144It was the afternoon of the following day when a taxi pulled up to the kerb outside Brodie's house. Taylor paid the driver, picked up Patrick's jacket from the seat next to him – it had been hanging by Taylor's front door as he left to come over just now – and stepped out of the cab. As he stood he spotted Patrick sitting on the steps up to the porch, mug of tea in his hands. It reminded Taylor so forcibly of the day he first met the boy that he paused a moment before taking a deep breath and walking up to the house. As he got closer Taylor could see Patrick was sporting a cut lip and bruises to his face. Patrick watched him approach, saying nothing.
"Hello, Paddy," Taylor ventured when he was close enough to speak. Patrick lifted his head in a kind of reverse nod, acknowledging Taylor's presence, but still didn't speak.
"I guess talking's a little painful with that lip," Taylor continued apprehensively. "Was that, uh, did I do that?" Patrick gave a single tight nod, his eyes never leaving Taylor's face. "Jesus." Taylor said it quietly, feeling the blood drain from his face. "Do you mind if I sit down?"
The boy shrugged, then scooted over to the far end of the steps. Taylor sat on the opposite side, gazing over to the street. Patrick didn't take his eyes off Taylor. "I never hit a child in my life." Taylor said it quietly, his voice breaking a little as he said it. He was looking very shaken now, turning to Patrick and unable to take his eyes from the bruising on Patrick's face. "I saw my fair share of death in the war, never backed away from trouble when I was with the carnival but I never hit a kid, never thought I ever would. God I'm so sorry, Paddy. It was an accident, I didn't mean to, I was–"
"Drunk." Interrupted Patrick, his voice flat and a little thicker than usual as he spoke around his swollen lip. Taylor gently shook his head.
"I was going to say I wasn't wearing my glasses," he had turned back to face the road again. "I didn't know who was there at first and when I did realize it was you I certainly didn't know you were within arm's reach. But yes, I was drunk. I wouldn't have said or done any of it if I'd been sober." Taylor again looked into Patrick's face. "I am very sorry that I hit you when I flailed about like that. I am deeply sorry about last night, Paddy."
Patrick didn't seem to want to reply to this, he turned away from Taylor and gazed into the distance. After a moment Taylor took a deep breath.
"Okay. I understand. Thank you for hearing me out, at least. Here, you, ah, left your coat at my house." He put it down carefully on the step between them and made as if to leave.
"You think you're better than me." Patrick said it in a low monotone and Taylor winced. "What you shouted. You think I'm only good enough for your kitchen, like a dog you don't allow on the furniture."
"It's not what you think, not that." Taylor was glad Patrick had given him an excuse to stay and explain. "I always set up poker games in the kitchen, not just our games. Whenever anyone came to play cards: judges and generals, politicians and princes, they all played cards in my kitchen over the years. I don't think I'm better than you, Paddy, but, um." Whatever the issue was, Taylor was unexpectedly struggling to articulate it. Patrick looked at Taylor, wary curiosity in his eyes now. "Well... I... do find you a little intimidating." These words, finally, got a reaction from the boy, he couldn't hide his surprise although he still didn't speak, instead turning back to face the street again. Taylor continued quietly, "I can read people and I'm good at it, it's useful in my line of work or when I play poker but you're..." Taylor shook his head gently as his customary eloquence continued to elude him. "Do you have any idea how good at it you are? I've been reading people for over forty years and you're way better than I am. You're better at it than your father. I mean, you lack his life experience, you don't always comprehend everything you see, but..." Taylor ran out of words. Patrick remained silent. After a moment Taylor turned away too, they were both gazing sightlessly into the street now. Taylor continued.
"The truth is I was scared to let you into the rest of my home, Paddy. I was afraid I would lose your friendship and your respect if you saw me as clearly as you are able to."
"How's that working out for you?"
"Badly, I suspect." Taylor eyed Patrick briefly out of the corner of his eye but the cut on his lip made the boy's expression hard to read from this side.
"Me too," Patrick said in an undertone, then louder, still not looking at Taylor, "You a drunk, Mr. Taylor?"
"No, son –"
"Don't call me that, you don't have the right to call me that." Patrick's words came out fast, as full of feeling as his others had been empty of it.
"I'm sorry, Paddy," Taylor said quickly, "you're right, I don't. I meant no disrespect."
"I met your son."
"Junior? He, um, told me what you said last night." He'd been aware that Patrick enjoyed their poker nights but had no idea the boy felt so deeply about him personally. He paused to allow Patrick to speak and was relieved that he did so.
"Not the first time I met him. He calls himself 'Zack', though, not 'Simon Jr.' I hadn't made the connection."
"His – his mother and I always called him 'Junior'. I guess if he prefers it I should start using 'Zack' instead."
"You should."
Taylor nodded absently, pausing for a moment before going on.
"He asked me the same question. I don't believe I'm an alcoholic but, um, they persuaded me to go see the family doctor tomorrow morning to talk to him. About my drinking and about some other things." Taylor saw surprise in Patrick's face again, the boy hadn't expected that. "Junior's sister came over this morning, she took my car to go pick up my eldest at the airport just now." Taylor looked sheepish. "We're supposed to have a family conference when they get back. Look, I understand if you don't want to have anything more to do with me, after last night," Taylor continued, "but I think you do need to talk. Bottling up your feelings like this isn't healthy, Paddy, as I'm finding out myself. If you can't talk to Brodie and you – you don't want to talk to me any more, please consider talking over everything with your friends up at Stoney–"
"I'm grounded."
"What?"
"I'm grounded. I'm–" Patrick grimaced, "I'm not allowed to go to Stoney Ridge."
Realization dawned on Taylor. "Because of last night."
"They caught me out of the house last night."
