Judgement Day

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Of course. She was a real lady, I told you.”

  “And you didn’t like what Mr. Rothberg was doing, seeing another woman while his devoted wife was so sick, right?”

  “He is a selfish person. He didn’t even visit her all that much. She was always asking me to call him or get him.”

  “So maybe you would understand why she would want to blame him for her death.”

  “She wouldn’t kill herself. I just can’t believe that.”

  “You always felt sorry for her . . . you had a drink or two beforehand, she asked you to put the insulin in his room . . .”

  “No. Look here, I don’t like what you’re trying to say, Mr. Taylor, and I don’t think I should talk to you anymore.” She folded her arms over her bosom and glared at him.

  “All right, I’ll save my other questions for the trial when you have to answer under oath,” he said. He was sorry he was taking such a hard stance with her, but he wanted to shake her loose. What if there was nothing to shake loose? he asked himself. But he let the question pass quickly. He put his notepad back into the briefcase.

  “If you did do it and it comes out in court, you’ll be considered an accessory to a crime, a serious crime.”

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “And then, of course,” he said, standing, “if you did it not knowing what her intentions were, no one can blame you for anything.”

  “I didn’t put any insulin in Mr. Rothberg’s room,” she repeated.

  Kevin nodded. “Okay. There are other people to see, other facts to check.” He started out of the room. Beverly got up and followed him to the entryway and watched him put on his coat. He looked back at her.

  Here she was, a black woman who was reaching the autumn of her life. She had little to look back on with happiness. She had become a professional and tried to bring up her sons without a husband. Much of it had resulted in disaster. She drank but held on to her job. And now it was over, and over in a terrible way. Surely she must look at the world with jaundiced eyes and see less sunlight with each and every passing day. It was as if she had been born on a bright day and gradually the world had closed in on her until she was looking through a tunnel. Kevin regretted the harsh tone he had taken. Rothberg certainly wasn’t worth it.

  “Must say, what you’re cooking smells wonderful.”

  Beverly’s face didn’t soften. She looked at him fearfully, her eyes filled with distrust. He couldn’t blame her. Lately, everything he said and did was contrived, planned for a purpose. Why should she think he was sincere? Yet his stomach did churn with covetousness.

  “So long and thank you,” he said, opening the door. She came to it and stood there looking out as he walked down the small walkway to the limo. Charon opened the door for him and then turned around and gazed at her. Kevin watched her face change from anger and distrust to downright terror and fear. She closed the door quickly, and moments later he was on his way back.

  As soon as Kevin was within mobile phone range of the city, he called the office to see if he had any messages. He realized all the secretaries would be going home before he could arrive.

  “You have an appointment with Tracey Casewell, Mr. Rothberg’s ‘friend,’ tomorrow at two,” Wendy told him. “Other than that, things have been quiet.”

  “Okay, I’ll be going straight home, then.”

  “Oh, Mr. Taylor, Mr. Milton wants to speak to you. Just one moment.”

  Kevin had hoped he could put off speaking with John Milton until tomorrow. He was depressed about the interview with Beverly Morgan and couldn’t help feeling he had let Mr. Milton down. It wasn’t a rational reaction. There was no reason for him to blame himself, but there was just something about working for Mr. Milton that made him want to succeed.

  “Kevin?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How did it go?”

  “It didn’t go well,” he said. Even though he knew Charon couldn’t hear the conversation, he saw the man look up in his rearview mirror at those words.

  “Oh?”

  “She doesn’t like Rothberg, says he’s self-centered, and couldn’t explain how the insulin got into his closet. I asked her if she had overheard an argument between them described the way Rothberg described it, and she said no. It was a definite no.”

  “I see. Well, don’t be discouraged. We’ll talk tomorrow and see what we can make of it. Just relax tonight. Put it out of mind. Enjoy your wonderful wife.”

  “Thank you. Sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about, Kevin. It’ll be all right. I’m sure.”

