“How could Ullman keep all his garbage out in the open like he did . . . blown-up photographs on the walls in plain sight? Somebody might’ve walked in there by accident. Or did he want to get found out?”
“I think he did. He confessed readily enough. But he protected himself pretty well just the same. Has no friends, male or female, never invited anybody to his house except other sickos like Hoffman.”
“Hoffman was his supplier?”
“One of them. They were part of a Bay Area cell—buying, selling, trading with one another.”
Kerry pulled her robe more tightly around herself. We were in our bedroom with the door shut, talking in low voices. Emily was either in bed or still doing homework—I hadn’t checked when I came in a few minutes before—and probably listening to music on her iPod. But we weren’t taking any chances.
“The police found a dozen names on Ullman’s computer,” I said. “There’ll be a lot more arrests in the next few days.”
“Well, I hope Ullman rots in prison for the rest of his life.”
“Not much chance of that. He’s in a pretty bad way—guilt, remorse, self-loathing. I won’t be surprised if he ends up in a psychiatric facility.”
“You believe him that he never actually . . . you know, harmed a child?”
“If he ever did, he’ll confess to it eventually. But I doubt it. He’s a voyeur and a coward, and it’s a good bet he was molested by somebody as a child, but I don’t see him as a molester himself. Except in his imagination.”
“He’s a monster just the same.”
“No argument there.”
“Visualizing himself with all those poor kids in the photos?” Kerry made a faint gagging sound. “With the kids he taught at Whitney? With Emily?”
I didn’t say anything.
“She liked and trusted him—one of her favorite teachers. Protected him, for God’s sake. And the whole time . . .”
“Easy,” I said. “Don’t go there.”
“I can’t help it. It makes me want to vomit.”
“Emily thought she was doing the right thing. She’s young; she believes people are basically good and honest and authority figures don’t lie.”
“She’ll be devastated when she finds out.”
“For a while. But she’ll get over it.”
“I don’t want her to find out at school, from the other kids. We’ll have to tell her.”
“First thing in the morning.”
“It won’t be easy.”
“It was a lot harder telling her what happened to her birth mother. She survived that—she’ll survive this, too.”
“So much pain in her life,” Kerry said. “Only thirteen, and all that ugliness and betrayal. She’s such a good kid, she deserves so much better.”
“I know.”
“I wish we could protect her the way she protected Ullman. Keep any more of the ugliness from hurting her.”
“We can try,” I said. “That’s all any parent can do—try.”
29
TAMARA
For a while the place was a madhouse. Uniformed cops, inspectors, EMTs, even a couple of firemen with axes. Delman had busted his ankle in the fall; they had to cut him moaning out of the dining room ceiling. Her nose had fared better. Sore and a little swollen, but not broken. Lucky. Down the line tonight—lucky.
She’d told the inspectors everything she knew about Antoine and Alisha and their con game, along with everything that had happened tonight. Hadn’t kept any of the victims’ names out of it. Hadn’t spared herself, either—fessed up her motives for going after the Delmans. Talked and answered questions until her mouth and throat were so dry she had to keep pouring down glasses of water, which only made her have to call time-out while she went in to pee.
The last of them were gone now and she was all juiced out, physically and mentally. What she wanted was a hot bath and about ten hours’ sleep. But not here, not tonight. Broken laths and plaster all over the dining room, some of that white dust still in the air. Flashes of the rage and terror she’d felt up there in the dark attic giving her the jimjams. A too-quiet stillness that had already begun to press down on her like a heavy weight.
She got her coat and car keys and beat it out of there.
Could’ve gone to Bill and Kerry’s, Vonda and Ben’s, some of her other friends, but then she’d’ve been stuck with another round of Q & A and she wasn’t up to that. When in doubt, pick on your nearest relative, even if it’s one you’ve had a prickly relationship with all your life. So that was where she went, to sister Claudia on Telegraph Hill—Tel Hi, the residents were calling it now, stupid name.