Part 30 (1/2)

I saw in an instant, because I was getting good at that sort of thing, that it was a brown county car, not a blue Meadowbrook Grove car. And that was something. But it wasn't much. I felt that jarring electric zap in my stomach. Not a loose wire zap, but a strapped to the electric chair with a black hood over your head sort of jolt. And for an instant I felt that I would start running, commanded by my feet and a base animal instinct; I would simply take off and be gone. But that never happened.

The woman from the day before, Aimee Toms, got out of the car. Her face was blank, impa.s.sive, strangely appealing in its authority. ”I need to talk to you,” she said to me. ”I want you to come with me.”

”Am I under arrest?”

”I just want to ask you some questions.”

I turned to Chitra. ”You go,” I said. ”Go to the bus station and go home. I'll call you. I'll come see you.”

”I'm not going without you,” she said.

”You have to. Believe me, I'm in way over my head, but you're not in any real danger if I'm not around, and I'll be better off if I don't have to worry about you.”

She nodded. Then she kissed me. I couldn't say exactly what the meaning was, but I can tell you that I liked it a whole h.e.l.l of a lot.

And then Officer Toms led me into the back of the police car and drove me away.

Chapter 35.

AIMEE T TOMS STARED STRAIGHT AHEAD-or I thought she did, but I couldn't be sure with her eyes hidden behind her mirrored sungla.s.ses. Even when she talked to me, she didn't move her head. Sitting behind the pa.s.senger seat, I watched her firm lower jaw work its way over a piece of gum that I knew, without asking her or seeing it, would be sugarless.

”So, what's your story, kid?” she asked after we'd pulled out of the motel.

I didn't kill them. I was there, but I didn't do it, and I couldn't have stopped it. The words sat there, drew me in with their gravity well, tried to shape my answer the way tracks shape the path of a train. But I wasn't going to give in. I was going to try to tough it out. And if things became too frightening, I could always break down later. The words sat there, drew me in with their gravity well, tried to shape my answer the way tracks shape the path of a train. But I wasn't going to give in. I was going to try to tough it out. And if things became too frightening, I could always break down later.

”I'm just trying to make some money to go to college,” I told her. ”I got into Columbia, but I can't afford it.”

”South Carolina?”

”New York.”

”Never heard of it. The school, not the city. You look kind of collegey,” she observed. ”Which is why I don't understand why you're getting involved in all of this.”

”All of what?” My voice cracked like her gum.

”You tell me.”

”I'm really sorry I trespa.s.sed yesterday,” I said, ”but you didn't seem to think it was a big deal then. Why is it a big deal now?”

”Trespa.s.sing isn't such a big deal,” Officer Toms agreed. ”On the other hand, drugs and murder-now, that's a big deal.”

”I don't understand,” I said. It didn't sound convincing because the fear wafted out of my mouth, the hot vapor of fear in the cold air-conditioning of the car.

”Listen, Lemuel. Lem?”

”Lem,” I confirmed.

”Listen, Lem. I'm a pretty good judge of character. I look at you, I talk to you, I see you're not a bad guy. Believe me, I've been doing this long enough-and it doesn't take that long, I'm sorry to say-to know that good people get mixed up in bad things. Sometimes they don't understand what they're doing. Sometimes they're just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But instead of coming forward, they hide and lie and break more laws to cover things up.”

All of this came uncomfortably close to the truth, and I knew there was nothing I could say that wouldn't reveal that closeness. I looked out the window instead.

”All I'm saying,” she continued, ”is that if you tell me everything that's going on, I'll do all I can to help you out, to see that you're not punished for being a victim of circ.u.mstance. Even if you think it's too late to talk, it isn't.”

”I don't know what you mean,” I said. ”All I did was wander a little too close to a farm. I don't see why it's a big deal.”

”We can do it that way if you want,” she told me. She didn't say anything else until we arrived at the station.

It looked like an old office building, and except for their uniforms, the cops inside might have been just generic weary civic employees. The air conditioner gurgled mightily but produced little cold air, and overhead electric fans turned slowly enough that doc.u.ments would not dislodge from desks.

