Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

She reached the street and stood, dancing at the curb, waving her arms frantically at the approaching headlights.

  Blue lights flashed and a siren burped as the patrol car eased to a stop. On bleeding feet, she hopped to the driver's side window.

  “Calm down lady and tell me what happened,” the uniformed officer said.

  “My husband—dead—on the beach,” she screamed.

  He reached for his microphone. “This is 613. I'm out of the vehicle investigating a citizen complaint between 81st and 82nd North Avenue."

  The radio crackled and a steady female voice said, “10-4 at twelve thirty-six."

  As Shelly pulled marble-sized spiny balls from her feet the officer emerged from the car and inserted a nightstick in his massive belt. “Miss,” he said, “try to calm down and tell me what happened."

  Shelly tested her feet on the pavement. “We were walking on the beach.” Be careful what you say, Shelly, she warned herself. “A masked man robbed us. He tried to rape me. Sam fought with him and was shot—twice."

  “Show me where this happened, ma'am,” the young man said, trying to conceal his mounting concern.

  The return trip was less painful, thanks to the officer's flashlight.

  “Holy cow!” the young man muttered when the beam of his light revealed Sam's bloody face. He flashed the light north, then south, knelt beside the motionless man, and pressed two fingers to Sam's neck.

  “This is 613,” he said into the microphone of the portable radio clipped to his shirt. “I need an ambulance and backup on the beach between 81st and 82nd North Avenue. A citizen has been seriously wounded."

  “10-4 at twelve forty."

  He looked at the now silent woman. “He's alive, ma'am, but there is obviously considerable loss of blood. Help is on the way.” He again flashed his light up and down the beach. “Which way did he go?"

  Shelly pointed south.

  Sirens wailed and Shelly was surprised to see an ambulance approaching on the beach itself. Other officers seemed to materialize out of thin air and, as they walked up and down the beach, their flashlights moving in eerie arcs, Shelly watched the medics load Sam's quiescent body into the boxy white vehicle.

  Someone was asking her questions and she tore her eyes away from the illuminated interior of the ambulance where something was being attached to Sam's arm. “I'm sorry?” she said, looking into a stranger's bleary eyes.

  “I'm Detective Mark Gilder. This,” he said nodding to his left, “is Detective Lacy Spencer."

  Shelly nodded towards the young woman who looked as if she just came from a shower without taking time to dry off. Be careful, Shelly, she again admonished herself.

  “Your name?"

  “Shelly Pond."

  “The victim's name?"

  Victim—that's what he is. We both are, she thought. “My husband, Sam—Samson Pond."

  “I know you are under terrible stress, Mrs. Pond. We'll take your statement later at the hospital. I'll have a patrolman drive you, or you may ride in the ambulance with your husband."

  “My daughter,” she blurted out. “My daughter is with a babysitter in our hotel room."

  “I'll take care of it, Mrs. Pond,” Lacy said, placing a reassuring hand on Shelly's arm. “Just give me the name of the hotel and room number."

  As Shelly supplied the information, she saw officers driving stakes in the sand and stretching out yellow tape. She climbed into the ambulance, sat opposite the stretcher and reached for Sam's hand. The tears returned.

  * * * *

  “I don't know, damn it,” Shelly shouted at the woman behind the computer screen. “We were robbed. Sam's wallet is gone and my copy of his insurance information is in the hotel room. We just went for a little walk on the beach. I didn't take my purse with me."

  “I must have the information,” the woman said.

  Shelly slammed her hand on the desk. “Are you telling me that you'll let Sam bleed to death unless I can give you the insurance information?"

  “I'm just doing my job, Mrs. Pond. Your husband is being treated as we speak. Is there someone at the hotel who can provide us with this information?"

  “I ... I don't want to wake Annie with a telephone call. Oh, God,” she whimpered, “how am I going to tell Annie?"

  “Mrs. Pond,” the woman said, adjusting her glasses, “can you at least give me the name of the insurance company?"

  “Look, lady. My husband is in there dying. I can't think straight. I ... I have a hundred thousand dollars in certificates of deposit. It's for my daughter's college education, but I'll use it to pay Sam's medical bills if necessary."

