The China Doll (25 page)

"I’m not crying."

He touched her face with his good hand. "Then
why is your face wet?"

She wiped her face. He was right. "Please.
Don’t talk right now. Save your strength."

Michael went into surgery as soon as they
arrived at the hospital. Miranda paced in the lobby while he was
in. It seemed like a whole lifetime. Long enough for her to review
a whole lifetime, at least.

The surgeon came out at last. "Misses
Abbot?"

She turned automatically. "Yes?"

"We got it. And I have to say, your husband
is a very lucky man. The bullet missed his lung by about half an
inch. He’s going to need some time to recover, but he’s very
strong. Does he work out?"

"Yes."

"His good muscle tone helped. The injury
could have been a lot worse if he didn’t."

Miranda smiled. "I’ll tell him that. When can
I tell him that?"

"He’s sedated right now, but you can sit with
him."

The doctor led Miranda to the room where
Michael was recovering. She thanked the doctor before he left, then
looked at Michael. She’d never seen him really sleep before. When
they’d shared a bed, he’d always woken up first. He looked so
handsome. She wished he’d wake up and say something mean or stupid.
But he wasn’t going to soon enough for it to be of any use to her.
She had to choose—she always had to choose—and now it was clear
what her choice had to be.

She sat by his bed and took his good hand.
She kissed it and held it against her face. So much she wanted to
tell him right now, but even in sleep, she couldn’t trust herself.
She kissed his mouth gently. "Sleep well, my love." Then she put
her head on the bed next to him and closed her eyes too.

~~~

"You could compromise the entire thing,"
Robert said to Richard, still not looking at Jessie. They were in
the station, and they could see the man formerly known as Andreas
Wolfe sitting in the questioning room.

"Are you getting his DNA or not?" Richard
asked through gritted teeth. "Even you couldn’t screw this up once
you get that."

"Then let’s try that it violates pretty much
every piece of police procedure—"

"As did your undercover tactics," Jessie said
at last. Robert looked at her now, and his eyes seemed to recede
into his face. "If you want to make that work, then make this work.
And shut up before you say anything about your amateur, scumbag
blackmail threats. Get a reporter from the Globe—screw that, the
Herald—in here right now and I’ll tell them everything myself, but
one way or another, you’re going to do what Richard said. Now."

Robert stood still. "His lawyer hasn’t
arrived yet," he finally said.

"Then I guess this isn’t going to be official
anyway," Richard said.

"Fine," Robert said at last. "But I’m going
to be right outside the door, listening in—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Jessie said, rolling her
eyes. "We’ve all seen
Law & Order
."

Robert opened the door to the room. The man
looked at them, but his expression didn’t change. Robert closed the
door as he left.

The man gestured with his handcuffed hands.
"Please," he said pleasantly, "have a seat."

"I prefer to stand," Jessie said quietly, "if
you don’t mind."

"No reason to be uncomfortable."

"Fine," Richard said, dragging a chair next
to him, "I’ll sit." He sat so close to the man that he could see
the faint scars on his face.

The man smiled. "So what can I do for you,
Mister Hendrickson?"

Fine
. They’d do it this way. It wasn’t
going to make a difference. "I think you need to explain a few
things. Let’s start with what you were going to do with
Miranda."

"Miss Harel? I thought I’d give her a ride to
the hospital."

"Hmm," Richard said, running his eyes all
over the man’s face. "And that’s why you had a gun with you?"

"You never know what you might run into."

"Right. So why did you shoot Michael?"

"That was an accident," the man said in a
tone of earnest sincerity. "It happened during the struggle. I had
no intention of hurting him."

"You might have punctured his lung," Richard
said, although at this point he was pretty sure that wasn’t true.
"As a doctor, you must know how serious that can be."

"Very. I do hope that’s not the case. His
breathing function would be compromised, to say the least."

"I don’t want the least," Richard said,
holding the man’s eyes. "I want details. I’m something of a
scientist myself. How would that work? What would happen to the air
in his lung after it was punctured? What would they have to do to
