Perfect

by Harry Kraus

  “There’s a deserted cul-de-sac just beyond the dam.” He looked in the bag, which contained the syringes and two stretchy rubber tourniquets, and smiled. “Let’s party.”

  He watched as Linda maneuvered the van, a specially equipped handicapped one with hand controls. She amazed him. Although she hadn’t let her injury keep her from driving, he knew it had robbed her of so much. He quieted the urge to apologize. Again.

  “Let’s go home. It’s safer there.”

  “It’s a beautiful night, baby. We can start in the van and move our party out onto the grass by the reservoir. The stars are going to be awesome.”

  “I don’t want to drive after I’ve taken a hit.”

  “So we’ll wait. Nothing says we can’t stay all night out here if we have to.” He lifted a syringe and turned on the overhead light. “Besides, I don’t think we should use this all at once. If this stuff is half as potent as the doc says, we’d better take it slow.”

  “Turn off that light. I don’t want anyone to see.”

  “There is no one else around.”

  She huffed, but cooperated, slowing to a stop at the end of a deserted cul-de-sac. She seemed anxious to relax. As soon as they were stopped, even before shutting off the engine or headlights, she grabbed a tourniquet and stretched it around her arm, holding it tight in her teeth to distend the vein near the elbow. She felt the bulge of the vein one time before plunging the needle into her arm and slowly pushing in one cc.

  Jesse hurried to join his wife in a bit of private celebration and wrapped the rubber tourniquet tight around his upper arm.

  Shivering, I dragged myself through the mud and soggy cattail grass at the edge of the reservoir. I needed to get to a phone. Step, squish, step, squish, I slogged onto the slippery mud along the bank. I watched as a set of headlights approached and passed. I yelled, but I was too far down the bank to signal or be heard.

  I crawled up the steep slope to the road’s edge and looked back towards the water. Henry’s Mercedes was gone. Hopefully, he’ ll be so glad to see me that he won’t care about his car.

  I looked up and down the road, pausing to watch a vehicle turn at the end of the road and face its headlights back in my direction. I decided to ask for help. Perhaps the occupants would have a cell phone and I could call Henry. I walked towards the headlights, feeling the water slosh between my toes within my Nike running shoes.

  Jesse was just beginning to feel a delightful warmth and a buzzing sensation in his forehead when Linda’s arms jerked forward. He watched as she had some sort of seizure and then slumped forward against the steering column. The horn began to sound.

  He looked forward to see a figure walking towards them. It was a woman, shielding her eyes from the headlights. After a moment, Jesse realized it was Wendi Stratford. His head was spinning. The drug was wonderful, but he needed to fight its effect for a moment and take care of business.

  He nudged his wife. I hope it’s a good trip, darling.

  Jesse grabbed a handgun from beneath the seat and opened the door.

  I approached the car by walking in the road. I was soaked, but I didn’t care. I was alive and determined to get back to my family for a second chance at getting relationships right.

  From thirty feet, I could see that it was a van. Great, probably some teens out here parking. I walked forward. “Hello?”

  The horn began to blare. I startled. Goofy kids!

  Just then the passenger door swung open and I recognized Jesse Anders as he raised a pistol in my direction. I gasped and sprinted sideways to the corner of the van.

  The pistol fired, missing wide to my left. Jesse took one step toward me, then dropped to the ground, where his arms and legs seemed to quiver for a few seconds before he was still. I peered into the car. Linda was slumped over the steering wheel, depressing the horn. I opened the door and grabbed the shoulder of her denim jacket, pulling her to the side. She tilted out of the captain’s chair and hung suspended in the shoulder-and-waist harness. Her eyes were open but unseeing.

  I quickly turned my attention back to Jesse. His body was still, the handgun lying on the pavement beside him. I scurried to his side and lifted the gun. “Get up!” I shouted, pointing the gun at his head.

  His body remained motionless. I nudged him with my foot. “Get up!”

  I knelt and rolled him over and felt for a pulse. I shook my head. I didn’t understand. I walked back to the van and reexamined Linda. She too was pulseless, her face hanging from her neck at an odd angle and her eyes open and staring into eternity.