  The woman scribbled a telephone number on a scrap of paper and pushed it towards Shelly. “I'll put down that you are self-insured. Call this number at your earliest opportunity to correct the record."

  Shelly took the paper and absentmindedly stuffed it inside her brassiere.

  The printer beside the computer groaned and the woman patiently waited until it released the form. “I need to you sign here and here."

  Without reading it, Shelly signed the document and pushed it back across the desk.

  “Who is Delilah Delight?"

  “Shit,” Shelly said as she reached for the paper. “That's my stage name.” She corrected her signature, stood and glanced around the sparsely furnished, brightly lighted waiting room.

  With a hint of kindness creeping into her voice, the woman said, “Someone will advise you of your husband's condition shortly."

  Shelly glanced at the handful of people, each lost in his or her own tragedy, and selected a seat that provided a clear view of the emergency room doors. Live, damn it, Sam. I ... I love you, she pleaded.

  Her mind reeled as she recalled the attack. Terror turned to fear as she realized she actually helped plan this horror. I'll make it up to you, Sam. Hang on, Baby. I'll make it up to you somehow.

  “Maybe this will help."

  Shelly jerked her head to the right.

  A black female orderly stood beside her, holding a blanket. “They keep it too cold in here in the summer and too hot in the winter,” the smiling woman said as she unfolded a brown cotton blanket.

  Shelly realized she was shivering and accepted the blanket gratefully.

  “How do you like your coffee?” the orderly asked.

  “I'm sorry. I don't have any money with me."

  The orderly flashed a toothy smile. “Did I ask you for money?” She dropped her voice and glanced around conspiratorially. “I'm gonna steal it from the nurse's lounge."

  Shelly smiled in spite of herself. “Black."

  The woman nodded. “Like they say, black is beautiful."

  Before Shelly finished the coffee, a man clad in green approached. “You Mrs. Pond?"

  Shelly nodded.

  He sat beside her. He seemed exhausted. “Mr. Pond is still in a coma. He has a bullet wound that barely missed his heart. It is the other wound that is more serious—the one to the left of his forehead. The bullet we removed is 9mm. Some people refer to these guns as peashooters, but I assure you, they can be very dangerous. X-rays reveal that the skull absorbed much of the impact, but the bullet is lodged inside the brain. We believe it can be safely removed and Mr. Pond is now in surgery."

  “Is he ... is he going to be okay?"

  The doctor sighed. “I wish I could say yes and certainly there is a possibility of full recovery. There is also the possibility of death. If he does come out of the coma, he may remain totally paralyzed or he could recover some degree of mobility. It's just too early to tell. I wish the news were better."

  “You say he's in surgery?"

  The doctor nodded.

  “Don't I have to sign some kind of release form?"

  He smiled faintly. “You already did—when you signed him into the hospital.” He reached for her hand. “I'll have someone show you to the surgical waiting room."

  “Thank you, doctor,” she said as he stood.

  “Mrs. Pond, the police de
partment wants us to give you a pelvic exam."

  “What?"

  “It's routine with rape victims. It will take only a few minutes."

  “But I wasn't raped."

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Those are my instructions, ma'am."

  “You don't understand. The gunman intended to rape me, but my husband...” The sob caught in her throat. “...my husband fought with him. That's when the gun went off."

  The doctor's tired eyes tried to comfort Shelly. “You've been through a terrible experience. Sometimes, in cases like this, the mind refuses to remember all the details."

  He held out his hand to her and she grasped it.

  He looked at her carefully. “Are you a religious woman, Mrs. Pond."

  The question surprised her and she shook her head. “I'm afraid not."

  “I'm praying for your husband, Mrs. Pond. You should too. It can't hurt."

  Shelly was never comfortable with her feet in stirrups and a stranger's eyes peering deep inside her. Why did he insist I strip completely? All he needs to see is my vagina.

  His head reappeared and she watched him place a cotton swab into a bottle. The expression on his face was compassionate as he said, “Nurse Franklin, I think Mrs. Pond will be more comfortable if she has a shower, and see if you can shake the sand out of her clothes."