Patrick had cycled less than a block when he realized he hadn't switched on his bicycle lights and he hadn't picked up his jacket when he fled Taylor's house. He stopped at the side of the street to attend to the lights and was shivering in the chill night air before he got back on the bike. He glanced up at the sky, clear, no moon but not so many stars visible here, the lights of the city got in the way. So did the tears he was determined not to let spill.
He rubbed at his eyes and was about to move off when the car that was approaching on the opposite side of the road revealed it was a patrol car by flashing its blue and red lights and veering slowly across the road to come to a halt in front of him. Patrick sat astride the bicycle, unable to do anything but wait as one of the cops got out.
"Hey, son. You're out kinda late," the cop began easily as his partner stepped out of the patrol car too.
"Are you Patrick Jane?" the other, younger cop asked.
Patrick's heart sank. They weren't just hassling him for being out in the middle of the night. Zack must have decided to call the cops after all. He raised his hands.
"Ya got me," he called over to them. "I'll come quietly."
"It's okay, son," the first cop said with a certain amount of amusement in his voice as he walked over. "You're not under arrest. Your foster parents reported you missing when they found you'd run away, that's all."
"I didn't run away–" Patrick began.
"Let's put that bike in the trunk, get you home," the cop interrupted. "Whatever happened, it'll all look better in the morning." His partner was already on the radio as the first cop got close enough to get hold of the bike – and see Patrick's face clearly.
"Hold on there, Mike," the cop called over his shoulder then turned back to look more closely at Patrick. He reached towards Patrick's face then stopped as the boy flinched away, saying, "Whoa, it's okay, son, I just want to take a look at that lip there." The cop's hand, moving more slowly now, gently touched of Patrick's chin and angled his face to the lights of the car. That was when Patrick finally realized the coolness on his face was blood. The cop let go of his chin but once more took hold of the handlebar of the bike before turning to his partner.
"Come over here, Mike, tell me what you think of this."
"Hold on, Joyce," the other cop said into the radio, then sauntered over. He gave Patrick a long look, not unkind but detached, as though he was judging cattle at a show.
"Hmm. Should we get him checked out?"
"Yeah, I think so," the first cop replied, then addressed Patrick. "It's okay, son, we'll have someone check you over then we'll go back to the station house. Your foster parents can pick you up from there. You call it in, Mike," the cop said to his partner, then he smiled down at Patrick. "C'mon, son, let's get you in the car."
"Mr. Brodie didn't do this," Patrick protested.
"Let's get you checked out by a doctor first, son, then you can tell us all about it."
It wasn't a long drive but it was warm in the patrol car with the windows up after the chill of the night air and the evening had taken its toll. Patrick had to be woken up by the cops when they got to the hospital. The ER was quiet this early, the morning after Thanksgiving. The triage nurse led the cops and their young charge straight through to a curtained hospital bed to wait for the doctor, where Patrick promptly fell asleep again, curled up on top of the bed. He woke with a start to the rattle of the curtain being swept back.
"Patrick Jane? Good morning, young man." Patrick blinked blearily at the too-cheery young doctor with a strange accent who drew the curtain around again before standing next to his bed, looking over a clipboard. "I'm Patrick, too," he added in a friendly manner, pointing to his name badge. Patrick glanced at it, then stared, awake now and grinning. The badge said the guy's name was Dr. Patrick Watson.
"Doctor Watson? Like in Sherlock Holmes?" Patrick was chuckling now.
"Yeah," the medic grinned back at him. "Well done."
"Sorry, you must get that a lot."
"Not as much as you'd think," Watson replied. "May I take a quick look at you, Patrick?"
"Sure. I like your accent. Where are you from?"
The doctor was turning Patrick's face, taking a good look before gently probing his lip and jaw, then starting to check over the rest of him. "Australia," he said chattily as he did so. "I come from a city called Adelaide, grew up in the suburbs there. I came to medical school here in California." The guy carried on looking him over, finding a few faded bruises on his arms. "Where did you get these?" he asked.
"Um, those two were on a theme park ride and that one in gym class, I think," Patrick replied, pointing.
"Would you mind taking off your t-shirt, Patrick?" Watson asked. Patrick shrugged then slipped off his vest, tugged his t-shirt off over his head, goosebumps immediately covering his skin. "Sorry about that," Watson continued conversationally, "there's a nasty draft through here."
"I love the way you said that," Patrick grinned, "nasty draft," he added, trying to imitate the doctor's voice.
It was Watson's turn to chuckle. "Nearly. I would say 'nasty draft', like that? You were more 'nasty draft', you sounded more like a Brit than an Aussie," Watson explained.
"Nasty draft. There's a nasty draft in here," Patrick repeated.
"There certainly is," the doctor smiled. "You have a good ear for voices. You gonna be an actor?"
"I don't think so," Patrick replied cautiously.
"How did you get this?" Watson had been examining a broad scrape down his stomach. Patrick must have picked that up when he slipped at the edge of the Brodies' porch earlier that evening. It had barely bled but his whole abdomen was looking very red now under the harsh hospital lights. Suddenly wary, Patrick said nothing.
"Did it happen the same time you got this?" the doctor asked, indicating his lip. Patrick remained silent. "Patrick, with your permission I'd like to make a more thorough examination to make sure that someone hasn't hurt you more seriously. I'll just step outside the curtain and you can take off your jeans and shorts–"
"What? No!" What the hell?
"I'll get a nurse in here, Patrick, so you're not alone with me when I examine you."
"No way, man! I'm not hurt anywhere else!"
"Then could you tell me how you got these injuries, Patrick?"
"It's just a scrape! It's not on my ass!"
