The deputy frowned. “Now?”
She nodded. “Right now.”
Chapter 60
BEN ARRIVED AT HIS apartment just before nine, late, although the earliest he had made it back since the trial began. Joni was sitting on the floor in the living room with Joey, who was arranging irregularly shaped puzzle pieces to make a perfect square, over and over again.
“The warrior returns from the battlefield,” Joni said as he stepped through the door. “Look, Joey, it’s Uncle Ben.”
Joey continued putting the pieces into his puzzle.
“How’s the trial going?” Joni asked. “I didn’t have time to watch it on television today.”
“Not good,” Ben replied. He flung his coat and briefcase onto the sofa.
“Barrett flopped on the stand?”
“No, he was actually very good, for the most part. Problem is, he’s all we’ve got. And it wasn’t enough.”
“You know, Ben,” Joni said gently, “all you can do is your best. The facts are what they are.”
Ben shook his head. “Wallace Barrett is innocent. He may not be a perfect human being, but he didn’t commit those murders. If I can’t convince the jury of that, I’ve failed.”
Joni changed the subject. “I took Joey to Woodland Hills Mall again today. He rode the carousel.”
Ben half smiled. “Yeah? How’d he like it?”
“Well, you know, it’s always hard to tell with Joey. But I think he enjoyed it.”
Ben stared down at his taciturn, emotionless nephew, obsessively putting the puzzle pieces into their slots. What was going on in that mind, anyway? Surely there was some way to break through. “He’s up kind of late, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. But I thought you might want to spend some time with him, since you’ve been so busy all week. I hope you’re not upset.”
“Of course not. You’ve been a lifesaver, Joni. I don’t know how I can thank you.”
“Well, since you brought it up …”
“Yes?”
“Do you suppose you could get Wallace Barrett’s autograph for me?”
“You want his autograph?”
“Yeah. And maybe your buddy Jack Bullock’s?”
“Bullock? What do you want with his autograph? He’s just a lawyer.”
“Just a lawyer? Ben, where have you been? He’s a celebrity now. You’re all celebrities.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not ridiculous. Who’s had more television time lately than you guys? Good grief, Kato Kaelin was only on the stand for a few days, and he became a celebrity—for a little while, anyway. You guys are on every day.”
“Celebrity should be based on merit, not exposure.”
“Maybe that’s the way it should be, Ben, but that’s not the way it is. You should give some thought to how to make the most of this.”
“What do you mean?”
“You ought to get, you know, an agent.”
“An agent? Lawyers don’t have agents.”
“You should. You might get some talk shows, a legal commentary spot on the news, maybe a contract for a book of trial memoirs. Who knows—you might even get on one of the daytime talk shows.”
“Great. Me and the transsexual hermaphroditic Siamese twins who love too much.”
“Seriously, Ben. You could make a lot of money.”
“What would I do with a lot of money?”
“Well, for starters, you could give me a raise.” She beamed.
“I’ll take that under consideration.”
“And you could buy Joey some of those classy Little Tikes toys. And you could get a new, better office. And you and Christina could get serious and settle down.”
“What?”
She looked down sheepishly. “Just a suggestion.”
“I think you have the wrong idea.”
“Uh-huh.” She pushed herself off the sofa. “Still, Ben, opportunity is knocking. Don’t forget to open the door.”
“Open the door? I think I’m going to put in a dead bolt.”
After Joni left, Ben gathered all the toys and books and games and everything else he could muster that might possibly capture Joey’s attention. He was resolved; one way or another, he was going to get a reaction out of that kid.
“Look, Joey, puppets!” He put his hand up a green frog which played a computer chip version of “Over the Rainbow” that seemed to go on forever.
Joey did not appear remotely interested.
“Hello, Joey,” Ben said, using a deep, croaking voice that he imagined was something like the way a frog would talk. “Would you like to play with me? Ribit.”
Joey pushed the puppet out of his face and reached for his puzzle.
Well, Ben reasoned, that’s sort of a response. Not the one I was hoping for, but …
He turned on the Smart Little Driver, a noisy computer toy shaped like a plastic dashboard that played songs. “Look at this, Joey. It talks!”
Joey did not look.
Ben pushed a button, treating them to another burst of computer chip “music,” this time playing “Pease Porridge Hot.”
“Isn’t that neat, Joey? Look, I can sing along! Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold …”
Ben proceeded to sing along with the Smart Little Driver, not that Joey appeared to care.
“What about this?” Ben said, pulling out two Bert and Ernie dolls. “Remember these?” He dangled the dolls in front of the boy’s face. “Remember? These used to be your favorite toys!”
Of course, he thought to himself, that was before your mother abandoned you. That was before she dumped you on Uncle Ben, who in turn dumped you in a preschool and dumped you with a nanny so he could continue his brilliant legal career. That was before you shut yourself inside and refused to come out.
Ben stood up and went to the piano. “Look, Joey. I can make music, too.” He wanted to play a Dar Williams tune he’d been trying to teach himself, but decided that Mother Goose was probably more Joey’s speed. He banged out “Yankee Doodle,” giving an extra boost to the chorus: “Yankee Doodle, keep it up, Yankee Doodle Dan-dy …”
It was as if Joey was in another room, or perhaps another world. He continued working the puzzle. Trapezoid in the trapezoid space, semicircle in the semicircle space …
“Look,” Ben said, “you’ve played with that long enough.” He snatched the puzzle away, pieces and all.
Joey did not look at Ben, but he certainly reacted. He looked all around, as if searching for the puzzle. A panicked expression washed across his face. He began to bawl.
“Joey, stop that!”
Joey did not stop that.
“You can have the puzzle back later. We’re going to do something else now.”
Joey continued wailing at the top of his lungs.
“Joey, look.” Ben began desperately running about, grasping at toys. “Look, it’s a Magna-Doodle. See, I wrote your name!”
Joey sat with his hands in his lap, wailing. His face flushed beet red. Tears dribbled down his chin.
“Okay,” Ben said, “how about a talking clown?” He desperately grabbed the doll and pulled its talk string. “ ‘It’s time to have fun, kiddies! Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!’ ”
Joey was oblivious. He screamed like he’d lost everything, like there was no reason to go on living. Worst of all, he had not come out of his shell. He was still isolated, unresponsive, self-absorbed. He was just miserable as well.
Ben began to feel seriously guilt-ridden. What right did he have to demand that the child react to him, anyway? Still, he tried to maintain his resolve. “Look, how about card tricks?”
He reached down furiously for a deck of cards on the floor, but slipped on the area rug and fell into the nearby armchair. He hit the chair sideways, face first, rolled off it, and tumbled down on the hardwood floor.
Ben lay flat on his back on the floor. As soon as his head cleared, he began taking a mental inventory. Everything seemed to still be attached, no major spinal damage, although he definitely had a sore spot on his backside. But something had changed. It took him a moment to realize what it was.