To Save a Son (41 page)

“I'm not really concerned how you call me before the court,” she said. She looked briefly sideways to Franks. “I was not present on the first occasion when the implications of this scheme were explained. Which is not saying they weren't set out to me. They were. Maybe I just didn't correctly understand; certainly I didn't appreciate in the beginning what any of it would be like. I am not telling you that I am not prepared to give evidence. I
am
prepared to do that. What I'm not prepared to do is take myself and my children through some Alice-in-the-looking-glass charade. They're bewildered enough as it is.”

Ronan's concern switched from Tina to Franks. “We've an understanding,” said the lawyer warningly. “An agreed commitment.”

“I'm aware of that,” said Franks, looking not at the district attorney but at his wife.

Gauging the district attorney's concern that Franks would withdraw if his wife were not prepared to cooperate, Rosenberg said to the man, “Mrs. Franks' evidence is corroboratory; couldn't you proceed without it?”

“It's possible,” said Ronan, “although I've already indicated that I don't want to. It's Mr. Franks' attitude in which I'm primarily interested, at the moment.”

Rosenberg looked toward the smaller office where he and Franks had talked before and said, “Could I have a moment with Mr. and Mrs. Franks?”

“Take as long as you like,” agreed Ronan. “Just remember we've got a deal that I don't intend to get reneged on.”

Rosenberg led, with Tina following. As they entered the small room Rosenberg said to Franks, “I could have done with some sort of warning about this.”

“I could have done with some sort of warning myself,” said Franks.

“You've known how I've felt for a long time,” said Tina. “From the start, in fact.”

“You never refused,” said Franks.

“Well I am now. It's stupid and I won't go along with it. I don't care what happened to Nicky and I don't care what happened to the ship or the hotels. If the FBI or whoever it is wants to give me some protection, then they can do it at my own home.” She looked directly to Franks. “I thought the big boast was that we
weren't
running. So what's this, if it isn't running?”

“Mrs. Franks,” said Rosenberg, “you heard what the district attorney said. And you
can't
ignore what happened to your brother. Or anything else. Your safety could never be guaranteed—even promised—if you remained in Scarsdale. If you're really thinking about the children, shouldn't you be thinking about protecting them? Physically protecting them, I mean.”

She shook her head. “I've thought about it for a long time. Thought about practically nothing else. I'll give evidence. But I won't go into the program.”

“Isn't there a further consideration, beyond the children?” the lawyer asked her.

Tina frowned at the man. ‘“What?”

“Your husband is the chief prosecution witness. The case stands or falls by him. I think if he's pressed, the district attorney might go ahead without you. He certainly couldn't do that in Eddie's case. And Eddie can't stay at Scarsdale. That would be suicide. You surely must accept that.”

“So let Eddie go into the program,” said Tina shortly.

There was a long silence in the room, with Rosenberg looking for guidance between husband and wife.

“You mean that?” said Franks.

“I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it.”

“And you understand
what
you're saying?”

“Why don't you take her with you?” said Tina. “Then you wouldn't have to creep around the house at night with your prick in your hand.”

Franks looked awkwardly to Rosenberg and then back to Tina. “I think we should talk about this somewhere else,” he said.

“Why?” demanded Tina brightly. “You told me everything was out in the open between you and Rosenberg.” She actually smiled at the lawyer. “Hasn't my husband told you that he's screwing Maria, my sister-in-law? Nicky's widow. They don't care who knows. You're a lawyer, Mr. Rosenberg; isn't it a criminal offense, like incest, to fuck your own sister-in-law? Or is it just a moral objection?”

It would have been Elizabeth, Franks supposed. Ahead of Rosenberg he said, “Is that why you've staged all this today?”

“No,” said Tina. “And it isn't staged. Something staged means something that isn't meant, a performance. And I mean what I am saying.”

To Franks, Rosenberg said, “It all comes down to you. Ronan's scared you'll back off and he'll lose his case, like the others that have been lost against these guys before.”

