Night Terrors

by Dennis Palumbo

  Then, suddenly, I heard the click of the shower door opening. Through slitted eyes, I saw Eleanor standing there, her smooth, naked body half-obscured by steam.

  “Want some company?”

  I did indeed, though that meant my shower lasted a bit longer than I’d planned.

  ***

  “Glad you changed your mind about that full-body exam, Detective.”

  Eleanor playfully punched my arm, then instantly said “Sorry!” and gave it a kiss. I smiled manfully, not letting on how much it had hurt.

  We were back on the sofa again, under a big blanket she’d brought from her bedroom. The room was suffused with a palpable warmth from the fireplace.

  She stirred.

  “Don’t go.” I nuzzled her wet hair. “I’m just starting to come back to life.”

  She nodded toward the bathroom.

  “You had plenty of life in there.”

  “Hell, I was just trying not to pass out. Damn near everything hurts.”

  We kissed, softly, and then she wriggled out from under the blanket. Reached for the fresh roll of bandages and surgical tape she’d put on the coffee table.

  “I’m no medic, but I’ll do my best.”

  She shoved aside the blanket and quickly scanned my bruises, scrubbed clean though uglier still against my freshly-showered skin.

  I watched as she tentatively applied the bandages, her face hidden beneath her curled tangle of wet hair.

  “I do have some news.” Her voice seemed strangely subdued now, reluctant.

  “About the case?”

  “No, about my brother Ted. I was on the phone with my mother right before you got here. Teddy snuck out of rehab last night and took off.”

  “Oh, hell. What happened?”

  “What usually happens. He scored, got loaded, and crashed in some hell hole on the North Side. The local blues recognized him, knew he had a sister on the job, and brought him home. My mother was in hysterics on the phone.”

  “I’m so sorry, El.”

  I pushed aside her hair and saw that her hands were trembling as she unrolled another strip of surgical tape.

  “That’s enough. Thanks.”

  I took hold of her wrists. She brought her eyes up. Blurred with tears.

  “I can finish this, Danny.”

  “It’s fine. Really.”

  She sighed her assent, put the roll of tape aside and sat back on the sofa. Pressed her fingertips to her brow.

  “Look,” I said. “Why don’t you ask Biegler for some time off? Surely the investigation can spare one detective—even if it is their best one.”

  I offered her an encouraging smile, which she didn’t return. Instead, she gave me a sad, frank look.

  “I…Well, the truth is, I’m thinking of taking an extended leave of absence. At least two or three months.”

  “A leave?”

  “Mom can’t handle Ted’s kids by herself. Let alone having to deal with him. Not that she complains. Shit, I’d like to strangle my brother sometimes, but he’ll always be my mother’s little boy. No matter what.”

  Her words reminded me of something I’d thought about earlier. About mothers and their sons. That sudden, almost painfully intense connection from the moment of childbirth. The primal, unbreakable bond. Like that between Maggie Currim and her youngest son, Wes.

  Then I had another thought. “I guess you’re heading over to your mom’s place later?”

  “After I feed you, like I promised. I have some steaks in the fridge.”

  “But given what’s happened with Ted, you didn’t have to invite me over at all.”

  She hesitated. “I—I wanted to see you before—”

  “Before we took a leave of absence, too. Right? Because of Ted and…”

  I watched something shift in her eyes. Like a hand passing across a light. A flicker.

  “Look, Danny…”

  She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Stung, I spoke without thinking.

  “So what was that in there? A farewell fuck?”

  Her jaw tightened. “Very nice. Very classy.”

  I ran my hand through my hair. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I—”

  “No, maybe you’re right. Things are so…I’m pretty confused about everything right now, okay? Including us.”

  She gently stroked my arm.

  “But I admit I wanted to see what it felt like to be with you again…”

  “And?..”

  “I don’t know. I like you, Danny. A lot. It’s just…”

  Shivering suddenly, she moved farther from me on the sofa. Wrapped her arms across her naked breasts. Her eyes averted.

