Possession (44 page)

'I'll go away now, but I will have to come back again. Will J talk to me again?" She started to go and then asked suddenly, "Do you have bad dreams?" don't know ... just please go away." 329

Joanne disappeared down the hall. Nina waited to see if she would come back and heard the sound of a television blare from somewhere far back in the farmhouse. The kitchen phone rang but no one answered it.

As Nina drove back toward town, she knew what it would come down to. If Sam was to survive, Joanne would have to be driven into the ground, all her deceptions exposed, broken so badly that she might never again function with any degree of sanity. Nina wasn't sorry. The strong survive and the weak perish. That was the first law. All the others came after.

Joanne stayed in her bedroom for two hours, afraid to look into the kitchen to see if the woman was gone. She had been foolish to open the door. Her mother would be angry with her, and so would Mr. Moutscher and the lawyers. She stared at the portable TV without seeing anything but a jumble of color, and she scarcely heard the sound. She was afraid to pull the shades aside to see if the thin woman's car was gone. She was afraid to answer the phone. Her mother should not have left her alone.

After a long time, she turned the volume knob down and listened. There was nothing. She heard only crows calling outside her window. It took all she had to raise the blind and look. She saw no vehicle, no one at all outside except for the big black birds that perched in the elm tree and stared down at her. One of them broke away and flew toward her with its clumsy, jagged wings barely moving. At the last moment, it veered off and avoided her window. She could hear claws scratching on the roof overhang above the window and knew it was waiting for her.

She took the black bird for a sign.

The thin, sure woman knew. Joanne had expected the day

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would come when someone would accuse her, but she had also expected more time, tender forgetful time—a long tunnel of it—through which she might miraculously emerge with a solution to what was insoluble. She had contrived to put the trial out of her mind as an event that was far, far in the future. Rex Moutscher had told her that long trials—

and Sam's promised to be protracted—were almost invariably postponed when they were scheduled during the holidays. She had managed not to ask, "What holiday?" Her mother talked about getting a turkey and who would make the pies and she knew that it must be either Thanksgiving or Christmas. There was a calendar in the kitchen but that was for 1981—the year Danny died—so that was no use to her. She looked at the calendar in her bathroom, and saw with amazement that it was a 1981

calendar too. She had only looked at the days before. Was it possible that time had stood still—that so much had happened in a matter of three months? Moutscher had dictated the dates when she made her statement to him, but she had not been listening.

That woman—Nina—had seen that she was pregnant; Joanne had caught it in her cool glance.

They weren't going to leave her anyplace to hide. And they'd seen to it that she couldn't run away. Both the truck and her car were gone. Where were they parked? She could ask Sonia. No. Sonia would tell her mother. They were all lost to her now. Every single person she used to count on. Danny. Sam. Sonia. Her mother. Doss. It made her cry to think about Doss. He would have helped her. Would he? Or would he be as disgusted with her as everyone else would? Nobody left. Nobodynobodynobodynobody . ..

Fletch had retrieved Sam's truck from the impound lot— possibly an act of contrition—and parked it behind the sheriffs office, but Nina refused to ride in it. They took her car again, although Sam would have much preferred to drive. He arranged his bony knees beneath the Mazda's dashboard as Nina headed back toward town.

"Did you see Joanne?"

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"I saw her."

"Well, what? How is she?"

"Have you eaten?"

He felt his stomach growl. "I guess I haven't."

"I saw a Cakes-N-Steak place down the road. Let's have a cup of coffee and talk it over."

"How are you this morning?" Sam glanced at Nina as he spoke and thought she looked, again, younger—dressed in jeans and a shirt, sunglasses covering any wrinkles around her eyes, wrinkles that he might only have imagined. "You look chipper."

"I'm fine."

He waited to see if she would say more, acknowledge in some way what had happened between them in the night.

She didn't.

He would have chosen to talk to her in a private place, away from the frank stares of Saturday diners. He appeared to be a most recognizable commodity, so much so that he almost expected that they would be asked to leave, but the young waitress slapped place mats and silverware down in front of them; her jaws busy with chewing gum and her eyes blank behind her smile.

