by Mary Walker
Quickly, as if he had suddenly realized he’d revealed something, he pressed his lips shut and started toward her.
Katherine leaned on the cane and struggled to rise. But in two long strides he was behind her, digging the pistol hard into the back of her neck, pushing up as if he were trying to shove it into her skull.
He stretched his head down close to the woman in the bed. “Tell her, you old bitch, or I’ll splatter her brains all over you. Tell her now,” he said.
Katherine squeezed her teeth together to refrain from crying out in pain. She stared down at her grandmother. The face showed no emotion, not even a flicker of fear.
“I said, tell her.” His voice rose to a shrill pitch. “Now do it.”
Anne Driscoll opened her lips. She spoke calmly, her enunciation exaggerated, as if she were addressing a servant who spoke only rudimentary English. “I can see how you would blame me, Donald, but why her? Let her go and you and I will discuss this.”
In his fury he drilled the muzzle even harder into Katherine’s neck. It felt as if her head were being impaled on a dull stake. “You bitch. You think that I’ve-been-to-college-and-you-haven’t voice is going to stop me? She was there,” he hissed, “and she’s going to pay for it. Her slut of a mother died before I could get to her, so she can take her place.”
Anne spoke again, in measured, even words. “She was a child, sleeping in her bed when it happened. Settle with me. Let her leave. She doesn’t even remember.”
“Oh, she remembers. No one could forget that night. She’s got most of it right, doesn’t she? Since you won’t do it, I’ll help her fill in the blanks.”
He pressed his cheek against Katherine’s and dug the gun deeper into her skull so that she had to press back. “Don’t you remember, little Katie? One of the most important things about that night? I was there. Eight years old, and I saw it all. We’d come to your house before. Often. My daddy brought me because Mother was sick. He’d leave me to play with you while he went into the bedroom with your mother. Only this time, it was different because your father came home. Uh-huh. You got it right, Katherine Driscoll. He caught them in the act.”
His voice began to rise in pitch again. “Oh, I was there all right. I was in the living room watching the snakes in the glass boxes like I always did. After he looked in the bedroom, your daddy closed the door real quiet and came and knelt next to me and he watched the snakes, too. Then my daddy opened the bedroom door. I remember he stood there doing up his belt and laughing like it was all a joke. And you know what he did, your father?” Now his voice was almost a shriek. “He grabbed up that big black snake and slung it at my daddy. Right in his face. Daddy had to pull it off him, tore a chunk out of his cheek doing it.”
He took some deep breaths and lowered his voice. “You’ve never seen anyone die so fast. I guess it was because he was drunk and the snake got him in the face.”
Katherine didn’t know she was going to speak. It was as if the memory were speaking through her. “But the snake was alive in the bedroom. I woke up and saw it there.”
The pointman smiled, showing his perfect teeth. “Yeah. They closed it in the bedroom after it bit him. You found it. It would’ve killed you, too, but for that great dog you had. The dog got it. And then it got the dog.”
Yes. She remembered. Pasha was bitten. He yowled and jerked back. The snake rose again, curved into that deadly S. Pasha attacked again. This time he snapped and caught the snake. He crushed it in his jaws. The snake struck again, but Pasha held on. Even in death he held on.
The pointman withdrew the gun from her neck and pushed it slowly down her backbone, bruising each vertebra on the way. Katherine closed her eyes, waiting for the bullet that would sever her spine.
But he took the gun off her and shoved it against Anne’s cheek. “Then you came into the act, old woman, when your daughter called you screaming and blubbering. You came running. By then my daddy was dead and you bribed Stokes to cover it all up, like my daddy and me were some filth to be swept under the carpet. Just like it never happened. Isn’t that right? Isn’t that what you did?”
Katherine winced as she saw the gun press into the delicate skin of her grandmother’s cheek.
“Answer me when I ask you a question,” he shouted. “Isn’t that right? We were so unimportant compared with you Driscolls that you just pretended it didn’t happen. Isn’t that right?”
