Mind Change
Page 14
“Yes.”
“When will you tell Herndon?”
“Tomorrow, I guess.”
“Are you going to want to keep the place you’re in now?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know I want you to come and be with me. And then, after a respectable time, we should––”
She interrupted him.
“Don’t worry about that now, Rick. There’s your house. Let’s just go inside and be together. The other things will work themselves out, in time.”
“All right.”
“I love this street. These old two-story houses.”
“Yep. I spent my childhood climbing the trees in the backyard. I’ll show you tomorrow morning.”
The climbed the porch, and she could see drops of rain glistening on the hanging swing.
He turned the front door knob.
“I never bother to lock the door,” he said. “Hasn’t been a crime on this street in—I don’t know, a decade, I guess.”
He pushed the door open.
She walked in, and he followed, turning on the light switch as he entered.
She looked across the room.
Prone on the sofa, wrapped in a blood-drenched blanket, was the body of the provost.
He had been enfolded like a mummy; his eyes were wide and staring at the ceiling; his beard was drenched with bright red blood.
CHAPTER TWELVE: BEDLAM
Nina left her own body and watched it take three steps into the house. Something in her continued to be a spectator as her hand rose slowly to her mouth, palm pressing now against her front teeth.
From the distance—but closer now, and closer still—they could hear sirens approaching.
Finally, after what could only have been a few seconds, she returned to herself again, once more inhabiting the body of Nina Bannister, which was turning in a slow circle to face windows.
Bright blue lights were everywhere outside now.
“Open the door please! Open the door please!”
The police were banging on the top pane of the door.
“Open it now! Open it right now!”
She looked at Rick, who had moved in the direction of the couch and was staring down at the body.
“Rick?”
He merely shook his head as the shouting outside continued:
Finally, he said:
“You have to open the door.”
“Rick, is it the provost?”
“Yes.”
“He’s dead?”
“Shot in the chest. Open the door, Nina.”
Taking two steps forward, she did so.
A man entered first; then a woman.
She was more aware of the uniforms than of the faces.
“Oh, God,” she heard dimly behind her, from one of the officers.
Then static and scrabble of microphone voices.
“We need help! We need backup! Yes! Yes, now! No, I have the perpetrators. No, send––”
And a woman––a big woman, a forceful but gentle woman, huge arms around her, leading her––
“We have to go, ma’am. You have to come with us.”
More lights. Lights everywhere. A thousand coyotes all moaning, howling––the whole world was sirens and blue lights, and Rick’s house was under water now––people, uniformed people, making their way here and there, running into the furniture.
Why were they running into the furniture?
Make them stop!
It’s time to wake up, she told herself. Why can’t I wake up from this dream?
Wake up! Wake up, dammit!
But the woman, always pulling on her…
“Come on, honey. You have to come with us. It’ll be all right.”
But from nearer the sofa, she kept hearing voices, first one, then the other, then a man, then a woman:
“His chest is blown open.”
And the woman, leading her.
“It’s going to be all right. You just have to come with us. I’ll take care of you, honey. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Finally, being led outside and through the doorway, she said:
“Rick?”
“All right, dear. He’s coming too.”
“Where is Rick? I want Rick!”
“They’re bringing him in another car. He’s coming along.”
“I want to be with him!”
“You will.”
“What happened? What happened?”
“We don’t know yet. We’re going to find out.”
“But that man is dead! He’s dead back there!”
“Just be careful now, dear. Bend your head down. What’s your name, dear?”
“Nina! I’m Nina!”
“That’s right, Nina. Real good. Real good, girl! You’re almost in now.”
“We were—just walking, and we went inside and––”
“I understand. Now––let’s get you belted in––”
An ambulance…two ambulances––my God that’s a helicopter––there’s flashing, and flashing, and flashing––
“Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!”
The car, moving away now.
“I have to put these handcuffs on you. Hold out your arms.”
“No, I––”
“It will only be for a while, dear. We’ll take them off real soon.”
“Oh, God––they’re cold! I can’t––I can’t move my hands!”
“It’s all right!”
“I can’t move!”
“Be still, honey!”
More hands––how many people are in the back here with me?
I can’t move!
“Rick! Rick!”
“You’ll be back with him real soon!”
The car moved toward downtown, as microphones on squad cars around the city broadcast the report that the provost of Ellerton University had been shot to death in the home of the reporter he had, only hours earlier, fought with.
That reporter, along with an unidentified woman, were being taken into custody.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A WORLD DEVOID OF SENSE
The main city police office was located almost directly opposite a completely impersonal Chase Bank building, and within a four-block radius of at least a dozen restaurants and bars.
