Sleepwalker (19 page)

Desperate measures must be taken to survive
, he said to himself, again wishing for his conscience to return with a more rational solution to this problem.

No such luck.

He took a deep breath.

Then, holding the screwdriver up in front of him, he approached the elderly woman.

The squelch of the police radio shot through the car, nearly sending Leonard and Kevin into shock. They both cried out, then laughed a bit, clutching their chests in feigned affliction.
Not a professional way for cops to act,
they might’ve said to one another as they grinned and rolled their eyes. But then again, the damn thing hasn’t gone off all day, and who’d have thought they’d get a call now, right in the middle of one of the more interesting scenarios to hit Fairview in who knows how long?

“What in God’s name can it be?” Leonard grabbed the radio handset. “
Moldofsky
.” He leaned over and said to Kevin, “Keep your eyes peeled, will
ya
?”

Kevin nodded, peeking back at the building’s entrance. All was quiet.

It was the station calling. Fran to be precise--the afternoon station dispatch. Her trembling voice filtered through Leonard’s ears and his heart dropped at the message she relayed; he couldn’t believe what he was hearing on the other end of the radio. It didn’t make any sense! Or did it? When the reality of the matter set in, and rather quickly too, he yelled out, “
Jesus Christ!”

The timing was uncanny. All of a sudden, as if his boisterous words had set off an alarm, people started running from the building. Arms waving. Screams. Mouths and eyes warped in a sweep of panic. One woman fell down on the sidewalk as others darted past.

“Len! Something’s going on!”

Leonard slammed the handset down,
unholstered
his gun and bolted from the car. Kevin immediately followed suit, grabbing his gun with one hand, relaying his location with the other.

“What is it, Len!? Is it
Sparke
!?” The fear Leonard saw on Kevin’s face as he rounded the car was evident, a man whose heart started performing calisthenics, sucking the blood from his features, drawing them taut.
The reason why he’s scared,
Leonard realized,
is because his apprehension is built though uncertainty, of unknown causes. My own, conversely, is clear-cut, and precise. I know what’s awaiting us, something much more frightening, given the circumstances.
As a man of experience, Leonard did his best to hide the dire concerns mounting inside.
Like what’s gonna happen when I see the body? The dead body. Haven’t seen one of those in Fairview in what, fifteen years? Not since I was younger, and braver.

Guns pulled, they hurried along the sidewalk, sidestepping curiosity seekers and those skipping the curb in pursuit of safe distance on the other side of the street. Traffic came to a halt, horns blazing. Instantly, chaos thrived on a quiet sunny afternoon in Fairview.

They entered the stone building, stood their ground. Two terror-stricken nurses fled the scene past them. Leonard finally said to Kevin, “Someone just murdered Delaney.”

Kevin’s jaw dropped. “
Sparke
. That son of a bitch.”

“Come.” They scurried down the hall to the fire stairwell. A small rectangular window allowed Leonard a limited view on the other side of the door. He peeked through, saw no one, then went inside. Bloody shoeprints blotted the floor, coming down the steps from the second floor, leading outside. “Check it out,” he told Kevin.

Kevin ran out the rear door, gun drawn. Leonard waited until the door was shut, then charged up the stairs, careful not to step on the shoeprints. Settling beside the second-floor fire door, he peeked through the tiny window and saw a woman sitting against the wall in the hallway. He took a deep breath, trying to quell his anticipation, then pulled the door open, pointing his gun into the hallway. The woman--a nurse or doctor’s assistant it appeared judging by the white shirt she wore--had her hands over her face and was crying hysterically. Small blotches of blood soiled the front of her shirt, but she appeared mostly uninjured. Leonard, careful not to run to her for fear of a setup, yelled out to draw attention to himself should the killer still be close by. “Police!“

The woman, trembling, managed, “He-he’s gone.”

“Are you sure?”

Weakly, she nodded.

He went to her, hesitant, gun still drawn. The murderer could very well be out of his line of sight, just beyond the walls of one of the offices and waiting for him to step into view. “Are you injured?”

She shook her head, pulling her hands away from her face but still keeping her eyes closed. She had smears of blood on her cheeks and forehead. “I fell. He pushed me against the w-wall.”

Gun forward, Leonard peered into the office from where the bloody footprints emerged. He saw no murderer.

Only the victim.

Just to the right he saw a couch, a coffee table, and a leather chair. Alongside the chair the legs of the victim jutted out, one straight and stiff, the toes pointed up, the other twisted awkwardly at the knee. A circle of blood pooled around the legs like an oil slick, its origin of flow hidden behind the furniture. A thick metallic-like odor hung in the air.

Trembling, he pulled back and faced the nurse. Her eyes were open now, revealing bloodshot whites and huge tear-laden pupils.
She’s tempting shock
, Leonard thought.
And I’m not too far behind.
Fearing a display of his own intensifying discomfort, he hoped she didn’t see the sweat forming on his face. Or his hands shaking. Or his body trembling.
When was the last time I saw a dead body? Years ago?
“Did you see who pushed you?” he asked.

She shook her head slightly, cries now reduced to sobs. “N-no. Just as I was entering Doctor Delaney’s office, he came barging out. He shoved his hands in my face and pushed me, and I fell back against the wall.”

“Where did he go?” he asked, testing her and wondering at the same time how Kevin was making out, pursuing the footprints.

“Through the stairwell door. See the footprints?”

Good, Leonard thought. She had her wits about her. He grinned, nodded, and in his hesitation tried to envision the rather wishy-washy Richard
Sparke
committing the aggressive deed she spoke of--much less execute someone in such a horribly savage way. For reasons unexplainable, Leonard had a good deal of trouble doing so, just like he did two years ago with the beating Samantha; and just as he and Kevin did this morning when they tried to unravel the cause of the blood on
Sparke’s
kitchen floor. “Do you think you can stand up? If not, I’ll call paramedics for a stretcher. I’m sure they’re downstairs right now, helping others.”

