you’d never let this go until you got your way,” Hunter said. “That if the sabbatical timeframe passed, you’d blame her for the rest of her life for any problem that would come up. ‘Christopher didn’t get into Harvard? It’s because he never had that sabbatical.’ ‘Christopher didn’t get that premier job? The sabbatical.’”

“Carol’s the one who cares so much about Harvard and jobs, not me.”

“Okay—‘Christopher isn’t a happy guy, fully self-actualized? Man, he should have had that sabbatical, honey. It’s all your fault.’
Come on, Richard, you know you never would have let her hear the end of it.”

Richard leaned up against the wall, exhausted. He figured that her agreeing to the sabbatical at least meant she thought it was worthwhile. He thought she was sincerely giving it a chance.

“Well, I guess that’s good to know what she was thinking,” Richard said. “But what about you? Why did you give in?”

“She promised me it wouldn’t last more than a week. Two, at most. And I had to give that same assurance to the superintendent. She knew how difficult it would be for you to be a stay-at-home daddy and try to write. Like she said, ‘He’s never been any good at either one, so how will he good at both of them?’”

“She never said that,” Richard said.

“You don’t know your own wife.”

Richard lunged forward, grabbing Hunter by the robe and throwing him down to the floor. “How do I get him back?”

“You don’t,” Hunter said, still lying on the floor. “You can beat me up, you can kill me, but it won’t do any good. There’s nothing you can do that will help your son.”

Richard felt himself losing his balance and walked over to lean against the back of the couch. His eyes went to the picture window, searching the lights of the skyscrapers. The rain had stopped, and he could see the moon appearing through the parting clouds.

“Ooh!” someone squealed. “I thought he’d left.”

A young woman, barely in her twenties, with long brown hair, clutched a sheet around herself. She knelt down next to Hunter.

“Are you all right, baby?”

Richard shook his head and turned away from the two, heading for the front door.

“Tiffany left for Los Angeles this morning for business,” Hunter said.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Hunter sat up, the young woman caressing his shoulders. “It’s not what you think.”

“Is she your new Carol?” asked Richard, still walking away.

“Nothing ever happened between Carol and me.”

Richard stopped at the door. “She never became one more notch on your bedpost?”

“Carol was my hope to find a way to get Christopher back where he belonged and keep him there. That’s all.”

Richard opened the door. “I’m getting him back, one way or another.”

“Be careful, Richard. He’s too important to Newman. You’re never going to get him back. At least, not alive.”

CHAPTER
FIFTY-ONE

R
ichard closed the apartment door behind him and leaned against it. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes with his hand, swollen and throbbing with pain. When he looked at his wrist to see what time it was, his watch was gone, lost somewhere during the night. It must have been seven in the morning, maybe eight o’clock, but it didn’t matter.

He walked down the hall, occasionally touching the wall to keep balance. It seemed like no one was home: no lamp on in the living room, and he couldn’t hear any sounds. When he got to their bedroom, though, he saw Carol’s suitcase on the bed, still opened but almost full with clothes. Next to it was her briefcase, all the papers back in place.