The Long, Long Afternoon

by Inga Vesper

  He takes the stairs two at a time. They’re in the bedroom. Ruby is lying on her stomach on the floor. Hodge is twisting her arms over her head, while another officer kneels on her back, holding her legs. Her face, pressed into the carpet, is purple and puffy with tears.

  ‘Stop,’ Mick yells. ‘Let her go.’

  He tries to pull at the unnamed officer. But the man knocks him away. Mick reaches for his gun, which is lying safe and sound in the Buick. Bloody shits.

  ‘She’s a burglar,’ Hodge pants. ‘We got to subdue her, sir.’

  ‘Jesus Christ. Don’t you think you’ve done the job?’

  Finally, he manages to wrestle them off Ruby’s body. She gasps. Her forehead is bleeding and there is blood on the bed frame. She whimpers and tries to push herself up. Hodge draws his gun.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, I’m a superior officer.’ Mick pushes Hodge’s arm away. ‘You two stand down.’

  It’s only now that he spots Frank Haney under the window. He is tied up and inexpertly gagged. His expression could not be more elated if the holy trinity had manifested on this carpet.

  ‘You – what’s your name?’

  ‘Cooper,’ says the other officer.

  ‘Cut that man loose, Cooper.’

  He helps Ruby up. She pulls away from him. Her eyes are wild. Blood is trickling down her forehead and along the sweep of her nose.

  ‘She took him.’ She presses herself into the corner between the bed and the closet, as far away from Haney as she can get. She gestures at him. ‘He tried to kill me. I-I gotta get out.’

  ‘Just tell me what happened first. Ruby . . . Miss Wright, please.’

  One of the officers takes the gag off Haney, who gasps for breath. ‘Arrest her,’ he snarls. ‘She’s lying.’

  Ruby starts breathing rapidly. Her eyes are bloodshot and her throat is marked with purple splotches.

  Mick grabs Hodge’s handcuffs, clicks them around Haney’s wrists and uses his pocketknife to cut the bindings around his ankles. Then he takes the blouse Cooper just extracted from Haney’s mouth and stuffs it right back where it belongs.

  ‘Get that man into the patrol car. Now. And don’t you dare unlock those cuffs.’

  The officers help Haney to his feet and escort him out of the room. Mick backs away from Ruby and raises his hands.

  ‘He’s gone, OK? You all right?’

  She shivers. ‘She’s gonna kill him. She’s gonna make them shoot him.’

  ‘Shoot who, Ruby?’

  ‘Joseph.’

  Her tears spill over. Mick recalls a tall, sullen-looking man in a South Central kitchen. A picture pieces itself together.

  ‘You brought Joseph with you, because you were afraid. And rightly so, by the looks of it. Did he tie up Mr Haney?’

  Ruby nods. ‘Detective, we were wrong all the time. It wasn’t Mr Haney. She did it. She took Joyce’s dresses and her painting and her husband. She wanted everything Joyce had for herself.’

  ‘Who, Ruby?’

  ‘Mrs Ingram.’

  The name thunders in Mick’s head. For a moment he can think of nothing. And then the pieces fall into place with silent finality.

  ‘She did it,’ Ruby pants. ‘It all fits. I thought she stayed late at work that Monday, but she told Mr Haney she took a day off. She stole his gun and then told him he’d forgotten about giving it to her. She went and shot Deena and placed all the blame on Jimmy. And now she has Joseph.’

  Mick gasps for air. He always knew there’d be a reckoning and here it is. He should have checked and double-checked, followed procedure, brainstormed with Murphy. Hell, he should even have listened to Fran. But once again, like the coward that he is, he stepped back from it all.

  He leans against the wall. ‘Nancy Ingram told me she’d seen Jimmy’s car,’ he breathes. ‘She gave me his name. She mentioned he’d slept with Deena and . . .’

  The world swirls. From far off comes Ruby’s voice. ‘She’s lied to us. I know she did, but we ain’t got time.’ She yanks him toward the door. ‘You gotta find them. We gotta find them and get Joseph and send that bitch to hell for what she’s done.’

  He stares at her. ‘I . . . I let everyone down,’ he says quietly. ‘I was wrong.’

  She cannot possibly know that he means Moggs and Joyce and Fran and Deena, all those whose lives he wrecked, or nearly did, because of his goddamned need to prove himself. She cannot know that this is the reckoning that has awaited him, ever since the moment he watched Billy go down and did nothing. The moment he was cursed to spend his life convincing himself of his bravery, his worth, from the outside in.

