“Oh, you don’t have to say that,” Martha said. “But you should know, your son’s not—how to say it?—he’s not as emotionally attached to the program as I am. But he stays closely apprised of it because of my being attached. And his being attached to me.”
I took my mother back to Nova Scotia Rest Hospital on New Year’s Day 1979.
Eleven Very Crowded Hours
Three days later—that is, January 4—the public memorial service for Detective Hodgdon was held at 1 p.m. at Cathedral Church of All Saints. (There had been a private funeral for immediate family on the day before Christmas.) We sat in a middle pew, with Martha on the aisle, “for the legroom,” as she put it. She surveyed the room and said, “This would’ve been the perfect moment to fulfill my lifelong desire to shoplift a blouse at Carel’s department store, because every Halifax police and detective is here in the church right now.” But she wept with varying intensity throughout the musical selections and eulogies. Standing at the back of the church following the service, Detective Tides, dressed in a beautiful dark suit, said, “They asked me to speak, but I could come up with only a sentence or two that would’ve been proper language for church. But Philip and I saw some things, didn’t we? We saw a lot together. And we could communicate with each other. But had I tried to tell the truth up there at the pulpit, the language would’ve been . . . a desecration. I ran some ideas past my wife last night, what I might say, and that’s the word she used.”
Now it was about 3 p.m. Officer Sorensen drove Martha and me from Cathedral Church of All Saints to the wharf, where we caught the ferry to Dartmouth. This was the day my mother was to be released into our care and taken home.
We arrived at the hospital at 4:15. I knew the time because the sign-in register required our names and time of arrival. Martha had arranged for a hairstylist to do something “modern within reason” for my mother, and when Martha saw what the stylist had done, including a henna rinse, she declared it “perfect for your new life, Nora.” My mother said, “Now that my rather long convalescence is over. Thank you, dear.”
My mother had on a black woolen suit and dark green blouse, heavy knee socks, and galoshes. She must have heard the weather report, which said that Halifax was slated for sleet and high winds. She put on her overcoat and wrapped a wool scarf around her head. “I’ve made all the necessary goodbyes,” she said. “I’ve tossed out dozens of Chinese finger traps. I’m so happy to be leaving here, I can’t begin to tell you.”
Martha carried one of Nora’s suitcases and I carried another. Nora held a big cloth handbag with a floral pattern on it. The three of us walked down the stairs and out to the waiting taxi. There I introduced my mother to Officer Sorensen, and Nora said, “Am I still a prisoner until he sees me all the way to the house?”
Martha said, “It’s a different kind of formality, Nora. We’ll explain it later, okay?” I could see that my mother did not like Martha’s answer.
We unloaded the suitcases near the ferry kiosk, paid the driver, and went inside. Glass walls had been fitted to the kiosk, and there were electric heaters near the benches. I purchased cups of hot chocolate, carried them over on a cardboard tray, and handed them around to Sorensen, Martha, and Nora, and kept one for myself. There were perhaps ten other waiting passengers. We could see that the ferry, out from Halifax, had reached the halfway point in the harbor. By now it was windy, and the sleet looked to be almost as horizontal as venetian blinds. Sorensen was surveying the other passengers, and when Nora noticed this, she said, “He’s quite the nervous Nellie, our Officer Sorensen.”
We finished our hot chocolates. When the debarking passengers were cleared, we walked up the gangplank onto the ferry and found places together on the wooden bench that ran the length of the lower deck. The engines rumbled under our feet. The water was slightly rough, but not too bad, really. Nora said, “Years ago, with the ferry heading in the opposite direction, it honestly felt like the river Styx.”
“Is that a river in Nova Scotia?” Officer Sorensen asked. “I’m a fisherman.”
“I’ve never quite known where it is,” Nora said. “I doubt the fishing is very good, though.”
“Newfoundland for trout is my preference,” Sorensen said. “Did you know I once went out on a fishing boat on a fjord in ancestral Norway? I mean where my parents are from. That’s how they always referred to it, ancestral Norway. The wild waters in that fjord made Halifax Harbor seem like a puddle after a summer rain.”