  “I guess…I guess, right now, I don’t know what I want. Or if I want anything. With anyone.”

  I debated closing the distance between us again, but didn’t. Instead, I took a long, deep breath.

  “Look, if you really need to—”

  “I do, Danny. I’m sorry, but I do.”

  Still not looking at me.

  Another measured silence. Then: “If it’s okay with you, El, I think I’ll take a raincheck on those steaks.”

  She nodded dumbly.

  I dressed quickly and headed for the door. When I glanced back, I saw that she’d wrapped herself once more in the blanket. Staring evenly at the hissing, dying fire.

  I closed the door behind me.

  Chapter Forty-four

  It was just past nine when I got home from Eleanor’s. The last thing I remember thinking, before collapsing into bed, was that the next morning was Saturday. Which meant that, since my involvement with the FBI had ended, I was free to go back to work on Monday. Recovered from my bout with the “flu.” Able to see patients again.

  I probably thought about Eleanor and me as well, but an urgent need for sleep overtook me so quickly I don’t recall what conclusions I came to. If any.

  I must’ve slept over ten hours, until the insistent buzz of my cell on the nightstand woke me. I gasped as I reached for it, feeling the full effects of the physical punishment I’d taken recently. Everything ached, pinched.

  The display on my cell read 7:15 a.m.

  “Dr. Rinaldi?” A young, hearty voice I struggled to recognize. “This is Sergeant Harve Randall, Wheeling PD. Remember me?”

  “Of course, Sergeant.” Still half asleep.

  “Chief Block gave me your number and asked that I call you. We got us a little situation here and he thought you could help.”

  I rubbed my eyes into wakefulness. Sat up in the bed.

  “What kind of situation?”

  “Well, I don’t know all the details, exactly, but Wes Currim got himself arraigned yesterday, so we’re moving him to county jail. General population.”

  “I didn’t know…”

  “No reason you should, I guess. Anyway, when Wes’ mother learned about it, she kinda freaked out.”

  “What do you mean, Sergeant?”

  “Mrs. Currim came down here to the station and started cussin’ out the chief. Throwin’ stuff, too.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Maggie Currim.”

  “I know. She always seemed real ladylike to me, too. But she said she was afraid of what’s gonna happen to Wes when he goes to county. Threatened to go on a sit-down strike right there in the chief’s office. We had to have some uniforms remove her bodily.”

  “You’re kidding me.” By now, I was desperate for some black coffee and a fistful of aspirin. “Where is she now?”

  “In lockup. Remember where I took you to see Wes? Same building. Different cell, though.”

  “That seems wise, Sergeant. And Chief Block wanted you to call me—?”

  “He hopes you can get down here ASAP and talk some sense into the lady. We got enough to deal with today—movin’ Wes, dod
ging reporters. That whole circus again.”

  I considered my response, but only for a moment. The image of Maggie Currim sitting in a jail cell, hands demurely folded on her lap, made the decision for me.

  “On my way, Sergeant.”

  ***

  Thankfully, the weatherman had gotten it right and no new snow had fallen during the night. And the highway to Wheeling, now both plowed and salted, presented no problem, either. Though my rental was equipped with snow tires.

  I pulled into the precinct parking lot and stepped out into a cold but sunlit day. There were no TV news vans in sight, which probably meant that Wes Currim had already been relocated to county jail.

  Entering the precinct’s lobby, I found Sergeant Randall talking with that same desk officer I’d seen the last time I was here. Randall was taking a jacket from a rack of hanging coats whose hooks were deer antlers.

  “Hey, Doc.” He reached to shake hands, then noticed the bandages. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Little accident.”

  He absorbed this. “You made good time.”

  “Roads were fine. Is Chief Block in his office? I’d like to speak to him before I talk to Mrs. Currim.”

