Camouflage(10)
The house was just ahead. Runyon said as he pulled up in front, “All right, but just a quick look.” He shut off the engine, keyed open the glove box. The Magnum was in its clip-on holster; he slid it out, let Bobby have his wide-eyed look.
Runyon was locking the weapon away again when the boy said, “I wish I had a gun like that,” in an off-tone that made Runyon glance sharply at him.
“Why? What would you do with it?”
“Keep it for … the next time.”
“What do you mean, the next time?”
No response.
“The next time your dad hurts you, is that it?”
“My dad doesn’t hurt me.”
“No? Who, then?”
Silence.
“Who, Bobby?”
The boy’s mouth twisted and a name burst out of him, like a lump of something bitter that he’d hacked up from his throat.
“Francine,” he said.
“Who’s Francine?”
“I hate her,” Bobby said with sudden ferocity, “I hate her, I hate her!” And he bolted from the car and raced up the steps to the house.
4
JAKE RUNYON
Bryn came hurrying out to meet him on the porch. “What happened? Why is Bobby so upset?”
“Put a coat on. Let’s go for a walk.”
“He went running into his room.…”
“Better if we talk outside.”
Runyon waited until they’d gone a short way to the west, hunched against the fog-threaded ocean wind, Bryn’s anxious eyes on him as they walked, before he said, “Do you know anyone named Francine?”
“Francine? The woman Robert’s going to marry … Francine Whalen. Why?”
In clipped sentences Runyon told her about the gun episode and Bobby’s last words before he fled the car.
“Oh my God.” Bryn stopped walking, turned to face him. “She’s the one who’s been hurting him, not Robert. But that’s … why would she…”
“How much do you know about her?”
“Not very much. She’s a paralegal, worked for Robert’s firm. I didn’t like her the first time I met her. The kind of sweetness-and-light type that fool men but not women—a cold, calculating bitch underneath. I think he was sleeping with her before I had the stroke.”
“They living together now?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“He has a flat in the Marina, near the Green. Avila Street.”
“Number?”
“Four-sixteen. Upstairs.”
“She still working for his firm?”
“No. He’s already paying her bills,” Bryn said, and then added bitterly, “In exchange for her taking care of Bobby.”
“When is the marriage supposed to take place?”
“I’m not sure. Sometime this summer.” A wind gust blew up a swirl of discarded fast-food wrappers, but that wasn’t what made the visible tremor run through her. She drew her coat collar tight around her throat, held it there with one hand. “I just don’t understand any of this. Bobby’s silence, for one thing. If Robert was abusing him, yes, but Francine … why wouldn’t he tell his father, me, somebody?”
“Threats, intimidation. He hates her, but he’s also terrified of her.”
“But for God’s sake why would she hurt a little boy, break his arm, punch him hard enough to leave bruises? She’s getting everything she wants … Robert, his position, his money.”
“No way of telling until we know more about her.”
“Whatever the reason, I don’t blame Bobby for wishing her dead. I’d like to kill her myself.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“Oh yes. Yes, I would.”
“That’s not the answer, Bryn.”
She drew a heavy breath. “What is?”
“Proof,” Runyon said. “Solid proof that’ll convince your ex, Social Services, the police.”
“How do we get it? Bobby? Should I tell him we know Francine’s been abusing him?”
“You can try, straight on or roundabout.”
“But you don’t think he’ll admit it?”
“I think he came as close as he could in the car with me.”
“Saying how much he hated her … that’s a cry for help.”
“Yes. But in my limited experience with kids, fear always trumps hatred. He’s too afraid of the woman and whatever threats she made.”
“Damn her! She’ll keep right on hurting him, and the next time … the next time … I won’t let it happen. I won’t.”
Runyon said, “There may be something in her background that’ll help. I’ll see what I can find out. ‘Whalen’ spelled W-h-a-l-e-n?”