Page 8 of The Instruments of Darkness

“Yes.”

“Are you going to look for that person? Because if you do, you might find Henry.”

“That may arise,” I said neutrally, “but I can’t let it distract from trial preparation. We don’t want to see you put behind bars, Mrs. Clark, because once you’re there, it’ll be very hard to get you out again. Now, can we return to the night in question?”

She set the cup down. Some of the hot tea spilled on her hand, but she didn’t seem to notice, even as I watched the skin redden.

“I fed Henry before putting him down at about eight. I watched some TV, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open, so I went to bed. I mean, I brushed my teeth, if that’s important, but I didn’t do a very good job of it, because I still had toothpaste stains on my chin and nightshirt when I woke up. That’s not unusual. I can’t recall the last time I took off clothes that weren’t stained. Like weariness and worry, it comes with motherhood.”

“Did you eat or drink anything before you turned in for the night?”

“I reheated some pasta and drank a glass of red wine.”

“Large or small?”

“Small. The police asked me that, too. I wasn’t drunk, Mr. Parker, only tired. I told you: I’m tired all the time. People warned me that parenting would be exhausting, but I didn’t really get what that meant until Henry arrived.” For the first time, she looked doubtful. “I don’t want you to think any of that would make me want to harm him.”

“Take that as given.”

“I was just grateful when he slept and the house was calm.” She raised her right hand and waved her long, thin fingers vaguely, like the conjuration of a spell. “But not like this. This is wrong. It’s too final.”

“Do you usually drink alcohol in the evenings?” I asked.

“Is that relevant?”

“It might be. Should this go to trial, and you testify, you may find yourself being forced to reply to questions you consider troubling or hurtful, or that are designed to paint you in the worst possible light. Consider this practice.”

“I have a glass of wine most evenings,” she said. “I don’t smoke, don’t drink coffee, and don’t eat candy. A glass of wine is my reward for getting through the day, but often I’m too exhausted to finish it.”

“Did you check on Henry before you went to bed?”

“Yes.”

“The window in the room, was it open or closed?”

“Open, but less than an inch, with the security cable in place. It was a stuffy night, uncommonly so for the time of year, and I prefer fresh air to the AC.”

“Did you wake at all?”

“No.”

“Is that normal for you?”

She frowned.

“No. I don’t often sleep so soundly, but Henry is still teething, and he’s had a couple of bad nights recently. I think my body was waiting to go into shutdown. I do recall feeling uncommonly heavy as I went to bed. I could barely lift my feet, and I was out cold as soon as my head touched the pillow.”

“Tell me about waking.”

“I woke at seven, but it took me a while to get going. I didn’t want to leave my bed, but somehow I managed.”

“Did you head straight to Henry’s room?”

“Yes. I didn’t go to the bathroom first, even though I kind of needed to.”

“Why was that?”

“I suppose I was worried, as Henry wasn’t making any noise. And it was cool, cooler than it should have been. I could feel the breeze. I went to his room. The bed was empty and the main window was open. I remember not being able to move. I kept thinking I was dreaming, and if I realized that I was, I’d wake up, and everything would be okay. But I wasn’t, and it isn’t.”