A door in the room on the opposite side of the glass opened, and a heavyset male guard escorted Tidwell into the room. Tidwell was wearing a loose-fitting orange jump suit. Ben was reminded of the outfits his father used to wear when he was working in the yard. The guard led Tidwell to the chair opposite Ben’s on the other side of the acrylic, then positioned himself against the wall next to the door.
Tidwell stared contemptuously through the acrylic barrier. “Know why lawyers are always buried at least twelve feet underground?”
“Forget it. That’s not why I came.”
“Because deep down, they’re really nice people,” Tidwell growled, obviously disappointed. “What do you want?”
“I came to see for myself.”
“See what?”
“See if you really are crazy.”
Tidwell started to smile, then caught himself. After a moment, apparently deciding there was no harm, he allowed himself a full grin. “Of course I’m crazy,” he said. “I’m in the loony bin, aren’t I?”
“Under observation,” Ben said slowly. “So the shrinks can decide whether you’re capable of comprehending the charges brought against you.”
Tidwell continued to smile. “I must be crazy,” he said. “How else could I do all the horrible things I’ve done? I couldn’t distinguish between right and wrong.”
“Save it for the jury,” Ben muttered.
“I was controlled by an irresistible impulse. I didn’t comprehend the nature and quality of the acts I was committing.”
“Christ!” Ben said, pounding his forehead. “Your lawyers have even briefed you on the M’Naughten test for insanity.”
Tidwell smiled but said nothing.
“And you’re just smart enough to pull it off,” Ben muttered, shaking his head.
Tidwell stared back at Ben. His beady green eyes seemed yellow through the distorting ripple of the acrylic panel.
“Can you tell me one thing?”
Ben waited for a response and got none.
“I’ve almost deciphered this puzzle, but there’s one piece I don’t have. After I was stupid enough to tell you I’d found Catherine, and you ran back to the apartment, what did you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Tidwell said, smiling contentedly.
“What did you say, then,” Ben said. “Let me guess. I think you told Catherine that Emily was dead, that you’d killed Emily to punish Catherine for being bad. That would do the trick. That would push her over the edge.”
Tidwell’s grin widened appreciatively.
“You sick son of a bitch,” Ben said. He felt he needed to stand. He began to pace back and forth before the acrylic screen. “You killed Catherine just as surely as if you had crammed the pills down her throat.”
“What’s it to you, anyway?” Tidwell asked.
“I—” Ben started, then stopped. There was no way he was getting into that. “I got to know Catherine, a little bit,” he said simply.
He walked to the door and opened it.
“I hope they fry you, you sick bastard,” Ben said. “I hope they draw and quarter you and drag your entrails through the streets of the city.”
Tidwell’s smile spread from ear to ear. “I do, too,” he said. “Isn’t that crazy?” And he laughed and laughed and laughed.
43
“IF YOU DON’T HAVE any more questions, I’ll leave the two of you alone to read the documents,” Ben said.
Ben was standing beside the long conference room table; Bertha Adams and Emily were seated on the other side. Emily seemed calm and detached. All the tragedy of the past month has centered around her, Ben thought, and what little of it she ever knew she’s entirely forgotten. That’s life in the fixed moment.
“After you read through them, sign each place I indicated and leave the papers with my secretary,” Ben said.
Bertha looked up and nodded. She seemed more at ease than she had at any time since Ben first met her. “Thank you, Mr. Kincaid.”
“Sure.” Ben left the conference room and walked back to his office.
Christina was waiting for him. She was wearing her brown miniskirt and the familiar yellow leotards.
“So you decided to come back to work?” he said, smiling. “How are you?”
“I’m going to be fine. C’est la guerre.” She brushed her golden hair away from her eyes. The thin black scab on her right cheek was still noticeable. “You’re the one we should be worrying about.”
“Well, this is cozy. Got room for a third?”
Mike was standing in the doorway.
“Come on in,” Ben said. “What have you and your squad of law-and-order zealots turned up?”
“Not a lot,” Mike admitted. “We’ve searched Tidwell’s house and come up with a birth certificate. Catherine was his daughter, all right. And we’ve found a marriage license. Tidwell was married some twenty-eight years ago, when he lived in Flagstaff. Catherine was born soon after. Real soon, if you know what I mean. Catherine’s mother died when Catherine was about six and apparently, sometime not too long after”—he hesitated for a moment—“Tidwell let Catherine take her mother’s place in his affections. Some time after then and before he moved to Tulsa, Emily was born.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Ben muttered quietly. “And I thought I had father problems.”
“We’re talking to former neighbors and tracking down relatives who might have known Tidwell when he lived in Flagstaff,” Mike continued. “He only moved to Tulsa two years ago. Seems he had to leave Flagstaff in a hurry. I think he kept Emily’s existence a secret after he moved to Tulsa. He couldn’t explain her parentage, and he didn’t want to stir up trouble. We’ve interviewed his current neighbors, and they don’t know anything about Emily or Catherine. Tidwell had evidently discovered it was safer to keep Catherine and Emily at a separate residence under lock and key. I expect that was easy enough to do. Emily was a little girl, and Catherine’s mind was disintegrating. I suppose he told poor Catherine she’d be killed if she left the apartment. Or that he would hurt Emily.”
Christina was confused. “What I still don’t understand is, how did Emily end up with Bertha and Jonathan Adams?”
Mike stood and faced the outer window. “Some of this is just conjecture, but I think Catherine was losing her mind as far back as the time of the Tulsa move. Years of confusion, guilt, isolation, depravation, and sexual abuse were taking their toll. I think she became progressively unstable. That made her not only unpleasant to be with, but dangerous as well. Tidwell was an important businessman now in a fairly high profile position. What if she got loose? Who knows what she might say or do? At the same time, there was this new little girl, unknown to the world, that, for whatever reason, he was very interested in. He needed a way to bring Emily into his home without creating suspicion.”
Christina was beginning to follow. “So Tidwell arranged for Jonathan Adams to find Emily.”
“That’s right,” Mike continued. “Tidwell instructed Adams to investigate the franchise location in Jenks, after arranging for Emily to be abandoned there. He set up the whole coincidental discovery. His idea was that Adams would of course be too old to adopt, but that he, the younger, respected, philanthropic businessman and father, would step in and adopt the foundling.”
“That’s crazy!” Christina exclaimed. “A million different things could go wrong.”
“Evidently Tidwell didn’t see it that way,” Mike said. “But you’re right. The master plan didn’t work out. Something happened he didn’t count on. Adams never turned Emily in to the authorities as he was supposed to do, and he never mentioned her at work. They just kept her.