  Shelly did feel better when she returned to the waiting room and reclaimed the blanket.

  The young black woman, teeth showing, approached. “The surgical waiting room is much more comfortable. You can stretch out on a sofa and it's not so blooming cold."

  Clinging to the blanket, Shelly followed the woman through a maze of silent hallways, up an elevator, through another maze and up another elevator. She settled on the plastic cushions of a sofa and looked at the orderly. “Thank you so much for your kindness."

  The woman's eyes twinkled. “I ain't no doctor, but brain surgery takes a long time. You look so tired, honey. I wish you could take a little nap."

  I am tired, Shelly thought. Two days without sleep and now this. Who wouldn't be tired?

  “The bathroom is around the corner and there's coffee at the nurses’ station."

  Shelly nodded as she stretched out on the sofa, resting her head on its arm.

  * * * *

  Shelly's eyes fluttered and she sat up abruptly. “What time is it?"

  Detective Gilder glanced at his watch. “Four-thirty. We didn't have the heart to wake you."

  “I need to use the bathroom."

  Lacy smiled. “It's around the corner. I just got back. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

  Shelly nodded as she stood, dumping the blanket to the floor. “Black, please."

  Just tell them what happened. Give them the details but no background. Cover your ass, Shelly. Be careful, Shelly thought as she tucked in her shirttail, splashed water on her face and dried with a paper towel.

  “How's Sam” she asked as she returned to the waiting room.

  “Still in surgery,” Detective Spencer replied as she handed Shelly a steaming Styrofoam cup. “There is good news according to the report we received. There are fewer bone fragments to remove than expected."

  “And Annie?"

  “Someone from the Horry County Department of Social Services is with her. At last report, Annie is sleeping peacefully."

  “Mrs. Pond, we need your statement,” Detective Gilder said as he removed a microcassette recorder from his inside jacket pocket. “You don't mind if I tape it, do you?"

  “Of course not,” Shelly said as she eased down on the brown plastic cushion. “There's not much to tell."

  “Take your time,” Lacy said, opening a notebook and pulling a pen from her breast pocket.

  “Sam, Annie and I came to the beach late Friday night. It's a delayed honeymoon."

  “How old is Annie?” Lacy asked.

  “Two—almost three. Sam is not her biological father, but he loves her very much."

  “Who is the father?"

  Watch it, Shelly. “I'd rather not say. That relationship ended shortly after Annie was born."

  “You have a problem in giving us the father's name?” Gilder asked.

  “It doesn't matter,” Lacy said. “We can get it from the child's birth records."

  “His name is Boyd Fisher. I haven't seen him in a long time. I think he left the state.” Why the hell did I say that?

  “Go on, Mrs. Pond,” Gilder urged.

  “We spent the morning on the beach. It was a gorgeous day and Annie had such a good time. She'd never seen the ocean. We all took a little nap and went back to the beach for a couple of hours. We cleaned up, went out for supper and wound up letting Annie spend a fortune on the rides at Kiddyland and we played so many miniature golf courses I lost count."

  Lacy smiled as she scratched a note on her pad.

  “We returned to the hotel a little after eleven. Annie was already asleep. She didn't wake up when I put on her pajamas. I wanted to wake her so she could brush her teeth...” Tears caught Shelly by surprise. “Sam wouldn't let me. He said he'd make Annie brush six times today to make up for it."

  Gilder pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and offered it to Shelly.

  She dabbed at her eyes and continued. “Sam surprised me with the idea of a midnight stroll on the beach. I was too tired, but he had already arranged for a babysitter. Oh, God, I wish I had refused to go."

  “But you did go. Tell us what happened."

  “It was dark—very dark because of the cloud cover. Sam said earlier that the only thing keeping it from being a perfect day was not being able to see the full moon. He wanted so badly for the midnight walk to be romantic."

  Lacy nodded and smiled sympathetically.

  “We hadn't gone very far when this guy held us up. He had a gun."

  “Can you describe him?” Gilder asked.

