Past Tense (22 page)
It looked like she'd tried, but her makeup failed to hide the redness and swelling and sadness around her eyes. They looked like they'd seen too much.
I closed the door and waved my hand around. “It's not
much,” I said. “But it's what I've been calling home lately.” I gestured at the only chair in the room, in the corner beside the television set.
much,” I said. “But it's what I've been calling home lately.” I gestured at the only chair in the room, in the corner beside the television set.
She put her purse on top of the TV and sat down. “I should've called,” she said.
“No problem.”
“I was hoping to talk to you.”
I sat on the foot of the bed facing her. “Why me?”
“I'm sorry,” she said. “I really shouldn't'veâ”
“Please stop saying you're sorry. I'm happy to have some company.”
She looked at me for a moment. “Why you?” She shrugged. “I couldn't think of anybody else, I guess.”
“Well, that's flattering.”
She leaned toward me and put her hand on my knee. “I didn't mean it that way. All I meant was, there's nobody in this little town I feel like I can talk to. Sometimes it's better to talk to somebody you don't know so well. Know what I mean?”
I nodded.
“I mean, you seem like somebody you can talk to. Somebody you can trust. Who won't judge a person or spread gossip all over town.”
“Well,” I said, “I am a lawyer. Did you want to talk to a lawyer?”
She shrugged. “Not necessarily. It's not that you're a lawyer. It's that ⦠you seem like a nice guy.”
“Claudia,” I said, “are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No. It's nothing like that.”
Her hand was still resting on my knee. I patted it, then picked it up, gave it a quick squeeze, and let her take it back.
She slumped in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “It's about Win,” she said. “The doctor. I didn't see it coming, and I feel like I should have. I didn't have a clue. I
can't get my mind around it. It's like somebody punched me in the stomach.” She shook her head. “Do you realize what it's like, working side by side with the same man for twenty-one years, seeing him practically every day, taking care of him when he's sick, scheduling his activities, thinking you know everything about him, and then something happens and you realize you didn't know him at all?”
can't get my mind around it. It's like somebody punched me in the stomach.” She shook her head. “Do you realize what it's like, working side by side with the same man for twenty-one years, seeing him practically every day, taking care of him when he's sick, scheduling his activities, thinking you know everything about him, and then something happens and you realize you didn't know him at all?”
I nodded but didn't say anything. All I could think of were glib platitudes, and I didn't think Claudia wanted platitudes from me.
“I feel so alone,” she said softly. “It's worse than when my parents died. IâI gave that man half of my life, and then he turns around and leaves me like that.”
“Maybe he wanted to make it easier for you.”
“He should have known me better than that. He should've known I'd want him to talk to me about it.”
I shrugged. “He was sick and depressed. He probably thought you'd try to talk him out of it.”
“Well, maybe I would have.” She tried to smile, then shook her head. “You know something, Brady?”
“What, Claudia?”
“This has been an awful day. The worst day of my life. There were people around all day. Friends of mine. Of ours. Me and Win. They knew howâhow close we were. But not one of them even thought I might need a hug.” She gave a little shrug, then turned her head away. I realized she was crying.
After a minute, she got up, went into the bathroom, and came back with a tissue. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then balled up the tissue and tossed it into the wastebasket.
“You seemed to know a lot about him,” she said.
“The doctor?”
“Yes. Yesterday, when you came over, I had the feeling you knew something you weren't saying.”
“Not really.”
“That Detective Vanderweigh,” she said. “The state policeman. After you left, he was asking strange questions.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, about Win's work before he came to Cortland, about that Dr. RomanoâRansom, I guess his name was, who was murdered. About Larry Scott, and ⦠I don't know. It was like he thought there were secrets that I should know.”
It occurred to me that Vanderweigh would have told Claudia and the others whatever he wanted them to know. It was likewise safe to assume that what he hadn't told them, he didn't want them to know. “I don't know what Vanderweigh was after,” I said.
“Yesterday when you were talking with Win,” said Claudia, “it seemed like you had something on your mind. He suddenly got all defensive and said he was too tired to talk. Didn't you notice?”
I nodded. “I guess I did.”
“It was like you had some kind of suspicion.”
