I blocked the odors from my mind and held him close. The tension I saw in his face consumed his whole body. His harsh breathing was the only sound. He'd locked the grief inside where I knew it would remain—at least for the present.
We clung to one another. The digital clock on the microwave glowed midnight and the grandfather clock chimed. "Ray," I said, "why don't you get into the shower? It's been a long day. Tomorrow will be longer still."
Without a word, he followed my suggestion. I walked with him to the bedroom door, watching while he went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. I listened until I heard the rush of water in the shower, then checked my guests and found them asleep, the boy clasped tightly in his mother's arms. I turned on the stove light as a nightlight, switched off the rest of the lights in the house, folded down the linens on the bed, and waited for Ray.
When he climbed into bed, he smelled better, but he still looked the same—bound in emotion. I tucked him in, gently arranged the covers, then showered. When I slipped into bed, Ray rolled on his side and took me in his arms, holding me close.
I lay awake most of the night. My left arm went numb and my hip and leg felt freshly seared. I didn't want to shift positions, fearing I'd disturb him, but knowing by his breathing he wasn't asleep.
A thin crack of light appeared between the blackout curtains. I whispered, "You awake?"
"Um," he replied. "Haven't slept."
"Me neither."
"It's my fault. Everything. It should be me dead. Pyle was after me, not Dick."
"You don't know that. Dick disturbed plenty of people, taking people's kids from them. He made enemies."
"It used to be my condo. My initials are still on the door, my car was out front, and my enemy—not his—is running loose killing people." Ray shuttered. "Dick should be alive. I should be dead."
Though Ray was talking, his grief was palpable in the vibrations of his taut muscles. He remained in the grip of the monster from which I feared there was no escape.
He rolled onto his back, and I moved my left arm. I had to use my right hand to do it.
"Sorry, I didn't know I was hurting you."
"It's okay. When the blood gets in there, it'll move." I decided not to rub my hip and thigh, though I longed to have relief from the cramping. He would feel bad about that, too. I snuggled close to him instead, and we lay looking at the ceiling.
"And Elaine," he continued. "I don't know for sure I ever loved her, but I didn't want her hurt. I should have protected her better. I talked to Ervin the day I left, reminded him about keeping an eye on the house."
"Ray, you had no control over what happened. You checked her house, you told her what was happening, you even talked to the police. You could do no more."
"But now my kids' mother is dead, and it's my fault."
"How is it your fault?" I raised myself on an elbow. "How, tell me?"
Ray was silent. His eyes followed the ceiling fan's slowly revolving blades.
28
I slipped out of bed and into a pair of old, soft jeans and a faded tee, and went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Kathleen was sitting on the sofa, staring off into space. It was seven forty-five.
"Morning, Kathleen."
She didn't look in my direction. A memory from my days as a student nurse on a psychiatric unit flew unbidden through my mind. There were people with blank stares everywhere.
I decided to try. "How are you feeling?"
"Stronger."
"How's your balance?"
"Shaky, but I walked out here. That sleeping pill was the best thing for me."
I retrieved the coffee canister from the drawer and opened it. The smell of the custom ground breakfast blend filled the room. I didn't know about anyone else, but I needed something warm and familiar.
"It's really true. Dick is dead."
"Yes."
"I need to call my mother."
"I did. Your folks will be here before noon." And thank God, I thought as I scooped the coffee into the filter basket.
"Thank you." She was quiet for a long time. "Did you call Connie?"
"No." I slid the switch on the coffeepot to the left, and the red light glowed. "The coffee will be ready in a few minutes. We can call Connie later. It's still early."
"Is she working today?"
"No, it's Tuesday."
"I'm scheduled to work." She tried to stand. "I'd better call in."
I sat next to her and took her hand. "I took care of it."
Kathleen's eyes filed with tears. "Sophia, who will take care of me now? Who will be there for Mikey? I pretend, but I know I'm getting worse. Dick was so good. He made sure I didn't get tired. What will happen to us now?"
"I'm sure your parents will be a help. Ray and I will be there for you. First, we have to get through the next few days."