We were close to docking when Martha went into the ladies’. In a few minutes, a perfect stranger, a woman about age fifty, walked out of the ladies’ and over to Nora, leaned down, and whispered something. My mother gave me her handbag and said, “Wait here.” Nora hurried into the bathroom. Nora and Martha stayed in there until the ferry docked. The other passengers debarked, and Sorensen and I waited on our bench. Eventually the cleanup crew began their work. We waited with the suitcases for another half hour. One of the ferry pilots walked down the metal stairs, saw us, and said, “You fellows don’t look like you’d need help with those suitcases. But do you?” Sorensen reached into his back pocket, took out his wallet, snapped it open with one hand, and showed his badge. The pilot just nodded and went back up the stairs. “First day on the job, I was instructed to use utmost discretion when I did that. But I used to partner with Officer Canti Chaffen—Canti being short for Cantilever—who’d name a kid that? And Canti would whip out his badge just at a ticket taker at the movies, say, and look like something was hush-hush. What a cheapskate, eh?”
“They’ve been in there a long time,” I said.
“If Detective Crauchet needed more help, she’d ask for it,” Sorensen said.
When Nora and Martha finally emerged from the ladies’, Martha was leaning against my mother. “False alarm,” Martha said. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Are you all right, Martha?” I said, holding her opposite Nora.
“A little weak in the knees,” Martha said.
We navigated slowly to Sorensen’s car. Inside, Martha said, “I’m feeling much better now. Dizziness completely disappeared. Whew! I’m just fine now. Nora would like it if we stopped at the Halifax Free Library. There’s a small welcome party for her there. Forgot to mention this, Jake, but it won’t take but fifteen or twenty minutes. It’ll be very nice for your mother.”
“You look fit as a fiddle,” my mother said. “But tell me, are you sure?”
“I can’t wait to see the look on everyone’s face,” Martha said.
Officer Sorensen said, “I have to call this change of plans in, Detective Crauchet.”
“Do that, then,” Martha said.
Once Sorensen reported our destination (he noted to the dispatcher that it was 6:40 p.m.), it was less than a fifteen-minute ride to the library. When we stepped inside, there to greet us was the entire library staff, including two people neither my mother nor I had met before. They were introduced as Corine Edwards and Melissa Axelrod. Then Jinx Faltenbourg made sure that everyone had a glass of spiked punch, and she made a toast: “Welcome back to our dear Nora. As you know, Nora was chief librarian for—”
Just then, Sorensen’s walkie-talkie crackled and we heard, “—Sorensen, Halifax Free Library. Officer Sorensen, Halifax Free Library.”
This stopped the proceedings. Sorensen did not apologize, nor did he leave the main room where everyone had gathered. He held the receiver to his ear, said, “Sorensen here,” and almost instantly looked alarmed. He got Martha’s attention and waved her over. We all could hear the static and a crackling voice, but had no idea yet what was going on. Everyone stood there silently waiting. Sorensen spoke softly to Martha, who sat down on a swivel chair, closed her eyes, and shook her head back and forth.
Martha took the walkie-talkie from Sorensen’s hand and spoke into it: “This is Detective Martha Crauchet—what the hell is going on? I need details. Now!” She fit the receiver to her ear and listened for a good thirty seconds, spoke briefly and q
uietly to the dispatcher, then handed the walkie-talkie back to Sorensen.
Martha stood up with some difficulty from the swivel chair. “Everyone listen up, please,” she said. “We’ve got a situation. Officer Sorensen here is going to see that every single one of you leaves the library immediately. I’m sorry, but when I say immediately, I mean immediately. No questions asked. Just go.” She turned and nodded to Sorensen, who walked to the front door and looked out at the street. He nodded back in the affirmative to Martha, who said, “All right now, everyone—everyone, be careful now, single file, single file, please.” The entire staff threw on their coats, hats, and scarves, slipped on gloves or mittens, and left the library. There was just myself, Martha, Sorensen, and my mother left.
“Martha—” I began.
