Eyes of a Child (77 page)

He pushed open the door – it seemed like an act of will – and hurried to Terri's office.

It was empty.

Her secretary, May, sat outside, a pleasant Chinese woman with framed pictures of her children arranged across her desk. ‘I thought Terri was here,' he said tersely.

May glanced at the calendar on her desk. ‘She will be, except for the next hour. She has a doctor's appointment.'

Paget felt suddenly alone. ‘With Dr Harris?'

May nodded. She started to say something and then gave him the oblique watchful look Paget had come to associate with his wait for the jury. In a tentative voice, May asked, ‘Shall I tell her to come find you?'

‘No,' Paget answered. ‘I won't be here.'

When Terri entered Harris's office, the psychologist looked like someone who could no longer hide bad news.

‘What is it?' Terri demanded. ‘You were so strange on the telephone.'

‘Sit down, Terri. Please.'

It was only then that Terri realized she was standing. She took a chair across from Harris.

‘I've been keeping this for over a week,' Harris said without preface. ‘Because of Chris's trial. I'm sorry, but in good conscience I can't wait anymore.'

Terri felt herself inhale. ‘All right.'

Harris leaned forward ‘I now believe,' the psychologist said slowly, ‘that Elena has been sexually molested. And that it may be at the heart of her problem.'

Tears came to Terri's eyes, as if from a sudden sting. ‘How do you know?'

‘Play therapy, in part. Do you know the motif of the abandoned girl? Last week, when I asked what the doll was afraid of, she pulled up its dress and began tickling the doll's stomach. And then Elena turned her face from me and stroked the doll between her legs.' Harris paused for a moment. ‘The things she said about it, that it scared the doll and yet sometimes felt good, were very real. As if she knew exactly how that was.'

Terri could not speak. All that she could see was Elena with her face turned to the wall, refusing to answer when Terri asked if Carlo had touched her. ‘Tickling,' Harris went on, ‘can be a metaphor for molestation. And quite often, that's how it starts – the molester makes it like a game and then slowly crosses the line. Just as Elena did with the doll.'

Terri found her voice again. ‘Are there other things?' she asked.

‘Yes.' Harris's own voice was firmer now, as if she was relieved to talk. ‘Her prior behaviour – the withdrawal, the pseudomaturity, the disinterest in other children – is consistent with sexual abuse. So is the playground incident that her teacher reported to you and Richie.' Harris folded her hands. ‘But what struck me, even before last week, is that Elena always portrays the doll as helpless and in danger – like some trust has been abused, Elena's sense of boundaries violated. Add to that my belief that she feels guilty because she was part of something wrong and yet remembers that, as terrified as she was, she
also
experienced some pleasure. Just as any child discovers when first touching herself.'

Terri felt a faint nausea. ‘Has she told you how it happened?'

Harris shook her head. ‘Elena,' she said finally, ‘has never
told
me anything. But I'm morally certain she's been abused.
And
that it's probably why she seemed to feel at fault for Richie's death: she thinks she's a bad person. Once children feel
that
, they make themselves responsible for every bad thing that happens.'

In the eyes of a child, Terri remembered Chris saying, everything that happens is about herself. But it was no use remembering what a fool she herself had been. ‘How can I help her?' she asked.

‘By being patient.' Harris spoke more softly. ‘Whoever did this, I think, told Elena that awful things would happen if she ever told anyone. Secrecy, and shame, are terrible burdens for a child to carry. That may be the meaning of why the little girl is afraid to talk to the alligator.'

‘Will she
ever
talk to
you
? Or me? Or tell us who it was?'

‘I don't know.' Harris was still quiet. ‘After she touched the doll, I asked Elena if what happened to the little girl had ever happened to
her.
She turned away and wouldn't talk. Just as she did when you asked her whether Carlo had ever touched her.'

Terri found that she felt both anger and despair. ‘She's my daughter, damn it. Isn't there
something
I can do?'

‘Spend whatever time you can with her. The fact that she acted out her trauma through the doll is progress. Next week, or next year, she may talk to me
or
to you.' Harris gave her a look of deep compassion. ‘I know that's all you've been doing lately – waiting. But it's all that I can tell you to do.'