Mikey wandered out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes. He crawled on the sofa, choosing to sit next to Sunshine rather than his mother. Like any modern four-year old, he reached for the remote control and flipped on the television. Soon the happy sounds of morning cartoons filled the room.
"Mikey, do you want breakfast?" I asked during the first commercial break.
"Fruit Loops." He slid off the sofa.
"How about these?" I opened the cabinet door and pointed. "Honey Bunches of Oats."
"No Fruit Loops?"
I shook my head.
"I'll have the Bunchie stuff." He contorted his face. Mikey didn't expect to like it.
He climbed on one of the stools, and I poured his cereal, giving him a small glass of orange juice to go with it. Then I poured coffee for Kathleen and myself and set a clean cup on the counter for Ray.
"I'll take that now," Ray said, coming up behind me. His hair was wet from the shower. He had shaved and dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and dark tie. Some of the tension in his face was gone. I thought he was coming to terms with the double-whammy.
"Want breakfast?"
He pointed to Mikey's bowl. "Some of that will be fine." He poured his own coffee, grabbed a bowl from the cupboard, and helped himself to the cereal. I joined him in the dining room a couple of minutes later, coffee in hand.
"Want to talk some?" I asked, sipping the strong, black coffee.
"I guess."
"You had a hard night."
"You did, too. How's your arm?" Ray said.
"It was numb from lying on it."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I could have moved." I paused a few seconds, waiting for him to speak. When he didn't, I said, "Ray, do you think Pyle shot Dick?"
"Maybe. Too early to tell. The thing is, I figure Pyle's travelin' with Amy Lynn. She drives a royal blue Ford Focus, and you saw a blue car yesterday. Maybe it was a Focus. The car I saw speeding away after Dick was shot wasn't a Focus. The taillights were wrong. Maybe a little Toyota, something like that. The car was small and dark. I only caught a glimpse."
I stopped to ponder the fact that we really had no information about the car. "What happens now?"
"Lewis will work the case, and I'll give him a hand from the office when I can. He'll keep me informed. Since it's an officer, Dick's homicide will get top priority from everyone involved."
"And it should," I said. "If it was Pyle, will he come after you next? I mean, Pyle has to find out he killed the wrong man."
"I'm sure that will be the case. Pyle has nothing to lose." Ray ate a few bites of cereal and pushed it away. "I think we're safe here. Pyle will have no way of finding us. I've never changed my address. The condo address is still on all the records."
"He'll know your car. He'll be watching for it."
"I know."
"What do you think about Elaine?"
"I've been thinking about her all night. First thinking about Elaine, then thinking about Dick." He sipped his coffee. "Pyle's a possibility. I don't believe he forgave her for what she did to him."
"What did she do to him?"
He ignor
ed the question, took another sip of coffee, and continued. "Amy Lynn Durant—now that's also a thought. She's a certifiable bitch and has always been intensely jealous of Elaine. Amy wanted me—Elaine married me. Amy wanted Pyle—Elaine had an affair with Pyle. Amy wanted Ervin—Ervin wanted Elaine."
"Unrequited love. Lots of revenge motive there."
"Then there's Donny, Pyle's brother."
"I thought he was an upstanding citizen?"
"He pretends to be. He made a lot of noise—echoing his brother's threats mostly—when we sent Pyle up. That whole southern vengeance-for-family thing."
"Then he should hold a grudge against his brother. Buddy Lee Pyle is the one convicted of killing and child molestation."
"He doesn't see it that way. The captain talked to the prosecutor who handled Pyle's conviction in Alabama. The case was thin. I didn't get all the details, but it looks like he was fooling around with a man's wife. The man engineered a setup with the cooperation of his thirteen-year-old daughter. It all came out in court, but they convicted him anyway because the girl swore she had sex with Pyle. The fact she looked, acted, and claimed to be eighteen didn't get considered."
"How about Ervin? He's the jealous, possessive sort."
"No." He finished his coffee and set the empty cup next to the half-empty cereal bowl. "Ervin's an asshole. He's not a murderer."