"Patrick," Watson's tone had turned gentle, "it's okay, you haven't done anything wrong. If someone's been hurting you we can make it stop but I need to examine–"
"The only thing that's been hurting my ass is that bike seat! You need my permission, right?" Patrick narrowed his eyes. "You can't make me strip?"
"No, I can't, but–"
"You do not have my permission. I refuse permission. I am not giving my permission for any more examining. Is that clear enough? No permission. We're done here." Patrick started retrieving his clothes.
"Can I at least get a nurse to clean these up, Patrick?" Watson asked mildly, indicated his stomach, his lip. "The skin's broken, there's a risk of infection if they aren't cleaned up properly." Patrick had been about to put his shirt back on. He put it back down and nodded tersely. "Okay then," Watson nodded. "I'll send someone through as soon as I can. You can get into bed if you feel cold while you're waiting." Watson took a final look then he was gone, sliding the curtain back behind him with a loud rattle.
His split lip gave the cops a plausible story: boy runs away because foster carer hit him. The improbable truth of what happened this evening wasn't anywhere near as believable and was surely as damning for Taylor as the plausible lie was for Brodie. Patrick had no idea what the doctor had been thinking but his expression when he saw the scrape on his stomach had been incongruously serious considering how minor it was.
It took a moment before Patrick remembered he didn't want to care how bad things would look for Taylor. He did though. He felt upset, betrayed, he knew he was acting like a sucker and still, still he couldn't find it in himself to hate Taylor enough to get him into trouble with the law. Tonight had turned into a nightmare and whatever he said – or refused to say – it was getting worse.
Patrick shivered then yawned hugely. He was too tired. He needed to sleep. He'd be able to think once he got some sleep. He contemplated getting into this hospital bed but wondered if that was a ruse to get him to undress for that examination. Instead he ripped the blanket off the bed and was wrapping it around himself when at the edge of his hearing someone said his name. One of the cops was asking someone about him.
"The injuries I saw were very minor," that was Watson's distinctive voice, "but the boy won't let me complete my examination. I can't force him. We could ask his parents–"
"That's not an option, kid's in care." That sounded like the older cop.
"What's bugging you, doc?" the other cop asked.
"Look, I only just qualified, right? It's not like I have a lot of experience in this kind of thing. I paged Dr. Rao, she'll be along as soon as she can and she'll have a better idea than me, okay?"
"What do you think, doc?"
"You thought the kid might have been assaulted, because you saw his lip? Like I said, it's very minor, doesn't even need a dressing, we'll clean him up and he'll be good to go. He's also got a broad scrape right up his abdomen. Again it's very minor but put the two together... I saw something similar a few times as a medical student in San Francisco, never on a child though. In the STI clinic there when we came across minor ventral injuries with vertical striations the nurses called it 'rent boy rash', not an infection, it's what you'd see if the patient had been pressed against a rough surface and..." Watson dropped his voice and must have mimed something, judging by the 'aw man!' protest from one of the cops.
"Okay, we get the picture." That was the older cop.
So did Patrick, listening with increasing horror to what the doctor was saying. The term 'rent boy' was new to him but the context was unmistakable. The guy thought that? About him?
"Both injuries happened around the same time, which is also consistent with that kind of molestation."
"Or the kid climbed a tree recently and slipped." This was the older cop again.
"Absolutely, he might have climbed a tree," the doctor agreed. "As I said, you really need to speak to my supervisor. Dr. Rao will be here as soon as she can. The kid was happy to tell me how he got some older bruises on his arms, his story was consistent with the age of those bruises and their location, completely normal in an eleven year old boy –"
"APB said he was thirteen," the first cop interrupted.
"Really? He looks younger. But okay, still normal. The lip and the stomach? He just clammed up. Wouldn't say a word. And if he climbed a tree it was in the dark, that scrape is very fresh, happened some time in the last couple of hours. Now if you'll excuse me, a doctor's work is never done." Patrick heard footsteps disappear into the background noise of the ER. Shit shit shit! Just when he thought things couldn't possibly get worse!
"What do you think, Manny?" The younger cop sounded way too eager for Patrick's liking.
"That doctor looked like he just stepped out of kindergarten." Scorn dripped from Manny's every word. "He couldn't even tell how old the kid was. I want to hear what the other doctor has to say before I think anything. We had a kid up a tree overnight last month, remember? Maybe chasing kids up trees is a new gang initiation thing. Some guy hitting his foster kid? Hell yeah, that happens. A rent boy that young, out alone in the middle of the night? Where's his pimp? Or a kid who's just been molested runs away? Maybe, but on a racing bike? Did you see the seat on that thing? I don't buy it," he said. Patrick smiled when he heard this, lopsidedly because of his lip. The guy might be a cop but skeptical was good. Patrick was warming to Manny.
The nurse arrived at that moment to clean him up. Patrick had dressed himself and was sitting on the edge of the bed by the time the lady doctor stepped through the curtains. She cast an eye over the clipboard, deftly looked over his lip and jaw, asked him to lift his shirt to examine the scrape over his stomach then came straight to the point.
"Patrick Jane. Did the policemen bring you here because of the injury to your face?"
"Yes ma'am."
"They wanted a doctor to check you weren't more seriously injured."
"I'm not."
"They picked you up because your foster parents reported you missing?"
"I guess so, ma'am."
"Did you sneak out of the front door or the window when you ran away this evening?"
"I didn't run away!"
Rao raised her eyebrows but simply asked again, "Window or door?"
"Uh, window, ma'am."
"Down a tree or onto the porch roof?"
"Um. Up over the house roof, then down onto the porch roof."
"Complicated," she nodded. "So did you slip on the edge of the house roof or the porch roof?"
"The porch roof, ma'am."
Dr. Rao continued talking as she scribbled something on the clipboard.
