Read Clifford Irving's Legal Novels - 04 - BOY ON TRIAL - A Legal Thriller for Free Online

level voice he said, “What’s up, folks?”
    We sat by the pool, and I told them the story, and my dad asked a lot of questions.
    My mom kept twisting her hands in her lap. “I wonder who her parents are. Do we know any Bedfords? Jack, should we look them up in the phone book? Call them? Be supportive?”
    “Her father is the garbage man,” I said. “He comes every Tuesday morning.”
    My mom’s eyes widened. “He’s what?”
    “The garbage man. His name is Carter. Should I bring the phone book? So you can look him up, Mom, and call him?”
    “Is he African-American?”
    I laughed. “Amy’s white like a rabbit. Has red hair. So does he, sort of. He’s a Bonacker.”
    “Well, maybe we won’t contact them. Don’t interfere,” she said, giving instructions to herself.
    I asked if I could call the hospital in Southampton.
    “I’ll do that,” said my dad, and he punched through on his cell phone to the desk in the E.R.
    “This is Jacob Braverman in Amagansett. I’m an attorney. I’m inquiring about the condition of a patient admitted earlier today. Her name is Amy Bedford. A child of… ?” He looked at me inquiringly.
    “Eleven or twelve. Dad, ask if she can have visitors.”
    He listened a little longer. “Thank you for your cooperation.” He clicked the phone off, turned to use, and said, “She’s in stable condition. That’s hospitalese for ‘okay.’ They don’t give out details.” His eyes moved to my mom. “Apparently, they’ve already contacted her mother.”
    I asked him if I was right that Amy had been stabbed.
    “Billy, they didn’t tell me that, and I didn’t think it was appropriate to ask.”
    “What about having visitors?”
    “I didn’t ask that, either.”
    “But I asked you to ask, Dad.”
    He looked again at my mom, exchanging one of those looks, not longer than two blinks, the way married couples do who believe they speak a secret silent language that no one else can understand. Except, of course, almost everyone else understands quite well.
    “Billy,” my mom said, “we don’t think it’s a good idea that you visit this girl in the hospital. The situation is more complicated than you realize.”
    My dad continued: “Your mother means that if there was any criminal act, which seems probable, it would be best if you don’t get involved.”
    “But I’m already involved,” I said. “I found her. Maybe I saved her life. You know the Chinese believe that if you save someone’s life, you’re responsible for them forever after. I just want to visit her and bring her something. Like a book, or some flowers.”
    “That’s so sweet of you,” my mom said. She leaned over and stroked my leg, the way you pet a cat, or a dog with a wagging tail.
    My dad smiled at me with his blue eyes that sometimes were hard as steel and other times were warm as a summer sky. “This girl is a classmate? A particular friend of yours?”
    “I’ve only spoken to her once in my life. And then she hit me in the face.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “She hit me in the face. She’s weird.”
    “But why did she hit you in the face?” my mom asked.
    “She never told me.”
    My dad looked hard at me. “Did you touch her?”
    “On the elbow. To help her into a bus.”
    “You’re sure? Just the elbow?”
    “Sure I’m sure.”
    “Hand didn’t slip?”
    “ No , Dad.”
    “And she’s not your friend?”
    “I don’t think she’s got any friends.”
    My mom looked dumbfounded. “Then why, for heaven’s sake, Billy, would you want to visit her in Southampton Hospital?”
    We heard gravel being tortured, and then the front door slammed. Simon had come skidding home on his bike. He had to hear the story, too, and I obliged. He kept saying, “Holy shit!” and “You’re shitting me, dude!”
    My mom made a big arugula salad. My dad grilled his great lean-meat burgers with Stilton, and brought out a special home-made barbecue sauce he’d been given in Florida by the mother of a