  Randall buttoned his jacket. “Ya just missed him. He went with the wagon takin’ Wes to County. A couple news vans were waitin’ across the street, plannin’ to follow ’em. The Chief wanted to be there when they made the delivery. Wes’ lawyer—what the hell’s his name?…”

  “Willard Hansen.”

  “Right. Hansen’s gonna be there. Givin’ Wes moral support or whatever. Chief Block wants to make sure they don’t turn this into a media event.”

  “Lotsa luck.”

  “Tell me about it.” He turned to the desk officer. “See ya later, Stan. And don’t forget to put ten bucks down on the Browns for me. I got a feelin’ about this one.”

  As Randall led me across the parking lot to the lockup, he jerked his thumb back toward the precinct.

  “Stan runs a little action on the side. Chief Block don’t mind and it puts a few extra bucks in Stan’s pocket. He’s got an autistic kid.”

  “I’m glad the chief sees it that way.”

  “It’s a small town, Doc. Makes us a pretty tight-knit group, know what I mean? Like a family.”

  When we stepped into the building, we followed the same procedure as before. Randall handed me off to a guard, who walked me down to the visitor’s room. The guard left me there for a minute, and then returned with Maggie Currim. Without a word, he went out and took his place in the corridor beyond. Eyes staring flatly into the room through the rectangular window.

  Maggie was equally silent as she took a seat opposite mine at the pinewood table. Sitting in the same chair her son Wes had used when I questioned him.

  I went first. “It’s good to see you again, Maggie.”

  “I wish I could say the same, Dr. Rinaldi. Oh, dear, did you burn yourself?”

  My goddam hands again. “It’s nothing.”

  Wearing a beaded blouse and black slacks, her coat wrapped about her shoulders, she presented the same picture of dignified poise as when we spoke in my office. Though her face was pale and drawn, and her fingers, interlaced and resting on the table, twitched noticeably.

  “I think I understand why you came here to see Chief Block,” I said. “Why you were so upset.”

  “Upset? I behaved like a harpy. Using foul language. Throwing things in the chief’s office. I swear, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “None of that matters, Maggie. You have every right to be concerned. Given the crime Wes is charged with, and his media notoriety, I can see his having trouble with other inmates in County. That’s why I came down. I wanted to see you, of course. But I also want to talk to the DA. Maybe I can persuade her to put Wes in a protected cell block. Out of the general population.”

  “Good luck with that one, Doctor. Our lawyer, Mr. Hansen, already approached her with the same request. She denied it.” Her voice broke. “Something’s going to happen to my Wesley in that place, I know it. Something bad.”

  I covered her clasped hands with mine.

  “Look, Maggie. This DA owes me a favor. I helped out when Wes took the police to where Ed Meachem’s body was found. I’m hoping I can call in that favor now.”

  Blinking back tears, she managed to look squarely at me. That familiar mix of pride and vulnerability.

  “But why would you help us? I know you think Wesley is guilty. Even though I know he isn’t.”

  “The truth is, I don’t know whether Wes is guilty or not. I do know that justice wouldn’t be served if something happened to him in prison before his trial. Or after.”

  “I…Thank you, Doctor. You’re a good man.”

  Then, hesitating, she spoke again. “I also…I’ve been thinking about our conversation in your office, and—well, I wasn’t exactly honest with you about something.”

  “About what?”

  “My husband Jack. I told you I didn’t care about him anymore. Since he ran away with that girl…”

  “Lily Greer.”

  She nodded sadly. “I mean, I know I said she could have him and all that…But it isn’t true. No matter how badly he treated me, I always loved Jack. And I still do.”

  “I’m surprised to hear that.”

  A thin smile. “I’m surprised myself, Doctor. I guess I’m not as proud as I like to think. Even though he cheated on me, I’d take him back. In a heartbeat. Wesley can’t understand it, of course. He never could. But love is…” She paused. “Love is God’s gift to us, I suppose. Whether we deserve it or not. Most people would probably say that Jack doesn’t deserve it. But I love him just the same. If he came back from Fiji or wherever tomorrow, I’d want to be with him again. And I’d hope he felt the same about me.”