"Harder to climb down when there's a big gap underneath, huh? You might want to consider using the door next time you decide not to run away. There's a reason people have doors in their houses, much less risky to life and limb." The doctor's manner was deadpan but Patrick had the impression she was amused. "Do you understand what 'molestation' means, Patrick?" Rao asked, turning back to her patient.
"Yes ma'am," Patrick replied.
"Have you been molested this evening or at any other time?"
"No ma'am."
"Will you change into this gown and let me confirm that with a very quick examination, Patrick? I'm not supposed simply to take your word for it." Rao held up a hospital gown and added, "the opening goes at the back." Reluctantly Patrick took the gown and Rao nodded. "I'll just step outside the curtain while you change. Would you like to have a nurse here too when I examine you?"
"No, thank you, ma'am."
True to her word, the examination was very quick and not as invasive as Patrick had feared. As she stripped off her gloves Rao asked, "Why wouldn't you let Dr. Watson examine you, Patrick?"
"He didn't say he thought I'd been molested. There's nothing wrong with my ass, I wasn't gonna let that quack anywhere near it without a good reason."
The lady doctor looked as though she was barely restraining a smile. "Okay, I'm discharging you now, Patrick. Get changed, I'll let the policemen know. Once you're dressed you can go with them."
Rao swished the curtain closed behind her. Beyond it Patrick could hear her reassuring the cops that she'd examined him thoroughly and that he'd told her he got the injuries sneaking out of his room. When they got into the patrol car Mike called the dispatcher and was told to take Patrick to his foster parents' house, not the station house, and hand him over to the social worker there.
"Looks like we're taking you home after all, kid," Manny said, turning around to watch Patrick as he said it.
"Good," was the only reply Patrick could find. He wanted to go to bed, not hang around talking to cops. Many gave Mike a significant look before they pulled out into the street.
The Brodies and Lazczyck were all on the porch as the patrol car pulled up. Sally Brodie radiated anxiety and relief, even from this distance. Lazczyck met the cops on the sidewalk and had a brief, quiet word with Manny while Mike retrieved the bike from the trunk then helped Patrick out of the car.
"You with CPS? Here ya go, safe and sound," Mike said to Lazczyck as he handed Patrick over to her.
"Thank you, Officer Powell," she replied, putting her hand on Patrick's shoulder, then turned back to the other cop. "Thanks for the heads up, Officer Diaz. Leave it with me. I'll send you a copy of my report when it's done."
"We still need a statement–"
"It can wait until tomorrow." Lazczyck was very firm. "Right now this child needs to get some sleep and in my professional opinion it is safe for him to do so here."
"Yes, ma'am," Manny replied, looking rather abashed. "G'night, Patrick." The older cop got back into the patrol car.
"C'mon, Patrick," Lazczyck said, guiding him to the front door. He glanced bleary-eyed at the Brodies and Sally let out a gasp that was almost a sob. She came up then, put her hand on his cheek and gazed intently at his face.
"Oh dear God, Patrick, have you been in a fight? Where did you go? What happened to you?" Patrick could see tears in her eyes. He hadn't even considered she might be upset by all this. The sight reminded him how upset he was feeling about what Taylor had shouted at him. Too tired to hold back, he felt tears in his own eyes. Shit, was he going to cry now? He pulled away, blinking rapidly, and headed inside.
Patrick had been hoping to go straight to bed but instead Lazczyck guided him into the kitchen. There were three half-empty mugs on the table, a little steam still rising from them.
"Would you like a drink, Patrick?" Lazczyck asked.
"No, ma'am," Patrick managed, yawning and using it as an excuse to rub his eyes dry.
"It's okay, Patrick," Lazczyck hadn't noticed. "I just have a couple of questions then you can go to bed. If you'll excuse us for a moment?" she added to the Brodies, who had followed them into the kitchen. Patrick looked at Lazczyck as he yawned again.
"Did William or Sally hit you today, Patrick?" Lazczyck asked as soon as the kitchen door closed.
"No, ma'am," Patrick responded straight away. He looked bone-tired but he didn't look like he was lying or covering anything up.
"Then can you tell me why you ran away?"
"I didn't run away."
"You weren't in your bed when Sally checked on you after all the guests went home."
"I'd like to be there now," Patrick deflected, yawning again.
Okay, that could wait, her initial assessment couldn't. She returned to her main theme. "Did anyone else in this house hit you, Patrick? A Thanksgiving guest or one of the other foster kids, maybe?"
"No, ma'am." Again it had the ring of truth.
"How did you get that cut on your lip, Patrick?"
"It's –" Patrick yawned hugely, "it's a long story. Please, can't I go to bed now? I'm really tired. I'll tell you all about it, but tomorrow, okay? Please?"
Long story. Lazczyck had already filled in the blanks in her own head. Kid sneaks out after dark, kid gets in fight. Maybe it was over a girl, even though the kid looked a bit too young. She could substitute 'drugs' or something similar for 'girl' in that scenario but she didn't think so, there was no hint of drug use in Patrick's bedroom or his demeanor and anyway the cops or the hospital would surely have picked up on that. In any case that story could wait. Patrick wasn't acting like an abused kid, Lazczyck knew the Brodies well, had never really suspected one of them had hit the boy and he denied it was them too. Kids snuck out at night for all kinds of stupid reasons. The longer the story the less sense it made, in her experience.
"Okay. You can go to bed now."
"Thank you, ma'am," Patrick replied, standing up.
"I will need to hear that story tomorrow, " Lazczyck warned as they headed out of the kitchen. Sally and William were in the hallway.