  “Right. Goodbye.”

  He flipped the switch on the phone, putting it into the intercom mode, and told Charon to take him directly to the apartment. The chauffeur barely acknowledged the order with a slight nod. Kevin recalled how Miriam thought it funny that Charon had almost smiled when she questioned him about the gold elevator key. He could sympathize with her reaction to him. The man rarely spoke. He never asked questions, and whenever he was told where to take him or the others, he seemed to already know. The glass between the rear seat and the front seat was always up. If any communicating had to be done with him, it was done through the intercom.

  Kevin couldn’t help wondering about Charon. Where was he from? Where did he live? How long had he been working as John Milton’s chauffeur? Kevin was positive the man hadn’t been a chauffeur all his mature life. He had an interesting face. He must have traveled a great deal and done some interesting things. Why didn’t any of the others talk about him? They acted as if he weren’t even there half the time. It was just “Charon, take us here” or “Charon, take us there.” They didn’t even pass small talk. Did the man have a family? Was he married?

  When they pulled up in front of the apartment house and Charon opened the door this time, Kevin got out very slowly.

  “So, Charon,” he said, “your day’s almost over, too, eh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You have to go back and hang around to bring Mr. Milton home, though, don’t you?”

  “It’s no problem.”

  “Oh. You live in the city, too?”

  “I live here, Mr. Taylor,” he said.

  “You do? In one of these apartments?”

  “Yes. In an apartment off the garage.”

  “I never knew that. Are you married, Charon?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’re not a native New Yorker. Where are you from? You have such a beautiful speaking voice, it’s hard to pinpoint any dialect.”

  “I’m from here, Mr. Taylor.”

  “You are a New Yorker?” Kevin smiled, but Charon didn’t relax or smile back.

  “Will there be anything else, Mr. Taylor?”

  The man doesn’t show any emotion. He’s like a cyborg, Kevin thought.

  “Oh no, Charon. Have a good night.”

  “You too, Mr. Taylor.”

  He watched him get back in the limo and start off. Then he entered the apartment building.

  “Have a good day, did you, Mr. Taylor?” Philip asked, looking up from the small television set he had just under the counter. He got up and came around the desk.

  “A hard day, Philip. It remains to be seen whether or not it was a good one.”

  “Know what you mean, sir.” He pushed the elevator call button for Kevin.

  “You been here a long time, Philip?”

  “Came right after Mr. Milton took over the building, Mr. Taylor.”

  “I just found out Charon lives in an apartment downstairs. Never knew it. He doesn’t talk much,” Kevin whispered and smiled.

  “No, sir, but he’s devoted to Mr. Milton. He owes him his life, you might say.”

  “Oh?” The elevator door opened. “Why is that?”

  “Mr. Milton defended him and got him acquitted.”

  “Really? I never knew that. What had he been accused of doing?”

  “Murdering his family, Mr. Taylor. Of course, he was so depressed
by the death of his loved ones, he didn’t care much what happened to him, but Mr. Milton pumped the life back into him.”

  “I see.”

  “Might say he did the same for me.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was accused of being on the take from drug pushers. They tried to set me up. Mr. Milton got me off when he proved it to be entrapment. Yes, sir, you’re working for one helluva guy,” Philip said. “Have a good night, Mr. Taylor.”

  “You too, Philip,” Kevin said and backed into the elevator. Philip smiled at him as the doors closed.

  He was in such deep thought when he first entered his apartment that he didn’t notice Miriam was not there. He put down his briefcase, took off his overcoat, went into the living room, and poured himself a scotch and soda.

  “Miriam?”

  Kevin went through the apartment. She hadn’t left a note. She should have been home long ago, he thought. He went back into the living room and waited. Nearly twenty minutes went by before the front door opened and Miriam stepped in, dressed in his blue terry-cloth robe with a bath towel around her neck.

  “Where the hell were you?” he asked.

  “Oh, Kev. I thought you wouldn’t be home for another hour at least.”

