Mother's Day (34 page)

“Back upstairs,” he said.

Limping because of the pain in her side, Karen shuffled to the steps and started up them. “All right,” she said as she reached the top step. “You have what you want. Now why don’t you get out of here and leave us alone.”

“Open the door of the closet,” he said.

Karen’s heart shriveled with fear. She knew it showed on her face. She saw his eyes change.

He reached out, grabbed her arm, and threw her roughly away from the closet door.

“No,” she cried.

He unlocked the door and pulled Jenny, who tried to bite his hand, out of the closet.

Karen scrambled up and grabbed her daughter. He allowed her to pull Jenny away. Maybe it wasn’t too late, Karen thought desperately. She tried to resume her posture of defiance. “Get out of my house,” she said. “Take your filthy papers and go.”

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “I just can’t leave you here with this story. Someone might take you seriously.”

The look in his eyes was terrifyingly cold. Karen groped for an answer. “No one in that corrupt police department will listen to a word I say. Even I know that.”

Walter gave her a thin, bemused smile. “You won’t have a chance to tell them,” he said. “Not after your suicide. It’s perfectly understandable. A woman pushed to the brink by all the pressures—finding out about her husband being an adulterer, and a killer. Suicide is the most natural thing in the world. And, of course, you would take your child with you. You wouldn’t want to leave her behind to face a hostile world all alone. They’ll find a gun in your hand.”

Jenny began to sob.

Karen realized with a terrified certainty that he was not just toying with her. Not trying to scare her. He was merely informing her of his plans. “That cop outside knew you came here,” she cried. “He’ll know it was you.”

“I thought of that,” said Walter calmly. “I told him that you had called me, that you were hysterical when you called, distraught, and that you demanded to see me. The police presence was driving you over the edge. I told him I would handle it. He understood.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Karen pleaded. “I won’t say anything. I promise. You’re right. No one would believe me anyway. They’ll just think I’m an hysterical woman.”

“You’re too much trouble,” Walter said disgustedly. “Besides, you know you wouldn’t keep quiet. Women never do.”

“All right,” said Karen. “Let Jenny go. She’s just a child. She has her whole life ahead of her. I don’t care what you do to me, but spare my daughter.”

“Oh, I understand,” he said. “After all, she could just as well be my daughter. But age is no advantage in this case. Lots of girls her age are just as treacherous as their mothers. Worse, even.”

As he spoke he was herding them into the living room. “Now let’s try to do this the way it would actually happen,” he said half to himself. “Naturally, you would shoot the child first, and then yourself.”

“Mom,” Jenny sobbed, clinging to Karen, “why is he doing this?”

“So,” he said, reaching for Jenny’s arm, holding the gun to her head, “let’s have you over here.”

Karen was paralyzed with fear. If he had chained her to the spot, he could not have more effectively subdued her. The sight of the gun at Jenny’s head was the perfect means of controlling her. And she realized that if he killed Jenny, she would no longer care what happened to her. She would not want to live. Suddenly everything was very clear. There was no use in hoping that he was just terrorizing them or that he would hesitate to carry out his threats. This was the man who had killed Linda. There was no telling how many others. He would shoot her child in front of her eyes. If she did not act, there would be no second chance.

Like a lioness, she coiled her muscles tight, then sprang forward, taking him by surprise and knocking Jenny out of his grasp. “Run!” she cried. “Jenny, run!”

Jenny stood where she was pushed, frozen to the spot, staring at Walter’s gun.

“You stupid fool,” said Walter. “Move.” He tried to shove Karen out of the way to get to Jenny. Instinctively Karen started to shove him back. The gun rose in front of her eyes like a hissing snake. Suddenly, instead of resisting, Karen turned to her daughter, knocked her over and fell on top of her. Jenny cried out in pain as she hit the floor. Karen sprawled on top of Jenny, covering the child’s body with her own. She grasped Jenny’s wrists beneath her and held her tight. “You’re going to have to explain how I shot myself in the back,” Karen said.

“Get off of her,” Walter growled.

“Go to hell,” said Karen. She could fell Jenny’s thin little form beneath her, trembling and heaving with sobs. “I’m sorry, honey,” she whispered. “Can you breathe?”

Jenny’s reply was muffled.

“I said move!” Walter bellowed.

“In your dreams,” said Karen.

“All right, bitch,” he said. “All right. Have it your way.”

