Mutation

Victor shrugged. He sat down on the couch, suddenly feeling very tired.

“Do you know what VJ told me when I tried to ask him about his feelings?” Marsha asked. “He said we can get another cat.”

“That sounds mature,” Victor said. “At least VJ can be rational.”

“Victor, it’s been his cat for years. You’d think he would show a little emotion, grief at the loss.” Marsha swallowed hard. “I think it is a cold and detached response.” She hoped she could remain composed while they discussed VJ, but as much as she tried to hold them back, tears welled in her eyes.

Victor shrugged again. He really didn’t want to get into another psychological chitchat. The boy was fine.

“Inappropriate emotion is not a good sign,” Marsha managed, hoping at last Victor would agree. But Victor didn’t say anything.

“What do you think?” Marsha asked.

“To tell you the truth,” Victor said, “I am a little preoccupied at the moment. A little while ago before VJ

appeared I was telling you about Gephardt. On the way home I went to visit the man, and I walked in on a scene—you just can’t imagine. Gephardt and his entire family were murdered today. Machine-gunned in their living room in the middle of the afternoon. It was a massacre.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I was the one to call the police.”

“How awful!” she cried. “My God, what’s going on?” She looked at Victor. He was her husband, after all, the man she’d loved all these years. “Are you all right?” she asked him.

“Oh, I’m hanging in there,” Victor said, but his tone lacked conviction.

“Was VJ with you?” she asked.

“He was in the car.”

“So he didn’t see anything?”

Victor shook his head.

“Thank God,” Marsha said. “Do the police have any motive for the killings?”

“They think it’s drug-related.”

“What a terrible thing!” Marsha exclaimed, still stunned.

“Can I get you something to drink? A glass of wine?”

“I think I’ll take something a bit stronger, like a Scotch,” Victor said.

“You stay put,” said Marsha. She went to the wet bar and poured Victor a drink. Maybe she was being too hard on him, but she had to get him to focus on their son. She decided to bring the subject back to VJ. Handing the glass to Victor, she began.

“I had an upsetting experience myself today—not anything like yours. I went to VJ’s school to visit the headmaster.”

Victor took a sip.

Marsha then told Victor about her visit with Mr.

Remington, ending with the question of why Victor hadn’t discussed with her his decision to have VJ miss so much school.

“I never made a decision for VJ to miss school,” Victor said.

“Haven’t you written a number of notes for VJ to spend time at the lab rather than at school?”

“Of course not.”

“I was afraid of that,” Marsha said. “I think we have a real problem on our hands. Truancy like that is a serious symptom.”

“It seemed like he was around a lot, but when I asked him, VJ told me that the school was sending him out to get more practical experience. As long as his grades were fine, I didn’t think to question him further.”

“Pauline Spaulding also told me that VJ spent most of his time in your lab,” Marsha said. “At least after his intelligence dropped.”

“VJ has always spent a lot of time in the lab,” Victor admitted.

“What does he do?” Marsha asked.

“Lots of things,” Victor said. “He started doing basic chemistry stuff, uses the microscopes, plays computer games which I loaded for him. I don’t know. He just hangs out.

Everybody knows him. He’s well-liked. He’s always been adept at entertaining himself.”

The front door chimes sounded and both Marsha and Victor went to the front foyer and let in the North Andover police.

“Sergeant Cerullo,” said a large, uniformed policeman. He had small features that were all bunched together in the center of a pudgy face. “And this here is Patrolman Hood.

Sorry about your cat. We’ve been tryin’ to watch your house better since Widdicomb’s been here, but it’s hard, settin’

where it is so far from the road and all.”

Sergeant Cerullo got out a pad and pencil as Widdicomb had Tuesday night. Victor led the two of them out the back to the garage. Hood took several photos of Kissa, then both policemen searched the area. Victor was gratified when Hood offered to take the cat down and even helped dig a grave at the edge of a stand of birch trees.

On the way into the house, Victor asked if they knew anybody he could call for the security duty he had in mind.

They gave him the names of several local firms.

“As long as we’re talkin’ names,” Sergeant Cerullo said,

“do you have any idea of who would want to do this to your cat?”

“Two people come to mind,” Victor said. “Sharon Carver and William Hurst.”

Cerullo dutifully wrote down the names. Victor didn’t mention Gephardt. Nor did he mention Ronald Beekman. There was no way Ronald would stoop to this.

After seeing the police out, Victor called both of the recommended firms. It was apparently after hours; all he got was recordings, so he left his name and number at work.

“I want us both to have a talk with VJ,” Marsha said.