Trace - Cornwell Patricia - Страница 71
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"No!" She shakes her head side to side, clasping her hands at her waist.
"Oh really?" Marino says. "How do you know if you don't even know who we're talking about, huh? Maybe he's the milkman. Maybe he dropped in to play one of your games. You don't know who we're talking about, then how can you say he's never once been to your house?"
"I'm not going to be talked to like this," she says to Scarpetta.
"Answer the question," Scarpetta replies, looking at her.
"I'm telling you…"
"And I'm telling you that his damn fingerprints were in Gilly's bedroom," Marino replies aggressively, stepping closer to her. "You let that little redheaded bastard in here for one of your games? Is that it, Suz?"
"No!" Tears spill down her face. "No! Nobody lives back there! Just the old woman, and she's been gone for years! And maybe somebody's in there now and then, but nobody lives there, I swear! His fingerprints? Oh God! My little baby. My little baby." She sobs, hugging herself, crying so hard her bottom teeth are bared, and she presses her hands against her cheeks, and her hands are trembling. "What did he do to my little baby?"
"He killed her, that's what," Marino says. "Tell us about him, Suz."
"Oh no," she wails. "Oh Gilly."
"Sit down, Suz."
She stands there and cries into her hands.
"Sit down!" Marino orders her angrily, and Scarpetta knows his act.
She lets him do what he does so well, even if it is hard to watch.
"Sit down!" He points at the couch. "For once in your goddamn life tell the goddamn truth. Do it for Gilly."
Mrs. Paulsson collapses on the plaid couch beneath the windows, her face in her hands, tears running down her neck and spotting the front of her robe. Scarpetta moves in front of the cold fireplace, across from Mrs. Paulsson. "Tell me about Edgar Allan Pogue," Marino says, loudly and slowly. "You listening, Suz? Hell-o? You listening, Suz? He killed your little girl. Or maybe you don't care about that. She was such a pain in the ass, Gilly was. I heard about what a slob she was. All you did was pick up after her spoiled little ass…"
"Stop it!" she shrieks, her eyes wide and red and glaring as she stares hate at him. "Stop it! Stop it! You fucking… You…" She sobs and wipes her nose with a trembling hand. "My Gilly."
Marino sits in the wing chair, and neither of them seems aware that Scarpetta is in the room, but he knows. He knows the act. "You want us to get him, Suz?" he asks, suddenly quieter and calmer. He leans forward and rests his thick forearms on his big knees. "What do you want? Tell me.
"Yes." She nods, crying. "Yes."
"Help us."
She shakes her head and cries.
"You aren't gonna help us?" He leans back in the chair and looks over at Scarpetta in front of the fireplace. "She isn't gonna help us, Doc. She don't want to catch him."
"No," Mrs. Paulsson sobs. "I… I don't know. I only saw him, I guess it was… One night I went out, you know. I… I went over to the fence. I went over to the fence to get Sweetie, and a man was in the yard back there."
"The yard behind his house," Marino says. "On the other side of your back fence."
"He was behind the fence, and there's cracks between the boards, and he had his fingers through, petting Sweetie through the fence. I said, Good evening. That's what I said to him… Oh shit." She can hardly catch her breath. "Oh shit. He did it. He was petting Sweetie."
"What did he say to you?" Marino asks, his voice quiet. "He say something?"
"He said…" Her voice goes up and vanishes. "He"… he said, I like Sweetie."
"How'd he know your puppy's name?"
"'I like Sweetie,' he said."
"How'd he know your puppy's name was Sweetie?" Marino asks.
She breathes hard, not crying as much, staring down at the floor.
Marino says, "Well, I guess he might have taken your puppy too. Since he liked her. You haven't seen Sweetie, have you?"
"So he took Sweetie." She clenches her hands in her lap, and her knuckles blanch. "He took everything."
"That night when he was petting Sweetie through the fence, what did you think? What did you think about some man being back there?"
"He had a low voice, you know, not a loud voice, kind of a slow voice that wasn't friendly or unfriendly. I don't know."
"You didn't say nothing else to him?"
She stares at the floor, her hands clenched in fists in her lap. "I think I said to him, 'I'm Suz. You live in the neighborhood?" He said he was visiting. That was all. So I picked up Sweetie and headed into the house. And when I was walking in, in through the kitchen door, I saw Gilly. She was in her bedroom, looking out the window. Watching me get Sweetie. As soon as I was at the door, she ran from the window to meet me and to get Sweetie. She loved that dog." Her lips twitch as she stares at the floor. "She would be so upset."
"The curtains was open when Gilly was looking out the window?" Marino asks.
Mrs. Paulsson stares at the floor, unblinking, fists clenched so hard her nails are digging into her palms.
Marino glances at Scarpetta and she says from the fireplace, "It's all right, Mrs. Paulsson. Try to calm down. Try to relax a little bit. When he was petting Sweetie through the fence, how long was this before Gilly died?"
Mrs. Paulsson wipes her eyes and shuts them.
"Days? Weeks? Months?"
She raises her eyes and looks at her. "I don't know why you came back here. I told you not to."
"This is about Gilly," Scarpetta says, trying to get Mrs. Paulsson to focus on what she doesn't want to think about. "We need to know about the man you saw through the fence, the man you said was petting Sweetie."
"You can't just come back here when I told you not to."
"I'm sorry you don't want me here," Scarpetta replies, standing quietly in front of the fireplace. "You may not think so, but I'm trying to help. All of us want to find out what happened to your daughter. And what happened to Sweetie."
"No," she says with dry eyes that stare weirdly at Scarpetta. "I want you to leave." She doesn't indicate that Marino should leave. She doesn't even seem aware of him sitting in the chair to the left of the couch, not even two feet from where she sits. "If you don't get out, I'm calling someone. The police. I'll call them."
You want to be alone with him, Scarpetta thinks. You want more of the game because games are easier than what is real. "Remember when the police took things out of Gilly's bedroom?" she asks. "Remember they took the linens off her bed. There were a lot of things taken to the labs."
"I don't want you here," she says, motionless on the couch, her harshly pretty face staring coldly at her.
"Scientists look for evidence. Everything on Gilly's bed linens, everything on her pajamas, everything the police took from your house was looked at. And she was looked at. I looked at her," Scarpetta goes on, staring back at Mrs. Paulsson's cheap, pretty-face. "The scientists didn't find any dog hairs. Not one."
Mrs. Paulsson stares at her and a thought moves in her eyes like a minnow moving in shallow brown water.
"Not one dog hair. Not one hair from a basset hound," Scarpetta says in the same quiet, firm voice from the higher ground of the fireplace where she stands, looking down at Mrs. Paulsson on the couch. "Sweetie's gone, all right. Because she never existed. There is no puppy. There never was.
"Tell her to leave," Mrs. Paulsson says to Marino without looking at him. "Make her get out of my house," she says as if he is her ally or her man. "You doctors do what you want to people," she says to Scarpetta. "You doctors do exactly what you want to people."
"Why'd you lie about the puppy?" Marino asks.
"Sweetie's gone," she replies. "Gone."
"We would know if there'd been a dog in your house," he says.
"Gilly started looking out her window a lot. Because of Sweetie, looking out at Sweetie. Opening her window and calling out to Sweetie," Mrs. Paulsson says, staring down at her clenched hands.
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