Heartbalm

by Malachi Stone

  “Give me twenty-four hours on the outside. I’ll hand over your killer gift-wrapped on a silver platter.”

  Grimm seemed to smirk at the cliché. “This ain’t like TV, Ricky. The way this works, first you tell us what you know. Then we check it all out. Until that happens, you’re gonna stay guest of the county until further notice.”

  “C’mon, you haven’t even presented this case to the warrant officer at the state’s attorney’s office. Take a chance, Grimm.” Taking a big one myself, I added, “For your old man’s sake.”

  “What’s my old man got to do with this?”

  “Off the record?”

  “This ain’t the Wall Street Journal. You know we don’t do things that way.”

  So I went ahead and told him. Everything I knew and everything I suspected. I spilled my guts, in other words, thereby implicating myself in any number of crimes, but murder was not among them. When I was finished, Grimm let me go.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - THE GOOD SHIT

  My first stop was the office. Shit, shave, sponge bath, and shine. I changed into my last fresh suit of clothes and screened the answering machine messages. Nothing but existing clients. I erased them all. Next I booted up the computer and checked my email, deleting the usual dozen or so pieces of spam. That left one email from a client. Howard Kuhn, saying only, “Here’s what we talked about.” Howard had attached a video entitled The Good Shit that seemed to take forever to download. I saved it to hard drive, plugged in my earphones and clicked Play.

  The Good Shit opened with an establishment shot: Ruth’s solarium. Little Eve was playing by herself. An older man could be heard off-camera in an unctuous fawning voice, “Hi, honey pie. Can I play, too?”

  From that moment civilization ended. I sat brutalized by the mere viewing of the series of events that followed. Boaz in clown attire, Ruth, and finally Beattie herself got into the act. Russell R. Russell had finally outdone himself. If I could have jumped through the screen, murdered them all on the spot and rescued Little Eve from their torments I would have done so.

  Bobbi Peterson had a listed number. She sounded annoyed when her husband, State’s Attorney Peterson, called her to the phone.

  “Remember that thing we talked about? That kiddy porn ring you never could crack?”

  “Russell R. Russell again? Now what worthless information are you trying to peddle, Ricky?” In the background I heard Peterson groan with annoyance at the invasion of his weekend domestic tranquility.

  “What if I told you I have recently come into possession of a video that shows all of the players committing aggravated criminal sexual assault on a child under the age of seven? A related child, no less.”

  “Where are you calling from?”

  “My office.”

  “Meet me there in fifteen minutes.”

  “There’s just one problem: it was sent to me by a client from his private collection, and it depicts at least one other client, maybe two.”

  Bobbi paused. “Why do I think you’ve already made up your mind to do the right thing for a change?”

  “See you in fifteen.”

  I let Bobbi into the office ten minutes later. She looked good in white slacks, running shoes, and St. Louis University sweatshirt, her dark hair tied back under a police bill cap. “Show me,” she said.

  “Sure you’re ready? It’s bad.”

  “How bad?”

  “Bad as it gets.”

  Her hard grimace was genuine.

  “Think you can keep me out of it?”

  “Chain of custody, Ricky. Probable cause. All that good stuff.”

  “But he’s my client,” I protested weakly. “He didn’t seem like such a bad guy.”

  Bobbi eyed me levelly and said, “Sure he is.”

  I didn’t watch it a second time, but rather stood facing Bobbi and the back of the monitor. Her troubled facial expressions must have mirrored my own at my first viewing. When it was over she looked up and said, “Can you identify any of these people?”

  “All except the man on-camera, and I have a pretty good idea he’s the child’s great-uncle Boaz. He’s a retired clergyman.”

  Bobbi stared at me open-mouthed.

  “The younger woman is my former client, Beattie Russell,” I went on. “The older woman is Ruth Holstein, her mother. She’s the one who retained me to represent her daughter in her criminal appeal. The daughter fired me, but this directly impacts on the subject of the attorney client relationship. Sure you can’t keep me out of it?”