“I didn't really. I just wondered if there was some old connection between him and Ransom.”
“Like what?”
“I don't know.”
“Well,” she said, “whatever it was, you hit a nerve. He suddenly got all upset. Maybe you didn't notice it, but I did. And then that same night he kills himself? That doesn't seem like a coincidence.”
“Are you blaming me for his suicide?” I said.
“Not at all. I'm just trying to understand it.” She sighed. “Well, I guess I should probably get going?” She made it a question.
I answered it with a nod. “I'm afraid I haven't helped you much.”
“No, I feel better. I like talking to you.” She cleared her
throat and looked down at her lap. “I could stay for a while,” she said softly.
throat and looked down at her lap. “I could stay for a while,” she said softly.
“That probably wouldn't be a good idea,” I said.
She looked up at me and laughed softly. “Not many men would turn down an invitation like that.” She stood up and smiled. “Oh, well.” She went over to the single window, parted the curtain, and gazed outside for a moment. Then she turned to face me. “Sometimes I hate this crappy little town, you know?”
I nodded.
“I think I gotta get away from here,” she said, “start over again. Get myself a life.”
“That's probably a good idea. Maybeâ”
At that moment, a beeping noise came from the direction of the television.
“Oh, shit,” said Claudia. “My cell phone.” She glanced at her watch. “I better get it.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. She flipped it open, held it to her ear, and said, “Yes?”
I didn't try to listen, but it was hard not to hear Claudia's end of the conversation. It consisted of a series of monosyllables: “Yes ⦠No, it doesn't look like it ⦠I don't know ⦠Nothing ⦠I doubt it ⦠Okay, right.”
She snapped the phone shut and shoved it back into her purse. “Sorry. I really hate those things, but nowadays ⦔
“I refuse to get one,” I said. “Drives my secretary nuts. She likes to be able to keep in touch with me, and she doesn't understand that sometimes I don't want her to be in touch with me. Julie Isâ”
There was a loud knock on the door.
“Now what?” I said. I looked at Claudia and raised my eyebrows.
She shrugged.
“Whoever it is,” I said, “I'll get rid of him. You want to go in the bathroom or something?”
The knocking became more insistent.
Claudia nodded. “That's a good idea.” She went over to the TV, picked up her purse, and took it into the bathroom. She pushed the door shut but didn't latch it.
I went to the door and cracked it open.
Sergeant John Dwyer of the Cortland PD stood there scowling at me. He was out of uniform. He wore blue jeans and a dark windbreaker over a white T-shirt. “May I come in?” he said.
I pulled the door all the way open. “I guess so.”
He came in, looked around, and wrinkled his nose. “You got company? Am I interrupting something?”
“If I did,” I said, “that would be my business. Is that why you came here? To see if I had company?”
“Vanderweigh sent me,” he said. He looked around the room, then went to the bathroom and put his hand on the door.
I grabbed his shoulder. “This is my room,” I said, “and unless you've got a warrantâ”
I didn't see it coming. In one sudden motion, he pivoted and clubbed me on the side of my head with his elbow. It sent me sprawling backwards onto the bed.
“Don't you ever touch a police officer,” said Dwyer.
“Get out of my room,” I mumbled. My vision was blurry. I wondered if he'd broken my jaw.
“You invited me in. I don't need a warrant. You're a lawyer. You should know that.” He pushed the bathroom door open. “Okay,” he said. “You can come out now.”
Claudia came out. She looked at me. “Are you all right?”
I shrugged.
She turned to Dwyer. “Did you have to hit him?”
“Didn't have to. I wanted to.”
She touched his cheek. “You're a bad boy.”
Dwyer was smiling at me.
“Better cuff him,” she said.
He nodded and came over to the bed. “On your belly,” he said.
“There's no need for that,” I said. “I'm happy to talk to Vanderweigh. You canâ”
He punched me in the stomach.
I doubled up and gasped for breath, and Dwyer grabbed my shoulder and turned me onto my belly. I felt the handcuffs click around my wrists. Then Dwyer spun me around and hauled me into a sitting position.
Claudia came over and sat beside me. She touched my face. “If you cooperate, he won't hit you anymore.”
“What're you two up to?” I said.