repair it? And I want all the terms, doctor."

"I’m afraid that isn’t my specialty."

"They didn’t cover that at Oxford?"

"It’s been so long. Do forgive me."

Richard nodded. "Certainly. Not really what I
came here for anyway. Maybe you can explain that bit about the
poem?"

"Really, Mister Hendrickson. I merely wanted
to make sure that the lullaby, which seemed to so negatively affect
your cousin before, had been neutralized. I apologize if my means
were a bit unorthodox."

"Oh, Richard!" Jessie said loudly. "This is
useless! God, how come you never learn? Even you Richard, no matter
how hard you try."

Richard looked at Jessie. She was shaking her
head. "You just can’t make anything work, can you? Zainab, your
dad, Sophie—even my Mom. No matter how hard you try. It’s always
just going to blow up in your face."

Richard raised his eyebrows and looked down.
"I’m sorry, Jess. I never wanted to fail any of them."

She shrugged. "Some things are just losing
battles, you know? You’re doomed for failure even before you get
in. It all depends on what you’re up against. I mean, you tried
with Sophie, I remember. But who were you up against? Michael? God,
doctor, you have no idea how many people are going to come in here
and pat you on the back after what you did. You only got a taste of
that man’s sins. He married his cousin, he tried to rape me. God
only knows what he did to Sophie. You know who’s going to be the
most grateful of all? Alex Sheldon." The man didn’t move. Jessie
smiled. "I mean, talk about that saying: with friends like that you
don’t need enemies! Alex supposedly raised Michael—and Miranda—but
I can’t think of anyone who hates him more."

"I can," Richard said in a sing song tone
with a smile.

Jessie smiled and waved her finger. "You’re
right! How could I have forgotten? Aunt Lucy is probably going to
kiss you when she finds out. A big wet one." She leaned in. "Would
you like that? If she got that close to you? She’s very attractive,
and not just for her age."

"You look a lot like her Jess," Richard said
matter-of-factly.

"You know what? I think I do. At least, I
finally think that’s a compliment. Your mom certainly has a lot of
backbone, I’ll give her that." She sighed again. "Not like my Mom.
Your first failure."

"It’s like you said, Jess. I was just
outclassed by my competition."

"You were in love with her, weren’t you?"

Richard shrugged guiltily. "Jess, your Mom
was beautiful."

"Now, that I think I did get from her, but
don’t pull a Michael on me now."

"No worries."

"Thanks." She turned to Doctor Wolfe. "Good
for you—you got that one."

"I guess you caught me," Richard said,
slapping the man on the shoulder. He didn’t flinch. "I mean, yeah.
She made quite a few excursions into my prepubescent fantasies." He
sighed. "There I was, riding in to save the damsel in distress from
an ogre." He smiled wickedly. "And she was always so grateful."

"Was she grateful?" Jessie whispered, not
looking at the man in the chair as Richard leaned over him. "Tell
the truth now, it’ll make you feel better. How much gratitude did
my Mom show you?"

"Jessie..." He looked down at the floor. He
knew the man could see the expression on his face.
Good
.

"Tell the truth," Jessie repeated.

"She was the first kiss I ever had."

Jessie giggled. "Wow, you Hendricksons...or
maybe you got that from the Bartolomes, I don’t know." She stifled
her laugh. "So, when did you get that kiss?"

Richard looked up and smiled. "As soon as she
came back."

"From...?"

"From the Cape. From the weekend with your
father." He rocked back and forth on his heels. "After she told me
everything was all taken care of."

"All taken care of. Excuse me, doctor. I
think I do need that seat." She pulled out a chair and put her
elbows on the table. "God, what must that have been like?" She
turned to the man. "Could you tell us that?" She turned back to
Richard. "How far was he thrown again?"

"I’m not sure, but Mom and that Teague idiot
did say it was a bigger explosion than usual. It must have been
pretty far."

Jessie put the fingers of one hand together
and pointed them up, then crashed them down in an arc. "Splat!" she
said when they hit the table. She giggled, and so did Richard.

"I’m sorry," she said after a minute, turning
to the man. He stared at her coldly. "So what might that have felt
like?"

"Incredibly painful," he answered. "I can
only imagine."

Jessie smiled. "Do you think it hurt as much
