He turned and looked at himself in the mirror. The reflected image made him recall his strange erotic dreams. Were they dreams? They weren’t dreams to Miriam. It was all very real to her. And those black and blue marks on her legs were real, too.
What about all those times she claimed they had made love and he couldn’t remember doing it? No one could be that absentminded. Either she was going mad or he was.
“. . . but if he’s made her pregnant,” Helen Scholefield had said, “then it’s too late.” He? Whom did she mean?
He turned away from the mirror. Could any of this be possible?
“We don’t lose,” Paul Scholefield had said. The three of them wore that same look of arrogance.
“You won one of his cases. You’re his, too, now,” Helen Scholefield had told him. “Damn you. Damn you all!”
He recalled how strange he had felt when Mr. Milton had said, “You’re a true John Milton associate now.”
He turned back to the mirror and looked at himself.
What was Helen talking about? Was he any different?
His reflected image did not respond, but there was something ominous in merely thinking the questions.
He made up his mind. Tomorrow he would go to see Beverly Morgan, and he would know before he left her how Mr. Milton had gotten her to change her story.
He called his parents and Miriam’s parents before he and Miriam left to celebrate. During both phone conversations, he did nothing to let either set of parents suspect he was troubled. The only negative note was sounded by his mother, who said, “Now that you’ve finished this big case, Kevin, see if you can devote more time to Miriam. She sounds high-strung to me.”
“What do you mean, Mom?”
“No one can be that up all the time. It’s just a mother’s instinct, Kevin. She’s at such a feverish pitch. Maybe she’s trying too hard to please you. Arlene feels the same way about it, Kevin, only she didn’t want to say anything and appear to be an interfering mother-in-law.”
“But she told me she thought Miriam was very happy.”
“I know. I’m not saying she’s not happy. Just . . . pay more attention to her, will you?”
“Okay, Mom.”
“And congratulations, son. I know this is something you’ve always wanted.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He knew what she was saying was right. Miriam was so different and she had changed so quickly, he should have been more alarmed. He had ignored what was happening because he wanted all this so much—the wealth, the luxury, the prestige. Who wouldn’t? He had brought her here; he had exposed her to all of it. To a large extent, what was happening, what already had happened, was his own fault.
He spun around as if someone had tapped him on the shoulder. “Uh-huh.” His gaze went to the patio. Again he wondered why Richard Jaffee had taken his own life. What did Helen mean by “Only Richard had conscience”?
“I’m waiting, honey,” Miriam called.
“Coming.”
They left the apartment and went downstairs to get into the waiting cab and went to Renzo’s, a five-star northern Italian restaurant, and he tried putting his worries aside.
But he spent his time noting how different Miriam was at this celebration from the celebration at the Bramble Inn in Blithedale after the Lois Wilson case. Gone was her concern about whether or not the client had really been guilty. Of course, she knew little or nothing about this case, so she had no questions or comments about the court proceedings.
He had to admit she looked good in her new bright red, snugly fitted pants and sweater outfit. The sweater had a ribbon of pearls criss-crossed over the bosom. She was still wearing a lot more makeup than she used to, and Kevin realized that without the rouge and the lipstick, she did appear pale.
He didn’t think she would be as fond of a restaurant like Renzo’s as she was, nor want to choose it for this occasion. It was a gaudy, brightly lit place with mirrored walls. Despite the poor weather, it was quite crowded, and tables were placed practically on top of each other.
Miriam was far more outgoing than she had been at the Bramble Inn or, for that matter, than she had been while they lived in Blithedale. How could he have missed such a dramatic change in her? He chastised himself for being too occupied with his work. He was surprised at how many people she knew and how many knew her, from the maître d’ to the waiters. Some other patrons nodded and smiled as well. She and the girls, she told him, had been there for lunch and dinner when he was tied up with work.
However, he found her very distracted by all this, dividing her attention between him and looking to see who had come in, who was sitting with whom, what other people were eating. How different this was from the intimate, candlelit meal they had enjoyed at the Bramble Inn, he thought. Yet she didn’t mind or appear to notice.