  “You know something, Ricky? You really are a gutless wonder. Having seen these atrocities, can you honestly tell me that you harbor any ambivalence whatsoever about what has to be done?”

  “Easy for you to say. It’s my career that’s on the line, not yours. Although,” I added, “this is an ongoing criminal conspiracy, right? Not to mention the law imposes a duty on me to disclose an intent on the part of my client to commit a future crime.”

  “Ivory-tower stuff,” Bobbi said. “Bottom line, you think the ARDC is going to yank your ticket for ratting out these assholes? What planet are you from?”

  “Do you think the feds will be interested?”

  “Who gives a shit? Once I get done with Clowny and the rest of them, the feds can have what’s left.”

  Ever the horndog Hamlet, I procrastinated for the better part of the day, once Bobbi had left to seek warrants, before doing what had to be done. I knew it was time to confront Diane at last; I couldn’t postpone that disagreeable task any longer. But instead of going home I decided first to pay an unscheduled call on the other Gerasimos.

  He was finishing up with vespers by the time I arrived. One elderly parishioner sat in the right front pew waiting for confession. I took my place behind him and bowed my head.

  Five minutes later it was my turn. In the sacristy I bent and kissed the icon and then the cross resting on the Bible and finally the cross embroidered into the stole. Father Gerasimos draped the stole over my head. I kneeled and began.

  “I didn’t follow your advice and tell all my slips to the twelve-step group. As a matter of fact, rather than go back to the twelve-step group I took advantage of the situation and sinned sexually as much as I could get away with, committed adultery with several women. I faked a burglary of my office and told lies. I gave the police lieutenant the perjured statement he said he wanted, but it turns out it was me he was really after all along.”

  “Proverbs tells us that a man who entertains a lustful thought takes fire in his bosom. Do you think you can take fire in your bosom and not be consumed, Gerasimos?”

  “I’ve been burned enough times to know better, Father.”

  “Go on,” Father Gerasimos encouraged.

  “I know you said my sins would become greater and greater as time went on but I didn’t listen to your warning. Today I was exposed to child pornography so vile I’m sure I’ll never be able to blot it out of my mind if I live to be older than Methuselah.”

  “Go on,” Father Gerasimos said, sadly I thought.

  “I guess I’m like that lion that Saint Gerasimos befriended, Father. I’m being falsely accused of three murders. The fact is, I’m innocent of all three, and yet guilty of all three at the same time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know where the Bible says, ‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’”

  “Cain’s eternal question, posed not long before God tells Cain that ‘sin is couching at the door. Its desire is for you but you must master it.’”

  “That’s the one. Three people were killed, and all because I in my lust and pride chose to take advantage of a deeply disturbed young woman. Their deaths were a direct result of my sin. Maybe not a proximate result as defined by the law, maybe I’m not criminally culpable, but I’m directly responsible nonetheless. I’m guilty as a matter of conscience. Oh, and I killed a man in a duel.”

  “Indeed?”

  “It was a clear-cut case of self-defense, Father, but the fact
remains his death stemmed directly from my indulging my lust for this woman. He considered himself her husband even though they were divorced.”

  “Are there other sins you wish to confess?”

  “Ah, I broke the advent fast, cursed and swore, neglected my prayers and spiritual readings and missed several liturgies and vesper services.”

  “Anything else?”

  “And I forged the signature of a dead judge on a court order in order to save a client. I guess that’s kind of like bearing false witness? Anyway, I think that’s about it for now.”

  It always surprised me how, no matter what misdeeds I brought to confession, Father Gerasimos always managed to sustain an impassive and compassionate demeanor. He urged me to reconcile with Diane as soon as possible, to pray fervently for Lieutenant Grimm and all my other enemies, to cooperate with the authorities to the best of my ability to bring criminals to justice, to pray for the souls of the dead, to make sure and come to liturgy tomorrow, and to do everything in my power to rectify any of the wrongs I had committed.

