Life Everlasting

by Robert Whitlow

  “Did she get sick?”

  “Yes,” the detective admitted.

  “Did you accompany her in the ambulance?”

  “No. Officer Dortch and I followed in the patrol car. Once she checked in at the hospital, I talked briefly with her in one of the treatment rooms.”

  “Tell me everything that was said.”

  The detective focused on Rena as he talked. She looked down to avoid his eyes but couldn’t escape his voice.

  “She told me that she’d gone to the area since she was a little girl and wanted her husband to see it. They drank a bottle of wine, ate a snack, and when it was time to leave, her husband got too close to the edge of the cliff and fell. She was a few feet away but couldn’t do anything to help him. When I asked whether she remembered anything else, she mentioned looking over the edge and seeing that he was dead.”

  “Was she aware that he was alive at the time you talked in the ER?”

  “No. We’d not yet heard from the helicopter crew.”

  “Did you ask any other questions?”

  “Yes. She had several scratches on her face and a scrape on her left arm. I asked how they occurred and she told me that after her husband fell, she hiked down the trail to the bottom of the falls to check on him. She also mentioned giving him CPR.”

  “What else did you do at the hospital?”

  “I requested that a sample of your client’s blood be retained.”

  “Why?”

  “For DNA. She’d told different stories about what happened, and I thought we might be dealing with a homicide. If so, some evidence might require DNA testing.”

  Rena’s stomach twisted.

  “How many times did you question her at the hospital?”

  “Just once. I came back and gave her my card.”

  “When did you next have contact with her?”

  “Outside the hospital, while waiting for the helicopter to arrive with her husband’s body. I learned that he was alive and informed her.”

  “How did she respond to the news?”

  “She was shocked.”

  “Was there further discussion at that time?”

  “I told her the helicopter was taking Mr. Richardson directly to the trauma unit at Greenville Memorial. That’s all.”

  “Did you go to Greenville?”

  “Yes. I arrived before Ms. Richardson.”

  “Did you use blue lights and siren?”

  “No.”

  “What did you do at the hospital?”

  “I told the trauma physician the incident involved a potential criminal investigation and requested an opportunity to view the patient.”

  “Did that take place?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you find?”

  Solicitor Kinston shifted in his chair. “Please pick up the pace, Mr. Pruitt. This is a probable-cause hearing, not a trial on the merits.”

  Before Sean could respond, Magistrate Simpson spoke. “I’m going to allow it, Mr. Kinston, especially since it seems none of the other witnesses subpoenaed are going to be here.”

  Kinston shrugged. “Very well.”

  Porter looked at Sean. “Could you repeat the question?”

  “I thought that would be unnecessary given your prodigious memory.”

  The detective ran his fingers across the scar on the top of his head. “A nurse took me back into the area where they were treating Mr. Richardson. He had an obvious head injury, as well as a broken right leg. I asked the doctor to check his fingernails for traces of skin. I suspected a link between Mr. Richardson and the scratches on your client’s face and left arm.”

  “Was that done?”

  “They were trying to save the man’s life, but one of the physicians left instructions for a nurse to trim Mr. Richardson’s fingernails without cleaning them and provide the clippings to me.”

  While Porter talked, Rena wrote on her paper—that happened when Baxter attacked me. She slid it over to Sean, who glanced down but didn’t stop questioning the detective.

  “Did you receive any fingernail clippings at a later date?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see the nurse trim them?”

  “No.”

  “Tell me about the chain of custody.”

  Porter shifted in his chair. “They went from a nurse and then to me.”

  “Did other people have access?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Do you have their names?”

  “No, that’s still being determined.”

  “Have DNA tests been conducted?”

  “Yes, by Dr. Ari Schlicter, a forensic pathologist with the state crime lab in Columbia.”

  While Sean made a note of the name on his pad, Rena felt the room starting to shrink. The wall on the opposite side of the room began to bend. She shut her eyes and bowed her head.

