Miracle Creek(106)
All the air seemed to go out of the room. He breathed in and tried to think. What did she find out? What could she know? She was bluffing, had to be. She had suspicions, that was all, and he needed to maintain his stance. Silence and denial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve confessed everything. What more do you want from me?”
She opened her eyes. Slowly, as if they were heavy curtains being raised one millimeter at a time for dramatic effect. She looked at him. “The truth,” she said. “I want the truth.”
“I’ve given you the truth.” He tried to sound indignant, but his words sounded weak and distant, as if someone said them far away, and what came through his lips was an echo.
Young narrowed her eyes, as if trying to decide something. Finally, she said, “Abe found the person who took the insurance call.”
Pak felt burning in his eyes, and he fought his need to blink, to look away.
“The caller spoke perfect English, no accent. It couldn’t have been you.”
Thoughts whirred in panicky speed, but he forced himself to stay calm. Denial. He had to stick to that. “Obviously, this person’s wrong. You can’t expect someone on hundreds of calls a day to remember all the voices a year later.”
Young put something on the table. “I went to see the Realtor, from the Seoul listings. She remembered them very well. She said it’s unusual for people to move back to Korea, and even more unusual for a young girl to be calling.”
Pak forced himself to keep his eyes on Young, to intensify the indignation in his voice. “That’s why you think I’m lying? A few strangers misremembering voices from a year ago?”
Young didn’t answer, didn’t raise her voice to match his. In that same gratingly calm tone, she said, “Last night, when I showed you the listings, you looked so surprised. I thought you were surprised I’d found your hiding place, but that wasn’t it. You’d never seen those listings before.” Pak shook his head, but she kept talking. “And the tin case, too.”
“Now, you know that was mine. You handed it to me yourself in Baltimore, and I—”
“And you put it with the rest of the pile for the Kangs and gave it to Mary to deliver.” Pak felt fear in his bowels, crawling and gnawing. He’d never told her that. How did she know?
As if in answer, she said, “I called them today. Mr. Kang remembered Mary dropping everything off and said how fortunate we are to have such a helpful daughter.” Young glanced at Mary. “Of course, they didn’t know she kept the tin case with the cigarettes for herself. No one did. Until last night, you thought that case was in Baltimore.”
Bitter saliva slithered up his throat, and he swallowed. “I did give Mary the pile for the Kangs, that’s true. But I took out the case first. I’m the one who put it in the shed.”
“That’s not true,” Young said with an absolute certainty that churned his stomach. If she was bluffing, she was giving the performance of her life. But how could she know, with no doubts? He said, “You don’t know that. You’re guessing, and you’re wrong.”
Young turned to Mary. “Teresa heard you talking on the phone in the shed.” Mary kept staring at the tea, gripping the mug so tightly he thought it might break. “I know you sent the listings to a friend’s house. I know you used your father’s ATM card. I know you hid everything in the bottom box in the shed.” Young shifted her gaze to Pak. “I know,” she said.
He wanted to keep denying, but too many specifics were piling up. He had to admit some things, maintain credibility. “All right, the listings were hers. She wanted to move back to Seoul, and she got them to show me. So now she’s feeling guilty, like that caused everything, when I’m the one who came up with the arson plan. So I wanted to take the blame for everything, try to remove her from this completely. Can you understand that?”
“I understand wanting to take all the blame, but you can’t. I know you. You’d never start a fire around your patients, no matter how small or contained. You’re too careful.”
He had to keep talking to keep her from saying the words he was terrified she’d say. “I wish you were right, but I did do it. You have to accept that. I don’t know what you think really happened, but you seem to think Mary was involved somehow. But you heard me confessing to her this morning, how shocked she was. We didn’t know you were there. We weren’t staging our conversation.”
“No, I don’t think you were. I believe you were telling her the truth.”
“So you know I did everything. The cigarette, matches, I mean, what more—”
“I thought about it. A lot,” Young said. “Everything you said you did, over and over. Picking the spot, gathering sticks, building the mound, putting the matches in, the cigarette on top—so much detail about every aspect of setting the fire. Except one thing.”
He didn’t say anything, couldn’t. Couldn’t breathe.
“The most important thing. And I kept thinking, why would he leave that out?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about actually starting the fire.”
“Of course I did. I lit the cigarette,” he said, but the familiar memory rushed to him. His panic that night when the protesters called, taunting him that they’d be back and they wouldn’t stop. Seeing their flyer and getting the idea to make it look like they tried to burn down his business. Remembering that hollow tree stump in the woods he’d come across, the used cigarettes and matches he’d seen there. Running to it, retrieving the fullest matchbook and longest cigarette among the discarded bunch. Building the mound. Lighting the cigarette, letting it burn for a minute. Then putting his gloved finger on the tip, putting it out.