“I know,” accepted Franks, still looking at Tina. She met his gaze unflinchingly.

“So what are you going to do?” said Rosenberg.

Franks came to the other man at last. “What I always intended to do,” he said. “Give evidence and get convictions against them.”

Rosenberg looked briefly to Tina and then back to Franks again. “And go into the protection program afterward?”

“Yes,” said Franks.

There was another prolonged silence.

“Which means that you and Mrs. Franks will be separating?”

“That's exactly what it means,” agreed Franks at once.

On their way back to Scarsdale, Tina said, “You going to take Maria with you?”

“I don't know,” he said.

“Do you love her?”

“I don't know that either.”

“I think you've behaved like a bastard,” she said. “An absolute bastard.”

Franks snorted a laugh bitterly. “That's the most ridiculous part,” he said. “All I tried to do was behave as I thought I should have done.”

27

Franks moved out of Scarsdale that night, late, because before he left there was a lot to do. He called Maria first, from his bedroom, although he didn't suppose Tina would have intruded into any of the downstairs rooms. Maria asked him what he was going to do and he told her, and she said she guessed she couldn't stay on any longer at Scarsdale, either. It hadn't occurred to him until then but he said no, he guessed she couldn't.

“Can I come with you?”

Franks didn't respond at once to the question. In Manhattan he'd fantasized about her joining him, but he wasn't sure whether he wanted her with him.

“I see,” she said from the other end of the line.

“No, you don't,” said Franks quickly. “I was thinking of the danger, because of everything that's happening. Whether I could expect you to run the risk.”

“I'm prepared to,” she said immediately.

“All right,” agreed Franks. “And thank you. I'll arrange it with Tomkiss. I'm leaving them to find a place.”

“I'm not sorry,” blurted Maria. “About it coming out, I mean.”

“Neither am I,” said Franks, knowing that was what she wanted him to say.

“I just didn't want to hurt Tina. To hurt anybody,” said the woman.

“Neither did I,” said Franks. So why had he done it in the first place? Hadn't he sneered a long time ago at men who had to prove something by sleeping around? Yes, thought Franks; a long time ago.

“What shall I do?” asked Maria, relying on him.

“Just come to wherever the FBI people take you,” said Franks. “I'll be there.”

“Everything is going to work out okay,” she said.

That used to be his reassurance, remembered Franks. To Tina. He said, “Sure. I know it is. I'll see you later.”

He told Tomkiss what he wanted, alert for the man's reaction because people's reaction to him seemed important these days. The FBI agent just nodded and said sure, he'd fix it, and how long would he be? Franks asked for an hour. Tina and Elizabeth were with the children when he went to their adjoining rooms. Without being asked—without any conversation whatsoever—both the women withdrew. David looked up at him soberly and said, “Mommy's been crying.”

“Has she?” said Franks, surprised.

“Is she worried about Poppa?” asked Gabriella.

“Yes,” said Franks, seizing the excuse. Hurriedly he said, “I'm going away.”

“Where?” frowned the boy.

“Work,” lied Franks. “You know how I have to go away.”

“So you'll be back?” pressed David.

He couldn't lie, Franks decided. Or tell the truth, either. He wedged himself onto Gabriella's bed and pulled her onto his lap, blinking the sudden blur from his eyes. “Probably not for a long time,” he said. “I've got a lot to do and I'm going to be very busy, so you mustn't expect to see me for a long time.”

“How long?” demanded David.

“I'm not sure, not yet,” said Franks. “So while I'm away you've got to be the man of the house. Look after Mommy for me.”

“What about all the men?” asked the girl. “Are they going away too?”

“No,” said Franks. “They'll still be here. You've got to look after Mommy inside the house.”

“Is that why Mommy was crying, as well as about Poppa? Because you're going away?” pressed David.

“I should think so,” said Franks. Why—having sought to feel emotion for so long—was he embarrassed about it now? He nuzzled his face into Gabriella's hair, so that David wouldn't see how close he was to tears, and said, “I want you both to be good now. Understood?”

