Sandra Brown

by The Witness [lit]

  "Dozens," she replied tartly. "Especially in your department."

  She had nothing to lose by insulting them. Her complaint would be routinely filed and then forgotten. There would be no serious investigation. She wasn't a favorite of the police.

  Too many of them had fallen under her attack during cross examination.

  "I'll appreciate anything you can do."

  As she watched them leave, she knew that would be the end of it unless she pursued the incident herself, which she wouldn't do because of Matt. If he found out about this, he might make good his threats to do serious harm to the Crooks.

  "Roscoe, will you please help me clean up this mess?" she asked as she reentered her office.

  "You don't even have to ask."

  "Thank you. The files must be reorganized as soon as possible." Then she added, "I would appreciate it if you would help me keep this quiet. Please don't mention it to anyone.

  Not even my husband."

  By noon Kendall was able to move about her office without crunching glass underfoot or stumbling over a volume of law books.

  Her secretary soon had the files in some semblance of order.

  Roscoe had scavenged a discarded desk chair for her to use until a new one arrived.

  If she had crossed paths with either Henry or Luther Crook, she would have been tempted to shoot them herself, not only for ransacking her office but for taking the sheen off her golden day. Rather than being able to savor the secret knowledge of her pregnancy and plan a special way in which to break the news to Matt, she had been forced to deal with the Crooks'

  vandalism.

  Naturally, the disorder in her office aroused curiosity among courthouse employees. When asked about it, she lied. She even lied to Solicitor Gorn when he strolled into her office as she was about to leave for the day.

  He indicated a workman who was replacing the glass in her door. "What happened here?"

  "I decided to do some redecorating." Giving him no leeway, she asked, "What's brought you over at this time of day, Dabney? Did the cafe across the street run out of iced tea?"

  "You've got a real smart mouth, Counselor. I'm surprised that Gibb and Matt haven't taught you some better manners by now.

  "Matt's my husband, not my trainer. Gibb has no authority over me at all. Besides, if I didn't have a smart mouth, I wouldn't be the thorn in your side that I am. And I'm enjoying that role more each day."

  She reached for the file he had brought in with him, which she guessed was the reason behind his unannounced visit.

  "What have you got for me?"

  "Discovery on the Lynam trial. That's everything we plan to use. You can't ever accuse my office of withholding evidence and springing it on you in court. We don't need to. We've got a clear-cut case."

  He shoved his thumbs beneath the wide, red suspenders attached to his trousers. "We're ready to go to trial. I could get a conviction with one arm tied behind me."

  "I don't think you really believe that, Dabaey." She stood, picked up her handbag and briefcase, and headed for the door.

  "If you did, you wouldn't feel compelled to remind me of it so often. Thanks for the file. Now, you'll have to excuse me.

  I was on my way out when you came in. I suggest you make an appointment the next time you want to see me."

  Earlier in the day she had received a call from Gibb, inviting her and Matt to dinner tonight. She was eager to tell Matt about the baby, but since her day had been taxing and she wasn't feeling up to cooking or to going out, she accepted her father-in-las invitation.

  It was a casual dinner. They ate off trays in his living room beneath the baleful scares of his hunting trophies.

  He broached the subject of Lottie Lynam's upcoming trial.

  Never one to mince words, Gibb asked boldly, "How could you possibly plead her not guilty?"

  "I can't discuss the particulars of my case, Gibb. You know that.

  "I Understand attorney privilege and all that. But you're among family." He smiled. "Besides, I'm not knocking particulars here.

  I'm Balking basic principles."

  "Like chase the Brother Whitaker expounded upon last Sunday?"

  The congregation had received a tongue lashing from the pulpit.

  "What does Brother Whitaker's sermon have to do with your case?" Matt asked.

  "I don't believe it was a coincidence that last Sunday he wanted to remind his flock of the sanctity of marriage," she said, Unable to keep the scorn out of her voice. "He preached a full hour on how blindly obedient wives should be to their husbands."