Usually at ten in the evening, it was almost deserted.
Now, though, it had begun to draw media vehicles with an almost magnetic power.
Everyone in the city was in the process of hearing about the ghastly murder that had taken place in an environment completely alien to violence of any kind.
So that Nina, taken from the squad car in handcuffs, was forced to walk through a growing knot of reporters, officers, gawkers, more officers, university officials, and newly-awakened street people.
She’d never been in handcuffs before.
“Just come right through here, miss.”
“All right.”
Three people––the original policewoman who’d herded her into the car, and two other officers––both men––surrounded her as she entered the building.
“Just right through here. It’s going to be all right.”
“Listen…”
“We won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Where is Rick? Where did you take him?”
“He’s coming, ma’am.”
“Can I talk to him?”
The woman officer looked quickly at both men, who shook their heads in tandem.
“No, ma’am.”
“I just need to see him! Just see him!”
“Come with me, ma’am.”
“Where are we going?”
“Into the bathroom. I have to check you.”
“For what?”
“Just come with me.”
“What are you checking me for?”
“You’re on suicide watch. We have to see that you don’t have any sharp objects.”
“I’m not about to commit suicide!”
“I
know that, dear. It’s just procedure. Come on. Once I check you out, I can take off these cuffs.”
“I––”
“Come on, please. This won’t take long.”
Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be led by the woman into a bathroom of sorts.
The walls were padded.
Oh, God, she thought.
“All right, here we go.”
“You’re taking those off?”
“Yes, ma’am. If you promise me you won’t do anything to make me put them back on you.”
“I promise.”
‘You’re okay now?”
“I’m okay. I didn’t kill anybody!”
“That’s all right. Let’s just do one thing at a time. Now. Let’s get these handcuffs off you.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank God.”
“That’s all right, baby. Now take your blouse off.”
Nina did so, then allowed herself to be quickly searched.
“You don’t seem to have anything on you.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Okay, then wait.”
The woman went to the door of the bathroom, opened it, said a few words quietly, then came back.
“You want to sit over there on that bench? Right by the corner.”
“All right.”
Nina did so.
The woman pulled up a rotating stool, and sat facing her, then produced a cell phone.
“Here. You may make one call. Most people elect to call their lawyer.”
“Thank you! Oh, God, thank you!”
Nina grabbed the phone with one hand and, with the other, dialed a number she knew by heart.
Pause.
Buzz. Buzz.
Then:
“Jackson Bennett here.”
She was almost crying:
“Jackson––”
“What is it, Nina? Are you at Ellerton?”
“Jackson, I’m in jail. They think––”
“Just don’t talk, Nina. I’ll be up there as soon as I can.”
And he hung up.
The woman opposite her took the cell phone back.
Outside, she could tell there was pandemonium.
More sirens, people pouring into the central office.
She found herself led down a corridor, past one room, past another. She thought of clinics, of doctors’ waiting rooms.
“Just––right in here.”
“What about Rick? You said I could see Rick!”
The woman who’d offered her the phone was gone now. Nina was surrounded by people, a professional-looking woman, two uniformed officers, and one man in a business suit.
One of the officers spoke to her:
“Right in here. We’ve got to ask you some questions. Can you answer questions?”
“Yes. I’m all right.”
“Good. First, you have to tell us: have you taken anything?”
“What?”
“Have you taken anything?”
“You mean drugs?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“No, for God’s sake!”
“Do you feel that you’re in control of your actions?”
“Yes!”
The woman knelt, put her hands on Nina’s knees, and said quietly:
“I’m Doctor Joan Robertson. I’m a police psychiatrist. You have to know that you can talk to me, all right?”
“Yes!”
“You understand? I’m not here to hurt you; no one wants to hurt you.”
“I don’t understand what’s happened!”
“That’s what we want. We want to understand, Nina.”
“Do you think we killed that man? Rick and I?”
“Just try to answer my questions: can you do that?”
“Yes!”
“Do you understand where you are?”
“Yes!”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in jail!”
“Okay. Now. What’s your name?”
“Nina Bannister.”
“What do you do, Nina?”
“I’m a teacher. I’m here at Ellerton to teach an English course.”
“You’re on the regular faculty?”
“No, it’s a special prize I won. I’m just here for a semester.”
“All right. Now: have you taken any kind of a controlled substance, Nina?”
“No! I’ve already told them that!”
“All right. We’re just going to have a doctor look at you now.”
“Why?”
