Sanctuary Read Free Page A

solve the murder of his sister and he felt indebted. He’d become a Zen student and tried to enlist me.
    Right.
    Prison had given him a hard edge but he covered it with the Zen stuff. His eyes had a granite sheen that told otherwise. I don’t know if we were friends but we were connected.
    He said, ‘Mr Taylor, might I join you?’
    I indicated the empty chair and he sat in one fluid motion. He was wearing a very expensive blazer, knitted tie, blinding white shirt and grey slacks, and looked prosperous. I had no idea what he did now, but it clearly paid well. I asked if he’d like anything and he quoted, ‘“He who is satisfied with his lot is rich.”’
    I sighed. ‘I’ll take that as no.’
    He was in his early thirties, and yet had the air ofsomeone much older. Prison ages you in ways that aren’t always visible.
    I asked, ‘How come you’re not involved with someone? Married, even?’
    This amused him, as did most things I said. He answered, ‘“One must know oneself before one can relate.”’
    Jesus.
    I tried again. ‘You strike me as a bloke who knows himself pretty damn well.’
    â€˜Outward appearance, Jack, and if I may be so forward, always your downfall. I seek to find the inner core.’
    I’d had enough of this horseshite, said, ‘Any chance you’ll talk like a normal person?’
    He was further amused and asked, ‘How is your friend, the Ban Garda? Ridge.’
    I told him she was drinking and he said, ‘Perhaps your own . . . er . . . life experience may be of help?’
    My expression answered that for him.
    He leaned in close. ‘I’ve some news that may either be of some comfort or deep distress, and I meditated long and hard before deciding to share it with you.’
    I said, ‘Stewart, the only thing that would really surprise me any more is good news, though I’m not sure I’d recognize it.’
    Ignoring my flippancy, he said, ‘This is truly lifealtering news and I want you to be sure you canhandle it.’ He stared at me, gauging how well or unwell I was, then asked, ‘When the little girl went out the window, Jack, what were you doing?’
    It was the central tragedy of my life. I’d been minding my best friend’s little girl, lost focus and she went out the window. My life effectively ended then, as did the lives of her parents, Jeff and Cathy. Jeff had become a street person and Cathy disappeared. She might have been the one who shot my surrogate son, Cody.
    Stewart said, ‘I regret having to resurrect such pain for you, Jack, but did you by any chance doze off when you were looking after her?’
    It was possible, but I was getting agitated and shouted, ‘What the fuck does it matter? I wasn’t paying attention, and Sere—’
    I couldn’t say her name, went with ‘The little one went out the window. What are you implying?’
    He took his time, then said, ‘What if someone else pushed her out the window?’
    I was stunned, then raging. I nearly went for him, snarled, ‘Are you fucking mad? It was my fault. I live with it every day and now you trot out this nonsense.’
    He put his hand on my arm but I shrugged it off.
    He said, ‘Jack, you’re my friend. Why would I deliberately upset you?’
    Jesus, I could feel tears in my eyes.
    I’d been doing penance for so long, tears were nolonger part of the daily trip. I asked, ‘What is this about?’
    He exhaled a long breath, then said, ‘One of my ex-clients was in rehab and she shared a room with a woman. You know how total honesty and making amends, all that good karma, is part of the whole gig? This woman said she pushed her own child out the window and let someone else take the rap.’
    It was like being hit by a truck. I stammered, ‘Cathy?’
    He nodded.
    I couldn’t take it in.
    â€˜That’s