Page 103 of Witness 8

‘Are you telling me you’re afraid of the babysitter?’

‘IthinkI am,’ said Bloch.

We talked some more, and I let her know the plan so far. It was risky.

‘The meeting with Buchanan, where are you going to get the money? How am I supposed to watch your back?’

‘You can’t watch my back when I meet Buchanan. I’m on my own. I don’t know where I’m going to get the money yet. Trust me, I’ll find a way.’

‘A lot can go wrong. I don’t want you in a bed beside Harry,’ she said.

‘If something goes wrong, I won’t be in a hospital bed. I’ll be on a slab in the morgue, but I can’t think of any other way to do it.’

‘What do I tell Kate?’

‘Don’t tell her about the meeting. Tell Kate I’ll need her to play along with Castro. The key to this case is in that latent palm print and the DNA. Harry focused on it. We’ll deal with the anonymous witness as best we can.’

I hung up. Clarence glanced up at me as we walked. He didn’t look convinced by my plan.

I wasn’t convinced either. I grabbed his leash and we headed out.

We got to the Jacksons’ place on West 74tharound eight that morning. Alison answered the door and let us inside. I had never been inside their house. At first it looked like a perfect family home. Clean, tastefully decorated. Lush couches and thick carpet in the living room. Patterned black-and-white tile in the hallway, which led into the kitchen on the left.

A little boy sat at the counter eating a bowl of cereal. He looked like he’d just got out of hospital – that tired, weary, sick look.

Being accused of a major crime that you didn’t commit does something to you, and to your family. It’s a cancer. It eats people from the inside out. I could see it in John. Alison too, that haunted aspect. Even when she smiled at Clarence, who got a bigger welcome than I did.

‘How are you holding up this morning?’ I asked.

‘I miss my mom, Eddie. She could be tough sometimes, and cruel, but she loved me and I loved her. She was always there for me and now . . . I just . . . I can’t lose John as well. I just can’t . . .’

‘I’ll make sure you don’t,’ I said.

‘That’s a nice doggy,’ said the kid, rubbing his eyes. He put down his spoon and carefully climbed off his breakfast stool to stand beside Clarence.

‘Tomas is still a little groggy,’ said Alison, wiping her raw cheeks. She’d been crying through the night, I guessed. ‘Tomas was given some medication last night for a fever and it kind of knocks him out for a day or so,’ said Alison.

‘Can I pet him?’ asked Tomas.

Even the kid’s voice sounded strained and fatigued. His eyes had brightened, though.

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘This is Clarence.’

‘Hi, Clarence. I’m Tomas,’ said the boy.

I heard footsteps on the stairs, and John came into the kitchen. He looked worse than yesterday, but, for a moment, the fear subsided as he watched Tomas stroking Clarence, who was loving the attention.

‘Nice dog,’ said John.

‘He’s not mine,’ I said. ‘He’s . . .’

‘Harry’s?’ said Alison, and I nodded, welcoming her finishing my thought. My friend was still on my mind, every second. I wanted him beside me. So we could talk, and I could hear his laughter. The nurse had basically told me to expect the worst. I hadn’t processed that information yet. I didn’t want to.

‘How is he?’ asked John.

‘Still the same,’ I said.

‘Coffee?’ asked Alison.