Even their lovemaking afterward had a different character to it. She was impatient, demanding, and assertive. She turned and twisted beneath him and then took a commanding role, moving his hands to where she wanted herself touched more aggressively. He almost lost all interest, feeling more like a male prostitute, feeling like someone being used to bring pleasure. There wasn’t the usual sense of consideration, the mutuality, the attempt at oneness.
And afterward she still appeared dissatisfied, frustrated.
“What’s wrong with you?” he demanded.
“I’m tired. Too much wine, I guess,” she said and turned her back to him. He lay there thinking, afraid to close his eyes, afraid that if he did, something . . . someone . . . would come. Finally he did fall asleep, but he awoke at about four in the morning and realized she was not beside him.
He listened for a moment and heard sounds coming from the front of the apartment. He got up quickly and put on his robe. The lights were on in the living room and in the entryway. Was this another erotic episode? Was he really up or dreaming? He moved forward slowly, his heart pounding with anticipation, until he saw Miriam standing in the doorway, holding the door open and looking out. There were other voices.
“Miriam. What’s happening?”
“It’s Helen,” she said, turning back.
“What is it?”
He moved quickly to her side and gazed out. Norma and Jean were in their robes, too.
“What happened?”
“She went wild,” Norma said. “Stabbed Mrs. Longchamp in the arm with a pair of scissors.”
“What?”
At that moment the door to the Scholefields’ apartment was opened and two ambulance attendants from Bellevue wheeled Helen out on a stretcher. She was belted down tightly. Paul, Dave, and Ted followed closely behind. Helen was turning her head rapidly from side to side as if trying to deny the reality of what was happening to her. Kevin pushed his way past Miriam and approached Paul.
“It was very bad,” he said. “She just got up out of bed and attacked the nurse. Fortunately, it wasn’t a bad wound, but I shouldn’t have kept her in the apartment. They gave her a sedative, but it hasn’t taken hold yet.”
The elevator doors opened, and the attendants pushed the stretcher into the elevator. Paul turned to Dave and Ted.
“You don’t have to come. It’s late. I’ll handle it.”
“You’re sure you’re all right?” Ted asked.
“No problem. Everybody just get back to sleep. I’ll talk to you all in the morning.”
He stepped in beside the stretcher. The attendants turned it a bit to make room for him, and Kevin saw Helen Scholefield’s face. Her eyes widened when she confronted him. Then she suddenly began to scream. It was a sharp, piercingly shrill shriek that made him wince. Even after the elevator doors closed and the elevator began its descent, he still heard her wail until it died out in the floors below.
“Knew this was coming,” Dave said, turning away.
“Too bad,” Ted said, shaking his head. “Jean?”
“Coming.”
The three women embraced each other at Kevin and Miriam’s doorway, a
nd then Norma and Jean joined Dave and Ted to return to their apartments. Kevin watched them go.
“Kevin?”
He looked at Miriam and then looked at the Scholefields’ doorway. Where was the nurse? he wondered. If she had been stabbed in the shoulder, why wasn’t anyone concerned about her? He started for the doorway.
“Kevin, what are you doing? Where are you going? Kevin?”
He knocked on the door and listened. There was nothing, no sound, no voice. He pushed the buzzer.
“Kevin?” Miriam was out in the hallway. He still heard nothing.
He turned back to her. “They’re lying,” he said.
“What?”
He walked past her into the apartment.
“Kevin?” She followed him down the corridor to the bedroom. He sat on the bed staring down at his hands. He tugged at the gold pinky ring, but his finger was so swollen, he saw he would have to cut the ring off.
“Kevin, what are you saying? You saw how she was.”
“They’re all lying. They know she told me something. The nurse told them.”
Miriam just shook her head. “You’re acting very weird, Kevin. All of this is frightening me.”