  Ruby doesn’t know any of this. But when she looks at him, her eyes are dark with determination. ‘Now’s your chance to make it right.’

  Outside, Mick darts past a bewildered-looking Genevieve and pulls the transmitter from the dashboard. The radio crackles into life. He squeezes the PTT. ‘Need assistance. Find me the license plate of one Nancy Ingram, 45 Roseview Drive, Sunnylakes. We have a kidnapping. Looking for a—’

  Another message cuts in. ‘Patrol 197 on Santa Monica, southbound. Got sight of the suspect, silver Ford passing Crankton, heading toward LA.’

  ‘I need to trace the license plate of a Mrs Ingram,’ Mick shouts. ‘This is urgent. Mrs Nancy Ingram, 45 Roseview . . .’

  Only then does he connect the dots. She’s turned the tables. Mick, you stupid, stupid bastard!

  ‘Sighted and confirmed,’ the voice on the radio says. ‘Victim is a Caucasian female, blonde hair. Suspect on passenger seat is a male Negro. Caution, he’s armed and dangerous.’

  ‘No,’ Mick shouts.

  The radio crackles again and Murphy’s voice bellows through the ether. ‘Blanke, get the hell off the frequency. We have a kidnapping on our hands.’

  Mick grasps the radio until the plastic creaks and shouts: ‘It’s not the boy. It’s her. Mrs Ingram. She’s the kidnapper. She—’

  ‘Shut the fuck up, Blanke.’

  A voice interrupts. ‘Patrol 197 here. Managed to block them. Car’s turned off Santa Monica toward the Harbor Bridge construction site. Following with blue light. All nearby squads assemble. Ready your guns.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Mick shouts. ‘Don’t shoot that boy. Don’t do anything. I’m coming.’

  He slams down the transmitter. Ruby and Genevieve stare at him. Hodge is lighting a cigarette, his hand curled around a flame that just won’t spring into life. Frank Haney sits in the patrol car, eyes shut tight.

  Mick pulls off his tie. ‘We’ve got to move,’ he shouts. ‘Hodge, Cooper, you follow me. Ruby, Genevieve, get in the car.’

  Genevieve asks neither why nor where to. She helps Ruby onto the passenger seat and then hands Mick the keys. ‘Drive,’ she says, and slips into the back seat.

  And drive he does. The Pontiac is a heavy beast, but once it’s at speed it reacts to every gentle touch. He steps on the gas and is careening past the bus stop before Hodge has even revved the engine. They race down President Avenue and toward the freeway.

  The radio comes alive once more. ‘Patrol 197. Ford has stopped by the bridge. Suspect and female still inside. She has a gun to her head. Permission to use force?’

  Ruby makes a sound as if she’s swallowed a canary. Before Mick can stop her, she grabs the transmitter and yells, ‘You gonna do nothing to my baby or I’ll come over there and beat your sorry asses till they ring like church bells.’

  There is a second of silence. Then Murphy screams: ‘Who the hell was that?’

  Mick grabs the transmitter. The Pontiac swerves but settles again smoothly. ‘Ruby Wright,’ he bellows. ‘And you better do as she says.’

  *

  They hurl down the Santa Monica Freeway, trailed by honking and the sound of screeching brakes. The radio emits only static and the distant sound of voices. The cops in Patrol 197 have left the car. Any minute now a shot is going to fall.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Mick says to Ruby. ‘About McCarthy. I’m sorr
y I didn’t believe you.’

  ‘I thought it was Frank.’ She sighs. ‘She’s set everyone up, you know? Even him.’

  The bridge comes into view. The construction site is marked with orange flags. Several tire tracks are carved into the sand. They disappear behind the desert dunes.

  Mick pulls across, cuts off a semi, whose driver honks and swears. In the back seat, Genevieve flips him the finger.

  The Pontiac coughs as the road turns from asphalt to rubble. Sand and dust fly up around them. They crest a hill and—

  ‘There.’

  Ruby points to the right. Against the dusty foliage of trees, a blue police siren flashes its lonely call.

  They swoop down toward the bridge and the Pontiac screeches to a halt right next to Patrol 197. Two officers have taken cover behind the car doors. One of them is Souza. Both are pointing their guns.

  Nancy Ingram’s car is parked at the bottom of the half-finished bridge, which reaches out into the sky like a skeletal arm. Inside the shadowy car, Joseph has his head lowered. It’s hard to make out what he’s doing. Mrs Ingram’s hair shines like gold threads in the afternoon sun. The light catches the glint of a gun, which is pointed at her head.