  Grasping the doorknob, about to exit the sacristy, I had a sudden epiphany how I could rectify one of those wrongs. Turning again to the priest I said, “Father?”

  “Yes, Gerasimos?”

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but are you and Presbytera still looking for a child to adopt?”

  “We continue to pray for God to provide us a child, yes. Why do you ask?”

  “I may be able to pull a few strings and find a child for you. A little girl about seven. I have to be honest, this particular kid’s been through hell, so don’t get your hopes up just yet.”

  “Perhaps it’s time we harried her out of hell,” Father Gerasimos said. “And rest assured, Presbytera and I always have our hopes up.”

  I drove Heart’s car directly home. The home I had until so very recently shared with Diane and our children. Snug’s motorcycle was parked in the driveway, easily identifiable from his street name spelled out in gothic letters on the fender. The manifold was still warm to the touch. It was already dusk but no lights were on. I used my key and came in through the front door. From the direction of the living room I heard whimpering.

  I raced in. Even before I flipped on a lamp I could see the glimmer of four sets of moist eyes in the near-darkness underneath the unlit Christmas tree.

  Anna, Tatiana, Nick and Wolf lay side-by-side, hogtied and gagged. They reacted frantically as soon as they saw me. I grabbed the first sharp object I could find, a letter opener from my desk, and carefully slit the duct tape that had been wound around Tatiana’s mouth. She gasped for air when I peeled it away.

  “Who did this, baby?”

  “Mom’s friend—your secretary. That Heart.”

  “Is she still in the house?”

  “She came here on a motorcycle and—”

  “Is she still in the house?” I repeated more insistently as I cut the tape binding her wrists behind her back and the tape used to lash her ankles together. She was trembling with fear, giddy with it.

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “I heard Heart yell something at her.”

  “Where, sweetie?”

  ”Upstairs in her—in you guys’ bedroom.”

  “Can you cut your brothers and sister loose?”

  “Yeah.” When I started for the door she said, “Dad?”

  “What, baby?”

  “Be careful. She’s crazy.”

  “I know, baby.”

  “Dad?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “She’s got a gun.”

  “Don’t worry, baby. She won’t use it.” Could she tell I was lying? I handed her the letter opener. “Now cut the others loose. Can you do that?”

  “I don’t know. I think so.”

  “And call nine one one for me.”

  “I can’t, Dad. She must have cut the phone lines. There’s no dial tone. And my cell phone’s up in my bedroom, charging.” Her voice began in a whisper and ascended to a scream.

  “Hush,” I said, taking her hand in mine. “I need you to be strong for Dad. And especially for Mom.” I handed her my Blackberry. “Use this.”

  “There’s no bars in the living room, Dad. You always complained to Mom about that. You said—”

  “I know, sweetie. Listen to Dad. Cut the others loose. Once you’ve done that, all of you run out the back as quietly as you can. Don’t stop and get your coats, just run, and don’t make a sound. As soon as you’re outside, call nine one one and tell them to send the police. Tell them a crazy woman’s threatening to shoot us with a gun. Then run to the neighbors and stay inside. Can you do all that for me?”

  “I think so,” she shivered.

  “Good. I’ll go upstairs and try to distract her while you kids escape.”

  “What are you going to do, Dad?”

  “Save Mom.”

  I knew Tatiana was the bravest and most resourceful; that was why I untied her first. The expressions on the icons of the saints seemed even more impassive than Father Gerasimos’s as I crept up the stairs. All had no doubt seen worse in their generation. None of the saints appeared surprised to see me. They all must have heard the glass packs on Heart’s car when I pulled in. The entire household was on high alert for my arrival.

  Diane’s bedroom door stood ajar, an inviting sign under more propitious circumstances. Now all I sensed was a descending pall of menace as I drew nearer and stepped into the room.