"You sure?"
"No, not completely." He stood, pushing his chair back. "But, I don't think it fits. Why now? He was intent on Elaine a couple of years ago. Elaine said he was stalking her. She couldn't call the police. He was the police. I told her to move to Montgomery. She didn't want to go. She ignored him, locked her doors, and stayed around other people. Then he apparently lost interest. She told me he was acting professional and impersonal again. I thought that was the end of it."
"Sounds reasonable to me."
Ray kissed me lightly on the lips. "Today, I'm going to work on proving my own alibi."
29
Kathleen's parents, Zachary and Sarah Nelson, knocked on my front door a few minutes before ten on Tuesday morning. Sarah was an older version of her daughter—blond, thin, medium height, but healthy. She had opted for early retirement and had not yet reached her sixtieth birthday. Zach was about the same height as his wife, a smidgen heavier, a couple of years older, and completely bald—Kathleen once told me he had alopecia universalis and didn't have a hair anywhere on his body. Coke bottle-thick glasses made his huge blue eyes look the size of silver dollars. They entered my home, thanking me for my kindness to their daughter and grandson.
"Where is she?" Zach asked after offering the necessary courtesies.
"She's with Mikey in the guest room." I led the way. Kathleen was sitting on the side of the bed. Mikey appeared asleep.
Kathleen shuffled toward Sarah and Zach, her gait unsteady and the drag of her left leg obvious. Sarah's forehead wrinkled and her eyebrows drew together. She didn't comment on the worsening of her daughter's symptoms. Kathleen walked into her parent's arms and collapsed. Together, the Nelsons guided her to the sofa, wedging her between them like a well-thumbed paperback novel between two sturdy bookends.
Sensing my presence wasn't required, I slipped out of the room, managing to grab the dog as he came in through his door. I didn't think it would have been appropriate for him to enforce his mandatory greet-Sunshine policy. I stuck him under my arm and carried him into the bedroom, closing the door behind us.
I phoned Connie. She had called earlier, saying she heard about Dick on the news and was going into work. The staffing shuffle caused by Kathleen and my absences was having a ripple effect. The supervisor had summoned Connie for overtime.
When Connie came to the telephone, I said, "Got a minute?"
"A few," was Connie's clipped response. I heard crying children in the background.
"I'm sorry I couldn't say much earlier. Kathleen was near by, and I didn't want her to hear."
"Understand. How's she holding up?"
After I gave her a full report, including the status of her MS symptoms, I asked about Amber. "Kathleen mentioned the child a couple of times this morning. Even with all that has happened, she still imagines she can raise the girl."
"That would be interesting."
I heard some mumbling and waited for Connie to deal with the interruption.
When she came back on the line, Connie talked double-time. "I went in to see her on my break. I go see her every day. The child is clinging to any adult who gives her attention without abuse. Kathleen thinks Amber can't live without her. That's not true. Amber needs a loving home, but it doesn't have to be Kathleen's home." She covered the phone and said something. "Sorry."
"I understand."
"Amber's improving. Her fever stayed down after the last spike. The doctor upgraded Amber's condition to serious from critical and transferred her out of PICU. At least, he wrote the order. We don't have a bed yet. Amber is alert, oriented, and playing with her Barbies. She asked about Kathleen, but Amber's remote when she talks about people. In fact, she's remote and withdrawn when she talks to people. Meanwhile, CCS waits in the wings. Once Amber is better, they'll take her to foster care."
"Does she talk about the attack?" I asked, curious if Amber was achieving any catharsis.
"Never. The child psychiatrist, Dr. Jonas, spent time with her before she took a turn for the worse. Dr. Jonas told me she wasn't making any progress with Amber, though. The poor kid bundled everything into her subconscious to ferment."
I shuddered at the thought. "It'll be a real problem when it spews forth."
"Dr. Jonas assured me it will erupt. 'Like a volcano of emotion,' she said."
"It's more than a single parent, and an ill one at that, will be able to handle."
