Mercy

‘Last time I checked,’ she said.

‘Mr Sedaka—the man I work for—is representing your son.’

‘Who?’

‘Mr Sedaka…Alex Sedaka.’

‘No, I mean, who d’you say he’s representing?’

‘Your son.’

‘I don’t have no son.’

‘Clayton. Your son Clayton.’

‘He ain’t no son of mine!’ she shouted, flopping into a chair. ‘Not anymore.’

Nat looked at her, trying to assess the situation, unsure of how to proceed. He decided to sit down too, taking the fact that she was seated as tacit permission to do likewise.

‘I presume you disowned him after he murd—after he killed Dorothy Olsen.’

‘You can call it murder if you like,’ she said, finally taking out and lighting the cigarette that ought to have been in her mouth all along. ‘I believe in calling a spade a spade.’

Nat realized that Sally Burrow was a lot more astute than he had given her credit for. The fact that she had picked up on his reluctance to use the word ‘murder’ proved that. He realized that he would have to tread carefully and not underestimate her intelligence, or at least her cunning.

‘And that was when you disowned him?’

‘Not immediately.’

‘But that was why you disowned him.’

‘Right.’

‘When did you decide he was guilty?’

‘I don’t really remember. I guess it happened…kind of gradually.’

‘Well what did you think when he was arrested?’

‘I didn’t know what to think.’

‘Did you stand by him during the trial?’

‘I didn’t go to the trial.’

‘So you already thought he was guilty by then.’

‘What else was I supposed to think? With her panties under the floorboards in his bedroom and her blood on them? And his jizz!’

‘You don’t think it could’ve been planted?’

‘Gimme a break!’

‘Okay, so let’s say he’s guilty. That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t stand by him.’

‘Why the fuck should I?’

‘I mean…he is your son.’

‘I already told you. I ain’t got no son.’

‘Did you have one before the murder?’

Sally Burrow’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I was wondering if maybe you saw the signs of the way your son was going before he killed Dorothy Olsen.’

‘Are you tryin’ to make out that I…knew what he was gonna do? Like I’m some kind of a…accessory to what he done?’

‘No, I’m not suggesting that you knew he was going to kill Dorothy. I was just wondering if there were any early signs of Clayton turning into the sort of person that he eventually turned into…if you see what I mean.’

‘We didn’t talk much. He had his life and I had mine.’

Nat seemed to be having trouble digesting this.

‘Didn’t talk?’ he echoed.

‘Didn’t talk,’ she confirmed, drawing on her cigarette.

What he said next surprised even him.

‘Has it occurred to you that if you’d given him more attention and affection he might not have become the violent person that he became?’

He didn’t know afterward what had possessed him to say it. But in some strange, indefinable way, he was glad that he had.

Sally Burrow looked as if she’d just been poleaxed. Her lower jaw dropped open and the cigarette fell to the floor.

‘You’ve got a fuckin’ nerve comin’ into my home and talking to me like that!’

‘All I meant was—’

‘I don’t need you preachin’ to me! Get the fuck out of here!’

She was on her feet now, lurching toward him, and he noticed that she was not a small woman by any stretch of the imagination. He twisted sideways like a corkscrew as he rose from the seat to avoid her menacing onslaught and sprinted the few steps to the doorway.

She was still chasing him out in the yard when he had opened up a distance of twenty yards between them. Puffing through her smoker’s lungs, to be sure, but still chasing.