She shook her head. “Please cooperate, Brady. That will make it a lot easier for all of us.” She turned to Dwyer. “We better get going.”
“Stand up,” said Dwyer to me.
With my hands cuffed behind my back, it was a struggle to get to my feet, and when I did, a wave of dizziness made me stagger. Claudia grabbed my arm before I fell and held me upright.
After a minute my head cleared. “I'm okay now,” I said. “So are you going to tell meâ?”
“Shut up,” said Dwyer. To Claudia he said, “Get his car keys.”
Claudia wormed her hand into my pants pocket and came out with my keys. She held them up for Dwyer to see.
He nodded, then went to the door, pulled it half-open, and glanced around outside. “Okay,” he said. “Let's go.”
He went out and Claudia steered me out behind him. A black SUV was parked directly in front of my motel room.
Dwyer was holding the passenger door open. Claudia led me to it, and the two of them shoved me in and snapped the seatbelt across my chest. Then Claudia got in the backseat behind me, and Dwyer went around and slid in behind the wheel.
Dwyer was holding the passenger door open. Claudia led me to it, and the two of them shoved me in and snapped the seatbelt across my chest. Then Claudia got in the backseat behind me, and Dwyer went around and slid in behind the wheel.
“Do it now,” he said over his shoulder.
Suddenly Claudia's forearm went around my throat and she levered my head back. Her wrist pressed against my windpipe cutting off my air, and I struggled to drag in a breath.
“Hold still,” she said. “It'll be quicker that way.”
Then I felt a prick in my right shoulder, followed by the unmistakable burning of a hypodermic needle sliding into my muscle.
I thought I could actually feel the drug enter my bloodstream and seep up into my brain. When it got there, it radiated warmth and peace throughout my body, and I felt better almost instantly.
In fact, I felt
really
good. Relaxed, carefree, happy, calm.
really
good. Relaxed, carefree, happy, calm.
Not a care in the world.
Everything was going to be just fine â¦
A
fter Claudia hit my shoulder with the needle, she leaned forward, stroked my cheek with the palm of her hand, and murmured, “There, now. Isn't that better?”
fter Claudia hit my shoulder with the needle, she leaned forward, stroked my cheek with the palm of her hand, and murmured, “There, now. Isn't that better?”
I wanted to tell her it
was
better. In fact, it was terrific.
was
better. In fact, it was terrific.
But I couldn't seem to find any words.
Sometime later, she got out of the back seat, and when she slammed the door, it sounded like a bomb going off inside the car.
I was aware of her talking to Dwyer through his window, and I heard her say, “See you there.”
Then Dwyer and I were riding through the night, and I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy the sensation of movement.
I didn't entirely lose consciousness. I drifted on a hazy fog in some gray, dreamy never-never land. Vague thoughts and foggy images and odd, disconnected memory fragments floated around in my head, but as hard as I tried to pin them
down and make sense of them, I couldn't seem to latch on to a single one of them.
down and make sense of them, I couldn't seem to latch on to a single one of them.
But that was okay. I didn't care. I didn't care about anything.
After a whileâa few seconds? hours? days?âthe movement changed. We seemed to be going much slower, and we were bumping and rocking and swaying. Now and then I heard scraping sounds on the sides of Dwyer's truck.
The bumps and jerks aroused me a little, although it took an exhausting amount of concentration and willpower to open my eyes. It seemed as if I had to send specific directions to my eyelids to make them move.
There wasn't much to see. Just varying shades of darkness. Here and there a lighter patch appeared, and there were shadowy shapes blurring and morphing right outside the window.
At one point we stopped moving and Claudia got in the backseat. She reached around and touched my cheek. “You okay?” she said.
I don't think I answered her.
Then we started moving again. Beside me, Dwyer was humming and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. I might have asked him where we wereâthe question had formed in my mind, though I wasn't aware of actually saying anythingâbecause he said, “Almost there. Just relax.”
I think I told him that I was as relaxed as I could possibly be.
After a while, we stopped moving, and Claudia and Dwyer wrestled me out of the car and started half dragging me through the darkness. I wanted to cooperate, but I couldn't seem to summon up the energy or the concentration to instruct my legs to move. I was awfully tired, and whatever they wanted to do with me was fine.
