The Client by John Grisham

okay?”
    “I think so.”
    Hardy lumbered through the door. “The ambulance’ll be here in five minutes. Which hospital?”
    “The doctor said to go to St. Peter’s.”
    “Who’s your doctor?”
    “Shelby Pediatric Group. They said they would call in a children’s psychiatrist to meet us at the hospital.” She nervously lit a cigarette. “Do you think he’s okay?”
    “He needs to be looked at, maybe hospitalized, ma’am. I’ve seen this before with kids who witness shootings and stabbings. It’s very traumatic, and it could take time for him to get over it. Had a kid last year who watched his mother get shot by a crack dealer, in one of the projects, and the poor little fella is still in the hospital.”
    “How old was he?”
    “Eight, now he’s nine. Won’t talk. Won’t eat. Sucks his thumb and plays with dolls. Really sad.”
    Dianne had heard enough. “I’ll pack some clothes.”
    “You’d better pack clothes for yourself too, ma’am. You might have to stay with him.”
    “What about Mark?” she asked.
    “What time does your husband get home?”
    “I don’t have one.”
    “Then pack clothes for Mark too. They might want to keep you overnight.”
    Dianne stood in the kitchen with her cigarette inches from her lips, and tried to think. She was scared and uncertain. “I don’t have health insurance,” she mumbled to the window.
    “St. Peter’s will take indigent cases. You need to get packed.”
    A CROWD GATHERED AROUND THE AMBULANCE AS SOON AS it stopped at Number 17 East Street. They waited and watched, whispering and pointing as the paramedics went inside.
    Hardy laid Ricky on the stretcher, and they strapped him down under a blanket. Ricky tried to curl, but the heavy Velcro bands kept him straight. He moaned twice, but never opened his eyes. Dianne gently freed his right arm and made the thumb available. Her eyes were watery, but she refused to cry.
    The crowd backed away from the rear of the ambulance as the paramedics approached with the stretcher. They loaded Ricky, and Dianne stepped in behind. A few neighbors called out their concerns, but the driver slammed the door before she could answer. Mark sat in the front seat of the police car with Hardy, who hit a switch and suddenly blue lights were flutteringand bouncing off the nearby trailers. The crowd inched away, and Hardy gunned the engine. The ambulance followed.
    Mark was too worried and scared to be interested in the radios and mikes and guns and gadgets. He sat still and kept his mouth shut.
    “Are you telling the truth, son?” Hardy, suddenly the cop again, asked from nowhere.
    “Yes sir. About what?”
    “About what you saw?”
    “Yes sir. You don’t believe me?”
    “I didn’t say that. It’s just a little strange, that’s all.”
    Mark waited a few seconds, and when it was obvious Hardy was waiting for him, he asked, “What’s strange?”
    “Several things. First, you made the call, but wouldn’t give your name. Why not? If you and Ricky just stumbled upon the dead man, why not give your name? Second, why did you sneak back to the scene and hide in the woods? People who hide are afraid. Why didn’t you simply return to the scene and tell us what you saw? Third, if you and Ricky saw the same thing, why has he freaked out and you’re in pretty good shape, know what I mean?”
    Mark thought for a while, and realized he could think of nothing to say. So he said nothing. They were on the interstate headed for downtown. It was neat to watch the other cars get out of the way. The red ambulance lights were close behind.
    “You didn’t answer my question,” Hardy finally said.
    “Which question?”
    “Why didn’t you give your name when you made the call?”
    “I was scared, okay. That’s the first dead body I ever saw, and it scared me. I’m still scared.”
    “Then why did you sneak back to the scene? Why were you trying to hide from us?”
    “I was scared, you know, but I just wanted to see what was