“Sure,” said David.

“Do everything that Mommy tells you.”

“Why can't we come with you?” asked Gabriella. “We used to, when you went away to work before.”

Would there be a divorce? Arrangements about access and things like that? It was the usual procedure, Franks knew; but his circumstances weren't usual. It was something he was going to have to discuss with Rosenberg. To the child he said, “This is a very difficult job. You can't come, not this time.”

“Not at all, not later?” persisted the girl.

“I'll see,” avoided Franks.

“Promise?” said David predictably.

Franks swallowed. “Promise,” he said awkwardly.

“You all right, Daddy?” said David.

“Gabby's hair has got into my eyes. Made them water,” said Franks. He put the child back onto her bed and stood up abruptly. “I've got to go,” he said.

“You're going tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Come back as soon as you can,” said Gabriella.

Franks scrubbed his hand across his eyes, and said, “Your hair really hurts. Remember what I said about being good.” He bent quickly, kissed Gabriella first and then David, who didn't try to pull away like he normally did.

Back in the corridor outside Franks had to blink a lot to be able to see clearly, concentrating on the other calls he had to make in an effort to recover from his encounter with the children. He went downstairs to use the telephone in the small sitting room, because the drinks were there, pouring and drinking one in a series of gulps and then making another before moving to the telephone. Podmore seemed to have taken over the de facto chairmanship of the groups in his absence, so Franks bothered only to call him, explaining that he was going to be unavailable at Scarsdale from that night and that any messages should be channeled through Rosenberg. The English lawyer said that the Italian authorities were refusing to reissue health certificates to four of the hotels, and that a labor dispute that seemed to be restricted only to their properties was disrupting business at three of the Spanish hotels. Too, the insurers of the liner were questioning whether to settle the necessary repairs or declare the vessel a write-off. Franks tried to give the instructions on the telephone, hot with frustration at not being able to get on the next plane and personally resolve the difficulties. Which was how he'd always operated and wanted to operate now, troubleshooting the problems as they arose. He made Podmore give an undertaking to remain in close contact with Rosenberg and then called the New York lawyer at home to explain the yet further arrangements he'd made involving the man.

“There are other things that need to be done,” warned Rosenberg. “If this is going to be an official separation you'll need to agree on support payments and property division … things like that.”

“Will you fix it for me?” sighed Franks.

“I'm sorry it's happened,” sympathized the American. “Lot of things seem to be happening all at once.”

“Too many,” agreed Franks. “And thanks.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don't know. I'll call you, tomorrow.”

Tomkiss and Sheridan were waiting in the car when Franks emerged. Franks turned, keeping the house in sight through the rear window as the vehicle wound down the driveway. He stayed mat way until it vanished from view and then slumped in the back.

“It's all fixed,” said Tomkiss.

“Good,” said Franks.

“You familiar with Kingston?” asked the FBI man.

Franks looked up at the man, paying attention for the first time. “Yes,” he said, distantly. “I know Kingston.” It was the entrance to the Catskills, where Enrico had stopped when they made the trip there as kids, pointing out the Onteora Trail and then circling the reservoir and identifying Mount Tobias and Mount Tremper and the highest of them all, Slide Mountain. It was on the lower hills of Slide Mountain that Enrico had set the crossing challenge and he'd almost been engulfed in the slurry.

“Borrowed a ‘safe house' there, from the CIA. You'll be okay.”

Franks realized he'd gone from not being scared to being unconcerned what happened to him. “Good,” he repeated automatically.

The house was not actually in Kingston but two miles south, on the road to High Falls. It was surrounded by a wall and the gate was electronically operated, with an intercom set into the wall. Just inside there was a small gatehouse in which Franks saw the figures of at least two men as they drove through. The driveway was lighted, and in the illumination Franks saw what appeared to be junction boxes or some sort of electronic apparatus and guessed the grounds were protected by sensors as well as human guards.