"He's all yours," Lazczyck smiled at their anxious faces. "My initial assessment is that he's at no risk here. I need to do the usual investigation for a runaway but right now I think we could all do with some sleep. I'll call you tomorrow. Goodnight, Sally." Lazczyck gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Don't worry! From here on I'm sure it's just a formality. Goodnight Will," she added, shaking his hand.
As Lazczyck left, Sally drew Patrick into a big hug. Patrick hadn't encouraged such intimacy from the Brodies but this felt... comforting rather than intrusive. Although he wished they hadn't called in the cops he was rather touched by their concern.
"We were so worried about you! Thank God you're safe. Why did you sneak out like that? Where did you go?" Sally babbled.
"Tomorrow, Sal. Stella's right, we all need to get some sleep. We'll get to the bottom of things tomorrow." Brodie hugged his wife's shoulder affectionately before turning to Patrick.
"Bed, young man." Williams voice was severe but betrayed relief, not anger. "And no matter what your reasons were for sneaking out, you're grounded. One week. No arguments."
Patrick nodded mutely. Brodie's expression softened as he gently grasped Patrick's shoulders and turned him to the stairs. Again Patrick was struck how comforting it was just having that brief moment of contact.
"You look dead on your feet, Patrick." Brodie's voice was much kinder now. "Come on... here you go... up the last few stairs... and here's your room. Goodnight, Patrick."
"G'night, sir."
"I guess last night was even longer for you than I thought," Taylor managed weakly when Patrick finished telling this story.
"It was, uh, four-ish, I guess, when I finally got to sleep. I got up an hour ago."
Taylor nodded into the silence. "Did you really clean me up on the floor in the hallway? You and one of your teachers?" Taylor sounded mortified.
"Ms. Jepson, yeah."
"Dear God. And that young doctor really thought..."
"Yeah."
"Dear God," Taylor repeated.
"I'm supposed to go to the Sheriff's office with Brodie today to give a statement."
"What did you tell the Brodies?"
"Nothing yet. They told me I was grounded and sent me to bed, like I said. I slept all day, only just got up. He let me have breakfast and this," Patrick indicated his mug of tea, smiling wryly with the side of his mouth that wasn't sore, "before his little chat. I guess it's Brodie's version of a last cigarette for the condemned man. Mrs. Brodie took the others out for the day."
"Would you like me to–" Taylor didn't get to the end of his offer, Patrick didn't get the chance to refuse because at that moment Brodie stepped onto the porch.
"Patrick, I – Oh! Hello, Simon. I, uh, I didn't realise Patrick had called you. I guess I should have expected it. I was just going to ask him about last night then take him down to the Sheriff's office, they need to interview him about it. Stella's agreed to meet us there this afternoon, too, she needs to get the ball rolling on her runaway report."
"I didn't run away," Patrick said immediately.
Brodie looked at Taylor and then back at Patrick. "Uh, Patrick, you know you didn't have to call Mr. Taylor, right? You're not in any more trouble." Brodie turned to Taylor. "We grounded him until Wednesday for breaking curfew, that's all. You'll even be able to have your usual poker game with him next Thursday. I'm sorry you've been called out on a bit of a wild goose chase, Simon. The police just need a statement from Patrick about last night because we reported him missing and they picked him up. Then we'll go through the usual CPS investigation for when a foster child runs away."
"I didn't run away," Patrick said again.
"CPS still have to investigate, Patrick. We didn't know where you were last night, technically that's running away. The police picked you up, that's why they want a statement from you, too. As we're being investigated I can't accompany you –"
"You're being investigated, Mr. Brodie?" Patrick interrupted. He'd thought that had all been sorted out at the hospital, what was that lady doctor's name again?
"By child protective services, not the police," Brodie replied, as though this was some kind of consolation.
"I'm – I'm sorry, Will." Patrick had no idea his sneaking out could cause this kind of trouble for the Brodies. Hadn't Tran said foster kids sneak out all the time at night at the group home?
Brodie was touched by Patrick's words. "It's okay, Patrick, I'm sure it'll be fine. We couldn't understand why the police didn't bring you straight home when they picked you up until we saw you last night but Stella's initial assessment was that you're not at risk here. That's why you're allowed to stay with us during her investigation. She'll sit with you while you give your statement to the Sheriff because I'm not supposed to if I'm being investigated. Afterwards she'll have her own questions for you–"
"I don't want Ms. Lazczyck to sit with me. I only met her three times, she doesn't know me." Patrick's mind was buzzing now. Lazczyck wouldn't understand Brodie letting him play cards with Taylor, would she? Coupled with an investigation, what kind of trouble could that cause? The kind that ended with Patrick being moved somewhere else, maybe? The same group home as Tran might not be so bad although... Patrick liked being cared for by the Brodies because they so clearly cared. For him. Sally might be a bit too much but even she had backed off and begun treating him less like a little kid. William Brodie... Patrick was only now realising how much he had come to like Brodie. He wasn't a friend like Taylor and he would never be an accomplice like Jepson but he went out of his way to understand Patrick rather than try to force him to conform to Brodie's idea of normal. Suddenly the extra independence he might gain from being at a group home didn't seem worth what he would lose if he had to leave here. It finally occurred to Patrick that he had still thought of Taylor as a friend just then. He looked over to the lawyer.
"Paddy," Taylor was looking very serious now, "I don't think I can sit with you when the police take your statement."
Because it had actually been Taylor, not Brodie, who hit him, Patrick realized.
This made Brodie look curiously at them both. Five minutes ago Patrick would have objected to Taylor's help anyway, now it felt as though he had burned his last bridge without even noticing. What the hell did they want him to say to the police and child protective services? The believable lies would cause trouble for Brodie but the truth would surely have repercussions for Taylor and himself as well. Taylor was still speaking.
"As a minor you need an adult with you, as it can't be Will or his wife, or myself, I think Ms. Lazczyck is your best option."