"I agree." There was more background noise. "Listen, kiddo, gotta go. Call me about the services and if there's anything I can do."
"I'll do that." I disconnected. A feeling of foreboding hung in the air. I believed Kathleen would never be able to parent Amber. I wondered who would. Without a caring parent, the child was doomed to a life of misery.
I sat on the side of my bed rubbing the dog. He snuggled closer, putting his head on my lap and looking at me with his all-accepting gaze. The sharp ring of the telephone fractured the moment.
"Yes," I said in lieu of a more appropriate greeting.
"Sweetheart," Ray said, "how's it going?"
I gave him a quick report. "Anything new there?"
"Shell oil is retrieving my charges for the trip home last week. I asked them to fax a copy to me and one to Mac's attention in Parkview. The woman I spoke to said she would handle it personally today."
"Before you see them yourself?"
"Sophia," he said sharply, "I didn't hurt Elaine. It'll prove I wasn't there."
Ray skipped the love words and ended the conversation. Requesting a copy of his charges be sent to McCormick without first reviewing them added credibility to his timetable.
Unbidden, the memory of Ray's offhand comment about stopping at the 7-Eleven for a soda hopped into my mind. Maybe the clerk would remember his being there since it was only a couple of days ago. For a moment, I thought about stopping by the convenience store myself and asking a few questions, but realized it would be a bad idea and could destroy his alibi. Instead, I opted for very inappropriate behavior. I phoned Captain García.
While I waited for García to pick up, I rehearsed my approach—for all the good it did.
García came on the line with a curt, Spanish accented, "Miss Burgess, what can I do for you?"
I stammered, "Captain, I don't know, I mean, I just . . ." Finally, I managed to say, "Captain, give me a minute here."
"Okay."
"The thing is Ray drove home from Virginia last Saturday. I didn't expect him, but he was here when I got home from work."
"What time was that?"
"Late, but he had been here quite a while—washer running, bed napped in." I filled him in on th
e timetable. "He commented he'd gotten home at eleven in the morning and had come directly here, didn't go to the station, only stopped at the 7-Eleven. I thought the clerk might remember Ray stopping. He goes there almost every day. They know him."
"So?" García sounded impatient.
"It would prove Ray was in town. I thought about going over and asking the clerk if he remembered Ray being in the store, but thought it would be better if someone from your department checked. I decided to call you instead."
"Why didn't Ray mention it to me himself?"
"It's not an unusual thing for him to do, nothing out of the ordinary. I'll bet Ray doesn't remember."
"I'll have someone check it out. Thanks for the call." García hung up.
It was unsettling, and I didn't know if he considered it important enough to pursue. If the soda-connection checked out, without Ray mentioning it, it would add credibility to his alibi. I needed to have it reaffirmed. I also needed to know what secret from Ray and Elaine's past was oozing under the door into the present.
30
Kathleen and her parents left Mikey with me and went to the funeral home to arrange for Dick's funeral. I decided to take Mikey with me to the hospital.
After talking with my supervisor, Nancy, Mikey and I rode the elevator to the third floor. Without coaching, Mikey pushed the button and led the way. I steered him away from the playroom, guiding him to the general pediatrics unit. I expected to find Amber ensconced with her Barbies, tying ribbons in their hair and fitting the tiny shoes on miniature feet.
As I approached, Connie bit her lip, then said, "Sophia, why don't you let Mikey play for a while, and we can talk." She pointed towards the playroom.
"Why?"
She pointed again toward the playroom, this time more emphatically. Her scowl told me something was wrong. After I settled Mikey amongst the toys, I joined Connie.
Connie closed the chart she was working on and faced me. "Amber's in surgery."
"I thought she was improving."
"She was. I thought she was. Everyone did. Soon after we talked, she started howling in pain. Her abdomen was rigid. The surgeon thinks an abscess has ruptured. He rushed her to the OR." Connie opened the chart in front of her, then slammed it shut. "Sophia, she looked sick. No color. Temp climbing. We hung antibiotics before she left, but it's obvious she has a belly full of infection."
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