Part 12 (1/2)
Tilda's voice is shrill now and her little fists are clenched hard against her kneecaps. Her legs have stopped swaying, her little body is stiff and unmoving. Her hair has fallen out of her ponytail and it hangs soft and thin over her skinny shoulders.
”Then what happened, Tilda?”
Carin's voice is calm, almost stoic. Suddenly Tilda slides from her chair and stands in front of the table with her hands over her ears. She screams at the top of her lungs, ”Stop it, stop it!”
Carin steps over to her, puts a hand on her shoulder, waits until she quiets down, takes the girl's little hands in hers, and squats down so that her eyes are level with Tilda's.
”Should we draw a little, you and me? Then we can go back to talking about your mom in a little while.”
Tilda nods. They sit down at the table again. Carin takes out crayons and paper.
”Should I draw my house?” Carin asks.
Tilda nods.
”Okay, it's a really little house. Like this.” Carin draws something on the paper in sweeping strokes.
”Where's the cat?” Tilda asks.
Carin laughs. ”Ah, so you remember that I have a cat? Yeah, we can't forget about Adolf.” Carin draws something small, then reaches for an orange crayon and fills in the outline. ”There, that's what he looks like. And then there's a tree. There's only one tree, because the yard is really small. But it's a good tree, because it's got tons of apples every year. And you can climb the tree too, because it has really good climbing branches.”
”We don't have a yard where Mama lives.” Tilda's voice is calm again.
”No, well, not all buildings have yards, but maybe you have something else that's good?”
”Our TV is huge. It hangs on the wall and it's almost totally flat, like a pancake.”
”Wow, that sounds really nice. Do you remember what you were doing that night, before the knock on the door?” Carin asks.
Tilda looks down again, clenches her fists again, and squirms in her chair. She starts kicking her feet. ”I . . . don't know,” she says.
”Okay, that's good. That's what you're supposed to say when you don't know. I'd like you to try to think a little now about the guy who hit your mom. Did you see what he looked like?”
”I don't know,” Tilda says.
”Had you met or seen that man before?”
Again Tilda writhes as if the question were uncomfortable to answer. ”I don't know.”
”Did the man say anything?” Carin asks.
”The man and Mama were screaming.”
”Do you remember what they said?” Carin asks.
Tilda hesitates. ”They screamed a lot.”
”Could you hear what they said?”
”I don't know.”
”Okay, that's great, Tilda. You're doing a great job. Did you recognize the man's voice?”
”I don't know.”
”But you think it was a man, not a woman or a girl?” Carin asks.
”He was . . . a magician.”
”How do you know he was a magician?”
Tilda sits there in silence again, serious, studying Carin.
”Why do you think he was a magician, Tilda?” Carin repeats.
”He took the coin.”
”What did he take?” Carin asks.
”The coin.”
A pause. ”He took money?” Carin asks.
”Yes.”
Carin is surprised, quickly looking in their direction through the one-way mirror. ”Was that before or after he hit your mom?” Carin asks.
”First he hit Mama, then he did that.”
”First he hit your mom, then he took money?” Carin says.
”Yes.”
Sonja sighs. She really hadn't suspected robbery homicide. The violence was too brutal for that. But if that's what it was, then that is really depressing-a single mother kicked to death in front of her own child because a junkie somewhere needed a quick fix. When it came right down to it, it was totally conceivable; it happened all the time.
Roger leans over to Sonja and whispers, ”Not bad. Her bush is growing a little in my eyes.”
Even though she doesn't want to, Sonja can't help but smile, filled with an unreserved tenderness toward her hopeless, lazy, male-chauvinist colleague. She gives him a friendly nudge in his side and looks over at Tilda's father, worried that he might find their kidding around inappropriate, but he isn't paying attention to them. He is just staring through the pane of gla.s.s as if hypnotized, the sweat at his temple gathering into little beads.
VaRMDo.