“Robert Emil was identified a few blocks away,” she said. “I let the others go because I didn’t want a hostage situation. I mean the other librarians. I had to take that possibility seriously. Judgment call, but dispatch agreed. Emil’s not interested in them anyway.” She looked at Sorensen, who, without a word, went out the front door, surveyed the street, then came back inside. “Everybody’s away safe and sound, Detective,” he said. “I’m going out to my car. I have a shotgun in the trunk.” He hurried out, returning within two minutes carrying a shotgun and a box of shells.
“Oh, my Lord in heaven,” Nora said. “What can he possibly want after so many years? I just don’t understand.”
“Nora, leave this discussion for later, please. Just try and stay calm. This is serious stuff,” Martha said. “Jake, maybe we should try and get your mother home.”
“No,” my mother said. “Don’t you see? This is why my release date was today. So I could be with you no matter what.”
“Jake, you and Sorensen please move those heavy card catalogues up against the front door,” Martha said. Sorensen and I set to that. Martha picked up the walkie-talkie and said, “Detective Crauchet, Halifax Free Library. The following people are here. Officer Sorensen, Jacob Rigolet, Nora Rigolet. Please advise.”
Martha listened to the receiver. Then she bent over with a groan. Nora took the walkie-talkie from her and handed it to Sorensen, who said into it, “Officer Sorenson now—continue.” Nora walked with Martha to the bathroom, which was down a short hallway. I ran over, but my mother pushed me away. “Wait out here, just for a moment,” she said.
I walked back to the main room. Sorensen said, “Not good.”
“What’s going on?” I said. “Martha is in some sort of distress. I think we should call an ambulance.”
“They may not want to risk that just now, Mr. Rigolet.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Robert Emil is armed and dangerous.”
“Where the fuck is he? Is he here, at the library, or what? Because I think Martha needs an ambulance.”
“Please try to calm down.”
“What?”
“Please—just try to calm down, Mr. Rigolet,” Sorensen said. “Since you asked, Robert Emil was on the front steps. Now he’s not. He’s armed. More squad cars are on their way.”
I hurried to the bathroom and went in. Martha was sitting on the tile floor, propped up against a wall. Nora had covered her with her overcoat. “Her water broke,” my mother said. “She’s fine—it’s just—”
“I think I’m in labor, Jake. Go get Sorensen. Now, please.”
I ran back out and yelled, “Sorensen, Martha needs to talk with you!”
Sorensen said “Eight-ten” into the walkie-talkie and followed me into the bathroom.
“Officer Sorensen, what is your medical training? Tell me this minute,” Martha said. “What is your medical training?”
“Basic,” Sorensen said.
“Are you capable of delivering a baby?”
Sorensen’s jaw tightened and he looked doubtful.
“—situation, please, Officer Sorensen,” the walkie-talkie crackled, “situation, please.”
Martha waved for Sorensen to hand her the walkie-talkie. She said, “This is Detective Crauchet. I’m having contractions—I’m having a child, read me? Advise, please.”
Martha listened a moment, then said to Sorensen, “An ambulance is being sent. Back entrance. Two squad cars will receive and protect.”
Sorensen looked relieved and said, “I would have tried.”
“I know you would have,” Martha said. “And you would have done just fine. But this is best, right?”
“I’ll go back to the main room now,” Sorensen said.
“You do that,” Martha said. But Sorensen didn’t leave the bathroom. “Jake, take off your watch and give it to Nora. Nora, I’m having contractions. Help me time them, please. My watch reads eight-thirty.”
Martha locked eyes with mine, and I could almost read her mind: Same place you were born, Jacob. What in the world? And God knows what Nora must have been thinking.
I sat with Martha. We held hands, and she began to take deep breaths. “This helps,” she said. “Don’t forget, I work with very competent people. If they say they’ll send an ambulance, they’ll send an ambulance. But it may take them a little time to figure out how to do it just right. This daughter of ours feels in a hurry, though. But how would I know? I’ve never done this before.” She laughed and shook her head and said, “Don’t you dare think, Jacob, don’t you dare think this means Nora Elizabeth is fated to be a librarian!” This made everyone laugh, but then Martha grimaced and braved through a contraction. Her squeezing of my hand had more strength behind it than I could’ve imagined. “Did you note the time, Jake? Note the time, note the time. Write it down somewhere. Use the inside of a book if you have to.”