Karen did not look up, but she could feel him coming toward them, crouching down beside them. She let go of Jenny’s wrists and placed her hands gently over Jenny’s ears, as if to muffle the sound of a passing train for a toddler.

Walter crouched down and placed the barrel of the gun at her temple. “All right,” he said, balancing on the balls of his feet. “We’ll do it this way. You first. Then her. You’re not saving her by covering her like that.”

Tears came to Karen’s eyes as she acknowledged the truth of what he said. “I know it,” she said, “I’m doing the only thing I can.”

“Too bad,” said Walter.

He pressed the gun to her head, and Karen shuddered at the sensation. Jenny was sobbing. “I’m sorry, baby,” Karen crooned. “I’m sorry.”

Karen closed her eyes, said a prayer, and then heard the thunderous blast of a gunshot.

Walter yelled and fell backward. Karen looked up and saw Greg in the doorway, his stubbly face pale and sweating, his eyes glittering, a smoking gun wavering in his hand.

Walter regained his balance, adjusted his glasses on his head, and sneered at Greg. “You’re not a very good shot,” he said.

“Move away from my family and I’ll do better,” said Greg.

Karen scrambled up, and Jenny lifted her head. “Dad!” she screamed.

“You heard me,” said Greg. “Drop your gun and move away from them.”

Karen and Jenny clung together and held their breath as Walter laid the gun on the floor and stepped back. Then, before Karen could stop her, Jenny jumped up and rushed to her father, throwing her arms around him. “Daddy,” she cried, “you’re home.”

Startled by Jenny’s sudden move, Greg, already weak with fever, staggered back and lost his footing for a moment. Walter, seeing his opportunity, lunged at him. Greg pushed Jenny roughly out of the way, and the two men grappled, locked together in a deadly embrace. Karen scrambled for Walter’s gun on the floor, but once she had it in her shaking hands, she could not use it. She knew nothing about guns and did not dare shoot at the two men fighting for fear that she would hit Greg instead of the detective. “Call 911,” she ordered Jenny as she brandished the weapon helplessly. Jenny turned to do as she was told. Before she could reach the phone, a shot rang out. Greg and Walter stared at one another, and then Greg’s grip on Walter loosened. Blood seeped all over the front of his shirt and his eyes rolled back into his head.

“Oh, my God,” Karen cried.

For a few seconds Karen could not take it in. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as Greg’s legs crumpled beneath him and he sank to the ground, pulling Walter with him.

“Greg!” she screamed. Before she could think of anything but Greg, broken and bleeding on the floor, Walter turned on her, charged at her, and grabbed at her wrist, wresting the weapon from her hand. She tried to resist him, but it was no use. He was stronger than she was, and it took him only seconds to overpower her and drive her to the ground. She could hear Jenny wailing.

Walter smirked at her. “This is perfect,” he said. “I can eliminate the whole lot of you at once. I’ll just tell them I walked into a trap.”

Karen looked up into his eyes. A weird thought went through her mind. So these are a killer’s eyes. This is what a murderer looks like. He had killed Linda, gunned down her husband. He was ready to crush her and Jenny. An eerie calm spread through her. This is the end, she thought. The Twenty-third Psalm popped into her head. The Lord is my shepherd…

“Drop the gun, Detective,” boomed a shaky voice.

Walter’s head jerked up and around. Larry Tillman was standing in the door, his arm outstretched, holding a gun. There were three other cops behind him.

Walter shook his head. “Larry,” he said, “I’m glad to see you. Look who’s here.” He pointed to Greg’s prostrate, bleeding body. “I was ambushed by these people. I’m lucky to be alive.”

The redheaded cop kept his gun trained on his mentor. The other officers flanked him, their guns drawn as well. The sound of sirens began to fill the room. Cars were roaring up to the house, and doors were slamming. “We found Phyllis Hodges,” said Larry.

Karen pushed herself up from the floor. She did not know what they meant about Phyllis Hodges. All she knew was that Walter had let go of her. She crawled over to where Greg was lying. A pool of blood was spreading out beneath her husband. “Please,” she whispered. “Call an ambulance.”