"You could sit in on the police interview if you want, Simon..." Brodie tailed off when he saw Taylor's expression. "Can't you? What happened last night?"
"Paddy snuck out after his curfew last night in order to –" Taylor began.
"Wait!" Patrick practically shouted. "Can I have a word with my lawyer, Mr. Brodie, before we all talk about last night? Please?"
"Inside," Brodie said firmly, looking from one to the other before leading the way. Taylor was certain Patrick had been about to refuse his offer of help earlier before Brodie interrupted.
Brodie ushered them into the study then closed the door and turned to face them both, looking stubborn and folding his arms across his chest. "I want to know what happened last night," he said. "We've been very patient, Patrick, but your time's run out."
"Just five minutes, please, sir," Patrick was practically begging. "I'll tell you everything if you just give us five minutes."
"Five minutes," Brodie repeated as he opened the study door, "then I want to know everything."
"What happens if I tell the truth?" Patrick began in a quiet but urgent voice as soon as the door closed. "How much trouble am I in? Zack nearly called the cops on me last night. He knows I broke into your house, he thought I might have, I dunno, knocked you unconscious."
"You're not in trouble with the law right now, Paddy, and whatever happens I'm not going to press charges for unlawful entry when the only reason you broke in was to make sure I was okay."
"What about you? Last night Jepson was going to call the cops or child protective services just because I was there and you were drunk. You did this," Patrick gestured to his face and Taylor winced. "If I say that to Brodie and the cops won't you get in trouble?"
"Well, it depends."
Patrick rolled his eyes. "On what?"
"You're a minor so you don't get the final say on having me charged with assault, Will does. If he wants to press charges he doesn't have a very strong case because you did break in. My lawyer will want to claim I was defending myself during a home invasion."
"Your lawyer?"
"I'm a fool in many ways, Paddy, but I would never try defending myself in a court of law. Anyway, arguing self defense for me would reopen your can of worms and add more worms. Home invasion is worse than a simple unlawful entry, it's a crime with a lot of media attention at the moment. I still wouldn't press charges but the DA almost certainly would, if my defense was successful – and as I said, I think it would be successful. I'd testify on your behalf but that might not be enough to keep you out of juvenile hall."
"Shit! Sorry, sir," Patrick added
"No, that's a reasonable response. I think... I rather think it would be the best outcome all round if Will doesn't press charges against me for assault. I won't press charges for the break-in and I'm as sure as I can be that the DA won't want to prosecute anyone in that event. You had a good reason to break in. I had a very poor excuse for – for doing that." It was Taylor's turn to gesture at Patrick's face. "I am so very sorry I hurt you," he said quietly.
Patrick shook his head dismissively. "It didn't hurt. I didn't even notice until later."
Taylor hesitated for a moment then continued.
"I expect the worst that'll happen in that case is that I get a reprimand for 'disreputable behavior' from the California Bar. Maybe a fine, if I'm unlucky about who's on the panel."
"A bar says lawyers aren't allowed to get drunk?" Patrick was baffled.
"If that was the case there'd be no lawyers," Taylor quipped at Patrick's confusion. "Our professional licencing body is called the California Bar Association, it's 'bar' as in 'barrister', an old word for a legal advocate. The association's 'moral character' rules say we're not supposed to do anything to bring the profession into disrepute, even when we're drunk. In practice that means we're not supposed to get caught." Taylor's lips were twitching upwards as he said this. "So long as I'm not convicted of assaulting a minor, simply being arrested for assault isn't enough to be barred from the Bar."
"I don't want you to be arrested, Mr. Taylor."
Taylor looked at him. "You want to give me a second chance, Paddy? You still want to be friends?"
Patrick considered this for a moment. He wasn't a 'second chance' kind of person. All through this he hadn't felt able to hate Taylor but he didn't know how things could just go back to the way they were before.
"What you shouted, that was worse than hitting me," Patrick said, feeling suddenly vulnerable at this admission.
Taylor stared down at his shoes for a long moment. He nodded slowly as he looked up again.
"I think I understand. I saw your lip and your unhappiness and I connected the wrong dots, didn't I? I guess you must have been called a lot of things by kids in the towns you visited over the years."
"Yeah. Not just kids." Patrick sounded subdued.
"So when I shouted what I did... Jesus. I'm sorry."
"Yeah."
"Listen to me, s– Paddy. I never thought I was better than you."
"You can call me 'son'. I was angry with you before but – but lots of adults call me that. It's okay if you want to call me that."
"Thank you, Paddy." Taylor's sounded surprised. "I shouted at you because I was scared. I... I liked becoming your friend. People my age, well, easy friendships are harder to come by as you get older. You don't get to my age without carrying some baggage that gets in the way. The more you got to know me the harder it became to open those bags."
"I think I'd like to try, Mr. Taylor. Second chances, I mean. I don't have much practice. Dad and Lily and me, we've never been big on 'forgive and forget.'"
Taylor had to look away. Patrick had again casually let drop something about his family that was greatly moving to him. He cleared his throat. "In the circumstances, Paddy, I think you can call me 'Simon'. If you feel you want to," he added, looking nervous.
"Simon." Patrick rolled the name around his mouth then unexpectedly grinned, lopsided but with genuine mirth. "Did you really make princes play cards in your kitchen, Simon?"
"One middle-eastern prince, yes. He looked like he'd never been inside a kitchen in his life."
"Why?"
"Because I always held card games there. Damaris – my wife – said it was because I was stubborn. Truth is, I knew rich and powerful folks would be out of their element in a kitchen. Either they'd be uncomfortable, like that prince was, because it wasn't somewhere they went much, or they'd be lulled into a false sense of security by the domesticity of it all. Either of those gave me an advantage at cards."