The first siren we heard was not the ambulance. Sorensen’s walkie-talkie informed us that “Robert Emil has discharged his weapon,” but the rest was swallowed by static. Sorensen pressed the walkie-talkie to his ear and spoke into it, but my mother and I were paying attention to Martha, who was doing deep-breathing exercises, taught at three sessions of a birthing class we’d taken, sponsored by her police union. The truth was, Martha seemed to remember everything she was taught, and I seemed to have forgotten everything. I said, “You’re doing great, Martha, you’re doing great, you’re amazing,” and she said, “I love this child so much already and I want so much for things to be okay, but this isn’t what I had in mind, Jacob. Not exactly—” A contraction seemed to ripple through her entire body. She closed her eyes until it passed.
My mother had remembered that blankets and pillows and washcloths were kept in a small utility room, and she now appeared clutching some of each. We fitted a pillow behind Martha and tucked another pillow under her legs, and she said, “Oh, that’s so much better.” Then she let out a long, low groan.
Sorensen listened to the walkie-talkie, then said, “The ambulance is out back. They’re just waiting for another squad car—that won’t be long, Detective. Just a moment longer.”
Martha wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled my face next to hers and held it there, tightly, as she felt another contraction. “Oh, my Lord, that one was really—Jake, Jake, Jake, listen to me. Know what’s actually helping me? Thinking about Leah Diamond. Don’t ask me why. And don’t you dare tell a living soul I said that, either. I’m not supposed to be making sense right now.”
“Our little secret,” I said. Martha let go and fell back against the pillow. “Where the fuck are those—”
We heard gunshots, and Nora said, “Oh no, oh no.” Then there was pounding on the rear entrance door, which was down a short hallway off the children’s book room. Officer Sorensen went down the hall, revolver in hand, and unlocked the door. In rushed three medical personnel, a male nurse, a woman doctor, and a fireman whom Martha recognized, and she said, “Pete Gossining, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
Fireman Gossining unfolded a gurney, set the wheels, and he and I lifted Martha onto it. “I’m Dr. Kestral,” the physician said. “Let’s see what’s going
on, shall we?” She pushed me back from the cot. “Give us lots of room, please,” she said.
Dr. Kestral listened to Martha with her stethoscope and then turned and glared at me. “Maybe you could just . . . ” she said, and began to help the male nurse, named Ridgeway, according to his nameplate, slip off Martha’s clothes. Once they had done that, they covered her with blankets. Fireman Gossining hurried back outside, and when he returned he said, “We’re ready for her in the ambulance.” But Dr. Kestral said firmly, “No, she’s having her child right here, right now.”
There was no argument, and with an excruciatingly strong contraction, Martha called out what must have sounded like nonsense to everyone but Nora and me: “My husband was born in this library too!” Dr. Kestral’s warm smile and nod of her head was meant to comfort Martha and us: Not to worry, at such moments I’ve heard just about everything imaginable. My mother and I were instructed to wait in the main room. We looked on as best we could. Another nurse had arrived to assist. I never got her name. Sterilized instruments and a deep plastic container of steaming water were brought in. And that was all we could see. We heard Martha both crying and laughing wildly, and we heard the encouraging words of Dr. Kestral and the newly arrived nurse. Then we heard Nora Elizabeth crying. “Now, let’s cut the umbilical cord . . . There we go.” From Nora Elizabeth came a little sneezing cough, then more crying. Dr. Kestral looked at her watch and said, “Time of birth, ten-eighteen p.m.,” and Martha said with the last of her strength, “She’s so beautiful.” I now was allowed to come over. Our daughter was swaddled in white, and Martha held her. “She’s so beautiful,” Martha said again. I leaned over to kiss Martha and then Nora Elizabeth, but as soon as I did, Dr. Kestral said, “Take a few more minutes. But we need to get them to the hospital. Everything’s fine. It’s just this library is not the place for your wife and child right now, is it?”
My Darling Detective Page 19