  “What were the results of the tests?” Sean asked.

  “Skin under the fingernails matched your client’s DNA.”

  “Did they determine how long the skin had been there?”

  “You’d have to ask Dr. Schlicter that question.”

  “Were there any other DNA tests?”

  “Yes, involving a stick that I found at the waterfall when I conducted an on-site investigation. We found traces of Mr. Richardson’s skin embedded in the wood on one end.”

  Behind Rena’s closed eyelids, she witnessed a graphic replay of the hiking stick scraping Baxter’s neck as he staggered toward the edge of the cliff.

  “Baxter Richardson confirmed my theory regarding what took place when I interviewed him in Santee on—”

  At mention of the interview, Rena opened her eyes in shock and saw the door to the room swing slowly forward.

  Baxter entered.

  Wearing a long-sleeve green shirt that a golfing buddy had given him as a birthday present, he passed by in a wheelchair pushed by a middle-aged woman. His hair was parted on the correct side, but he needed a haircut. Even in profile his face had a thin, pinched look, and Rena could tell that he’d lost a lot of weight, especially in his chest. Baggy khaki pants draped his spindly legs, and he sat slightly hunched, a wraith suspended between death and life. An annoying nuisance.

  There was a loud buzzing in Rena’s head, and she shut her eyes and covered her ears with her hands. She knew Sean must be continuing to question Porter, but she couldn’t capture the words as they traveled through the air. Wanting to avoid Baxter, she turned her head toward Sean and opened her eyes.

  The lawyer was leaning over and talking to Alexia, who had taken a seat beside him. That explained the opening of the door; however, Rena could still see Baxter out of the corner of her eye. The wheelchair had stopped near the detective, and she could sense her husband silently accusing her. She considered glaring back at him until he disappeared but didn’t want the magistrate to think she was looking at him. Instead, she tapped Sean’s arm. The best antidote for combating Baxter would be to ignore him. The lawyer finished talking to Alexia and stood to his feet without acknowledging Rena.

  “Could we have a brief recess?” Sean asked.

  “Yes,” the magistrate replied.

  Relieved, Rena sighed. A break would give her time to wrestle her mind back to reality. The hearing had been harder to handle than she imagined. Instead of going to the restroom, she might bolt across the street to her new life and new identity. A change in geography could produce a change in mind. Close proximity to Baxter and those associated with him prevented her from breaking free of his grip. She looked at the magistrate, who appeared focused on the part of the room where she imagined Baxter sat immobile. Steeling her resolve, Rena forced herself to look too. Baxter turned his head toward her.

  “Rena,” he said.

  Rena’s mouth went dry. Never before had he uttered a sound. She needed to get out of the room.

  “Why?” he asked.

  Rena started to answer and then caught herself. She couldn’t start talking into the air. Sean had
left his seat and was talking with the solicitor. Rena leaned and turned toward Alexia.

  “He’s here,” she whispered.

  “Yes, I know,” the lawyer responded. “He’s real.”

  Without fully comprehending, Rena glanced back at Baxter. He shook his head sadly, the gesture of a flesh-and-blood human being.

  “No!” Rena cried out, pointing her finger at her husband. “You are not here!”

  Rising to her feet so violently that she knocked over her chair, Rena came around the table and charged the figure in the wheelchair.

  “No!” Alexia yelled.

  But Rena wasn’t hearing anything. The nurse pulled the wheelchair away but couldn’t keep Rena from crashing into Baxter’s legs and knocking him backward. Insanity burning in her eyes, Rena reached toward his face, and her nails scratched her husband’s cheeks as her hands sought his neck. Porter bolted out of his chair, dragged her away from Baxter, and threw her to the floor. Rena thrashed and howled like a wild animal caught in a trap. Porter pinned her arms behind her, but not before she kicked him, causing him to grunt in pain.

  “Get a bailiff with handcuffs!” Porter called out.

  Alexia came around the table to try to calm her client, but the look in Rena’s eyes stopped her from speaking. Rena was gone. No one capable of listening to the voice of reason remained.