Patrick chuckled, nodding. "I'll go fetch Mr. Brodie back, Simon. I think I'll be able to persuade him not to press charges. Last night, well, the story of last night could be kinda funny, if I tell it right. At the moment it looks as bad as I do. I just need to make him see it as a, a comedy of errors. I think that won't be too hard. He's not gonna believe what that Australian doctor thought about me."
Brodie was angry, at first. Taylor had confessed to accidentally striking Patrick as soon as Brodie returned to the study, before Patrick could get a word in. Brodie then asked Patrick to give them a moment alone and Patrick did, heading into the kitchen and listening to muffled shouting give way to talking before both men appeared at the kitchen door to invite him back into the study.
Taylor apologised yet again, this time to Brodie as well as Patrick. In turn Patrick explained that it really had been an accident, that he had barely felt it at the time. He didn't mention that was because he had been too upset by what Taylor had shouted at him, instead launching straight into his story. It wasn't wildly distorted but he changed minor details to emphasise the absurdity of everything that happened while at the same time minimizing his own sense of panic and distress. Brodie's lips first twitched when Patrick was describing his reaction to the stink when he opened the door.
"Just wait until the first time you have to change a diaper," Brodie muttered as Patrick paused, which made him grin into the man's eyes in a moment of solidarity. Patrick lavishly described his dismay at having to clean up Taylor with extensive use of euphemism and metaphor and was gratified that Brodie snorted in amusement. When Patrick went on to describe himself in the rubber gloves and apron, wielding a long-handled scrubbing brush from the bathroom and wishing he had goggles Brodie couldn't help giving a brief chuckle. It helped that Taylor played along, groaning in embarrassment, hiding his face in his hands and generally mugging his way through the story. Taylor was beyond impressed. This was essentially the same story he had just heard but it was as if he was hearing it for the first time, from a comedian on Saturday Night Live rather than a tragedy being showcased on Oprah.
Patrick's description of himself, halfway over the edge of the porch roof, legs kicking into empty air as he tried to find a way down before he slowly slid into an ignominious heap had both Taylor and Brodie laughing. Jepson was cast as the cavalry, swooping in to the rescue while Zack was given the role of Columbo: Patrick even had him asking 'one more thing'. Patrick's comedy-Frankenstein impersonation of Taylor waking up lent credence to their claim it had been an accident and had Taylor groaning with embarrassment again. Patrick diverted attention away from the sordid suspicions of the young doctor by starting a long, off the wall discourse on the imagined meanings and possible origin of the term 'rent boy' from his own supposed point of view, an innocent kid trying to figure out a conversation between adults, which unexpectedly had Brodie laughing out loud.
"So, y'see, Will, it all ended up in a big mess. Everything I did to avoid trouble just ended in more trouble," Patrick concluded. "I could get into real trouble, now. Juvenile Hall-style trouble."
"Is that true, Simon?"
"I think it's possible. No matter how good his reason, the fact remains that Patrick broke in. In my experience a jury won't convict a homeowner for taking a swing at someone who broke into their home, no matter what his age. However if I use that defense then that puts Patrick in the frame for home invasion, not just unlawful entry. The DA would most likely prosecute that charge even though I don't want to press charges, they'd simply subpoena me as a hostile witness."
"Why... why didn't you call here, Patrick?"
Patrick looked Brodie in the eye.
"I thought you'd stop me ever going to Simon's house again if I told you he was passed out drunk. I thought you'd call the Sheriff because I broke in, too."
"God, what a mess," Brodie sighed.
"Was I wrong?" Patrick asked.
"I would have done both those things a month ago. Now? I honestly don't know, Patrick. You seem so at ease at Simon's place on Thursdays, more than you ever are here. I don't want to take that away from you, even though I'm still mad about what he put you through last night. Breaking in to help a friend... If ever there was a good reason to break into someone's home, you had it."
Silence descended between the three of them for a long moment. Finally Patrick broke it.
"So what should I tell the cops and child protective services?"
Brodie replied first. "You tell them the truth."
"Yes, the truth," Taylor agreed.
Patrick looked from one to the other in disbelief.
"You seriously want me to tell the cops I broke into your big, fancy house and all I did was tidy the lounge and wash the plates? They are never, and I mean never, gonna believe that story, not if it's just Ms. Lazczyck sitting next to me. The story they'll believe is 'foster parent smacks delinquent kid' or 'delinquent kid breaks in to rob a house and the homeowner lands one on him.' As soon as I mention picking the lock they're all gonna peg me for a juvenile delinquent, including Ms. Lazczyck."
"I'm sure that's not the case –" Brodie began.
"Really, Mr. Brodie? When you first met me, you thought I was a thief." Brodie looked as though Patrick had just slapped him in the face. Patrick turned to Taylor. "I might not have a lot of life experience, Simon, but I have plenty of experience of which stories are believable and which aren't. I have plenty of experience of being me."
"Okay, I can see where you're coming from, Paddy."
"What? You think Patrick should lie?" Brodie's ire was clear in his voice.
"No," Taylor was all business now. "The narrative for last night has to be 'panicking kid' not 'delinquent kid.' You weren't trying to stay out of trouble, you were panicking and not thinking clearly. An adult would have called 9-1-1 but it's reasonable that a child who was in a panic might not do that. Cleaning, tidying, that all happened after your teacher arrived, yes? She didn't call 9-1-1 because she knew how to deal with a drunk so instead she organised the clean-up in which you participated."
"Even if I was panicking at first, I went back after curfew, sir. I told Ms, Jepson that I had to return here by ten, but said I'd come back to your house afterwards."
"Did she tell you not to?"