After a while, I guess I went to sleep.
When I woke up, I found that the fuzziness in my brain had been replaced with a sharp, throbbing ache. I blinked my eyes open, then shut them quickly. The light stabbed at my eyeballs like a fusillade of darts.
“I think he's awake,” I heard Dwyer say.
“It's been about two hours. It should've worn off.” That was Claudia's voice.
I was aware of an achy tingling in my arms and legs. When I tried to move them, I discovered that I couldn't.
I cracked open my eyelids. There was a bright light burning right in front of me. When my eyes focused, I saw that it was the flame in a glass-covered lantern. Dwyer and Claudia were sitting in the shadows beyond the lantern, looking at me.
I glanced down at myself. Duct tape had been wrapped around my arms, chest, thighs, and ankles. It felt like my wrists were still cuffed behind me. They'd taped me to a hard, straight-backed chair that was pulled up to a rectangular wooden table. A deck of cards and a cribbage board and a few beer cans were scattered on the table.
If I wasn't mistaken, we were in Larry Scott's hunting cabin deep in the woods by the pond. Dwyer had been here before. He'd been one of Scott's deer-hunting partners.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” said Claudia. “How are we feeling?”
I tried to speak. My throat felt as if a Brillo pad was caught in it. “Thirsty,” I croaked.
Claudia got up, and a minute later she was holding a plastic bottle to my lips. “Take it slow,” she said. “We don't want you vomiting all over yourself.”
She squeezed water into my mouth, and I held it there for a moment to savor the soothing moisture on my tongue before I let it slide down my parched throat.
“More,” I whispered.
Claudia gave the bottle another squeeze and then took it
away. “That's all for now,” she said. “You be a good boy and you can have some more.” She patted my cheek, then went back and took the chair beside Dwyer.
away. “That's all for now,” she said. “You be a good boy and you can have some more.” She patted my cheek, then went back and took the chair beside Dwyer.
He was lounging back with his arms folded over his chest. Claudia had her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. The two of them were looking at me. I tried to read their expressions.
Amusement?
Curiosity?
Expectation?
“What do you want?” I said.
“Just a little information,” said Claudia.
“You could've tried asking nicely.”
“I did,” she said. “I thought I was terribly nice.”
“So that's what thatâthat seduction actâwas all about? You wanted information?”
She smiled. “It would've been more fun than this.”
“I don't know anything you don't know.”
“That's not what your friend Detective Vanderweigh says,” she said. “He says you know a lot of things that you're not sharing.”
“Like what?”
“Like what Larry Scott and Owen Ransom knew about Dr. St. Croix.”
“I have no idea what they knew.”
“But Evie knows,” she said. “Right?”
“Evie doesn't know anything,” I said.
“That's bullshit,” growled Dwyer.
Claudia frowned at him, and he shrugged. Then she looked at me again. “So where is she?”
I shook my head.
“Brady,” she said, “we need to know where Evie is.”
“I don't know where she is, butâ”
Dwyer's fist slammed down on the table. “Bullshit!”
“âbut if I did know,” I continued, “I wouldn't tell you.”
Dwyer pushed himself away from the table and came around so that he was standing beside me. “Where is she?” he said.
“I don't know. Vanderweighâ”
Dwyer's fist slammed into my solar plexus. It drove the breath out of me and released an explosion of pain. I wanted to double over, but the tape around my chest held me upright. I gasped and gagged, and just when I finally managed to drag in a breath, he slugged me again in exactly the same place.
“Where the fuck is she?” he said.
My chest felt as if a grenade had gone off in it. I could only shake my head and gasp desperately for air. Tears were running down my cheeks, and my entire body was soaked in sweat. I figured if he hit me one more time, I'd never breathe again.
I sat there gasping and sweating and trying to make my lungs work. Dwyer loomed in front of me, glaring down at me, pounding his fists against his thighs.
“Wait,” said Claudia. She got up, came around the table, and took Dwyer's hands in hers. “You're being cruel,” she said to him. “I think Brady would like to cooperate.” She looked at me. “Wouldn't you?”
“No,” I managed to whisper.