  “I had an aborted interview, otherwise it might have been closer to that. But where were you dressed like that?”

  “In the penthouse . . . in the whirlpool,” she sang and continued through the hallway toward the bedroom.

  “What?” He followed along, drink still in hand. “You went up to Mr. Milton’s apartment and used his whirlpool?”

  “It’s not the first time, Kev,” she said, taking off his robe and letting it drop to her feet. She was completely naked underneath, and her skin was still bright red from the heat of the water. She turned about, studying herself in the mirror. Then she pulled her shoulders back to lift her breasts. “Do you think the aerobics classes are making a difference? Doesn’t the back of my thigh look leaner?”

  “What did you mean, it isn’t the first time you’ve gone up there, Miriam? You never told me about this before.”

  “I didn’t?” She turned to him. “Yes I did.” She smiled. “Morning before last, but I guess you were too overwhelmed with yourself to remember.” She started for the shower.

  “What? Wait a minute.” He reached out and seized her arm. He wasn’t rough about it, but she screamed as if he had closed a vise around her elbow. “I’m sorry.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, tears coming into her eyes as she rubbed her arm. “I’m sure to have another black and blue mark now.”

  “I didn’t squeeze that hard, Miriam.”

  “Well, I’m not one of the boys, Kevin. Why is it you can be so tender and romantic sometimes and then get like this? What are you, Jekyll and Hyde?” She continued into the bathroom. He followed.

  “Miriam, what did you mean by morning before last?”

  “Morning before last means two days ago, Kevin,” she said and turned on the water.

  “I know that. Don’t be so smug. It’s not like you. You said you told me about your going up to the penthouse.”

  “We all have the gold keys, and Mr. Milton said we should use them whenever we like. Enjoy the penthouse, he said. Use the whirlpools, use his stereo. We’re up there often.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Norma, Jean, and I. Now can I take a quick shower so I can make us some supper? I’m hungry, too.”

  “I’m not hungry. I’m confused. You implied that we made love morning before last.”

  She stared at him and then shook her head. Then she stepped into the shower stall. He pursued.

  “Miriam?” He pulled the door open.

  “What?”

  “Did we?”

  “Did we what?”

  “Make love?”

  “I didn’t know you make love so often that you forget with whom and when you do it,” she snapped and pulled the shower door closed again. He stood there staring through the glass at her. Then he looked down at the glass of scotch in his hand and quickly downed it.

  What the hell was she talking about?

  Really, what the hell was she talking about?

  11

  Miriam did develop a black-and-blue mark on her arm, one so large and vivid it made him feel very guilty. He had gone back to the living room to make himself another drink and sit and think when he heard her in the kitchen. She was wearing his robe again, but when she reached up for a dish in the cabinet, the sleeve fell back and he saw the injury.

  “Jeez, I didn’t think I squeezed you that hard, Miriam.”

  “Well, you must have,” she replied without turning to him. She started to set the table.

  “Maybe you have a vitamin C deficiency or something. Makes your capillaries weak.”

  She didn’t reply.

  “I’m sorry, Miriam. Really.”

  “It’s all right.” She paused and looked at him. “I forgot to ask, how did your day go?”

  He didn’t reply immediately. Ever since he had begun working at John Milton and Associates, she would greet him with that question, and then, before he could elaborate, she would cut him off and tell him it wasn’t necessary to relive the nitty-gritty details. But in Blithedale, she had loved hearing about his work. She had apparently adopted Norma and Jean’s attitude wholeheartedly when it came to this, and he wasn’t happy about it. It was as if they weren’t sharing anymore, as if they were off on two different courses, coming together only to participate in pleasurable activities.

  “Do you really want to know? Can I tell you without your running away from it?”

  “Kevin, I’m only trying to . . .”

  “I know, help me relax. But you’re not some geisha girl, Miriam. You’re my wife. I want to share my frustrations as well as my successes with you. I want you to be part of what I do and what I am, just as I will be part of whatever you do and what you are.”