Terri stood without answering. For an instant, she flashed on Carlo, walking to the park with Elena. And then all she wanted was to see her daughter.

Murmuring something to Harris, she walked quickly from the room.

‘
All rise
,' the courtroom deputy called out, and for the last time, in
People v. Paget
, Jared Lerner ascended the bench.

His face was grim. He took in the scene before him – the reporters quiet and waiting, Victor Salinas standing with his hands in front of him, seeming to fidget without moving. Next to Paget, Caroline seemed to draw a breath and hold it. Paget's stomach felt hollow; the jury, silent and staring at the judge, would not look at him or at each other.

They've found me guilty, he thought.

Joseph Duarte stood stiffly, appearing pale and a little smaller than before. ‘I understand,' Lerner said to him, ‘that you're reached a verdict.'

‘We have, Your Honor.'

Lerner turned to his bailiff, a uniformed sheriff's deputy with a broad chest and a bushy mustache. ‘Mr Bailiff, will you collect the forms of verdict.'

Silent, Duarte handed the man four slips of paper: verdict forms, signed by the foreman, for each of the four counts against Paget – first- or second-degree murder, voluntary or involuntary man-slaughter. The bailiff walked across the courtroom and handed them to Lerner. Except for his footsteps on the wooden floor, there was no sound.

One after another, Lerner read the four slips of paper. With the first slip, his eyebrows rose and stayed there. When he was finished reading, he handed the forms to the courtroom clerk, a round-faced Irishman to whom Paget had hardly given thought and who now held the jury's verdict in his hands.

Lerner faced them again. ‘Members of the jury,' he said calmly, ‘my clerk will read each verdict aloud. Thereafter I will ask each one of you whether this is your true verdict.'

Duarte nodded. Behind him, Paget saw Luisa Marin raise her head. Next to Marin, Marian Celler silently took her hand.

Paget turned from them. For an instant the faces of witnesses flashed before him – Terri and Carlo, Charles Monk and Jack Slocum, Elizabeth Shelton and Georgina Keller. Anna Velez.

The clerk began reading. ‘In the Superior Court for the City and County of San Francisco, Case Number 93 –5701,
The people of California versus Christopher Kenyon Paget
, on the charge of murder in the first degree, we the jury find the defendant, Christopher Paget . . .'

In profile, Caroline shut her eyes. The deputy's pause seemed endless.

‘. . . 
not
guilty.'

A stunned murmur. Numb, Paget braced himself for the second count. The clerk's voice seemed to come from far away.

‘On the charge of murder in the second degree, we the jury find the defendant, Christopher Paget,
not
guilty.'

Caroline threw her head back, a first smile on her lips.

‘On the charge of manslaughter in the first degree . . .
not
guilty.

‘On the charge of manslaughter in the second degree . . .
not
guilty.'

The courtroom exploded in sound.

Caroline turned to Paget in triumph. Clasping her shoulders, he said in a shaky voice, ‘You're wonderful.'

Caroline grinned as if she would never stop. ‘Yes. I am.'

Lerner banged for silence. ‘Members of the jury,' he intoned, ‘I will now poll you individually.'

Silence fell.

The next few moments were only impressions: Duarte's phlegmatic ‘yes'; Celler's calm affirmation. It was only when Luisa Marin, smiling slightly, answered ‘yes' in a firm voice that Paget guessed what had happened.

‘
She
turned Duarte,' he murmured.

Caroline nodded. ‘I think so. Wonders really
do
never cease.'

As the polling ended, Victor Salinas stared down at the floor. And then he squared his shoulders, facing Lerner again. Paget began imagining Carlo and Terri when he told them.

Lerner turned to his clerk again, saying, ‘The clerk will record the verdict.'

The clerk took each form. He raised a metal stamp above the first form; the stamp descended with a thud. It fell three more times, resonating in the silent room, and the trial of Christopher Paget was over.

‘The defendant is discharged,' Lerner intoned. Facing Paget, he smiled slightly. ‘Mr Paget, you are free to go.'

