The Forgotten. Faye Kellerman

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      “Counselor, if you’re there, then it’s official. I have to read him his rights. Then, as we all know, I can use his statements in a trial. If you’re not there, I can’t use anything.”

      “So what happens if you like what you hear?” Carter wanted to know.

      “He writes it all down in a witnessed confession statement. We seal it. Then I take it to the D.A. and probably he’ll plead him down to a simple wrist slap—”

      “Probably?”

      “Yes, probably. I can’t say for sure. This is the best I can do—”

      “I’ll take it,” Ernesto said.

      “Ernesto, you’re seventeen. You don’t have the final word. Do you understand that?”

      “And you’re fired, Mr. Melrose. Do you understand that?”

      “Ernie, what in the world is wrong with you?” Jill screamed. “Apologize!”

      “This is precisely why I can’t trust him without representation,” Melrose said.

      Ernesto tightened his fists. “This is my life here, Mr. Melrose. Not yours, not my mom’s, not Dad’s … my life.” He looked at Decker. “I can speak for myself.”

      Melrose said, “Carter, you can’t let him do this!”

      “Yes, he can,” Ernesto said. “My parents raised me with independence. Now they’re going to put their money where their mouths are and trust me to do the right thing!”

      And what could the Goldings say to that? Decker couldn’t have scripted it better. He broke in. “Where do you want to talk, Mr. Golding?” A pause. “Is there a vacant classroom somewhere?”

      “You can have the faculty lounge annex,” Williams stated.

      Ernesto said, “I have a calculus test last period. That’s in an hour. Can we wrap it up by then?”

      “That depends on what you have to tell me,” Decker said.

      “I’m not gonna miss my test,” Ernesto insisted. “I studied two hours for that sucker.”

      “Ernesto, calculus should not be foremost on your mind!” Jill barged in.

      “Calculus isn’t foremost on my mind, Ma, only getting an A in calculus. If I don’t get an A in calculus, I can kiss off the Ivies.” To Decker, he said, “You said the records would be sealed?”

      “If I like what I hear, I’ll make that recommendation.”

      “So I wouldn’t have to put anything on my college applications?”

      “Not if they’re sealed.”

      “So the universities wouldn’t know—”

      “Forget about college right now!” Carter snapped.

      “How can I forget about college, Dad!” Ernesto exploded. “Other than sex, college is all I ever think about. Because it’s all you and Mom ever think about!”

       7

      The prep school supplied lots of perks, among them the faculty lounge. It was set up like a café in a bookstore with tables, chairs, a few comfy sofas, and several computer stations, allowing teachers to go on-line and check their E-mail. Plenty of reading material—novels, nonfiction, magazines, and papers—sat on the built-in shelves that lined the walls. A few excellent pieces of student artwork were displayed. The biggest benefit, in Decker’s mind, was the in-house laundry service. When Dr. Dahl saw him gaping at the counter, she explained that the faculty worked long hours. It was the least they could do.

      Decker had to strain to hear her because, as they walked, Ernesto was sandwiched between them. He followed the administrator through the area, ignoring the steely looks of those who occupied the space. He said, “A place that does the wash. What’s your starting salary?”

      The woman actually cracked a smile. “It’s on the high side because all of our teachers have postcollege education.”

      An obvious slap in the face meant to put him in his place. Decker just shrugged. “I’m an attorney. Does that count?”

      She slowed, giving him a quick glance. “You’re an attorney?”

      “Once upon a time.”

      “You actually passed the bar?”

      “Now you’re getting insulting.”

      She blushed. “I didn’t mean—”

      “Yes, I passed the bar,” Decker said.

      Gently, Jaime guided Ernesto. “This way.”

      The annex was a blip of a room off the lounge. It was paneled, cozy, and held two tables, each with a computer, and several couches. It also had its own private rest rooms, which Decker found very impressive. They had interrupted a couple involved in a deep conversation. The young blond woman stood up, red-faced and red-eyed, smiling nervously at Dr. Dahl. The man—a bit older, in his thirties—remained on the couch, trying to adopt a casual demeanor, raking his hair with his fingers.

      Jaime said, “We need the room, Brent.”

      Slowly, the man got up. “Sure. Of course.” He walked out with the blond woman, a healthy distance between them.

      Jaime tried to stifle a sigh. To Decker, she said, “Can I get you some coffee?”

      “How about some water for the both of us?”

      Ernesto said, “I’m fine.”

      “I’ll bring some in, just in case.” Jaime left.

      “Where do I sit?”

      “Anywhere you want,” Decker answered.

      The teen looked around, deciding on the couch. “Are you really an attorney?”

      “Yes.”

      “Why are you a cop then?” Ernesto looked down. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

      “I like the job.” Decker took out his notebook.

      Ernesto said, “I saw this documentary once … about cops. Once they retire, they have a hard time readjusting to the civilian world. That’s what they call it, right?” He looked to Decker for confirmation, but Decker didn’t react. “Anyway, the moderator or narrator said something about cops being adrenaline junkies … that the regular world was a boring place compared to what they were used to. A high percentage of them commit suicide. Because they’ve been hooked on the СКАЧАТЬ