  Diane was spreadeagled naked on the bed. As my eyes adjusted to the twilight I realized that her hands and feet were tied to the bedposts, as though she were about to be drawn and quartered. The sliding glass door that led to the second-story deck rolled wide open. The curtains billowed when they caught the icy winter breeze.

  Heart made her stage entrance from the moonlit deck into the bedroom. She was dressed in a tan trench coat with big shoulder pads and a wide-brimmed hat, the kind Clark Killarney said she always visualized herself wearing. The streetlamps illuminated her face like a key light from the rigging of a Hollywood soundstage. In her right hand she held a silver medium-caliber automatic close to her waist. It was pointed at me. If the light was any better I probably could have looked right down the barrel of the homemade silencer.

  “Hiya, Toots,” I said, trying for easy familiarity. “How’s every little thing?”

  “Come closer, Johnny,” she said in a voice right out of the forties.

  “You don’t need that gat, Toots. Why don’t you put it down while you and me talk this over?”

  “Too late for talk, Johnny.”

  “It’s never too late for talk, Toots. The thing is, a fella don’t feel too talkative with a rod pointed at his liver.”

  “On the level? Okay, have it your way. Let’s talk.” She sauntered closer to Diane and stroked her nipples with the tip of the silencer. Diane moaned softly through the duct tape gag. “Why don’t we talk about these, Johnny? You like these? Are they better than mine? Tell the truth, now. I’d like a man’s opinion.”

  “What kind of question is that to be asking me, Toots?”

  “You said you wanted to talk, Johnny. I want to talk about these. And about this, too.” She trailed the silencer down along the downy center of Diane’s abdomen, coming to rest at her pubic mound, where she made lazy figure-eights. Diane moaned again, her legs straining against the bonds; her eyes rolled, staring at me in stark panic. I listened for approaching sirens but heard none.

  “How are you going to get away with it, Toots? You haven’t thought this through. It’s a cinch they’ll pin this murder on one of us.”

  “Murders,” she corrected me calmly. “And I have thought it through, Johnny. It’s perfect.”

  Still no sounds from the street. No revolving lights reflected off the bedroom ceiling.

  “Suppose you tell me how you plan on kidding the cops it wasn’t either of us who shot Diane?”

  “I’ve got that all figured out.”
>
  “Suppose you tell me.”

  Heart took two quick steps toward me. I didn’t move; after all, she had the gun. She raised her arm and held the silencer against my temple. Diane screamed; it was like hearing a scream through a pillow—a muffled scream that went on and on.

  “See how much I love you, Di Di?” she said. “It’ll be just you and me from now on, without this lying heel hanging around giving us lip, bothering us.”

  “I thought you said you wanted us to be together, that you’d do anything for your man?”

  “I lied, you chump,” Heart said. “It’s my woman I’d do anything for.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Turns out you’re a hard man to kill, Johnny. Remember the night of the duel?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “Both you mugs missed the target. It was me who tried to shoot you from the woods. My tough luck I hit Snug in the chest instead. Turns out this heater’s no good for distance. That was when I hatched a better idea. I started slipping a tiny smidge of raccoon shit into your Hamburger Helper every night, sat there and watched you clean your plate. Trouble was, it didn’t kill you like I hoped it would, just gave you that raccoon cooties thing. and then finally it came to me.”

  “Go on.”

  “After you’d gone to the croaker and got diagnosed, and everybody knew how bad it could get, I saw how I could set things up so the coppers’d figure you were out of your head tonight from the encephalitis and started shooting. All four kids, then yourself. And that’s exactly what Diane and I are gonna tell the cops when they get here. Are they on their way now, Johnny? I can see how nervous you are, watching out the window for them.”

  “Diane will never go for it.”

  “Diane might take a little convincing, sure. But look at her: the poor daffy dame’s head over heels in love with me. She can’t help herself.”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  “Sure did. That first afternoon, right before you came home from the hospital and caught the two of us in the kip together.”

  “How about lately?”