  “I don’t want to hear unpleasant things, Kevin,” she said firmly. “I just don’t. Mr. Milton’s right. You should take your shoes off before you come in the door and leave the mud outside. A man’s home should be his private piece of heaven.”

  “Oh, brother.”

  “Well, it’s worked for Norma and Jean. Look how happy they are and how wonderful their marriages are. Don’t you want that for us? Isn’t that why you brought me here—to have a better, happier life?”

  “All right, all right. It’s just that sometimes I like to confide in you, to look to you for support and get your impression of things, too.”

  “Like you did in the Lois Wilson case?” she snapped.

  He stared at her a moment. “I was wrong then. I admit it. I could have considered your viewpoint, too, and taken more time to explain my own, instead of going bull-headed into the melee, but . . .”

  “Just drop it, Kevin. Please. You’re doing well. Everyone likes you. You have an important case to try. We’re making a lot of money and living comfortably. We have great new friends. I don’t feel like being depressed by someone else’s hard luck or by the ugly crimes that go on every day out there.” She grimaced.

  “Now,” she continued, smiling so quickly and so mechanically it was as if she had become robotic. “I picked up this gourmet chicken Kiev prepared by the chef at the Russian Tea Room. There’s this store on Sixth that sells it in the frozen food section. Norma found it. I’ll put it in the microwave and we’ll have it in minutes,” she sang. “So get ready to eat.”

  Kevin pressed his lips together and nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”

  He did what she said, but he couldn’t help feeling frustrated, even though the food was delicious and the wine was wonderful. Miriam babbled on about her day, the shopping, the exercise classes, things Norma and Jean had said, rumors about Helen Scholefield getting worse, Mr. Milton’s wonderful penthouse. She talked on and on, around him, around any attempt he might make to bring up the details of his case.

  Maybe
because he was frustrated and confused, or maybe because he was more tired than he thought, whatever the reason, the scotch and the wine hit him, and he fell asleep on the couch in the living room watching television. He woke abruptly when Miriam turned off the set.

  “I’m tired, Kev.”

  “What? Oh, sure.” He got himself up and followed her into the bedroom. Moments after he slipped into the bed beside her, he was asleep, and again he was haunted by an erotic dream. In it, he awoke in the bed and turned his head slightly because he felt movement beside him.

  Miriam was set upon a man, the man’s legs bent at the knees to position his hardness. The man gripped her just an inch or so above her knees. Her breasts shook emphatically as she pressed herself up and down with a vigor that was almost comical because of its intensity. She moaned and threw her head back. Then she leaned forward so the man could reach up and run his fingers under her breasts and around her nipples, holding them gently between two fingers.

  Kevin couldn’t move. The sight gave him an erection, but he was unable to turn his body or lift it from the bed. All efforts were in vain. It was as if he were glued to the sheets, his arms locked at his sides.

  On and on they went, Miriam reaching climax after climax, moaning, screaming with ecstatic pleasure, and then finally throwing herself over the naked man beneath her as she caught her breath. The man’s hand slipped up around her shoulders, and Kevin could see the fingers. On the pinky finger was his gold ring with the letter “K.” He struggled to turn his head farther, and finally, gradually, his head was completely turned and he was looking into the eyes of Miriam’s lover.

  Once again, he was looking into his own eyes, only this time his duplicated face was smiling arrogantly. He closed his eyes and wished with all his might that the dream would end. It finally did, and he fell back into a restless sleep. When he woke in the morning and turned to Miriam, he found her facedown, out of the blanket, sprawled naked the way she had been over his duplicate in the dream.

  Kevin stared at her until her eyes opened, too.

  “Good morning,” she said. She smiled at him. He didn’t say anything. Then she turned over on her back and rubbed her eyes. “I slept so well afterward,” she said. She turned back to him and kissed him on the cheek.