When the girl left, he repeated the same question he'd asked before.

"You did see her?"

"Easy as pie. She was alone out there. Mama Hen passed me going into town."

"So how was she?"

"Funny. She asked the same thing about you. She said to say'Hi.'"

"You're not serious."

"Quite. I, of course, didnt know her before, but the woman I saw this morning is not playing with a full deck. I could have been talking to a child, somebody who wasn't supposed to answer the door while her mother was gone. Very, very frightened. So full of denial that you couldn't believe her if she said the sky was blue and the grass was green. She was terrified when I told her who I was. And she looks like hell."

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Sam sighed and made grooves in the place mat with his fork.

"Don't act like it's your fault, Sam. For God's sake, the woman is trying to destroy you. You can be such an ass."

"What do you want me to say? That I'm happy she's cracking up?"

"Joanne's pregnant. You should have mentioned that. A widow on the witness stand is bad enough—but a pregnant widow ..."

"No."

"No what?"

"She couldn't be pregnant."

"She looked fecund enough to me, perfect maternal soil. What makes you think she couldn't be pregnant?"

"Well. Well, she had a period just before they left. They were trying to have a baby."

"She really shared everything with you, didn't she?"

"She didn't; he did." Sam stopped talking while the waitress put their food down, her eyes sliding toward him now; someone in the kitchen had apparently filled her in on his notoriety. When she walked away, his voice lowered to a whisper. "Shit, Nina, they were spending half their time down at Doc's, having tests, taking their temperatures. I don't know what all."

"And what were the results?"

"I don't know. I never wanted to get involved in it in the first place. I hate to talk about it now." He sighed. "O.K. Danny said he was going to have to take a semen sample in to the Doc to have a sperm count or something. He was planning to do that just before they took off. He didn't tell her because he was—shit, he was worried that something was wrong with him."

"Maybe there was. How long were they married?"

"Thirteen, fourteen years, I guess."

"And she never got knocked up before?"

"You still talk as delicately as ever, don't you babe? I guess not. It seemed to be what they both wanted. They weren't holding back on a family on purpose."

"And now she's pregnant. Isn't that a coincidence? She 333

said she was only 'good friends' with Demich, never even held hands probably. It must have been something in the wind."

Sam looked at the stack of hotcakes in front of him and knew he had no appetite. "What's she going to do? Are you sure? It seems awfully soon to tell."

Nina shook her head. "You are a constant puzzle to me, Clinton. No, I guess you're not. What she's going to do is not your concern, and nobody declared you the White Knight. She is definitely pregnant. She's one of those dainty, short-waisted women who blow up like a balloon the minute the seed's planted—or almost. I would say she's about ten weeks gone. Due date would be about the first of June. They'll put your trial off until the middle of January because of Christmas, and you'll have a witness sitting up there with her round little tummy under a smock and you'll look like the meanest son-of-a-bitching defendant a jury ever saw. Unless we can show it's Demich's, not Lind-strom's."

"Isn't there another way?"

"Not that I can see now. Look, if it bothers you, think about something else. Think about spending the rest of your life in jail."

He looked down at his plate again and pushed it away.

The primary medical care personnel in Natchitat itself included three osteopaths, two chiropractors, a podiatrist, and Doctor Will Massie, Jr. Massie, the son of a doctor, had grown up in Natchitat and was known as Little Doc from the time he was ten. When Big Doc retired, he became plain Doc, and at thirty-eight was treated with all the respect the only M.D. in town reserved. A burly, competent man, given to practical jokes when he was away from the office, he stood four inches taller than Sam.

His staff of two slim, blonde nurses looked at Sam with surprise, but passed him back to Doc's office ahead of the full waiting room.

Massie's handshake was firm, and his smile seemed sincere. Sam wondered if he would spend the rest of his

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days wondering what people really thought of him, if there would be no final vindication—ever. He appreciated the doctor's tact in asking nothing and offering no regrets. Even "Nice to see you back" would have hit a nerve.