"Uh, she said she didn't want me sneaking out on my foster parents."
"Close enough. That lets her off the hook. She told you not to sneak back but you did anyway. Later in the evening you're no longer panicking but you are so concerned about – about my wellbeing that you disobey your teacher and break your foster parents' curfew in order to sneak back to my house." Taylor blinked and his tone softened. "Thank you, Paddy. I don't think I ever thanked you for looking after me last night."
Patrick acknowledged this with a silent nod before continuing.
"Won't that drag Ms. Jepson into all this?"
"I'll call her, let her know the police may get in touch with her."
"She won't be happy about it."
"She may not even be called on by the police. The details they're concerned about are you breaking in and me assaulting you."
"Erm, I told Jepson we play chess on Thursdays."
"Yeah, Junior mentioned it. That was before you returned here, yes? Then you were still panicking, even more so when you unexpectedly found a teacher from your school on my doorstep. You weren't thinking straight. You acted like any regular kid would when caught doing something your teacher wouldn't like. You said the first thing that came into your head. At the station house you can tell them you're coming clean about that now because you know telling a lie to the police is more serious than making up a story for a teacher."
"You know I didn't believe what Patrick said about you until now," Brodie interrupted, looking furious. "Weeks ago, before I agreed to let him go play cards on Thursdays he told me you were a good liar but I didn't see it until now. You said Patrick should tell the truth!"
"Every word is true, Will," Taylor replied evenly. "This is what lawyers do, we make the truth sound as plausible and as favorable as we can." Taylor continued steadily looking at Brodie as he asked Patrick, "Were you in fact calm and collected when you saw me on the floor through the window, Paddy?"
"No, sir. I was scared and I didn't know what to do. Ms. Jepson even commented on it later, said I sounded like I was freaking out when I called her on the phone. Um, she's mad at you, too."
"Which I richly deserve. I'm not proud of how I behaved yesterday, Will, but what I'm doing now isn't lying and I'm not ashamed of it. 'Scared and didn't know what to do' sounds like panic to me. Would you say you were happy when you saw Jepson get out of her car, Paddy?"
"No sir. I called her to get advice over the phone. I didn't tell her where I was calling from so I was kinda spooked when she turned up on your doorstep."
"Although we wouldn't condone it, I think we can all understand how a child who is 'kinda spooked' by the sudden, unexpected appearance of a teacher from their school might make up such a story on the spur of the moment. Why did you sneak out and return to my house after your curfew?"
"I guess I needed to see for myself that you were gonna be okay. I told Ms. Jepson she could go home once I got back to your house, but then she decided she didn't want to leave me alone with a – with you, Simon."
Taylor nodded. "She sounds like a very sensible woman. Whatever happens, I'm not going to press charges against Patrick," Taylor was addressing Brodie now. "If you don't press charges either, Will, then I'm as sure as I can be that the DA won't be interested in prosecuting anyone. I'll pass on a copy of the police case file to the Bar Association and get a professional reprimand, maybe a fine. What about you, Will?"
"You don't want me to press charges for assault, do you, Patrick?" Brodie sounded resigned.
"No sir. It was an accident."
"Then I will go along with your wishes. For Patrick's sake, not yours, Simon," he added.
"But you're still in trouble with child protective services, Will." Patrick sounded concerned.
"Last night Stella wasn't impressed when I told her I take you to play cards on Thursdays, or that I let you go there on your own last night. We did the right thing when we discovered that you were gone so Stella's runaway report is a formality but she might still have something to say about what we allow you to do in your spare time."
"Now you're in trouble with Lazczyck because you let me go to see Simon and play cards? As well as because I snuck out? And you're still in the frame for hitting me. The cops thought it was you, Will."
"Well, that's why we need to go clear things up, Patrick. The police will take all our statements, then Simon and I will both refuse to press charges."
"That still leaves Lazczyck and child protective services."
"I wouldn't normally allow a child I was fostering to play cards or go out at night alone, but you're not a run-of-the-mill teenager, Patrick. I made my decisions, I'll deal with any consequences. That's what grown-ups do."
Patrick stared at Brodie as if he was crazy. "But it's my fault," Patrick said wretchedly. "I made you let me play cards, and go over to Simon's house last night. I snuck out. You didn't do anything wrong."
"Would you permit me to make a suggestion, Will?" Taylor interrupted.
Brodie's face was wary but he said, "Sure, go ahead."
"Patrick works in showbusiness. I happen to know that California child protective services can show, well, a certain flexibility when it comes to children who work in showbiz. They often have skills or are exposed to circumstances that might not be appropriate for regular kids. Think about child stunt doubles, say, in the movie business."
"That's... actually that's helpful, Simon. I mean, that was the reason I started letting him play cards with you in the first place. He, uh, showed me a card trick. A good one."
"But it's still my fault! Not yours!"
"You didn't make me do anything, Patrick," Brodie replied gently. "It was my decision. Like I said, adults take responsibility for their decisions."
"The courts deal with grown-ups who try to avoid the consequences of their actions all the time, Paddy. The lesson you can take from last night is that trying to wriggle out of a tar pit just makes you sink faster."
Patrick didn't agree, though he didn't say so. The lesson he had taken from last night was to get better at wriggling. Or at anticipating people's actions and reactions: the Brodies' behavior had blindsided him again. Taylor thought Patrick was better than his dad at reading people? All he needed was more experience? One person could only experience so much but a wise boy learns from other people's experiences, not just his own. Taylor had a lot of life experience, so did Alex. Brodie and Sally had different kinds of experience, of ordinary life and work and family, and if his stint in care had taught him anything it was that his kind of normal was very different to the majority. Older people like passing on their experience, too. Being a good listener could help Patrick with more than just the pursuit of girls.
