Public Secrets

find out what happened. I’m sorry,” he said, looking back at Lou. “I don’t remember your name.”
“Kesselring. Lieutenant Kesselring.”
“The lieutenant needs to ask you some questions.” She made no move. She barely breathed. “Bev, please.”

Perhaps it was the despair in his voice that reached down deep to where she had tried to hide herself. Her hand moved restlessly in his. For a moment she closed her eyes, held them closed, wishing with all her heart that she was dead. Then she opened them again and looked straight at Lou.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything you can tell me about that night.”
“My son was dead,” she said flatly. “What else matters?”
“Something you tell me could help me find who killed your son, Mrs. McAvoy.”
“Will that bring Darren back to me?”
“No.”
“I don’t feel anything anymore.” She stared at him with huge, tired eyes. “I don’t feel my legs or my arms or my head. When I try to feel it hurts. So it’s best not to try, isn’t it?”
“Maybe, for a while.” He drew up a chair beside the bed. “But if you could tell me what you remember from that night?”
She let her head fall back and stared up at the ceiling. Her monotone description of the party was similar to her husband’s, and to those of the others Lou had interviewed. Familiar faces, strange faces, people coming in, going out. Someone on the kitchen phone ordering pizza.
That was a new one, and Lou noted it down.
Talking with Brian, then hearing Emma scream—finding her at the foot of the steps.
“People crowded around,” she murmured. “Someone, I don’t know who, called an ambulance. We didn’t move her—we were afraid to move her. We heard the sirens coming. I wanted to go to the hospital with her, her and Brian, but I needed to check on Darren first, and to wake Alice and let her know what had happened.
“I stopped to get Emma’s robe. I don’t know why really, I just thought she might need it. I started down the hall. I was annoyed because the lights were out. We always leave the hall light on for Emma. She’s afraid of the dark. Not Darren,” she said with a half-smile. “He’s never been afraid of a thing. We only keep a night-light in his room because it’s easier for us if he wakes in the night. He often does still. He likes company.” She brought a hand to her face as her voice began to shake. “He doesn’t like to be alone.”

“I know this is hard, Mrs. McAvoy.” But she had been the first on the scene, had found, and had moved the body. “I need to know what you found when you went into his room.”
“I found my baby.” She shook off Brian’s hand. She couldn’t bear to be touched. “He was lying on the floor, by the crib. I thought, I thought, Oh God, he’s climbed up and fallen out. He was lying so still on the little blue rug. I couldn’t see his face. I picked him up. But he wouldn’t wake up. I shook him, and I screamed, but he wouldn’t wake up.”
“Did you see anyone upstairs, Mrs. McAvoy?”
“No. There was no one upstairs. Just the baby, my baby. They took him away, and they won’t let me have him. Brian, for God’s sake, why won’t you let me have him?”
“Mrs. McAvoy.” Lou rose. “I’m going to do everything I can to find out who did this. I promise you that.”
“What difference does it make?” She began to cry, huge, silent tears. “What possible difference does it make?”
It made a difference, Lou thought as he stepped into the corridor again. It had to.

E MMA STUDIED LOU with a straightforward intensity that made him feel awkward. It was the first time he could remember a child making him want to check his shirt for stains.
“I’ve seen policemen on the telly,” she said when he introduced himself. “They shoot people.”
“Sometimes.” He groped for something to say. “Do you like television?”
“Yes. We like Sesame Street the best, Darren and I.”
“Who do you like best, Big Bird or Kermit?”
She smiled a little. “I like Oscar because he’s so rude.”
Because of the smile, he took a chance and lowered the bed guard. Emma didn’t object when he sat on the edge of the bed. “I haven’t seen Sesame Street in a little while. Does Oscar still live in a garbage can?”
“Yes. And he yells at everyone.”
“I guess yelling can make you feel better sometimes. Do you know why I’m here, Emma?” She said nothing, but gathered an old black stuffed dog to her chest. “I need to talk to