“It should.” He stood up and took off his robe. “I don’t expect you to understand what I’m saying right now, Miriam. I have some ideas which I’ll pursue tomorrow. For now, there’s nothing to do but go to sleep.”
“That’s a very good idea,” she said and went out to turn off all the lights.
In the morning Kevin called the office and told Diane he wasn’t coming in.
“Need a day’s rest,” he said.
“Understandable. Mr. Milton isn’t coming in today, either. Isn’t it terrible about Mr. Scholefield’s wife?”
“Oh, you know about that already?”
“Yes. Mr. McCarthy called first thing. Maybe this is for the best, though. Maybe they’ll be able to help her.”
“Oh, I’m sure they will,” he said. He didn’t think she picked up his sarcastic note.
He put on his overcoat, but Miriam didn’t ask him where he was going and he didn’t volunteer information. She didn’t seem all that interested in knowing, anyway. Norma and Jean called just as he was about to leave, and the three of them began making plans to cheer themselves up.
“After all,” he heard Miriam say, “it was such a downer last night.”
“I see you’re all overwrought with sympathy,” Kevin remarked as soon as she cradled the receiver.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it, Kev. Bellevue isn’t the kind of place you go to pay a visiting call, and I don’t think sending her flowers or candy would make much sense.”
“No sense at all.” He saw another one of those black and blue marks, this one on the back of her left calf muscle. “You’ve got another mark on you.” He pointed.
“What?” She looked down. “Oh, yes,” she said and followed it with a short laugh.
“Aren’t you concerned? I’m telling you, it could be a nutritional problem or something.”
She stared at him a moment and then smiled. “Kevin, don’t be such a worrywart. It’s nothing. I’ve had it happen before, especially before a period.”
“Is your period due?” he asked quickly.
“Past due.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously, but he didn’t smile back.
“I’ll call you later,” he said and hurried out. He took the elevator down to the parking garage, got into his car, and drove off, heading upstate to speak to Beverly Morgan.
It was a crisp, cold winter day with a dark blue sky and clouds so still against it, they looked frozen in place. During the trip upstate, Kevin reviewed the past few months and thought about the things that had bothered him, things he had to admit he had chosen to ignore, now that he was honest with himself. How did John Milton and Associates come to know so much about him and Miriam before he arrived? How did John Milton know so much about the Lois Wilson case? And what about everything being so perfect, such as the beautiful rent-free apartment that just happened to have a spinet and some of the other things Miriam always wanted? Was there something supernatural to the coincidences and the good fortune, or was he just being paranoid now? Was Miriam right? Was he reacting to the babblings of a mentally ill and depressed person? Maybe he was overworking.
Surely there had to be a logical explanation for Beverly Morgan’s reversal. Perhaps she just didn’t trust him because he was so young. If that were the case, she probably wouldn’t talk to him now, either, he thought.
Kevin pulled up in front of the small house in Middletown. The windows were dark, shades drawn. A thin ten-year-old black boy eyed him suspiciously from the sanctuary of his own front porch as Kevin got out of his car and walked to the front door of Beverly Morgan’s sister’s house. He knocked and waited. His rapping echoed and died within and brought no response. He knocked again and then peered in a window.
“They ain’t home,” the little boy said. “They went off in the ambulance.”
“Ambulance?” Kevin moved quickly to the side of the porch. The little boy retreated a few steps, frightened by his abrupt movement. “What happened to Mrs. Morgan?”
“She got drunk and fell down the steps,” he said and pushed a metal toy firetruck along the chipped porch railing.
“Oh, I see. So they took her to the hospital, huh?”
“Yep. And my mother went, too. She drove Cheryl.”
“Oh. Which hospital did they go to?”
The little boy shrugged.
“Probably only one hospital here anyway,” Kevin mused aloud. He hurried back down the sidewalk to his car and drove off. At the first intersection, he got directions to the Horton Memorial Hospital and made his way there as quickly as he could.