  A dust devil dances across the empty space between the bridge and the police cars. It twirls in a frenzy, then dissipates among a pile of shovels.

  Next to Mick, Ruby lets out a single sob.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Ruby

  R

  uby’s heartbeats come in slow explosions. Blood rushes through her capillaries, swirls around her body. But her mind is frozen. She can’t do nothing but stare at the sight beyond the windscreen.

  By the bridge, Joseph sits slumped over inside a car filled with shadows. The sun glares off the silver roof, obscuring any detail within. But the gun stands out. It is pointed at Mrs Ingram’s head.

  The world speeds up. Her hands, which have been slippery and unreliable, grow steady. She unlocks the car door and, before the detective can stop her, steps out and stands up straight.

  The cops shout something. One of them trains his gun on her. In the car by the bridge, Mrs Ingram leans forward. A flinch crosses her face. Anger and surprise. Then she play-acts again. Her lips are trembling and her eyes are wide with terror.

  Ruby stares at Mrs Ingram as if she could pull the truth from her by sheer force of will. ‘Let him go,’ she shouts. The breeze carries her voice. ‘Let him go or I’ll tear you apart.’

  One of the cops cocks his gun. Detective Blanke hisses something and the gun goes down.

  ‘Help,’ Mrs Ingram screams. ‘Shoot him, officers. He’s going to kill me.’

  ‘Detective,’ hisses one of the cops. ‘I’ve got a clear line on the fellow.’

  Ruby takes one step away from the Pontiac and rolls her shoulders back. ‘You’re holding the gun against your own head,’ she says. ‘You’re only pretending. I can see it from here.’

  The roar of a car echoes across the construction site. Ruby does not turn to look. She keeps Joseph in her sight, and she will do so forever. As long as she’s got him in her gaze, he’ll be safe from harm. Lord Almighty. Hold Your hand over me and my man.

  The car comes to a stop and doors slam shut.

  ‘Chief,’ says the detective. ‘You—’

  ‘What the fuck? Blanke, what sort of set-up is this?’ Whoever is yelling is a white man. She can tell by the bluster in his voice and the immediate assumption of authority. ‘Is that Ruby Wright? What’s she doing here? Is she his accomplice?’

  ‘They’re sweethearts.’

  ‘Arrest her. Blanke, for fuck’s sake.’

  There is a bit of hurried conversation.

  ‘Help,’ Mrs Ingram shouts again. ‘Help me, please.’

  Ruby inhales. ‘The cops have Mr Haney,’ she calls across the space. ‘I know what you did to Joyce. That bridge is gonna span all the way to Mexico before you see him again.’

  Another car approaches. The patrol car from Mrs Ingram’s house. Just in time. Perhaps. Lord, please protect us. Lord, please have mercy.

  ‘You shoulda killed me earlier, Mrs Ingram,’ Ruby shouts. ‘But you didn’t want to, huh? Not in front of Frank. Because then he would’ve known you’re a murderer. And maybe, a few years down the line, when you settled down and Barbie’s all yours and Lily ain’t even remembering her mother no more, then he would’ve started to wonder about it all. Wonder why you didn’t untie him up in that room. And where you were, on that afternoon, when Joyce lay bleeding in her kitchen.’

  Everyone is listening to her. She can sense their eyes on her skin like physical touch.

  ‘Look,’ she continues. ‘I’m the one who knows everything. So, you could shoot Joseph but you really gotta shoot me. Otherwise the game is up.’

  The detective winces. Behind Ruby, there are scuffles as if someone is being dragged from a car against his will. Mrs Ingram’s eyes widen and her mouth opens into a little heart-shaped O.

  ‘Frank,’ she calls out. ‘My God.’

  The detective steps forward, grim determination written on his face. He raises both hands. ‘Nancy, come on. It’s over. Let that boy go.’

  Mrs Ingram laughs. It’s a high-pitched laugh, just short of a shriek.

  The detective walks over to Frank Haney, who is wedged in between the cops like a convict sandwich. He smiles – and pulls out the left cop’s gun. He has it against Mr Haney’s head before anyone can say a word.

  ‘Nancy,’ says the detective. ‘It seems we have a standoff. Let’s swap and we’ll let you go.’

  Mrs Ingram’s eyes narrow. Her face flips to calculating hatred. Slowly, the gun in the car turns against Joseph’s head. He closes his eyes. His chest is palpitating like a rabbit’s heart. The floor slithers under Ruby’s feet.