She frowned. “I'm afraid Johnny's going to kill you if you don't.”
“He'll kill me anyway.”
“Don't be silly,” she said.
“He killed Larry Scott and Owen Ransom.”
She glanced at Dwyer. “Did you do that?”
Dwyer grinned. “Me?”
“He burned down the barn,” I said. “Probably killed the doctor, too.”
“Now why would he do a thing like that?” said Claudia.
“I don't know.”
She stroked my forehead with her fingertips. “Sure you do.”
I shook my head.
“So where's Evie?”
“I don't know.”
She shrugged, then turned to Dwyer and said, “Johnny, honey, maybe you should ask him.”
Dwyer smiled and showed me his fist.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Don't hit me.”
“Where's Evie?” said Claudia.
“I'll make a deal with you,” I said. “You tell me what you two are up to, and I'll tell you where Evie is.”
“I told you he knew,” she said to Dwyer. She patted my cheek. “It's a deal. You tell us first.”
“You gonna let me go?”
“Of course,” she said.
I looked at her for a minute, then dropped my eyes. “Arizona,” I mumbled.
“What?”
“Arizona,” I said. “Evie's headed for Arizona.”
She turned to Dwyer and arched her eyebrows.
“He's lying,” he said.
“Are you lying, Brady?” said Claudia.
“No,” I lied.
“Where in Arizona?”
“Scottsdale.”
“Be specific.”
“With a friend.”
“Got a name for us?”
“Peters,” I said. “Barbara Peters. She owns a bookstore there.”
“How do you know this?”
“Evie told me.”
“When?”
“I don't remember,” I said. “My brain's fuzzy from your damn drug.”
“No, it's not,” she said. “That's not how it works. You've probably got a headache, and you might be feeling a bit nauseated. But your brain is not fuzzy. What else did Evie tell you?”
“That's all. She told me where she was going. Then she left.”
“No,” said Claudia, “there's more. Tell us what you know about Dr. St. Croix.”
“Give me more water.”
Claudia held the water bottle to my mouth and gave me a squirt.
I swallowed it a little bit at a time and tried to think clearly. The fact was, I didn't understand what was going on, but it occurred to me that if I told them what I knew, they might decide not to go after Evie. So cleared my throat and said, “This is all I know, and it's all Evie knows, too.” Then I told them about Owen Ransom's brother Edgar committing suicide, about the Ransom parents dying in a boating accident in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, about how the Ransoms had once lived in the same Minnesota town where Winston St. Croix had his first pediatric practice, and how Owen and Edgar had most likely been St. Croix's patients.
When I was done, Dwyer said, “Yeah? And what else?”
I shook my head. “That's it.”
“Not according to Vanderweigh, it's not.”
“Vanderweigh may know something else,” I said, “but I don't. And neither does Evie.”
Claudia put her hands on my shoulders and bent to me so that her face was close to mine. “What's the significance of all this?” she said.
I shook my head. “I don't know.”
She stared into my eyes for a moment, then straightened up. “I don't think we're going to get anything else out of him,” she said to Dwyer.
“Maybe,” he said. “I'm gonna hit him again anyway, see if he changes his mind.”
She nodded. “Worth a try.”
This time I saw it coming, and I managed to tighten my stomach muscles. Still the blow left me gagging, and the almost unbearable pain made me wonder if he'd ruptured some important internal organ, like maybe my heart.
I let my chin slump onto my chest and pretended I'd lost consciousness.
“Did you kill him?” I heard Claudia say.
“Nah,” said Dwyer.
“Well,” she said, “let's get it over with.”
“Give him the needle,” said Dwyer.
“Let's get him over to the bunk first,” she said.
Then their hands were on me, and they were tearing the tape off my wrists and legs and chest. When they were done, they grabbed me under my armpits and hauled me to my feet.
Claudia was right. I wasn't going anywhere. I had no strength, and my wrists were still cuffed behind me, and my arms and legs were numb. I was also dizzy, and the sharp, deep pain in my stomach and chest made me gasp when they moved me.
They dragged me across the room, laid me on the bunk, and Dwyer took off my handcuffs.
Then Claudia knelt beside me and showed me a hypodermic needle. “It's not going to hurt at all,” she said.
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