The kindly faced elderly woman in pink behind the reception desk had no information concerning any Beverly Morgan being admitted. “She might still be in the emergency room,” she offered as the only possible explanation. She gave him directions, and he hurried down the long, wide hallway.
He was surprised at the activity. Small city or no small city, emergency rooms were all the same, he thought. Nurses moved frantically from one examination room to another. An overwhelmed intern stood staring at his clipboard while another nurse recited the symptoms of a patient in the room behind her. No one seemed to notice Kevin. He spotted two black women standing outside an examination room door on the other side of the emergency suite talking softly and made his way to their side.
“Excuse me.”
They turned curiously.
“Is Beverly Morgan in there?”
“She sure is. Who are you?”
“I’m Kevin Taylor, an attorney. I defended Stanley Rothberg.”
“Oh, well, what do you want with my sister now? She told everything in court, didn’t she?”
“Is she all right?” he asked, smiling.
“She’s goin’ to live,” her sister said, smirking. “But things are sure goin’ to change in my house if she wants to live there.”
“I bet.” He nodded and looked at the other woman, who stared at him as if he were some total nut. “Do you think I could speak with her for a few minutes?”
“Well, seein’ as we’re goin’ to be waitin’ here forever to get her into a room, I guess so. She ain’t fully sobered up yet, though,” Beverly’s sister said. Kevin didn’t hesitate, however. He walked into the examination room.
Beverly Morgan was on a gurney, the thin white blanket brought up to her neck. Her head was wrapped in a gauze bandage; there was a blood stain over the right side of her forehead. She stared up at the ceiling. Her sister and their neighbor came in behind him and stood in the doorway. He approached Beverly slowly.
“Beverly?” Kevin said. “How are you doing?” She blinked, but she didn’t turn his way. “It’s Kevin Taylor. I’d like to talk to you, if I can, even though the trial is over. Beverly?”
She turned her head slightly.
“She’s too drunk to
hear ya, mister. She don’t even know where the hell she is. Went head over heels down the stairs. I didn’t find her right away. Lucky she’s livin’.”
“Beverly,” he said, ignoring her sister. “You know I’m here. You know it’s me. You have to talk to me, Beverly. You know it’s important.”
She turned her head some more until she was facing him. “He send you?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Who? Mr. Milton?”
“He send you?” she asked again. “Why? What’s he want now?”
“He didn’t send me, Beverly. I came on my own. Why did you change your story, Beverly? Did you tell the truth in court? Or were you telling me the truth when I came to see you in your sister’s house?”
She stared at him, and he thought it was going to be useless. “He didn’t send you?” she asked suddenly.
“No. I came on my own,” he repeated. “I didn’t know you were going to change your story until I asked you those questions in court, and I didn’t believe you, Beverly. Even though you helped me win my case, I didn’t believe you. You lied, didn’t you?”
Tears began to flow from Beverly’s bloodshot eyes.
“Hey, mister, what are you doin’ to my sister?”
“Nothing,” he said, practically snapping at them. He turned to them. “I’ve just got to get some answers from her. It’s very, very important. Beverly, you lied, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” he pursued.
“Mister, you’d better go,” her sister demanded.
Beverly nodded.
“I knew it. But why? Why did you lie? How did he get you to lie?”
“He knows,” she whispered.
“Knows what?”
“Mister, you better leave her be now.”
“Knows what?” he insisted.
Her lips began to move. Kevin lowered his head. She whispered her confession into his ear as if he were a priest. Then she turned away.
“But how did he know those things?” Kevin wondered aloud. She didn’t attempt any answer, but he didn’t need the answer. It was already in his heart.
It was a strange ride back to the city. He was in such deep thought most of the way, he couldn’t recall the drive. Suddenly, he found himself approaching the George Washington Bridge almost as if he had been transported to it. He shuddered. Perhaps he had. Where was reality in relation to illusion? What was magic and what was not? Was Mr. Milton just a shrewd, conniving, and ruthless man or . . . was he more?
Judgement Day Page 48