The smile grew a little.
“Where do you go to school?” Frank asked.
“I don’t.” At Frank’s look of surprise, he said, “I used to, but now I’m home schooled.”
“Your mother teaches you?”
“Yes. And sometimes my aunt. She teaches me French and about the history of the Quebecois and Canada. My mom teaches me lots of stuff. Spelling, reading, math. Spanish — we learn that together. And self-defense. You should teach your wife that, you know.”
“Self-defense?”
“Yes, because the dogs are good, but they might not be with her all the time when bad guys are around.”
“You have a lot of trouble with bad guys?”
He shook his head, then smiled a little. “But once this kid at school? He was being mean to me all the time, and he tried to hit me, so I flipped him!”
“You mean, with a karate throw?”
“Yeah! All the other kids were going, ‘Whoa! I can’t believe it!’” He looked a little sheepish. “I didn’t break any of his bones or anything, but I got in big trouble. Mom said I can’t do that to other kids — I have to use it for my last dessert.”
“As a last resort, maybe?”
“Yes. That’s what I mean.”
“That’s not why you’re home schooled, is it?”
“You mean, did I get kicked out? No way!”
“Do you like being home schooled?”
He hesitated, glancing toward the kitchen. “Of course. I learn more this way. I’ll show you.”
He led Frank down a hallway toward the back of the condo, to a door with a hand-lettered sign taped to it: Private — Please Do Not Enter Without Permission. The second s in “permission” appeared to have been squeezed in after consultation with a dictionary.
“This is my room,” he said, opening the door.
At first glance, the room seemed to be in utter chaos. Hardly a surface was bare. A piece of clothesline stretched from two hooks in the wall above the bed, and over it a sheet formed a tent of sorts above the mattress. An elaborate Lego structure stood in the middle of the room — a fort, it seemed, judging from the number of green plastic army men on parade within its walls. They appeared to be under the command of a Batman figurine. In one corner, a large and intricate guinea pig abode held My Dog, who gave out a series of dovelike cooing sounds as they entered the room. While Seth greeted him, Frank continued to survey the room.
A Macintosh computer with a screensaver of constellations sat on a desk piled high with schoolbooks. There was a map of the world on one wall, a history timeline on another. “What are all the stickers on the map?”
“I come from those places. I mean, those are places where my grandfathers and great-grandfathers and great-great-grandfathers are from — and all the grandmothers, too. I’m from all over the world. Cool, huh?”
“Yes,” Frank said. “Very cool — so’s this poster.”
The closet door had an old hockey poster on it — Gordie Howe. Long before Seth’s time.
“Are you a hockey fan?” Frank asked.
“Yes. That poster was my father’s, when he was little.” Seth stared at it, frowning — although Frank thought he was concentrating on something other than Howe’s photo. The boy moved to a small telescope near the window, fidgeting with it for a moment before he said, “I saw a movie once where someone used a picture to make a ghost come into a house. Did you see that one?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Peering into the large end of the telescope, he asked with studied casualness, “Do you think there’s any such thing as ghosts?”
“You mean the scary kind, like the ones you see in movies?”
He looked up from the lens and nodded solemnly.
Frank thought of the times when, while working on especially disturbing cases, he had awakened with a start — and for a brief half-asleep, half-awake instant felt certain that he had seen a murder victim sitting at the end of his bed. “No,” he said. “Do you?”
“Not really,” Seth said.
“Are you afraid you might see your father’s ghost?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Your father was a good man who would have wanted to be with you if he could. He never, ever would have harmed you.”
“Even if he knew I had been bad?”
“Even then. He was smart, and he would understand that everybody does something wrong now and then. He’d know that you try to be good.”
Seth quietly considered this as he walked around the room, familiar with an unobstructed path of his own design. He straightened a Batman comic book that lay on a small table next to the bed, aligning it with a book about dinosaurs and another about ships. He picked up a portable CD player, flipped the cover open and shut a few times, and set it down. Then he gestured to Frank to come nearer a wall with a series of shelves on it. These shelves held an assortment of objects on them.
He showed Frank his rock collection, a seashell collection, a shed snake-skin that he had found while visiting Matt in the desert.
“Matt’s a good friend of yours, isn’t he?” Frank asked.
“Yeah. He’s pretty fun, but he’s been sick lately, so I don’t get to visit him so often. He had to have an operation on his heart. He’s got a big scar. From here to here,” he said with a certain amount of relish as he traced a line from his neck to his belly button.
“Who are your other friends?”
He looked away and shrugged, then said, “You want to see my hockey cards?” Without waiting for an answer, he got down on all fours and pulled a shoebox from beneath the bed. He pulled the sheet from the clothesline, then invited Frank to sit next to him on the bed, where he had already displayed several of his favorite cards. He began an impressive recital of not only player stats but observations on the players’ performances in recent games.
“Do you play hockey?” Frank asked.
“No,” he said sadly, then added on a more hopeful note, “I might get to play next year.” His face fell again. “But I don’t know. That might be too late. All the other kids will have a head start on me.”
“No, you can always learn to play. I just started playing last year.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I’m not a great hockey player, but I have a lot of fun. Do you ice-skate?”
“Yes. I’m a good skater.”
“And you watch the game. I think you’ll do fine.”
“Can I watch you play?”
“We’ll ask your mom. The games are pretty late at night.”
Seth smiled. “That’s one good thing about home schooling. I can sleep in!” He fell back onto his pillow, eyes shut, making snoring noises.
There was a knock at the bedroom door. “Seth!” Elena called through it.
He sat upright and called back, “Yes?”
She opened the door. “Are you hungry? Lunch is ready.”
Frank saw a slightly mischievous look come into Seth’s eyes. “It can’t be!” the boy said. “I didn’t hear the smoke alarm!”
“Come on, Mr. Smartmouth.” She saw the hockey cards and said, “You must really rate, Detective Harriman.” She didn’t seem especially happy about it.
Mistaking the cause of her displeasure, Seth hurried over to her and said, “I was just teasing, Mom. You’re a great cook.”
Her face softened and she ruffled his hair. “Oh, yeah? I did burn dinner the other night, so I guess I deserve a little teasing.”
“You were upset—”
She glanced nervously at Frank, then quickly said to Seth, “Matt’s back, and you know he has to take Aunt Yvette to the airport right after lunch. So hurry and wash up, okay?”
Seth started to sit next to Frank, then moved to take a seat by his mother. Elena managed a smile and said, “Go on, sit next to your guest.”
Seth patted her shoulder and stayed where he was, which made Yvette smile and say something to him in French, which seemed to please him.