Katherine wished Anne would answer. She wished they would hear downstairs and call the police. She wished she were back in the hospital with her leg propped up and with the cool sheets against her skin.
“I told my mother what happened, but she pretended he’d really died in a zoo accident. When Lester Renfro started sending her money, more money than my daddy ever brought home to her, she didn’t want to make trouble. We moved to Belton. She wouldn’t let me do the right thing, so I had to wait all those years until she died.
“But I don’t have to wait anymore, do I?” He pushed the gun so hard against Anne’s cheek that Katherine saw the skin tear. “Do I?” he repeated.
Anne remained silent, her eyes looking back into his unblinking.
“I’m going to blow your head open. But first you’re going to answer me once.” His voice crescendoed to a scream. “Do I?”
From downstairs, a quavering voice called out, “Who’s up there? Are you all right, Mrs. Driscoll? I’m going to call the police.”
He straightened up in alarm and turned his head to glance at the door.
Katherine groped for the cane she had left leaning against the bed and wrapped her right hand around it.
He turned back and grabbed her hair with his left hand, jerking her to her feet and away from the bed, spinning her around to face him. His face had darkened and the eyes were just slits beneath engorged lids.
“Say good-bye to your grandmother, Katherine.” He released her hair and leaned toward the bed, raising the gun to Anne’s face.
A roar filled Katherine’s head. Enough, goddammit. Enough. Stiffen the sinews. She reached her left hand across her body and gripped the cane in both hands. Summon up the blood. Taking a step back to give her range, she whipped the cane upward with all her strength into his outstretched right arm. The force of the impact stung her hands. The gun flew into the air, clattered to the wood floor and slid out of sight into one of the dark corners of the room.
He bellowed and clutched his arm.
Katherine threw herself forward onto the bed and scrambled over her grandmother. She rolled off the other side onto the floor, crashing into the tray table. She scuttled across the floor on her belly toward the corner where she thought she had heard the gun come to rest. She expected each second to feel him grab her. Where was he?
She glanced back over her shoulder and gasped. Anne Driscoll was gripping his open jacket with one hand and she had managed to hook the other elbow through the thong around his neck. He was trying to pull away, but she was hanging on.
Katherine turned and groped desperately in the dark corner for the gun. Where the hell was it? She wished she could smell it, like Ra could. She imagined he was there and threw her arm out straight as if to give him the line for the retrieve. Her middle finger touched smooth metal and bumped it out of reach against the wall.
She looked back. Now he was leaning over the bed pressing down on Anne’s neck and grunting.
Katherine pulled herself forward. Her hands hit the wall. She felt along the baseboard. There it was! She picked it up with both hands and sat up, turning and pressing her back against the wall to steady herself. He was still bent over Anne, shaking her by the neck.
Katherine closed her eyes and pictured a blue sky with a covey of quail overhead. The gun felt heavy and comfortable. Slowly and evenly, as she had done many times before, she aimed the gun and squeezed the trigger.
The explosion rattled the windows of the closed room and thundered in her ears. He stood up straight, as if he’d been startled by the noise. Then, as the echoes die
d, he made the tiniest sound, like a pigeon cooing in the distance, and crumpled to the floor.
Still holding the gun in front of her, Katherine struggled to her feet and approached the bed. “Anne? Anne? Are you all right?”
Anne Driscoll coughed. Then she croaked out two words. Katherine wasn’t sure, but she thought they sounded like, “Yes. Thanks.”
Anne raised one hand to touch her neck. Then she fumbled at the side of the bed, found the remote control hanging there, and switched on the light.
Katherine limped around the bed and blinked down at the heap on the floor. It was just Danny Gillespie, his glasses broken, his heavy-lidded eyes closed, his mouth open in surprise. On a thong around his neck hung a snake head, the gaping mouth revealing two sharp fangs. A splotch of red was spreading across his shirt.
“Turn it off,” Katherine said. “It hurts my eyes.”