The elevator doors opened
and Alice Emery followed by her son, Bill, stepped out onto the third floor of the North Cape Medical Center. Despite the late hour police were milling about on the floor like rescue workers after a disaster. Alice knew the whole story by now. She’d been up doing needlework, her TV tuned to the all-news network, when she had heard the bulletin about Greg and Detective Ference. She had called the police station right away. A boy she knew from high school was a sergeant, and he had pretty well filled her in. Alice scanned the hospital lounge and then walked up to the nurses’ station.

A dark-skinned nurse with a name tag that read Violet Fisher, R.N., looked up at her. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to inquire about Mr. Newhall,” said Alice. “How is he doing?”

“He’s still in the OR,” said the nurse.

Alice glanced at the clock above the nurse’s desk. “Still?” she exclaimed.

“Are you family?” the nurse asked.

Alice hesitated. “No, not really. Well, sort of.” She thought of trying to explain but decided against it. “I’d like to see his family.”

“They’re not seeing anybody right now,” said the nurse. “No exceptions.” She handed Alice a pad and pencil. “If you want to leave a message, I’ll be glad to tell them you stopped by.”

“Okay,” said Alice distractedly. “I want them to know I was here.” She wrote her name down on the pad. “Thank you.”

She walked back toward Bill, who was leaning up against the wall. His hair was uncombed, his eyes still bleary. He had been sound asleep when his mother called to say she wanted to go to the hospital. She wanted Bill to drive her because she was afraid to go by herself that late at night. Glenda had rolled over in bed, grumbling that it was ridiculous, but Bill had not argued. He’d pulled on some clothes and gone to her house to pick her up. She had filled him in on the way over, although he was almost too sleepy to take it all in.

“What’s the story?” he asked now as Alice rejoined him.

“He’s still in the operating room. The family doesn’t want to see anyone. They’re in seclusion, I guess you might say.”

Bill looked at his watch. “God, he’s been in there a long time.”

Alice nodded.

Bill poised his finger over the elevator button. “I guess we might as well go?” he asked.

“I suppose so.”

Bill pressed the elevator button, and they waited in silence. After a few moments there was a ping, and the doors opened. They rode down alone and walked out of the hospital toward the parking lot. Bill held an umbrella over his mother. It was still drizzling. “I hope he makes it,” Bill said, opening the car door for her.

Alice slid onto the front seat. “Me, too.”

Bill walked around to the other side and got in. He shook his head. “I still can’t believe it,” he said. “When I think what Linda went through…” Tears suddenly filled his eyes.

His mother looked at him askance. “Too bad you didn’t have more pity when she was alive,” she said.

Bill stared through the rain-spattered windshield, squeezing the car keys in his hand. “I was just so angry with her,” he said. “I didn’t know any of this other stuff, about Dad, and what that bastard Ference was doing to her. All I knew was, I blamed her for ruining my life. And when she came back, that was all I could think of.”

Alice felt suddenly out of patience with her son. “There’s nothing wrong with your life. You made your own life. If it didn’t turn out the way you wanted it, well, that’s your own doing. You just want to blame everybody else. Honestly, Bill, I feel ashamed of you when I hear you talk that way.”

Bill did not try to defend himself from her criticism. He did not seem to hear her.

“What’s so bad about your life, anyway? You have a good job and a fine family,” she reproved him.

Bill shook his head and seemed oblivious of the tears that were running down his cheeks. “I guess in the back of my mind I was figuring there was time to make up. You know, one day we’d sit down and talk about it, and that would be it. I just wanted to punish her for a while. But there wasn’t time. I never had the chance to tell her…”

Alice pressed her lips together angrily as he rested his head on his arms, folded over the steering wheel. She stared out at the raindrops and thought about her husband, who had kept his ugly secret all those years. And the price their daughter had paid for it. The ultimate price. And Alice had never suspected. How could she have been so blind, so gullible? She had accepted Jack’s version of the past without question. He was a good husband. It suited me to believe him, she thought. Whenever I wondered, I just made an excuse and went on. The bitter lines of her mouth trembled, and she sighed. She looked over at her son. Then she began to rub his shoulder sympathetically. “Everybody makes mistakes,” she said. “We all wish we could go back sometimes.”

The hospital had provided a small room where they could wait, out of the range of curious eyes. Even at that late hour reporters wanted to have a crack at them. Even some insomniac patients had come up to their floor, trying to catch a glimpse of them. Karen sat with her eyes closed, but she was wide awake. She clutched her empty teacup in her hands. Jenny moved impatiently from one chair to another, leafing through ancient magazines with no interest.