  Whatever had killed Jesse and Linda had done so rapidly. I backed out of the van and studied Jesse’s form, spread eagle on the pavement. In a moment, I saw myself. This was the end of a life of guilt. His guilt had pushed him into a tireless pursuit of revenge, ultimately taking a bitter turn into drug abuse and crime. Where would my life of guilt lead me?

  CHAPTER 29

  Thirty minutes later, I was huddled in the back of a county sheriff’s car, sipping lukewarm coffee and listening to the drone of the police radio.

  When Chris Black from Charlottesville PD showed up, his demeanor was less than comforting. He sat on the seat beside me. “Tell me your theory.”

  “I’ve been all over this with the county deputy over there,” I said, tilting my head towards the van.

  “Tell me.”

  “Overdose,” I answered. “There was drug paraphernalia in the car beside Linda. Her arm is bleeding from a recent needle stick. She must have come up here to pick up Jesse after he sent me off into the reservoir in Henry’s Mercedes.”

  Chris nodded and put in a call to the medical examiner.

  I sat quietly, and purposefully didn’t disclose where the Anderses had received their most recent supply of narcotics. I needed to talk to Henry before I said anything about that.

  When Chris got off the phone, I cradled the Styrofoam cup beneath my chin. “Have you gotten through to Henry?”

  He shook his head. “I’m going to need to have your blood drawn for some tests. We need a sample to figure out exactly what Anders injected you with.” He paused. “You talked to your sister?”

  I nodded. “She’s coming to get me.”

  The detective looked away. “Charlottesville PD has been looking for you all day.”

  I shrugged.

  He touched my arm, and I instinctively pulled away. “Don’t play games with me, Wendi. What’d you do, have your sister drive your car to lead my men off scent?”

  “She warned me that your boys were looking for me.” My eyes bore in on his face, which was dimly lit by the dome light in the cruiser. “I’ve done nothing illegal, Chris. I had to do something, if only to clear my name. So I spent the day looking at the evidence for myself.”

  His voice sliced with sarcasm. “And?”

  I decided to tell the truth. I knew I wasn’t guilty. If Henry was hiding something, I suspected that Anders was involved. “Cindy Swanson was dead before Henry hit her, wasn’t she?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Your investigators misinterpreted the accident scene. The skid marks on the driveway were acceleration marks, not brake marks. Cindy’s autopsy showed evidence of a neck fracture in addition to multiple skull fractures, but there was a problem: the skull fractures appeared to be postmortem.”

  “So Henry’s story was a cover-up?”

  “That’s my theory.” I sipped my coffee. “So if I was guilty, why would I tell you these things?”

  The detective stayed quiet. My instinct had paid off. Chris didn’t know what to make of my honesty.

  When he spoke again, I could hear the suspicion in his voice. “When I called you that night and told you of Henry’s accident, you already knew, didn’t you?”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “He was having an affair. You were jealous.”

  “If I was covering up an accident, I would know how to do it.”

  “And I’m to assume Henry wouldn’t?”
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  I shook my head. “Henry should have known.” I had a private theory about that, one I wasn’t ready to share with Chris. Henry and I had talked through so many accident scenarios that I knew he would know how to set it up. My only conclusion was that Henry intentionally left me a subtle clue, something no one else would recognize. Henry was sending a message he knew I would receive and interpret, even when the police got it wrong. I know Henry. He’s not capable of murder, so why would he disguise Cindy’s death to make it look like an accident?

  I remembered something Anders said. “Wait,” I said. “Jesse Anders may have had something to do with this.”

  “You think you can pin this on the dead guy?”

  I nodded. “He said something to me today, something about visiting Henry at his girlfriend’s house. I’m willing to concede that Henry may have been having an affair, so perhaps Anders had something to do with Cindy’s death.”

  Chris grunted. This was obviously a new thought for him. “I’ll need to talk to Henry.”

  Chris left me alone until the ME arrived and drew my blood. “Look,” I said, as he let me out of the patrol car. “I’ve got to get changed. Come by the house tonight if you need anything else from me.”