“He’s just going to look at your eyes and take your blood pressure.”
“My eyes are fine! Although I have to tell you, my blood pressure might be a little elevated right now, because I’m being accused of murder!”
Was that a laugh? Did someone in the back of the room actually laugh?
Then she began to be prodded and rapped and gazed at by a doctor, by a nurse––
“She’s okay.”
“No drugs?”
“No. She’s right. Blood pressure’s elevated, but she’s clean.”
“We can talk to her?”
“Looks like it.”
“All right, Nina. You seem to know where you are. You seem to be rational. Do you think you can talk about this?”
“Yes!”
“All right,” said the woman who’d introduced herself as Joan Robinson.
Then:
“Nina––”
She gestured at a silver-haired man who was wearing what seemed like a business suit.
“This is Roger Thompson. He’s a police inspector. He’s going to ask you some questions.”
“All right.”
Thompson sat down.
The two of them were sitting in straight chairs, facing each other.
“Nina, just try to tell us what happened.”
“Nothing happened!”
“Stay calm.”
“That’s a little difficult to do!”
“I understand, just back up, and try to tell us what happened.”
“Nothing happened! Rick and I were just––”
“You mean Mr. Barnes?”
“Yes!”
“What about him?”
“We were in the wine bar––and then we––”
“You had been drinking?”
“Just a glass of wine.”
“Only one glass!”
“Yes, that’s what I just told you! And then we walked together back to his house.”
“You’re having a relationship with Mr. Barnes?”
“No!”
“Really? Why were you going back to his house?”
“I—we were—it’s complicated.”
“All right. Then go on.”
“There’s nothing to go on to! Rick opened the door, and we just walked in. When we got inside we saw the provost, lying on the couch. His body was wrapped in a blanket. Rick walked toward him, looked at him, and told me he was dead.”
“Do you know how he died, Nina?”
“Rick said he’d been shot in the chest.”
“Do you know who shot him?”
“No, that’s what I’ve been telling you!”
“Did one of you shoot him?”
“No, no, we just came home and found him there!”
“Do you know how he got into Mr. Barnes’ house?”
“Of course I don’t know.”
“He was just there?”
“Yes!”
“Wrapped in a blanket, lying dead on the couch.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you!”
“Do you remember, earlier in the evening, at the stadium?”
“Of course, I remember it!”
“Mr. Barnes attacked the provost.”
“Okay, he attacked him!”
“After the provost mentioned you, and called you Mr. Barnes’ girlfriend?”
“Yes, that happened! But nothing else!”
“Nothing afterward?”
“No, that’s w
hat I’ve been telling you!”
“What did happen afterward?”
“After what?”
“After President Herndon’s speech at the stadium. Did the two of you stay to hear that speech?”
“Yes, we had to! Rick was writing a story about it!”
“Did anyone see you there?”
“I don’t know! What difference does it make?”
“It makes a great deal of difference, Ms. Bannister. We have to try to re-create the events of the evening, after the provost left the stadium. Now: do you remember precisely what you yourself did?”
“Of course. I got a note saying that I was invited to the president’s house.”
“A note?”
“Yes.”
“Who delivered it?”
“A boy, an undergraduate.”
“What was his name?”
“I don’t know!”
“You received a note from a boy you didn’t know, saying you were to come to the president’s house.”
“Yes!”
“For what purpose?”
“Oysters.”
“Oysters?”
“Yes. We were going to have a late supper of oysters.”
“And did you go?”
“Yes!”
“How did you get there?”
“I walked!”
“With Mr. Barnes?”
“No.”
“What then did Mr. Barnes do?”
“He—he needed some time alone.”
“Was he invited to the president’s house?”
“Well, actually the note just mentioned me.”
“And do you have that note still?”
“No, I threw it away!”
“Why did you do that?”
“Why wouldn’t I do that? It was just a hand-scrawled note!”
“The president invited you to her house at ten o’clock, after she’d just given one of the biggest speeches of her life—by means of a hand-scrawled note? Doesn’t that seem peculiar?”
“Everything that’s happened since 8:30 this morning—oh my lord, this has all happened in fourteen hours, in this one town, this one campus; it’s like a Greek tragedy!”
“All right. So then, according to your story, you walked to the president’s house. Did you go in immediately?”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
“It was a nice night. I just sat on the swing and waited.”
“You didn’t talk to anyone?”
“No, the place was deserted. I assumed that all of the security people were at the stadium, guarding Lucinda. While I sat on the swing, I heard some cars arrive at the main entrance.”
“And finally?”