“What time was this?”
“About quarter to ten. I got the call from the other realtor at about nine thirty. The buyer was playing hardball. The response time was going to be set at an hour. So I had to get my seller on standby, pack up Willy, and get in there to pick up the fax.”
“Do you have a fax at home?”
“Yes, but if the deal went down, we’d have to get together in the office. We have a signing room, and all the forms are right there. My file on the property was in my office too.”
Bosch nodded. It sounded plausible, to a point.
“Okay, so you head off to the office…”
“Exactly. And two things happened…”
Helton brought his hands up into sight but only to hold them across his face to hide his eyes. A classic tell.
“What two things?”
“I got a call on my cell – from Arlene – and Willy fell asleep in his car seat. Do you understand?”
“Make me understand.”
“I was distracted by the call, and I was no longer distracted by Willy. He had fallen asleep.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So I forgot he was there. Forgive me, God, but I forgot I had him with me!”
“I understand. What happened next?”
Helton dropped his hands out of sight again. He looked at Bosch briefly and then at the tabletop.
“I parked in my assigned space behind PPG, and I went in. I was still talking to Arlene. One of our buyers is trying to get out of a contract because he’s found something he likes better. So we were talking about that, about how to finesse things with that, and I was on the phone when I went in.”
“Okay, I see that. What happened when you went in?”
Helton didn’t answer right away. He sat there looking at the table as if trying to remember so he could get the answer right.
“Stephen?” Bosch prompted. “What happened next?”
“I had told the buyer’s agent to fax me the offer. But it wasn’t there. So I got off the line from my wife and I called the agent. Then I waited around for the fax. Checked my slips and made a few callbacks while I was waiting.”
“What are your slips?”
“Phone messages. People who see our signs on properties and call. I don’t put my cell or home number on the signs.”
“How many callbacks did you make?”
“I think just two. I got a message on one and spoke briefly to the other person. My fax came in, and that was what I was there for. I got off the line.”
“Now, at this point it was what time?”
“I don’t know, about ten after ten.”
“Would you say that at this point you were still cognizant that your son was still in your car in the parking lot?”
Helton took time to think through an answer again but spoke before Bosch had to prompt him.
“No, because if I knew he was in the car, I would not have left him in the first place. I forgot about him while I was still in the car. You understand?”
Bosch leaned back in his seat. Whether he understood it or not, Helton had just dodged one legal bullet. If he had acknowledged that he had knowingly left the boy in the car – even if he planned to be back in a few minutes – that would have greatly supported a charge of negligent homicide. But Helton had maneuvered the question correctly, almost as if he had expected it.
“Okay,” Bosch said. “What happened next?”
Helton shook his head wistfully and looked at the sidewall as if gazing through a window toward the past he couldn’t change.
“I, uh, got involved in the deal,” he said. “The fax came in, I called my client, and I faxed back a counter. I also did a lot of talking to the other agent. By phone. We were trying to get the deal done, and we had to hand-hold both our clients through this.”
“For two hours.”
“Yes, it took that long.”
“And when was it that you remembered that you had left William in the car out in the parking lot, where it was about ninety-five degrees?”
“I guess as soon – first of all, I didn’t know what the temperature was. I object to that. I left that car at about ten, and it was not ninety-five degrees. Not even close. I hadn’t even used the air conditioner on the way over.”
There was a complete lack of remorse or guilt in Helton’s demeanor. He wasn’t even attempting to fake it anymore. Bosch had become convinced that this man had no love or affinity for his damaged and now lost child. William was simply a burden that had to be dealt with and therefore could easily be forgotten when things like business and selling houses and making money came up.
But where was the crime in all this? Bosch knew he could charge him with negligence, but the courts tend to view the loss of a child as enough punishment in these situations. Helton would go free with his wife as sympathetic figures, free to continue their lives while baby William moldered in his grave.
The tells always add up. Bosch instinctively believed Helton was a liar. And he began to believe that William’s death was no accident. Unlike his partner, who had let the passions of his own fatherhood lead him down the path, Bosch had come to this point after careful observation and analysis. It was now time to press on, to bait Helton and see if he would make a mistake.
“Is there anything else you want to add at this point to the story?” he asked.
Helton let out a deep breath and slowly shook his head.
“That’s the whole sad story,” he said. “I wish to God it never happened. But it did.”
He looked directly at Bosch for the first time during the entire interview. Bosch held his gaze and then asked a question.
“Do you have a good marriage, Stephen?”
Helton looked away and stared at the invisible window again.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, do you have a good marriage? You can say yes or no if you want.”
“Yes, I have a good marriage,” Helton responded emphatically. “I don’t know what my wife told you, but I think it is very solid. What are you trying to say?”
“All I’m saying is that sometimes, when there is a child with challenges, it strains the marriage. My partner just had a baby. The kid’s healthy, but money’s tight and his wife isn’t back at work yet. You know the deal. It’s tough. I can only imagine what the strain of having a child with William’s difficulties would be like.”
“Yeah, well, we made it by all right.”
“The nannies quitting all the time…”
“It wasn’t that hard. As soon as one quits, we put an ad on craigslist for another.”
Bosch nodded and scratched the back of his head. While doing this, he waved a finger in a circular motion toward the camera that was in the air vent up on the wall behind him. Helton could not see him do this.
“When did you two get married?” he asked.
“Two and a half years ago. We met on a contract. She had the buyer, and I had the seller. We worked well together. We started talking about joining forces, and then we realized we were in love.”
“Then William came.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“That must’ve changed things.”
“It did.”
“So when Arlene was pregnant, couldn’t the doctors tell that he had these problems?”
“They could have if they had seen him. But Arlene’s a workaholic. She was busy all the time. She missed some appointments and the ultrasounds. When they discovered there was a problem, it was too late.”
“Do you blame your wife for that?”
Helton looked aghast.
“No, of course not. Look, what does this have to do with what happened today? I mean, why are you asking me all this?”
Bosch leaned across the table.
“It may have a lot to do with it, Stephen. I am trying to determine what happened today and why. The ‘why’ is the tough part.”
“It was an accident! I forgot he was in the car, okay? I will go to my grave knowing that my mistake killed my own son. Isn’t that enough for you?”