Chapter 32
Lee and I went straight back to the precinct. Jacob Mark had finished his business with Docherty. That was clear. And something had changed. That was clear too. They were sitting opposite each other across Docherty’s desk. Not talking anymore. Jake looked happier. Docherty had a patient expression on his face, like he had just wasted an hour. He didn’t look resentful about it. Cops are accustomed to wasting time. Statistically most of what they do leads nowhere. Lee and I walked over to them and Jake said, “Peter called his coach.”
I asked, “When?”
“Two hours ago. The coach called Molina and Molina called me.”
“So where is he?”
“He didn’t say. He had to leave a message. His coach never answers his phone over dinner. Family time.”
“But Peter’s OK?”
“He said he won’t be back anytime soon. Maybe ever. He’s thinking about quitting football. There was a girl giggling in the background.”
Docherty said, “She must be some girl.”
I asked Jake, “You OK with that?”
Jake said, “Hell no. But it’s his life. And he’ll change his mind, anyway. The only question is how fast.”
“I meant, are you happy that the message was for real?”
“The coach knows his voice. Better than I do, probably.”
“Anyone try calling him back?”
“All of us. But his phone is off again.”
Theresa Lee said, “So we’re satisfied?”
“I guess.”
“Feeling better?”
“Relieved.”
“May I ask you a question about another subject?”
“Shoot.”
“Was your sister adopted?”
Jake paused. Switched gears. Nodded. “We both were. As babies. Separately, three years apart. Susan first.” Then he asked, “Why?”
Lee said, “I’m corroborating some new information received.”
“What new information?”
“It seems that Susan came up here to meet a friend.”
“What friend?”
“A Ukrainian woman called Lila Hoth.”
Jake glanced at me. “We’ve been through this. I never heard that name from Susan.”
Lee asked him, “Would you expect to? How close were you? It seems to be a fairly recent friendship.”
“We weren’t very close.”
“When was the last time you talked?”
“A few months ago, I guess.”
“So you’re not completely up-to-date with her social life.”
Jake said, “I guess not.”
Lee asked, “How many people knew that Susan was adopted?”
“I guess she didn’t advertise it. But it wasn’t a secret.”
“How fast would a new friend find out?”
“Fast enough, probably. Friends talk about stuff like that.”
“How would you describe Susan’s relationship with her son?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“An important one.”
Jake hesitated. He clammed up and turned away, physically, like he was literally dodging the issue. Like he was flinching from a blow. Maybe because he was reluctant to wash dirty linen in public, in which case his body language was really all the answer we needed. But Theresa Lee wanted chapter and verse. She said, “Talk to me, Jake. Cop to cop. This is something I need to know about.”
Jake was quiet for a spell. Then he shrugged and said, “I guess you could call it a love-hate relationship.”
“In what way exactly?”
“Susan loved Peter, Peter hated her.”
“Why?”
More hesitation. Another shrug. “It’s complicated.”
“How?”
“Peter went through a phase, like most kids do. Like girls want to be long-lost princesses, or boys want their grandfathers to have been admirals or generals or famous explorers. For a spell everyone wants to be something they’re not. Peter wanted to live in a Ralph Lauren advertisement, basically. He wanted to be Peter Molina the Fourth, or at least the Third. He wanted his father to have an estate in Kennebunkport, and his mother to have the remnants of an old fortune. Susan didn’t handle it well. She was the daughter of a drug-addicted teenage whore from Baltimore, and she made no secret of it. She thought honesty was the best policy. Peter handled it badly. They never really got past it, and then the divorce came, and Peter chose up sides, and they never got over it.”
“How did you feel about it?”
“I could see both points of view. I never inquired about my real mother. I didn’t want to know. But I went through a spell where I wished she was a grand old lady with diamonds. I got over it. But Peter didn’t, which is stupid, I know, but understandable.”
“Did Susan like Peter as a person, as opposed to loving him as a son?”
Jake shook his head. “No. Which made things even worse. Susan had no sympathy for jocks and letter jackets and all that stuff. I guess in school and college she had bad experiences with people like that. She didn’t like that her son was turning into one of them. But that stuff was important to Peter, in its own right at first, and then later as a weapon against her. It was a dysfunctional family, no question.”
“Who knows this story?”
“You mean, would a friend know?”
Lee nodded.
Jake said, “A close friend might.”
“A close friend she met quite recently?”
“There’s no timetable. It’s about trust, isn’t it?”
I said, “You told me Susan wasn’t an unhappy person.”
Jake said, “And she wasn’t. I know that sounds weird. But adopted people have a different view of family. They have different expectations. Believe me, I know. Susan was at peace with it. It was a fact of life, that’s all.”
“Was she lonely?”
“I’m sure she was.”
“Did she feel isolated?”
“I’m sure she did.”
“Did she like to talk on the phone?”
“Most women do.”
Lee asked him, “Have you got kids?”
Jake shook his head again.
“No,” he said. “I don’t have kids. I’m not even married. I tried to learn from my big sister’s experience.”
Lee stayed quiet for a spell and then she said, “Thanks, Jake. I’m happy that Peter’s OK. And I’m sorry I had to bring all that bad stuff up.” Then she walked away and I followed her and she said, “I’ll check the other things too, but it will take time, because those channels are always slow, but right now my guess is that Lila Hoth will pan out just fine. She’s two for two so far, on the adoption thing and the mother-son thing. She knows stuff only a genuine friend would know.”
I nodded agreement. “You interested in the other thing? Whatever it was that got Susan so scared?”
“Not until I see actual evidence of a crime committed in New York City, somewhere between Ninth Avenue and Park, and 30th Street and 45th.”
“That’s this precinct?”
She nodded. “Anything else would be volunteer work.”
“You interested in Sansom?”
“Not even a little bit. Are you?”
“I feel like I should warn him, maybe.”
“About what? A million-to-one possibility?”
“It’s actually much shorter odds than a million to one. There are five million men called John in America. Second only to James, for popularity. That’s one in thirty guys. Which means that in 1983 there could have been about thirty-three thousand Johns in the U.S. Army. Discount it maybe ten percent for military demographics, the chances are about one in thirty thousand.”
“Those are still very big odds.”
“I think Sansom should know, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Call it a brother officer thing. Maybe I’ll head back to D.C.”
“No need. Save yourself the trip. He’s coming here. Tomorrow mid-day, for a fundraiser lunch at the Sheraton. With all the heavy hitters from Wall Street. Seventh Avenue and 52nd Street. We got a memo.”
“Why? He wasn’t getting much protection in Greensboro.”
“He isn’t getting much protection here, either. In fact he isn’t getting any. But we get memos about everything. That’s how it is now. That’s the new NYPD.” Then she walked away, leaving me all alone in the middle of the empty squad room. And leaving me feeling a little uneasy. Maybe Lila Hoth really was as pure as the driven snow, but I couldn’t shake the sensation that Sansom was walking into a trap, just by coming to the city.