  "A wife's.submission is scriptural."

  "Is it also scriptural that a wife should submit to a husband who cries to sodomize her with a hot curling iron?"

  "That isn't very pleasant subject matter for dinnertime, is it?"

  "It isn't pleasant subject matter anytime, Matt," she countered heatedly. "But getting back to Sunday's sermon, it can only be described as partisan and sexist. Prospective jurors were in that congregation. How can they help but be influenced?"

  "Bob wasn't condoning wife beating, Kendall," Matt said.

  "Everybody knows that Charlie Lynam was a short-tempered, drunken brute."

  "That didn't give her the right to kill him, son," Gibb said before turning to Kendall. ""I told Dabney thee you're having Lottie plead not guiles because you're unaware of her nature."

  "What do you mean you told Dabney? Did he discuss this case with you? He had no business"

  Gibb held up his hand to forestall her. "Daboey and I go way back, Kendall. I face, I Balked him into running for office and helped him get elected. As a friend, he asked me what I thought of you entering a not-guilty plea, and I explained it to him.

  "You aren't from around here. Lottie has pulled the wool over your eyes. You don't know that she's been a slut ever since she became a woman. Marriage didn't change her habits.

  It was her whorish ways that drove Charlie to drink."

  Kendall was speechless. Solicitor Gorn had grossly breached ethics by asking Gibb's opinion of a pending murder trial, but Gibb seemed not to realize that. He was too hung up on his daughter-in-law's taking the side of the town tart.

  "Gibb, Mr. Gorn should never have discussed this with you. That notwithstanding' Mrs. Lynam's moral character is not on trial. You're dangerously close to saying that she deserved to be beaten and raped., "That's another thing, he said. "I don't care what laws are oh the books, how can a man rape his own wife?"

  His name was on the tip of her tongue, when he spoke hers first. "Kendall?" He set her away from him and stroked her cheek. "You've been awfully distracted lately. May I have your undivided attention for a while tonight?"

  This was even better. After they made love, when they were relaxing in the aftermath, would be a perfect time to tell him.

  She slid her arms around his neck. "It will be my pleasure," she whispered.

  She nuzzled and stroked his flesh, drawing comfort from his maleness and superior physical strength. She basked in the marital intimacy, which, as he had reminded her, they hadn't indulged in recently.

  But the coupling wasn't as fulfilling as it could have been.

  When he entered her, she hadn't been quite ready to receive him. His thrusts caused her some discomfort, which detracted from the pleasure. She would have preferred more foreplay, a slow sexual awakening that would have gradually dissolved her weariness and replaced it with arousal.

  Afterward, he smiled apologetically. "Was it okay?"

  She lied to spare his ego.

  "Your mind's too splintered, Kendall," he said, his disappointment showing. "We're no longer attuned to each other.

  We've lost our rhythm. Dad's right."

  She propped herself up on her elbow. "Right about what?"

  "You're spending too many hours on the job and not enough at home."

  "You discussed my shortcomings with Gibb before even airing them with me?"

  "Don't get riled. I didn't lay all the bla
me on you. I told him that I obviously wasn't doing something right or you wouldn't be so distant."

  "Matt, be fair," she exclaimed. "Night before last, when I called to tell you I would be working late, you said that it was no problem because you were going out, too. I was at home and-asleep long before you came in."

  "Don't get mad."

  Why shouldn't I get mad? Your perspective is warped.

  When I'm late, I'm working. When you're late, you're out on lark with your friends and Gibb."

  ' You're jealous."

  This isn't jealousy."

  "It sounds like jealousy.

  Then I'd have to say you're jealous of my work."

  ."I am. I admit it. Because you're so damned obsessed by your career."

  I'd be thought of as a real go-getter if I were a Nan.

  "But you're not. You re a woman. And your job keeps you from your responsibilities as my wife." Matching his tone, he drew her against him and began stroking her hair. "Sweet heart, I hate quarreling.

