Shame

running her fingers up and down the buttons of her red silk blouse. “Lots.”
    Caleb said nothing, just sat down on the sofa and frowned at the television.
    “They’ve been doing all sorts of live new spots. From sheriff’s headquarters, from your house...”
    “Anna and the kids weren’t there, were they?”
    She shook her head. “They’re in hiding, or at least that’s what one report said.”
    “Good.” Maybe Elizabeth had actually followed through, he thought, and helped them.
    “I thought I’d be better about all this,” Lola said. “But I’m feeling awfully uncomfortable. I guess I’m not as brave as I wanted to believe.”
    “Few of us are.”
    She kept biting her lower lip, wanting to say more, but resisting the impulse.
    Caleb sensed the unsaid: Lola wanted him out. “I’m not the man they’re talking about on the television,” he said. “I’m not my father.”
    “I know that.”
    “I wish I had your intuition.”
    “It doesn’t mean I don’t have my doubts. I do. But they’re as much about me as you. There are times when I want to do what’s safe, as opposed to doing what’s right.”
    Welcome to my world, thought Caleb.
    “Is that writer going to help you?” Lola asked.
    “I don’t know.”
    The television volume went up, not for a commercial but another news break. “Here we go again,” said Lola.
    A news anchor sat at his desk in a studio, offering an extra-somber face to the camera, his expression so serious that few wrinkles emerged through his thick pancake makeup. “This is Donald Jones with KGSI News,” he said. “We have a breaking story on Caleb Parker, son of serial murderer Gray Parker, who is a suspect in three recent murders in San Diego County. Our own Lisa Wong is on the scene in Coronado. Lisa?”
    The shot changed to the reporter on the street. “Thank you, Donald. I’m standing on H Street in Coronado where just minutes ago it is believed that Caleb Parker, son of infamous serial murderer Gray ‘Shame’ Parker, attacked and attempted to strangle true-crime writer Elizabeth Line in her own vehicle.”
    “What?” Caleb’s outburst was shrill. “That’s impossible,” he said, then turned to Lola. “You know that’s impossible.”
    He stopped talking so that they could hear more.
    “...where Ms. Line escaped serious injury by sounding her horn and attracting attention. According to witnesses, the assailant was dressed in a sailor’s outfit. Unfortunately, that’s the dress of choice for many thousands of San Diegans today, as the aircraft carrier
Constellation
just pulled into port this afternoon. Despite that, police are continuing their search for Parker throughout the downtown area.”
    “What the hell is going on?” said Caleb. He slapped the arm of his chair and then smacked his own forehead. Lola pretended not to notice; her eyes never wavered from the television.
    “Elizabeth Line is probably best known for writing the book
Shame,
a biography of Parker’s father. Whether Line is acquainted with Caleb Parker is not yet known, but she
has been
in the San Diego area for at least the last two days. I had the opportunity to interview her this morning at the sheriff’s press conference, where she proved very reluctant to talk about her involvement in this case.”
    “Who says I attacked her?” asked Caleb. “Who the hell says that?”
    The camera shot changed from the street to the studio. With a somber and stentorian voice, the anchor asked, “Lisa, have the police confirmed that Parker was the assailant?”
    The anchor believed in practicing journalism the way trial lawyers practiced jurisprudence: always know the answer beforeasking the question. The screen split, allowing viewers to see both the anchor and the reporter.
    “Police on the scene won’t say anything for the camera,” said Lisa, “but I just got off the phone with SDPD spokesperson Karen Coben, and she told me that Elizabeth Line herself identified her attacker as Caleb Parker.”
    “No,” said Caleb. His mouth was open and his head was shaking. “No.”
    Lola sat very still, frozen like an animal trying to escape being noticed.
    “Maybe that’s why she couldn’t talk to me,” Caleb said. “I noticed her voice sounded funny, but I didn’t really think about it. She was breathing heavily when she called, and her voice sounded raspy and strained.”
    Lola didn’t say anything, still wouldn’t look at him.
    “You don’t believe me,” Caleb