Toms had a hand on my upper arm and squeezed with a kind of firm sympathy. My arms were behind my back. She hadn't cuffed me, but it seemed like a good idea to keep them back there out of respect or to acknowledge that I knew she could could cuff me so there was no point in flaunting my freedom. As we walked down a pale green cinder-block-lined hallway, which looked like a forgotten annex of my high school, we pa.s.sed a uniformed officer walking a handcuffed black guy in the opposite direction. He was just a teenager, really, tall and lanky with a shaved head and the ghost of a mustache. He might have been my age, but he had the hard look of a criminal in his eyes, violent and seething and apathetic. I cast him a glance as we pa.s.sed, as though to say that we were both victims of an oppressive system, but the kid looked back with rage, as if he would kill me if he ever had the chance. cuff me so there was no point in flaunting my freedom. As we walked down a pale green cinder-block-lined hallway, which looked like a forgotten annex of my high school, we pa.s.sed a uniformed officer walking a handcuffed black guy in the opposite direction. He was just a teenager, really, tall and lanky with a shaved head and the ghost of a mustache. He might have been my age, but he had the hard look of a criminal in his eyes, violent and seething and apathetic. I cast him a glance as we pa.s.sed, as though to say that we were both victims of an oppressive system, but the kid looked back with rage, as if he would kill me if he ever had the chance.

Toms shook her head. ”George Kingsley. You get a good look at him?”

”Enough to tell he'd slit my throat just for the fun of it.”

”Yeah, he's like that. The thing is, Lem, I knew him when he was this smart little twelve-year-old. His father had all kinds of problems with the law, which was why I knew him, but his mother's a good lady who saw he got to school and stayed out of trouble. But this kid did more than just follow the rules. He was always reading and talking about stuff. The ideas, the political political ideas, you'd hear from him, a kid of twelve or thirteen. He was going to fix all the problems in the world. He was going to be a politician and help the black people. And he knew which laws he would repeal, which he would pa.s.s. It was incredible.” ideas, you'd hear from him, a kid of twelve or thirteen. He was going to fix all the problems in the world. He was going to be a politician and help the black people. And he knew which laws he would repeal, which he would pa.s.s. It was incredible.”

”I guess it didn't do him much good.”

”As near as I can figure it, he was hanging with some of the wrong kids one day when one of them decided it was time to stick up a convenience store. Kingsley thought they were there for candy. This other kid, he pulled out a gun. Stupidest thing. I don't think the others knew he was planning anything, but they wouldn't lay it all on their friend. So Kingsley goes to juvie for deciding to buy a Snickers with the wrong people. He was only in for eighteen months, but when he came out he was different. It was like they'd beaten all the heart out of him. He went in this lively, engaged little spitfire, someone on track to maybe really change the world for the better, and he came out just another thug from the thug machine.”

”That's a real tragedy,” I said, doing my best to sound as though I meant it. I was having a hard time focusing on George Kingsley's problems when I had some doozies of my own.

”Yeah, it is a real tragedy. You want that to happen to you? You plan to head off to Columbus University, don't you? How about the university of getting raped every night?”

She was trying to unnerve me, but what was the point? I was already plenty unnerved. I wasn't some tough kid who needed to be scared straight. But I was a bit of a smart-a.s.s. ”If everyone knows that weaker prisoners are getting raped by more vicious prisoners,” I said, ”how come no one does anything about it?”

”I don't know,” she said. ”Maybe you can raise that with the warden once you're inside.”

I didn't want to think about Melford's prison riddle, but that was all I could think about, because I now knew the answer. I understood what Melford had been getting at. I understood why we had prisons if they didn't work. I understood why we put lawbreakers in criminal academies to turn them into more dangerous, more bloodthirsty, more alienated criminals. I knew why Kingsley had gone in a victim and come out a victimizer. Prisons were set up that way because they did did work, they just worked at something more sinister than I'd ever realized. work, they just worked at something more sinister than I'd ever realized.

We sat in a small interrogation room around a flimsy metal table that had been bolted to the floor. I guess the cops thought some thief might try to make off with it if they weren't careful. The surrounding walls were all the same pale green cinder block as the hallways-except for the billowy mirror facing me. I had no doubt that someone could could be watching from the other side, though I thought it unlikely that anyone would be bothered. be watching from the other side, though I thought it unlikely that anyone would be bothered.

Toms sat across from me and leaned forward on her elbows. ”Okay,” she said. ”You know why you're here.”

”No, I don't,” I told her. ”I have no idea why I'm here.” Only partially true. I had no idea what they knew and what they didn't know. What struck me, however, was how calm I felt. Maybe it was because I believed Aimee Toms to be basically friendly and maybe because I'd faced scarier moments than this-a whole bunch of them-in the past couple of days. I felt okay. I felt like if I played it cool, the way Melford did, I'd be all right.

”Let's talk about Lionel Semmes,” she said.

I felt myself suck in a breath. Not out of recognition, but out of exasperation. Lionel Semmes? There was yet another player in all this? How deep did all this go? ”Who is that that?”

Toms sighed. ”You might know him as b.a.s.t.a.r.d.”

”Oh, b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Right. What about him?”

”Tell me about him.”