as what he did to my Mom? All those times?" She leaned forward and
whispered conspiratorially. "Do you think it hurt as much as what
he did to me the last time I saw him?"

"Once again, I really think you need to
rethink your assertion—"

"They never did find the body," Richard said,
looking up at the ceiling as if he were thinking something. "But
there’s no way he could have survived. He’d need to be a good,
strong swimmer, and poor old Uncle Tommy just didn’t have it in
him. He was a poor physical specimen."

"It was my understanding," the man said
slowly, "that he was very athletic."

"That’s what he wanted people to think,"
Richard said, leaning down. "But between you and me, Doc, I think
he bullied people into letting him win. I don’t think he could ever
have gotten anything done without that Bartolome name."

"Must have been pretty lousy in bed too,"
Jessie opined, not taking her eyes off of him now.

"And why would you say that?" the man asked
calmly, folding his hands on the table.

"Because why else would he need to be such a
bully?" She got out of her chair and walked over to him. "Why else
would he need to beat all his dates up?" She knelt down. "It was
the only way to make them do what he wanted. It’s not like he was
skilled enough to convince them otherwise."

The man smiled down at her. "You know, some
women like that."

She leaned in again. "But most don’t. And
most don’t like to be black and blue."

Now he bent forward slightly. "But how do you
know your mother didn’t?"

She shook her head. "I don’t. Except that the
two people who talked about it said she didn’t." She hopped up to
sit on the desk. "And that’s why he beat me up, isn’t it? Because
he couldn’t even beat her into submission anymore, but maybe he
could beat her kid into making her submit."

The man looked up. "You’re giving your father
a lot of credit for premeditation that maybe he doesn’t deserve.
Sometimes, parents just lose control."

"He wasn’t a parent," Richard hissed as he
stood over him. "He didn’t care one bit about his child. He never
asked about her, I never saw him play with her—"

"She clung..." The man took a deep breath,
then collected himself. "Didn’t you say that she—Josie—clung to her
daughter? When would he have had a chance?"

"He didn’t care," Richard repeated. "He only
saw her as a means to an end."

"I was just the trap," Jessie said lightly,
"to pull the poor little fly into his web."

"Does that even make sense?" the man asked
with a little bit more heat. "If he was such a monster, why marry
her? Why not let her on her way?"

"Because I was proof," Jessie said,
struggling to maintain control. "Because she could use me as proof
of what he’d done and blackmail him for the rest of his miserable
life."

"I thought you assumed your mother loved
you."

"I’m telling you what he must have
thought."

"I think you’re wrong."

"Then why do you think he married her?"

"I think he liked the idea of a child," the
man said. "I think he liked the idea of a family. The Bartolome
name would be carried on. Maybe he’d get a little...respectability?
And wasn’t she a beautiful woman? And intelligent? Probably would
look good on his arm. And so young." He raised his eyebrows and
smirked. "Quite a prize, I’m sure."

"And maybe it was believable that the only
person stupid enough to marry him was a twenty-year-old," Richard
offered. "Who else would have him?"

"Well, I guess even she changed her mind,"
Jessie said to Richard. "But he wouldn’t let her go, and now he was
coming after me. So she killed him. Splat!" she said, diving her
fingers into the table again.

"Awful though," Richard said quietly.
"Because she was dead just one year later."

Jessie’s face looked pained. "God, Richard.
Are you sure it was—?"

Richard nodded grimly. "I’m positive. She was
stabbed. And she was raped."

"Sick bastard," she said, looking right at
the man. "Sick, twisted, pathetic excuse of a man."

"I’m sorry she died that way, honey," Richard
said, walking over to hug her. "But there’s a silver lining."

"Now you sound like Zainab."

"And she’d be right. Because whoever did it
was very sloppy. All kinds of DNA at the scene. Just one sample and
they’ve got him."

"Are you sure?" Jessie asked plaintively.
"They only need one?"

"Just one," Richard nodded. "And it’s so easy
to get. Just a little swab in the mouth—one second." He snapped his
finger. "I’m sorry doctor, do you know any details about that
procedure?"