  He paused. “Don’t run, Wendi. We’ll have more questions for you tomorrow.”

  I looked up to see my sister, grateful for the excuse to ignore Chris. Rene hugged me, enveloping me into a bear hug that helped squeeze the water from my shirt into hers. She laughed. “Thank God you’re OK.”

  I sniffed. “Let’s go home. Where’s Henry?”

  “Don’t know. He left home on his cycle, saying he had an errand to do.” She hesitated as we got into her Saturn. “I’m scared for him, Wendi. Henry was acting strange.”

  My chest tightened. If facing death had done anything, it had made me take a hard look at the path I’d chosen. “I need to talk with him.” I looked out the window. “I’m going to tell him everything.”

  I could see Rene nod her approval from the corner of my eye. She’d started down a reconciliation sidewalk this week herself. I was determined to follow. I was going to shed my fakery regardless of the cost.

  “Only Henry?”

  I took a deep breath. “No. Mom and Dad, too.”

  “What happened to you tonight?”

  “I told you on the phone. Jesse Anders tried to kill me. He intentionally drugged me and strapped me into Henry’s car and sent me bon voyage into the water.”

  “I’m not looking for the facts. What happened to you?”

  I sighed and kept staring out the window. “Maybe running away isn’t the best way to solve my problems.”

  That night, I stayed up waiting for Henry and rehearsed my repentance. It’s all my fault, Henry. Things will be different. I want to be a real Christian. I can’t sit in the back row and smile like I’m a saint when inside I’m not a Christian at all.

  Henry, I’m seeing now that I was wrong in pushing God away. In pushing you away. Pretending to be something I’m not — and for what? I want things to be different.

  I fell asleep on the couch hugging a throw pillow and whispering Henry’s name until sometime after two in the morning.

  I awoke at three and four, convinced I’d heard the Triumph, then looked at a calendar held by a magnet on our refrigerator. I’d checked it before, but wanted to be sure. I traced my finger down the days. Henry wasn’t supposed to be on call, but it would be just like him to have traded call days and forgotten to tell me.

  I tried paging him, but he wouldn’t reply.

  It wouldn’t be the first time he spent the night operating and failed to tell me.

  I called the UVa Hospital operating rooms. “No,” a cheery female voice responded, “Dr. Stratford hasn’t been here all night.”

  I fought back a rising tide of panic. I paced the front room and lifted the curtain back from the window, staring into the blackness. A few minutes later, I brushed back my tears and washed my face in the kitchen sink, paced some more, and dripped strong Ethiopian coffee. I felt helpless. I wanted to do something, anything, but without knowing what was wrong, I could only pace and pray. I walked back to the living room and traced my hand along the piano. Suddenly I wanted to sell it, give it away. It reminded me of my foray into unfaithfulness.

  My mind ran ahead of me. Was Henry in an accident? Did his disappearance have anything to do with Jesse Anders? With a bit of trepidation, I picked up the phone and called Chris Black.

  Chris picked up after four rings, his voice heavy with sleep. “Black.”

  “Chris, it’s Wendi,” I began, trying not to sound too alarmed. “Henry is missing. He didn’t come home last night.”

  “It’s still night, Wendi,” he huffed. “I’m sure he’s alright. You know Henry. He’s probably in the theatre.”

  I groaned. “I’m not joking, Chris. Henry isn’t in the OR. I’ve called. Rene said he left last night on his Triumph. Something’s up. I want a search.”

  “He hasn’t been missing long enough,” he said, exhaling sharply into the phone. “But I tell you what, I’ll tell the patrol boys to look out for him, OK?”

  I hesitated. “Chris.”

  He waited while I thought. “What is it, Wendi?”

  “It’s just, well, I think Henry might have been mixed up with this Anders guy.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “When I started investigating Anders’ truck wreck, Henry told me to stay away from him. He told me Anders was a druggie.” I paused again before plunging ahead. “Look, Henry showed up at the Anderses’ place when they were holding me there.”