  Shelly shook her head. “Not really. He was short and a little on the heavy side.” Why did you lie to them about that? she asked herself. “No, that's not right. I guess he was about your size, Detective. He wore dark clothing and a ski mask."

  “Go on,” Lacy urged.

  “He was pissed off that Sam had only fifty dollars in his wallet. He took Sam's wedding ring and watch, and then he demanded my rings. He said my diamond wasn't worth a hundred dollars. He made Sam lie down and said he was going to rape me. He pushed down his pants..."

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Pond. Did he undress you or did you do it voluntarily?” Gilder asked.

  Her eyes flared. “He said he'd kill Sam if I didn't strip. He pushed Sam's face in the sand and held the pistol next to his head."

  “Please go on."

  “I lay down in the sand like he told me. He pushed his pants down far enough to get the job done and knelt between my legs."

  “Let me interrupt one more time, Mrs. Pond,” Lacy said. “The only part of the assailant's anatomy you saw was his penis?"

  Shelly nodded, “and the top of his thighs."

  “Was there anything unusual about it?"

  Shelly slowly shook her head. Boyd was having a hard time getting it up. It wasn't nearly as big as usual, she silently recalled.

  Gilder adjusted the tape recorder. “Could you tell from the exposed flesh the assailant's color?"

  “He was white,” Shelly replied.

  “Please continue."

  “He leaned forward to ... to do it. Suddenly Sam hit him."

  “With his fist?” Lacy asked.

  “No—he sort of bowled him over, like in football. The gun went off."

  “And the robber ran away towards the south I believe you told us."

  “Yes, but not immediately. First, he pulled up his pants. Then he shot Sam again."

  The detectives exchanged glances. “When the assailant left, what did you do?” Lacy asked.

  “To tell the truth, I'm not sure. I went all to pieces. I screamed and hollered, but there was no one on the beach to help. Somehow I put my clothes on and ran to
the street where I flagged down a patrol car. You know the rest."

  Gilder made a steeple of his fingers and rested his chin. “When the gun went off the first time, how far were the men from you?"

  “I don't understand. We were all right there together."

  He nodded. “Don't you think it strange that you didn't get any blood on your clothes?"

  “I haven't even checked, and besides, by this time I was naked,” she replied as she looked down at her body.

  Lacy said, “While you were having the pelvic exam, the nurse checked for us. She found no blood on your clothes or your body. Mrs. Pond, are you sure you were not raped?"

  “Why would I lie about it?” Shelly asked, her voice rising.

  Gilder grinned apologetically. “Please, Mrs. Pond. We're not accusing you of lying. We're trying to help you remember what actually occurred. Perhaps the assailant shot your husband when he protested and then raped you, or perhaps while the assailant was raping you, your husband ran for help and that is when the assailant shot him."

  “No, it didn't happen like that."

  “The pelvic exam revealed traces of semen in your vagina, Mrs. Pond,” Lacy said.

  Shelly stared at her incredulously. “That's not possible. Wait ... Sam and I ... you know ... this afternoon ... in the shower. It is our honeymoon, damn it!"

  “Of course,” Gilder said. He glanced at his partner. “There's one more thing, Mrs. Pond. Who is Delilah Delight?"

  “That's my stage name. I was confused when I signed the admittance papers. It was a stupid thing to do, but it means nothing."

  Lacy smiled. “When I was a little girl I wanted to be an actress. Do you perform in plays or movies?"

  “I am, or was, an exotic dancer."

  A haggard, green clad doctor entered the waiting room. “Mrs. Pond?"

  Shelly stood. “This is Detective...” She turned to her seated questioners. “I'm sorry. I've forgotten your names."

  “Mark Gilder,” Gilder said as he stood.

  “Lacy Spencer,” Lacy said, remaining seated.

  The surgeon nodded towards them and returned his attention to Shelly. “Your husband came through surgery fine. He's in the recovery room now."

  “Is he going to be all right, doctor?"

  “Too early to tell. There is trauma to the brain, of course, but not nearly as massive as we expected. I believe he will survive, but I'm not certain as to the degree of paralysis, if any, he will experience."