For the final time, Lerner gazed out at the jury. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,' he said, ‘I would like to express the court's thanks for your service in this difficult case.' He stood, looking out at the courtroom for a moment, and then left the bench.

‘Jesus,' Paget murmured. ‘Jesus.'

Beneath the table, Caroline touched his hand. ‘Steady, boy,' she whispered. ‘You've got things to do. Like figure out what movie to see this weekend.'

Turning to the jury, Paget saw four sheriff's deputies shepherding them out the door, to ward off reporters. Briefly, Joseph Duarte nodded to Caroline; Luisa Marin glanced at Paget and then turned, smiling, to Marian Celler.

Abruptly, they were gone.

In the noise of the gallery, Victor Salinas walked across the courtroom. ‘Congratulations,' he said to Caroline, and held out his hand.

Silent, they shook hands. And then, to Paget's surprise, Salinas turned to him and extended his hand.

After a moment, Paget took it.

Salinas faced Caroline again. ‘You outlawyered me,' he said. ‘I learn all the time.'

Caroline shrugged. ‘Mac screwed you, Victor. No help for that.'

Salinas smiled a little. ‘Not now, anyhow.' He glanced over his shoulder at the watching reporters and went to face them, stoic.

What, Paget found himself wondering, had Salinas meant? But it hardly mattered now. He was rid of the specter that had haunted him since he first had lied to Charles Monk; thanks to Caroline Masters, and his own resolve, he had got away with it.

‘Ready for the press?' Caroline asked him.

Paget was quiet. Another thought had struck him: no one would ever answer for the death of Ricardo Arias.

‘First, I need to call Carlo,' he said softly. ‘And Terri, of course.'

Seeing her mother at the classroom door, Elena gave her a look that combined surprise, apprehension, and pleasure in such rapid sequence that Terri wanted to pick her up.

Instead she walked over to the teacher. ‘I'm sorry,' she said pleasantly. ‘But Elena has a doctor's appointment. I forgot to call.'

‘Oh, of course.' Turning, the young blond woman beckoned to Elena. The little girl took a few tentative steps from her desk, and then Terri smiled. ‘I'm here for you, sweetheart.'

Elena looked at the teacher for permission. The woman nodded. ‘Your mother's taking you to the doctor, Elena.'

The little girl turned to Terri again, obscurely worried. ‘Dr Harris, Mommy?'

‘No.' Terri smiled. ‘Dr Mom.'

The teacher gave Terri a puzzled look. But Elena went to her mother, touching her skirt; something about this simple gesture filled Terri's heart with love and sadness. Terri took her hand, and they left.

Ouside, Elena blinked at the sunlight. ‘Where are we going?' she asked.

‘For ice cream. I was hungry.'

Elena turned to her, delighted by the surprise, and then frowned at another thought. ‘You didn't tell the truth, Mommy.'

‘I guess that wasn't good, was it?' Terri smiled down at her daughter. ‘People don't always tell the truth, you know. But next time, I will. I'll just tell Mrs Johnson that I missed you.'

‘Did you?'

‘A lot.' Terri opened the car door. ‘Moms are like that, you know. Much more than kids.'

Elena paused by the door, turning to look up at her mother with Richie's black eyes. ‘
I
miss you.' She paused, and then added, ‘I missed you when I was with Daddy.'

Terri knelt by her daughter. ‘You don't need to miss me now, Elena. I'll be with you always and take care of you.'

Elena's look mingled hope and fear. ‘You're not going to die? Everyone dies, Mommy.'

Terri felt words stick in her throat, felt sadness for Elena, a sudden stab of worry about Chris's trial. But she managed another smile. ‘
I
won't for a long time, sweetheart. Not until
I'm
so old that
you'll
be a grandmother. Like Grandma Rosa, only older.'

There was a troubled look in Elena's eyes. ‘Let's have ice cream,' she said abruptly. ‘I want chocolate marble, like Daddy used to get me.'

They went to Rory's on Fillmore Street, double-parked, and bought two cones. Then they drove away in companionable silence, each licking her ice cream, to Terri's apartment in Noe Valley. It was only there that Terri thought of Chris again.