  "So do I, Matt, but sometimes quarrels are necessary. You knew when you married me that I wanted a career. I love practicing law, I want justice for

  "I know all that,' he interrupted. "I'm proud of the job you do, but must you give so much to it? Can't you be more generous with yourself ? Other areas of life need your time and attention, Specifically, me. And I'd like you to become more interested in community affairs, to integrate more with other women. You know, there's a lot to be said for becoming one of a group rather than setting yourself apart."

  He pressed his lips against her temple. "Dad says we need a baby. i child would give some balance to your life. I agree with hill, Let's make a baby, Kendall. Tonight."

  This was not the atmosphere in which Kendall had hoped to tell him that their child had already been conceived. They made love again, but his disturbing comments had doused her desire. He was too intent on making her pregnant to notice her lack of responsiveness.

  Chapter 13

  What are you doing?"

  "I'm going into town with you." He was settled in the passenger seat of the car, his crutches stashed on the rear floorboard.

  "NO, you're not," Kendall said.

  "Yes, I am."

  She cautioned herself not to make an issue of it or his suspicions would be confirmed. "Take my word for it, It's not that great a town."

  "I'd like to see it for myself, and I don't take your word for anything."

  Damn! Why had he chosen today to accompany her? Today!

  Had the nightmare he suffered yesterday afternoon shaken loose some grains of memory? He had called out names, names that caused her blood to run cold. Because if he remembered the persons to which those names belonged, he would remember everything. God help her then.

  That's why she had decided to leave for town today and not come back.

  "It's so blasted hot," she said, trying to discourage him.

  "You'll only get tired. Why not stay here and rest for one more day, then if you still want to go into town, I'll take you tomorrow."

  "I'm touched that you're so concerned for my well-being, but . . ." He shook his head. "You'll have to wrestle me out of this car. Even with my broken leg, I'd win. Bottom line I'm going."

  A mutiny such as this had been only a matter of time, she knew. He had been gaining strength every day. The tables had gradually been turning on her. The more ambulatory he became, the more likely he was to overpower her and seize control.

  He was no longer satisfied with her evasions and answers padded with just enough truth to make them plausible. Ye sterday, she had parried his questions about his aversion to Kevin by saying that it was probably just a quirk of his amnesia.

  But she could tell that the flimsy explanation had made him more, not less, distrustful.

  He was increasingly intuitive, so she was on borrowed time.

  She had already stayed with him longer than decency demanded.

  If he was strong enough to stage a rebellion, he was strong enough to fend for himself until he could summon help.

  For two weeks she had been balancing her terror that he would recover his memory against her fear of leaving the safety of the house. The protection this place offered was tenuous at best, but she would be even more vulnerable on the open road, where law enforcement agencies would be looking for her.

  Surely by now the hubbub created by her disappearance from Stephensville would have died down. Searchers would have lost interest and become lax. All things considered, the timing was perfect to leave.

  NOW he had foiled her plans.

  On the other hand, maybe it was better that he insisted on coming with her today. He expected her to leave and not return, but he would not expect her to bolt while he was along.

  She had the drive from the house to town to figure out how she would manage to sneak away.

  "If you wane to go to town, fine," she said, forcing a smile.

  "I'll enjoy the company."

  Her passenger proved to be poor company. He didn't say a word for the first ten minutes of the drive because he was too busy charting direction and picking out landmarks. He could have drawn maps for all she cared. If she was successful this morning, his crash course in navigation would be of no consequence to her.

  Eventually he remarked, "You know these roads well."

  "I should. This is where my grandmother taught me to drive."

  "You talk about her a lot. You really loved her, didn't you?"

  "Very much."

  "What was she like, to inspire that kind of love?"

  Kendall found that ordinary words couldn't convey the depths with which she had loved Elvie Hancock, but, working within the limitations of the language, she tried to express her feelings.