Anne switched the lamp off, returning the room to shadows.
Katherine took a step and groaned. There was no part of her body that did not hurt. Her entire left side was on fire. Her scalp felt raw where he had pulled her hair. She located her cane on the floor and used it to hobble over to the door. She opened it and called, “Sophie!”
A tight voice answered from the foot of the stairs. “Oh, Katherine, thank God. What’s happened? We didn’t know what to do. The police are on the way. Was that a shot?”
“Yes. We’re all right. I just—”
Behind her, Anne spoke in a weak, raspy voice. “Tell her to wait. We need to talk.”
“Sophie, will you give us a minute?” Katherine called down. She limped to the bed and sat down on the edge. Anne shifted over slightly to make room. Katherine picked her leg up with her hands and hoisted it up to the bed. Then she stretched out next to her grandmother. They both listened to the wail of sirens in the distance.
Anne turned her head so her mouth was about an inch from Katherine’s ear. When she spoke, it was in a croaking whisper. “We did it.”
“Yes,” Katherine said, “we did.”
“I plan to honor the agreement I made with your father,” Anne whispered. “When the banks open tomorrow, I’ll write a check for a hundred thousand dollars. Your fee for the first year. Will it be in time?”
Katherine couldn’t remember what day it was. Sunday still? The auction was on Tuesday, she thought. She nodded.
“Good. Will you take over the foundation? Do you think you could do it?”
Katherine nodded again and turned her face toward Anne. “I know I could.”
Anne looked directly into her eyes and nodded back. “I believe it. As for what happened here tonight,” she whispered, “We’ll say we don’t know anything. There’s no way for them to find out.”
Katherine’s head throbbed. “But it is true, isn’t it? My father did kill Donald Stranahan and you did get Alonzo Stokes to cover it up?”
The sirens were getting closer.
Anne didn’t speak. Her eyes closed in exhaustion.
“It is true,” Katherine said.
“True?” Anne said in the faintest voice and sighed. “Who cares? Ancient history.”
Katherine sat up. “But all this death and violence happened because a crime was covered up. Secrets like this fester! I don’t like them.” Her voice was shaking and she was close to tears. She felt like a hysterical child. The sirens were right outside the house now. They could see lights flashing through the shades. The phone was ringing downstairs. “I don’t like them,” she repeated.
“You’re hurt now. Upset,” Anne said. “Don’t say anything yet. Wait until you feel better.”
Katherine was silent. Anne was right. There was no point in rehashing ancient history. It would label her father as a murderer, her mother a whore, her grandmother and Alonzo Stokes as accomplices to murder.
And it was clear what was being offered here.
All she had to do was stay silent now and she would have the money to pay off the loan. She’d keep her home and her business and Ra. And she’d get to run the foundation. She could have it all. Anne was right. It was over. There was no point in opening this can of worms.
But all these secrets were corrosive. Secrets had created the pointman. Secrets had kept her from her father. She was tired of secrets. She wanted to expose them all to the air, to drain them of their power.
Doors slammed and police radios crackled outside the window.
“They’re here,” Anne said.
Katherine took a deep breath. “If I tell it all to Lieutenant Sharb, then your offer to me is withdrawn?”
Anne sighed. “You won’t do that. It wouldn’t make any sense.”
The door opened downstairs. Men’s voices rumbled up the stairs. Sharb’s voice called, “You all right up there, Miss Driscoll? We’re coming up.”
Heavy feet pounded the stairs.
Katherine closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on stiffening the sinews and summoning up the blood.
The hardest part was coming up.
22
KATHERINE lay huddled with her back to the window. She didn’t want to look at the overcast sky. She didn’t want to pack her few possessions in the shopping bag Sophie had brought. She didn’t want to see anyone, or talk to anyone, even to say good-bye to the nurses who had been so kind to her. She would just stare at the white wall until the doctor came to discharge her.
She had put on the long blue Mexican dress Sophie had brought her and the clean white socks. Her foot was still too swollen for a shoe. She’d showered and washed her hair, hoping it would make her feel better, but it hadn’t.