"Sit down, Sam." Massie waved one fat forearm. "Take a load off."

"You're busy. I won't stay long."

"I'm always busy. I need a break. You don't look sick. Are you?"

"Probably should be—but I'm not. I've been eating all that balanced, nutritious jail food—"

Doc Massie looked down, and Sam detected embarrassment. That was it. He was either embarrassed or annoyed with his presence. He hurried ahead and damned Nina for forcing him to do what he was about to do.

"Doc, I've spent a lot of time lately asking for information that doesn't seem easy to get, and isn't easy to ask for. This may be the worst."

"Shoot."

"I have been charged with the murder of a man whom the prosecution paints as a kindly stranger, a veritable Samaritan. I have reason to believe the guy was a good deal less than that. Joanne Lindstrom's statement makes him look like a saint and makes me look like a monster. Her perceptions may be less than accurate."

"You never struck me as a slavering beast. Something of a wise-ass, maybe."

"Thanks."

A furnace cut in someplace in the long, flat clinic, and the blast of hot air tickled the toes of a skeleton behind Massie's desk and set it dancing in lazy turns. Sam stared at it, trying to pick the right phrases.

"Danny told me he was coming in here before they left on vacation." Doc Massie said nothing.

"It was none of my business—but we were close and he was shook up. Hell, Doc, the thing was he was going to have a fertility test. He expected to get the results when he came back—only he didn't..." 335

Massie waited and Sam could detect no reaction on his face.

"I know your patient files are privileged information, but the shitty thing is that once you're dead, you lose your rights to privacy. I don't want to force you into anything—"

"What you're asking me is whether Danny could have fathered a child."

"Yeah. Damn it. Yes, that's what I'm asking."

"Sam, you understand that I cannot tell you anything about any living patient. That the rules still hold true ... as far as that goes?"

"I do. I'm not asking anything about anyone else."

Massie whirled in his chair and pulled open a metal file drawer, fished through the tabbed dividers, and drew forth a thick file.

"Danny's been coming in here since he was two years old. My dad took care of him. Small towns, huh?"

"Yeah." Sam waited, although he sensed that Massie had already made up his mind. "Damn few secrets in a small town when it comes down to it."

The doctor read from the last entry in the file. "Daniel Lindstrom. September 2, 1981. Semen specimen presented. Lab report: September 9, 1981. Specimen indicates a disproportionate number of nonmotile spermatozoa. Five million viable sperm per cubic centimeter."

"Five million! Then he was O.K.?"

Massie shook his head. "That means that Danny could not, would not, have been able to father a child. Anything below 20 million—forget it. The chances were that he never would have been able to. I was dreading having to break that news."

"And you never had to."

"No. I never did. No specific reason for it. He was healthy as a horse."

"If it came down to it—and I hope to God it doesn't—we might have to subpoena that file. You understand that?"

Massie stood up and the visit was over. "Have at it. But Sam—"

"Yeah."

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"Don't ask me any more questions. Don't even ask me to surmise that something else might be true, because I won't tell you. I won't tell you if what you're thinking is correct, or if it could possibly be correct, or how I think it might have occurred. You know what I'm saying?"

"That's a given."

Massie shook his hand again. "Sam, when your neck is on the chopping block, you do what you have to—and I understand. But if there's another way, a way that will work for you, take it. O.K.?"

"I'm with you Doc. I'm with you all the way on that one."

Joanne's Sunday began before five, long before a flat, dull sun lit the tenebrous sky in the east. She knelt at her window and saw that all the elms and oaks and cottonwoods had gone quite bare of their leaves, that their limbs and twigs seemed charred against the horizon. The crows, sleeping in silhouette, sensed her in the window and woke to mock her.

"Whore! Whore! Whore!"

Even beneath the covers again with her pillow over her head and pressed against her ears, she could hear the black birds' cries. Like all the night sounds that had made her feel protected and cozy when Danny was alive—wind and rain and the whistle of the Union Pacific headed for Spokane— now the crows' cawing only reminded her that there was no hiding place.