  She searched my face. “Does that make me a fool, Dr. Rinaldi?”

  “Not in my book. Besides, Jack isn’t—”

  I silently cursed myself, instantly regretting my words. I felt my face flush.

  Maggie slipped her hands out from beneath mine.

  “Do you know something? About Jack?”

  “Not really. I probably shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just that…well, the truth is, I think Jack and Lily are still here. In the United States.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Like I said, I don’t. But I have a strong hunch. Lily Greer never picked up her passport, which she would need to travel overseas. Plus I don’t get the impression that either one of them would be that comfortable living abroad. Not indefinitely, anyway.”

  She sighed heavily. “I used to think the same thing. I even consulted a private detective once, hoping he might be able to locate them. But he said that, by now, the trail has probably gone cold.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much of a detective.”

  “I think he was just trying to spare my feelings. I imagine, if people really don’t want to be found…”

  Maggie let the words die on her lips.

  I cleared my throat and slowly got to my feet. Her eyes, strangely unfocused, didn’t follow me.

  “Let’s concentrate on what we can do,” I said. “First thing, I’ll talk to Chief Block about getting you out of here. Then I’ll call the DA about Wes.”

  She didn’t stir. Spoke to the air.

  “I don’t care about me, Dr. Rinaldi. It’s my son I’m worried about.”

  “I understand. And I promise I’ll do my best.”

  I motioned to the guard through the viewing window.

  ***

  Walking back through the midmorning chill to the precinct, I caught sight of Sergeant Randall. He’d changed into a thicker winter coat and ear muffs, and was climbing behind the wheel of his police cruiser.

  I trotted over to where he sat waiting, with the car
door open. He started up the engine and revved it. A milk-white cloud of exhaust rose against the clear sky.

  “Needs a tune-up, I think.” He gave me a toothy grin. “How’d things go with Mrs. Currim?”

  “Fine, Sergeant. But I do need to speak with the chief now. Is he back from county jail yet?”

  Randall clucked his tongue. “I just got off the phone with him. Sounded like he’d had enough o’ police business for the day. Hell, he don’t usually work Saturdays anyway.”

  “Then where is he?”

  “He said he was goin’ home. You can call him there if you want.”

  “I’d rather talk to him in person. Can you give me his address?”

  Randall hesitated for a moment, then grinned again.

  “I guess that’d be okay. But if he gives me hell about it later, I’m puttin’ the blame on you.”

  “Seems only fair.”

  He wrote the address on the back of his business card and handed it to me.

  “See ya around, Doc.” Shutting his car door.

  I watched as he pulled out of the lot, trailing a thinning plume of exhaust smoke. Then I got into my car and turned the key.

  Unfortunately, the rental wasn’t equipped with a GPS. So I dutifully pulled out the map of the area I’d picked up at a gas station on the way down here and looked for Chief Block’s place.

  It wasn’t easy to find. When I finally did, I groaned audibly.

  Great, I thought. In the middle of fucking nowhere.

  Chapter Forty-five

  I realized, soon after turning off the main highway and venturing into the stark January woods outside of town, that I’d neglected to get Chief Block’s number from Sgt. Randall. Which meant I’d be showing up unannounced.

  The only route to Block’s house was a series of bumpy, poorly-marked dirt roads. None of which had seen a snowplow in weeks, if ever. To make any headway, even with snow tires, I had to keep my wheels positioned in the deep furrows carved by the few vehicles that had preceded me. One of which, I presumed, had been the chief’s.

  Finally, I made a sharp right onto what looked to be a fire road. There was only one set of tire tracks—some kind of four-wheel-drive vehicle, from the look of the tread marks—and I again let my own tires slip into the deep, soot-spackled grooves.