“No, I’m all right,” she said, moving to stand. Carefully, Leonard helped her to rise, then ushered her away from the crime scene to the front desk: her station, she explained, at the time of the murder.

He pulled out a hanky and handed it to her. She did her best to wipe the blood from her face. Leonard smiled weakly, trying to disguise the fact that he could feel his heart painfully clobbering his ribs; it made it difficult to press on without sounding anxious.

“Was anyone else hurt?” she asked.

“I don’t believe so.” He wondered why no one had stayed behind to help her. Perhaps they saw her down, saw the
perp
, the blood, ran for their lives. Simple theory, makes sense. Damn, she’s lucky to be alive. “Did you hear any loud noises coming from the doctor’s office?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Nothing? No screams?”

“Nothing at all.” She sipped at a water bottle sitting on the desk, nearly dropping it because of her shaking hands. Suddenly the elevator beeped, giving them both a start, and the water bottle finally fell from her hand. The doors slid opened and four police officers emerged: nearly a third of Fairview’s remaining force. Leonard gave them a quick update--Kevin was in the rear lot looking for the
perp
, the crime scene was still preserved, and a forensics team would be needed ASAP. He also told them to usher in a few paramedics. They nodded and complied, leaving Leonard to continue with his witness.

“I’m sorry...I never got your name.”

“C-Carol. Carol Davis.” She was shaking violently.

“Carol,” he said, grabbing her by the hands. “My name is Leonard
Moldofsky
. I’ve been with the Fairview Police Department for many years. I’ve also been resident here my entire adult life. I want you to know that I understand exactly how you feel right now--you’ve witnessed a very shocking event. I also want to assure you that you’re quite safe now, in good hands. No one’s going to harm you. Okay?”

She nodded. Leonard pulled a tissue from the box on the desk and handed it to her, which she used to dab her tears.

“Now Carol, if it’s all right with you, I’d like for you to tell me what happened, exactly as you remember it.

Again, she nodded. “It’s going to sound very strange.”

At this point,
Leonard thought,
nothing is going to sound strange.

Richard grabbed the old woman by the coat collar, held the sharp edge of the screwdriver to her neck.

She twisted in his grasp, eyes bulging, mouth falling open. Her leather-like skin quivered and paled as if giving Richard a sneak preview of how she might look should he decide to utilize the screwdriver to its fullest capacity.

When Richard jostled her a bit, she went silent and frozen, instantly paralyzed by fear, yet somehow accepting that she’d lived a long and prosperous life and that her time had finally come to wallow in the pleasures of heaven. Richard thought of his mother Julia, how she had visited him in his dreams and spoke of the ‘place of wonder’ she resided, how he could visit her if he tried hard enough to embrace her. The terrible thought of this poor innocent woman losing her life, especially in such a painful fashion, brought tears to his eyes, not only for the empathy of the grandmotherly figure, but for the offspring she might be responsible for, children, grandchildren, all enduring the tragic loss of their matriarch.

Who could do such a thing?

Not Richard.

He pulled the screwdriver away.

Gently, he took the keys from her hand. “My name is...” he started, then thought better of it and said, “I am an innocent man. I’ve just been dealt a very bad hand.”

She looked at him oddly, as if she might’ve recognized him from somewhere, but was most likely frightened by the blood still on his face--that in combination with his odd choice of words. “Please don’t kill me,” she pleaded through broken words.

Richard shook his head, then quickly peered around. He saw a young cop back by the building, looking in and around the parked cars. He looked back at the woman. “I wouldn’t hurt anyone. But
this
is something I have to do. I’m sorry.”

Without thinking, he slid into the passenger seat, started the car and backed out of the stall. In the rearview mirror he saw the woman doing her damnedest to run away and flag down the young cop, who upon noting her came running at top speed, hand-held radio to his mouth. Richard floored the accelerator, fishtailing the
Altima
out of the lot onto New Street. He raced to the red light on the corner of New and High, made a right turn, all the while saying to himself with utter disbelief,
I just committed a carjacking, and for some odd reason, it felt very natural
.

For five minutes he weaved in and out of Fairview’s neighborhood streets, then parked the car near the wooded area along the south side of Hemmingway Park, away from town. It was only after he got out of the car did he realize that not only was he still holding the screwdriver, but that for the first time in his life--as much as he could remember of it--he knew how to drive.

Shaking off the mounting confusion and leaving a very big question unanswered, he pocketed the screwdriver and raced off into the woods, someplace he knew they’d come looking for him very soon.

“Why don’t you start from the time
Mr
Sparke
went in to see Doctor Delaney.”

Carol Davis shifted uncomfortably in her seat, using tissue after tissue to soak up the sudden onslaught of tears. There were people everywhere, cops, emergency medical volunteers, fire department officials, making the usually serene environment a strange, intimidating place. George Washburn, Fairview’s forensics expert, had arrived minutes earlier and was performing a sweep of Dr Delaney’s office with the help of his assistant, Laura Kern. Captain Dale Reese, seeing Leonard already hard at work, gave his best officer a nod, authorizing him to continue in the questioning, then moved on to supervise the activity in the hallway.
He should only know how nervous this is making me
, Leonard thought.

“I-I was doing some data entry,” Carol started, “when
Mr
Sparke
came in. He was wearing blue jeans and a blue and white plaid shirt--”

Same clothes we saw him wearing on Main Street, when he got off the bus. Why is she mentioning his clothes?

“--and I’m mentioning his clothes because that’s what has me a bit confused.”