  Porter dragged Rena, still screaming and struggling, away from the wheelchair. A bailiff finally arrived, and Porter snapped the metal restraints on Rena’s wrists. She was undeterred and continued to scream as the two men half-dragged, half-carried her from the hearing room. The sound of her cries echoed in the hallway but grew fainter as she was taken farther away. Alexia collapsed in the chair beside Sean. Sarah Locklear checked Baxter, who moaned in a soft voice.

  After several moments of shocked silence, the magistrate spoke to Sean. “Do you want to go forward with the hearing?”

  Sean leaned over to Alexia and whispered, “What do you think?”

  “You need to hear from him,” Alexia said simply.

  Sean looked at Baxter, who had stopped moaning. Sarah nodded at Sean. “Mr. Richardson, are you able to answer a few questions?”

  “Yes,” Baxter replied slowly. “That’s why I’m here.”

  The magistrate handed a Bible to Sarah, who put it under Baxter’s left hand.

  “Can you raise your right hand while I administer an oath?” the magistrate asked.

  Slowly, with trembling motion, the young man raised his right arm until his hand was beside his claw-streaked face.

  Magistrate Simpson spoke. “Do you solemnly swear . . .”

  45

  If music be the food of love, play on.

  TWELFTH NIGHT, ACT 1, SCENE 1

  Sitting in her new office on King Street, Alexia hung up the phone. The Santee police department was closing the case on the break-ins at her office and home.

  “Ms. Lindale, we’ve investigated your theory about a connection to Richardson and Company and cannot substantiate it,” the detective said. “There are no other leads.”

  Alexia didn’t argue. It would take a bigger net than the one cast by the local police department to catch the bad fish in the Richardson pond. She walked out to Gwen’s desk and told her the news.

  “Humph,” the secretary snorted. “Just like my first husband. Always taking the easy way out.”

  “You’re right.” Alexia laid a file and dictation tape on Gwen’s desk. “I’m leaving early to stop by the church.”

  A smile lit the secretary’s face. “To see a man who won’t give up.”

  Spring comes early to the Lowcountry, and daffodils, hyacinths, and forsythia announce the change of season months before they dare venture forth in colder northern climes. But Alexia’s favorite heralds of warmer weather were azaleas. Before turning into the parking lot, she slowed to admire the azalea bushes on the north side of the church property. They were at their peak, with white blossoms so thick that in a couple of weeks the ground beneath would look like a March snowfall.

  Alexia parked in front of the sanctuary. She walked up the steps, opened the door, and quietly stepped into the narthex. The wooden floor creaked unexpectedly, and she flinched, but no voice called out. She sat in a little chair that rested against the wall of the sanctuary and listened to the music. It was Ravel’s Piano Concerto for the Left Hand, written by the composer for a friend with an injured right hand. Of course, Ted played it with his right hand.

  When she first heard Ted play after the attack, Alexia almost always lost the battle against tears. She felt as crushed as the bones in Ted’s left hand. Though his injuries had healed adequately given the severity of trauma, he couldn’t extend his fingers more than five notes, and his former ability to fly across the keys unhindered by gravity was now an impossibility. Dr. Hayes characterized Ted’s piano playing as physical rehabilitation—it served the purpose of strengthening Ted’s hand and fingers but would never again fill a room with music brought to life.

  When he finished the piece, Alexia entered the sanctuary and walked down the aisle.

  “I thought I heard you come in,” Ted said.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because you like to eavesdrop.”

  Alexia didn’t argue. She sat in her favorite spot in the front pew.

  “That was well done,” she said. “How is the other hand?”

  “I drove a few nails with it today. Did you know that I’m ambidextrous with a hammer?”

  “Are you bragging?”

  “Yes.” Ted flexed his left hand. “Mary Lou Hobart gave me a special cream to rub on it. She makes it herself and says it works wonders for her arthritis.”