  “Henry? He was there? You didn’t tell me — ”

  “I wanted to talk to Henry first. Look, I’m sorry, but I was scared about what it might mean for Henry. He showed up and gave Jesse Anders some narcotics. Linda held a gun on me the entire time, so I wouldn’t alert Henry to the fact that I was there.”

  “Hmmm. I wonder if the drug Henry gave them was what they used in the van.”

  The thought had occurred to me, too. I suspect that the Anderses were pushing Henry beyond the limits. Maybe he knew that Anders had tried to kill me and he was trying to protect me. Maybe Henry was exacting his own quiet revenge. “Can’t you get your men to look for him?”

  I listened to him sigh. “We’ll find him. Sounds like we need to ask Henry a few questions.”

  “Thanks.”

  I set the phone down in its cradle. Maybe I should look for Henry myself. But where would he have gone?

  After all that’s happened, could Henry be leaving me?

  Minutes followed and turned into hours. The sun came up. The police began to search, but Henry wasn’t to be found. Henry didn’t report to give his scheduled medical school lecture, didn’t show up for hospital rounds, and left his operative cases untouched. A night out operating without calling me was one thing, but this was something else entirely.

  I spent from ten until two in Chris Black’s office, going over every detail of my week. He still seemed fixated on whether I had something to do with Cindy Swanson’s death. He leaned forward and lifted a burger out of a McDonald’s paper bag on his desk. He unwrapped it with meticulous care. An image of Henry unwrapping a sterile instrument flashed through my mind.

  He slurped his Pepsi through a long straw and spoke through a quiet belch. “This whole disappearance of Henry is quite convenient for you, isn’t it?”

  I wanted to dab the ketchup from his cheek. Either that or slap him, but the latter didn’t seem like what I should do, given that he seemed so suspicious of everything I did. I picked up a paper napkin from his desk and handed it to him. “Convenient?”

  He swiped at the ketchup. “Mmm. Thanks. Sure,” he said. “Henry’s probably the only one around who knows exactly how Cindy Swanson died. Last night, you tell me Henry dropped by Anders’ place, so you know I’m anxious to talk to him. What’d you do, warn him to leave town, then call me and tell me he never came home?”
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br />   I was flabbergasted. “Why you — ”

  I stopped when I looked up at the chief of police, Ed Mosby, who’d just entered Chris’s office. Mosby tipped his head towards me, a gesture of hello, and addressed his detective. “Anything new on Dr. Stratford?”

  “Nope. Seems like he’s vanished,” Chris said, looking at me. “And that leaves us without anyone to corroborate your story that Jesse Anders told you that he went to Cindy Swanson’s house.”

  “I had nothing to do with Henry’s disappearance. You can ask Rene. Henry left home while I was still being held by the Anderses. He never came home last night. Rene can vouch for that as well.”

  I shifted in my seat, feeling anxious and angry. How could he continue to accuse me of wrongdoing?

  “Send a forensics team to Cindy’s apartment. And this time, assume she died somewhere other than under the wheel of Henry’s Mercedes. There has to be some evidence somewhere.”

  “Proving she died before Henry struck her won’t tell us who killed her, will it?”

  I looked at Ed Mosby. “Will you listen to another theory?”

  The chief sat. “Sure.”

  “According to Linda Anders, Jesse blamed Henry for Linda’s being in the wheelchair. They claim Henry misread an X-ray of her spine and she was paralyzed as a result.”

  The duo looked at me, feigning interest.

  “Linda said Jesse was out to harm me in order to make Henry suffer like Jesse did.” I paused, making sure I made eye contact with Chris. “Remember the blue paint on the truck grille of Jesse’s?”

  “Go on.”

  “Jesse had been stalking me, watching everything I did. He knew I always went to Starbucks with Jack Renner after our piano lesson. Jesse knew exactly when I’d be on the road and ran the red light in order to T-bone the car just where I’d be.”

  Ed touched the top of his silver hair as if checking to see if each bristle stood appropriately upright. Apparently satisfied, he looked at me. “But you weren’t there.”

  “But by routine, I usually was.”

  “What’s this have to do with Cindy Swanson?”