Diamond wasn't expecting fine art from Naomi. He was willing to settle for a mark on the paper, of any sort. He took hold of her left hand and carefully inserted the marker between her fingers. He'd noticed that she used the left when she held a paper cup. Plenty of thought was going into this.
Naomi declined to grip the marker and let it flop out of her hand.
"I think you could do this," he said, more for his own morale than the child's. "I really think you could." He replaced her fingers around the marker and guided her hand to produce a shaky circle on the drawing pad. "There!"
The accomplishment was lost on Naomi.
"Suit yourself, miss." More disappointed than he cared to show, he turned his back on the child and stepped over to the table where the coffee things were. He might as well switch the kettle on now so that the teachers didn't have to wait when they came in at lunchtime. That would be the sum of his achievements for this lesson. He checked the water level, pressed the switch and stared out of the window, listening to the kettle begin the moaning note that was sometimes mistaken for a child crying.
Then he was conscious of a light touch on his right hand. Unbidden, Naomi had got up from her chair and reached up to place her palm against his.
He stared down, amazed. Elated. Did he dare feel elated? She didn't return his glance, but what she had done was enough. It was the first positive gesture she had made towards him, or towards anyone in the school, so far as he knew. He let his fingers gently enclose the small hand. He and Naomi stood together in front of the window in silence, in some sort of harmony, the irresistible force and the immovable object.
The kettle was coming to the boil and it had some fault in the mechanism that stopped it from switching off. He let it steam for a time and then leaned forward and with his left hand switched off the wall socket Naomi took it as the signal to remove her hand from his and go back to her chair. He turned, smiling to let her see that it wasn't meant as a rejection. She didn't respond.
His eyes were misting. For pity's sake, he thought, I'm not going soft, am I? Peter Diamond, ex-CID?
At lunchtime, he told Julia Musgrave about the drawing session. They sat together on a bench under a sycamore tree in the school garden eating sandwiches. By then he was able to be more objective, admitting that it might be a mistake to place too much significance on the incident.
"No, we need all the encouragement that's going in this work," she said. "Some kids never make a spontaneous gesture of friendship like that to another person. Never. It's terrific news, Peter. Let's face it, no one else has made any progress with her. I think the woman from the embassy has despaired of ever getting through. She didn't come at all this week. She phoned instead. They're talking about sending Naomi to a school in Boston that specializes in autism. It's run by Japanese teachers."
"Boston?" Diamond said, aghast "Send her to America? That's going to confuse the kid even more."
"They're getting remarkable results. Several children from mis country have been taken there. It may be the best solution for her. We're making no progress here-well, not until mis morning." She paused, looking at him earnestly. "They call it the Boston Hagashi School. Apparently hagashi means 'hope' in Japanese. Don't you think that's a beautiful idea?"
If it was, he wasn't receptive to it "Look, I know you mean to do right by Naomi, but suppose she isn't autistic?"
"It's not really my decision, Peter. She's in the care of the local authority."
"Who'd be very relieved to have her taken off their hands, no doubt."
"Now you're being cynical."
'Tell me something, then. What precisely is being done to find her parents?"
She sighed. "The police are making inquiries. No one has given any worthwhile information, so far as I can gather. No one has reported her missing. Where are the parents? Somebody definitely looked after her up to the time she was found. She was clean and decently dressed. She's been abandoned, Peter, and I don't think the parents are going to change their minds. Young mothers sometimes come forward to reclaim newborn babies left on doorsteps, but this is something else."
"Agreed."
"I often meet parents who feel they can't cope any longer with disturbed children-only they don't just leave them in Harrods and walk away."
"What is it, six weeks now?" Diamond asked, making a point rather than seeking the answer, which he knew.
"Almost."
"In the first week, her picture was in the papers."
"And on television. Nothing came of it."
He said thoughtfully, "The picture was only a still, and it was only on the regional news. I'd like to get her onto a national TV program, like 'Crimewatch.'"
Julia Musgrave frowned. "We don't know that a crime is involved."
"Abandoning a child her age?"
She shook her head. "It's not the best way to reach her parents. Somewhere out there is a very distressed mother."
"All right, let's see if we can get Naomi on a chat show."
"A chat show?"
"You'd do the chatting, but she'd be seen by millions."
"Peter, I'm not sure that it's right to put a disturbed little girl in front of television cameras."
He understood her reluctance without supporting it. "I'd agree with you if she was a gibbering idiot, or scared of people, like Clive. But you and I know how she'll conduct herself on television. She'll stay as calm as ever. Self-possessed. She's in control. You can't deny that. And if she appears live, it's going to make a far bigger impact than a still picture. There's a very good chance that someone will recognize her."
"I'm not at all happy about this."
"And I'm far from happy about the kid being whisked off to America when her parents may still be here in England. Let me make some inquiries. This is just the kind of story they like to take up on TV. She's a very appealing child."
"Exactly," she said with passion. "I don't want her used. We don't have the moral right to turn her into an object for people to goggle at If she's on television, you can bet the papers will take it up. We'll have all sorts of well-meaning folk offering to adopt her, sending her toys-"
"Does she have any toys?"
"She isn't interested, Peter. We have a whole menagerie of stuffed animals."
"How about toys with wheels?" he asked suddenly, recalling Dr. Ettlinger's observation.
"She isn't a spinner, rest assured. Look, television is an entertainment medium. Naomi isn't entertainment, she's a vulnerable child with a serious impairment."
"Julia, people aren't going to laugh at her, for God's sake."
She regarded him steadily. "If this had been Clive or Rajinder whose people we couldn't find, would you take them on television?"
"Probably not on a talk show," he conceded.
"And why not?"
"Their behavior wouldn't do them credit-but they're different. You and I know that Naomi would acquit herself impeccably." "Oh, yes?" A glint came to her eye. "How do you know she wouldn't bite the cameraman?"
He had to smile at the prospect.
Julia's attention switched abruptly to Mrs. Straw, who was bearing down on them from the direction of the house. From the manner of her approach, the carriage of her shoulders and the swing of her thighs, she had something awesome to announce, and she was going to make sure that it received its proper attention.
"What is it, Mrs. Straw?" Julia asked.
"I think you should look in the staffroom, Miss Musgrave. Somebody stupidly left a marker pen lying about. The Japanese girl found it, and she's scribbled all over the walls, and they were only papered three months ago. You never saw anything like it!"
The vandalism in the staffroom provided Diamond with his first opportunity of detective work since leaving Bath. The perpetrator of the graffiti had done an effective job, for the walls were copiously covered in aimless scribble. Nor had the furniture escaped. The thick, black lines had turned the lower half of the room into what one of the teachers described as a Jackson Pollock. The reference went over Diamond's head, although it sounded apt.