Miracle Creek(27)

“Was there a ballpoint pen inside?”

Matt felt his cheeks redden again. “No.”

“And you didn’t happen to have a scalpel, either, I’m guessing?”

“No.”

“So again, Henry could’ve died? Is that a possibility, Doctor?”

“A very small possibility.”

“And Elizabeth prevented that. Made sure that couldn’t come close to happening, isn’t that right?”

Matt sighed. “Yes,” he had to say. He waited for the logical next question, If Elizabeth wanted Henry dead, wouldn’t it have been easier to say nothing about the peanut butter? No, he’d say, and point out again that there was no real risk of Henry dying from that, and certainly no guarantee, like when a freaking fireball exploded in your face. But Shannon didn’t ask the question; she looked from the jury to Elizabeth with her gentle-auntie face, waiting for them to arrive at that conclusion on their own, and Matt could see the jurors’ faces softening. He could see them looking at Elizabeth, her still-stoic face, wondering if maybe it wasn’t that she was cold and uncaring, but just tired. Too tired to move a muscle.

As if to accentuate this theme, Shannon said, “Doctor, you’ve told Elizabeth she’s the most devoted mother you’ve ever met, right?”

True; he’d said that. But he’d meant it as criticism, telling her to ease up, for God’s sake. To tell her she’d gone beyond helicoptering to direct controlling. Puppeteer-parenting. But what could he say? Yes, I said that, but I was being sarcastic because I hate devoted mothers? “Yes,” he finally said. “I thought she spent a lot of effort acting like she was devoted to Henry.”

Shannon gazed at him, the corners of her mouth turning upward slowly as if she’d just figured something out. “Doctor, I’m curious. Do you like Elizabeth? I mean, before the accident. Did you ever like her?”

Matt marveled at that, Shannon’s brilliance at that moment, asking a question with no good answer. Yes, I liked her would continue Elizabeth’s humanization, and No, I never did would make him looked biased. “I didn’t really know her too well,” he finally said.

Shannon smiled, the forgiving smile of a mother who’s decided to let slide a toddler’s obvious lie. “What about…” She scanned the gallery, the way stand-up comics scan the audience for victims “… Pak Yoo? Do you think he liked Elizabeth?”

Something about this question made Matt flinch. Maybe it was Shannon’s tone—too casual, deliberately so, as if the question were a throwaway. As if she couldn’t care less about the answer, only that she got to bring up Pak at an unexpected moment, in an unexpected way.

Matt matched Shannon’s this-doesn’t-matter-too-much tone and said, “I’m not great at reading other people’s minds. You’d have to ask Pak.”

“Fair enough. Let me rephrase. Did he ever say anything negative about Elizabeth?”

Matt shook his head. “I’ve never heard him say anything negative about Elizabeth.” And that was true: he’d heard about Pak’s annoyance with her from Mary frequently enough, but never directly from Pak. He blinked and continued. “Pak is professional. He wouldn’t gossip with patients, especially about another patient.”

“But you weren’t just another patient, right? You’re family friends.”

They may have been “family friends,” but Pak wasn’t particularly friendly. Matt suspected that, like many Korean men he knew, Pak disapproved of white guys being with Korean women. He said, “No. I was a client. That’s it.”

“So he never discussed, say, fire insurance with you?”

“What?” Where the fuck had that come from? “No. Fire insurance? Why would we discuss fire insurance?”

Shannon ignored his questions. Just stepped toward him, looked straight into his eyes, and said, “Has anyone affiliated with Miracle Submarine, including your family, ever discussed fire insurance with you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Ever hear anyone discuss or even mention it?”

“No.” Matt was getting pissed now. And a little scared, though he couldn’t say why.

“Do you know which company insures Miracle Submarine?”

“No.”

“Ever place a call to Miracle Submarine’s insurer?”

“What? Why would I…?” Matt felt something itch in his missing knuckles. He wanted to punch something. Maybe Shannon’s face. “I just told you, I don’t even know what company it is.”

“So it’s your sworn testimony that you never called Potomac Mutual Insurance Company the week before the explosion, is that correct?”

“What? No, of course I didn’t.”

“You’re positive?”

“One hundred percent.”

Shannon’s whole face seemed to lift—her eyes, mouth, even ears—and she walked—no, she strutted—to the defense table, picked up a document, strutted back to him, and thrust it at him. “Do you recognize this?”

A list of phone numbers, dates, and times. His own number at the top. “It’s my phone bill. My cell.”

“Please read the highlighted item.”

“August 21, 2008. 8:58 a.m. Four minutes. Outgoing. 800-555-0199. Potomac Mutual Insurance.” Matt looked up. “I don’t understand. You’re saying I made this call?”