  “Does it help?”

  “I’m not sure, but the smell would probably keep any mosquitoes from landing on me.”

  Alexia smiled. She turned her head and glanced toward the stained-glass window of Jesus healing the crippled man at the pool of Bethesda. The late afternoon sunlight illuminated the paralyzed man’s face.

  “I saw Baxter yesterday,” she said. “He’s put away the walker and started using a cane. He said he’d be here Sunday morning and would like to have lunch with us.”

  “Sure.”

  “A reporter for the religion section of the Charleston paper is considering an article about the healing, and Baxter wants to ask you more about your perspective so he can be accurate in what he says. I’m sure the reporter will want to talk to you too.”

  Ted laughed. “All I can do is tell the truth.”

  “Which will be more than enough to keep my interest through three or four columns of newsprint.”

  “I was helped almost as much as Baxter.”

  Baxter Richardson’s healing had created a breakthrough for the music minister’s faith. Still weak from surgery and hampered by the use of only one hand, he saw God’s power bridge the gap between heaven and earth and learned that divine grace, not highly developed musical technique, brought undeniable results. God, plus the obedient faith of a one-handed pianist, proved more powerful than any infirmity.

  The morning after Ted played and Sarah sang the message of salvation, Baxter awoke, not to a dull reality, but with a clarity of mind that shocked those assigned to care for him. His lungs began to clear, and he asked a nurse to call Ted, who came with wide-eyed wonder to see a miracle as startling as those depicted in the church windows. By Thursday night, Dr. Leoni authorized the trip to Mitchell County. Sarah Locklear was the obvious choice to accompany him in a specially equipped van.

  “Has there been any change in Rena’s status?” Ted asked.

  “She’s still recovering from her suicide attempt. There isn’t anything for me to do, and I haven’t talked to Sean in several weeks. Until she’s mentally capable of assisting in her defense, there can’t be a trial.”

  “Any visitors allowed?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Oh, I’d like to play for her sometime.”

  Alexia�
�s eyes opened wide. “You’re kidding.”

  “I talked to Sarah about it the other day. We thought that you, as her lawyer, could get us in to see her.” Ted looked soberly across the altar rail. “Rena’s no more hopeless than Baxter the first time we saw him.”

  Alexia nodded. “Okay, I’ll check into it, but you’d better not mention it as a future project to the religion reporter.”

  “I’ll take that as the advice of my attorney.”

  Alexia stood and stretched. “Yes. Always do what your attorney says. I’d better be going if I want to have time for a swim.”

  Ted remained seated. “One more question, counselor. Do you remember what I played the first time we met?”

  Alexia thought for a moment. “Uh, I’m not sure. Tchaikovsky?”

  “No, something more common that I can do as well today as I could then. Would you like to hear it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Close your eyes,” Ted said. “And imagine yourself standing at the back of the sanctuary the first time you came to see me.”

  Alexia obeyed. “Okay.”

  “Are you there?” Ted asked.

  “Yes.”

  With a flourishing introduction Ted played the wedding march. Startled, Alexia recalled the moment. Ted thought she was a bride wanting to plan the music for her wedding. In fact, she arrived as an aggressive attorney seeking information from him as a possible witness in a divorce case.

  When he finished, she said, “Yes, that’s right. You play it as well as ever.”

  “Keep your eyes closed,” Ted instructed.

  Alexia complied. She sensed him come close. “The next time I play it,” he said, “I’d like you to be standing at the back of the sanctuary with your eyes wide open, wearing a white wedding gown with this diamond ring on your finger.”

  She felt Ted press a tiny velvet box into the palm of her hand.

  Alexia opened her eyes.

  READING GROUP GUIDE

  1. If you’ve read both Life Support and Life Everlasting, have your opinions of any of the characters changed from one novel to the next? If so, what events changed your opinion?

  2. Who should fear Baxter’s waking? Why?

  3. What is Jeffrey’s perception of Rena? Does Ezra have the same perception?