A profound hopelessness had settled on her. All human effort seemed so futile.
She had made her choice and told Sharb everything she knew about Donald Stranahan, Junior, and what had happened that summer night when she was five years old. He was interested, very interested, but after questioning Alonzo and Anne, decided there wasn’t enough evidence to reopen the case. Anyway, the perp was dead and the others merely accomplices.
She had told the truth, aired the secrets, and it really hadn’t made any difference in the outcome. The official report released to the news media had said simply that it appeared that Donald Stranahan, Junior, had killed out of resentment over the accidental death of his father at the zoo three decades earlier.
The Stranahan case would end in a week with the grand-jury review of the shooting death of Donald Stranahan, Junior. Katherine would need to appear, but it was just a formality, Sharb assured her.
The case was closed, everything tied up neatly.
It should feel good to have done the right thing, but Katherine didn’t feel good at all.
The future looked bleak.
What was she going to do now? She could get a room somewhere. Or share an apartment with Sophie, if Sophie ever really got around to moving out of her parents’ house, as she had been threatening. Vic had been persuasive in his invitation to have her stay with him, but it was too soon to think about that. She needed a place of her own, a home base.
Tomorrow she’d have to go back to Boerne and make plans for moving her furniture out and putting it in storage until she decided what to do.
And she’d have to deliver Ra to his new owner. She didn’t know who that was because they hadn’t called her yet. She’d expected the call around noon yesterday, right after the auction, but it hadn’t come. George Bob was probably being kind and waiting until she got out of the hospital. She’d call him this afternoon, get it over with.
She missed Ra, hadn’t seen him in four days. Well, maybe this was helping her get ready for the big separation. Maybe she should just ask Vic to deliver him to his new owner and not see him again. No good-byes. No tears.
She couldn’t go back to working at the zoo. Alonzo hadn’t called or been in to see her. She could understand that. He must be furious. And even if he would let her come back, Anne Driscoll would surely not allow her to work there, or be anywhere in her sight. Anne hadn’t called or sent a message t
o Katherine in the two and a half days they’d both been in the hospital. It was perhaps the worst blow.
She’d have to start job hunting. Maybe that trainer friend of Vic’s still had a job available.
She sighed and curled up tighter.
When the phone rang, she almost didn’t pick it up. But after the fifth ring, she reached over and lifted the receiver. “Hello.” The sound of her own voice repelled her. It was a zombie voice, dispirited and dead.
“Kate?” The lusty twang was a voice from home. “This is Hester Kielmeyer here. How are you, dear? I read in the paper about the difficulties you’ve been through.”
“I’m okay, Hester. Getting out of the hospital in a few minutes, so I can’t really talk,” Katherine said, trying to inject some animation into her voice.
“Well, I won’t keep you. We just wanted to congratulate you. We’re so pleased.”
“Huh?” Katherine said.
“About your property. Judith and I felt all along it would work out somehow.”
“What do you mean?” Katherine asked.
“Well, that you were able to pay off the loan and keep your place. I know what it means to you and it means a lot to us, too. You and Ra have always been our favorite neighbors.”
Katherine knew Hester would not be deliberately cruel, but this was almost too much to endure. “Hester, I didn’t pay off the loan. My property got sold yesterday at auction.”
There was a long silence.
“Kate, I just saw George Bob Rainey. He said he’d never been so surprised in his life as when that lawyer of yours from Austin showed up at ten yesterday, in the nick of time, and paid it all off in cash.”
“My lawyer from Austin?” Katherine echoed.
“Sure. John Crowley of Hammond and Crowley, George Bob said. Kate, are you all right, dear? You poor thing. You don’t sound like yourself at all.”
“And he paid off the whole loan?” Katherine said, her voice cracking.
“Yes. Kate, is there something we can do to help?”
“No. I’m fine,” she said, tasting the tears on her lips. “How are you and Judith? I miss you.”