  "Grandmother was creative and fun, always thinking up interesting things to do. Beyond loving her, I admired her for the human being she was. She was exceptionally tolerant, completely accepting of other people in spite of their flaws.

  All my life she made me feel very special. Even when I did something wrong and had to be punished, I never doubted that she loved me. That's why I loved her so much."

  By now they had reached the outskirts of town. Kendall drove into the parking lot of a supermarket. He waited until after she had cut the ignition before asking, "Did you love her more than you loved me?"

  Kendall was nonplussed. "What a question! They're entirely different relationships. You-can't compare them."

  "Love is love, isn't it?"

  "Not at all. It's subjective."

  "To what?"

  "To the two people and the nature of their relationship."

  "Did I love you? No, don't bother answering," he said.

  "You'd only lie about it." He stared vacantly through the windshield for a moment; then, in a reflective voice, he said, "I don't remember loving anybody. If I had loved someone, you'd think I'd remember, wouldn't you?"

  He turned to face her again, and Kendall saw that his eyes were troubled. What was he thinking? she wondered. If circumstances were different . . .

  But they weren't, so speculation on his emotional health was useless and self-indulgent.

  She alighted quickly and removed Kevin from his car seat.

  "I won't be long," she lied. "You'll be fine here, won't you?"

  "Sure. I'll just sit back and take in the scenery."

  There was no way to retrieve the provisions she had stashed in the trunk. Maybe she could grab a few things on her way through the supermarket, although her time was limited. "Can I bring you anything?" she offered, wanting to appear as normal as possible.

  "A six-pack of beer would be nice."

  "What brand do you like?"

  "I can't remember. But you should. Dear."

  She ignored his sarcasm. "In fact, I do. Back in a jiff."

  She felt his eyes like a knife blade in her back as she entered the supermarket. She forced herself to walk slowly, to appear casual and unhurried. Once inside, knowing he would be unable
to see her through the reflective glass, she rushed to the pay telephone. Luckily, she had committed the number to memory.

  "Hello?"

  "Mrs. Williams? This is Mary Jo Smith, the woman who called you a few days ago about the car?"

  "Why, I was expecting you here any minute. You didn't change your mind, did you? Because I've been telling other callers that the car is sold."

  "No, no, I didn't change my mind. it's just that . . .

  Remember, I told you that my car was on its last leg? Well, it died on me and won't restart. I'm stranded and can't get to your house. I've got my baby with me, and oh, I don't know what to do!"

  She let her voice crack as though she were desperate and helpless.

  "Oh, dear, well . . ." Mrs. Williams sounded sympathetic but cautious. She had probably been warned about the scams inflicted on elderly widows. "I suppose I could drive the car to wherever you are."

  "Oh, I couldn't possibly ask you to do that! No, no, I'll just . . . hmm. Let me think a moment."

  Kendall's tactic worked. "It'll be no trouble really," Mrs. Williams said. "Where are you?"

  She gave her the name of the service station she had previously spotted. It was within walking distance of the supermarket.

  "That's only five minutes from my house," Mrs. Williams said, pleased. "I'll bring the car to you, we can complete our transaction, and then you can drop me back home."

  "I hate to impose this way."

  "Don't mention it. I'm anxious to sell the car."

  "And I'm anxious to buy it. Desperate, in fact."

  That much was true. By now Jim Pepperdyne might have located the man in Stephensville who had sold her his car. She needed to unload it and get another before driving on Dixie highways.

  Mrs. Williams confirmed the time and place. "Okay, I'll be there. Five minutes." Kendall hung up the pay phone and headed for the exit at the opposite side of the store from which she had entered.

  The automatic doors whooshed open, and Kendall was stopped dead in her tracks.

  His leg already ached from the cramped ride into town, but he wasn't going to waste this opportunity to try to find out what was going on.

  As soon as Kendall was out of sight, he pushed open the passenger door and reached for his crutches. He got out and looked around.