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"It wasn't just their deaths," she went on, hardly audible even to her own ears. "It was the work. He stole
their work. That's what the call was about."
"He paid for that!" Michael yelled, reacting so swiftly she felt certain that he had known. "He devoted a
lifetime to teaching, that's how he paid."
She shook her head. "It was a lifetime of being afraid someone would guess he was not a very good
researcher, guess that he never did that original work, but that the three missing students had done it. A
lifetime of fear."
"You're not going to leave us anything, are you?" Michael asked tiredly.
"Even this, even this, his professional reputation has to be sacrificed."
"What about Duane Barcleigh's son?" she asked.
"What does he have from the father he never knew?
You think he should go on paying for the sins of your father? That's not the way the Bible says it works,
Michael. Ask Mrs. Betancort."
She faced him finally, her back to the window, and saw again the fierce hatred that she had glimpsed one
other time, the day she told Uncle Peter that Winnie might be arrested.
For a time they regarded each other across the room, then he turned away and left. She watched him
walk across the dry grass to the driveway and vanish finally among the trees.
"If Uncle Peter had lived to face trial," Sarah said to Virgil later that day, "and if he had been found guilty
of murder, his sentence probably would have been ten years to life, and he would have been back out in
about seven years. But chances are good that he would have found a medical or psychiatric reason to
avoid prison altogether. If you, Virgil, had faced trial over drug smuggling and if you had been found
guilty, as no doubt you would have been, your sentence would have been life without parole on each
count, to run consecutively. Those are the guidelines, the sentences the federal courts are imposing."
She spread her hands in a wide helpless gesture, and added, "There's not much any judge can do about
the federal guidelines, crazy as they are.
You might have been asked to plea bargain, in which case the sentence would have been lighter, but you
would have turned state's evidence, and after the trial, after your part became known, you would have
been a protected witness, maybe forever. In hiding, an assumed name, never certain if you would be in
the same house for a day or a month or a decade. They often move protected witnesses in the middle of
the night, the families are not allowed to communicate. No contact is possible with anyone from the past.
Life in prison, life in prison without walls, those would have been your choices."
never caught up with him. Sarah, he was a sick man!"
He looked at her then, his face haggard, haunted.
"You knew," she whispered. "You knew."
"Your father had an accident that nearly did my father in, too, and that woman... He was driven to do it.
He couldn't see any choice. You know he was sick."
"You knew all the time," she said again, and stood up, walked to the window where she stared out at the
limp poplar leaves, gray-green, dusty. "Did you know about the students, too?" she asked in a whisper.
"No! My God, Sarah, no one suspected anything like that."
"It wasn't just their deaths," she went on, hardly audible even to her own ears. "It was the work. He stole
their work. That's what the call was about."
"He paid for that!" Michael yelled, reacting so swiftly she felt certain that he had known. "He devoted a
lifetime to teaching, that's how he paid."
She shook her head. "It was a lifetime of being afraid someone would guess he was not a very good
researcher, guess that he never did that original work, but that the three students had done it. A lifetime
of fear."
"You're not going to leave us anything, are you?" Michael asked tiredly.
"Even this, even this, his professional reputation has to be sacrificed." "What about Duane Barcleigh's
son?" she asked.
"What does he have from the father he never knew?
You think he should go on paying for the sins of your father? That's not the way the Bible says it works,
Michael. Ask Mrs. Betancort."
She faced him finally, her back to the window, and saw again the fierce hatred that she had glimpsed one
other time, the day she told Uncle Peter that Winnie might be arrested.
For a time they regarded each other across the room, then he turned away and left. She watched him
walk across the dry grass to the driveway and vanish finally among the trees.
"If Uncle Peter had lived to face trial," Sarah said to Virgil later that day, "and if he had been found guilty
of murder, his sentence probably would have been ten years to life, and he would have been back out in
about seven years. But chances are good that he would have found a medical or psychiatric reason to
avoid prison altogether. If you, Virgil, had faced trial over drug smuggling and if you had been found [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]