  ‘Oh, look,’ says one of the cops. ‘It was the lady holding the gun all along.’

  The detective walks toward Mrs Ingram’s car, his gun stuck firmly to Mr Haney’s head. Ruby licks her lips; they are dry and salty. Mrs Ingram opens the door and unwinds her long legs, clad in turquoise pants and crowned with red heels. One of the cops whistles through his teeth.

  Mrs Ingram nudges Joseph with the gun and he tumbles out of the car and into the dust. The detective shoves Frank Haney forward and grabs Joseph by the arm. He tries to pull him up, but he’s not fast enough. Mrs Ingram kicks Joseph in the ribs and he tumbles against the detective, who stumbles.

  Quick as a snake, Mrs Ingram trains the gun on him. ‘Oops,’ she hisses. ‘It seems I am very distressed.’

  The detective scoffs. ‘You and me both, Nancy.’ He could retreat, but he does not budge an inch.

  Mrs Ingram turns to the car, the gun still pointed at the detective. She ushers Mr Haney into the passenger seat. ‘Nancy,’ he mutters. ‘Come off it, now. This is crazy.’

  Mrs Ingram looks straight at Ruby. Her red lips twist into a grin. Her teeth part. Vampire woman. There is so much darkness in that smile. She is the black hole at the center of the galaxy. The nothingness between the stars.

  And Momma’s voice sings in Ruby’s head. You hold your head up high, girl. Ain’t no one gonna give you no bad eye.

  Ruby steps forward and walks right up to the car. ‘You killed Joyce,’ she says quietly, ‘because you wanted her husband and her kids and her life.’

  ‘Nancy,’ Mr Haney says. ‘Nancy, what—?’

  ‘Oh, Frank, stop fretting.’ Mrs Ingram’s voice turns soft. ‘Joyce wasn’t worth it. You know what she did, your precious little wife? She killed that baby. Your perfect little boy. Perhaps you believed he just died, but she drowned him like a puppy. She deserved to—’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Ruby sees Joseph inching toward her. He’s almost by the car’s fender. She raises a hand to stop him, but at the same time, Frank Haney also lifts his hands. His eyes are dead. His fingers clasp around Mrs Ingram’s arm, the one that is holding the gun.

  ‘You are lying,’ he says.

  ‘
Darling.’ Mrs Ingram’s hands start shaking. ‘It had to be done. She . . . I didn’t lay a hand on her. Jimmy did it. He came over that afternoon. She wanted to go off with him and started a row. He punched her up right good.’

  Mr Haney wheezes. ‘I’ll kill him.’

  ‘I found her in the house,’ Mrs Ingram continues, ‘hysterical and bleeding. She asked me to help her run away. Said she wasn’t the kind of wife you deserved. Well, she was right, there.’ She flutters her eyelids. ‘I am the wife you deserve. Frank, darling. Am I not everything you desire?’

  Mr Haney’s voice is dry as the dust. ‘Nancy, what did you do?’

  ‘“Be free, Joyce”, I said. “Go away. Indulge in your silly little daydreams. Run off to Paris and be a famous artist. Move into a studio and sleep with useless men. Get a political opinion. Do everything Genevieve told you to do.”’

  ‘Did you hurt her?’ Ruby asks.

  Mrs Ingram’s voice grows whiny like a child’s. ‘Frank, you understand why I had to do it, don’t you? She would have come back to you, rueful like a dog, and you would have taken her in. Because she was that kind of woman. No matter how much she messed up, every man just wanted to make her life wonderful.’

  Frank Haney says nothing. His eyes are two pinpricks in a sea of darkness. He has found the black hole, and it is sucking him in.

  ‘No one ever wanted to make my life wonderful,’ Mrs Ingram whispers.

  ‘So,’ Ruby says, and the truth weighs every word, ‘you had to make sure she never came back.’

  ‘I—’ Mrs Ingram says, but she does not get any further. Mr Haney jumps up from his seat. He throws himself at her with all his weight. His eyes remain dead but his hands, still shackled tightly, close around her neck. He pushes her to the ground and strangles her with the same terrible hands that squeezed at Ruby’s life until it was only a sliver.

  ‘Where is she?’ he snarls. ‘Where is my wife?’

  Mrs Ingram’s eyes roll back. She drops the gun and makes a sound like paper tearing. A woman’s scream flies across the dust – it’s Mrs Crane, but in Ruby’s head it’s Joyce, screaming for her life. The life she missed out on, that is gone now forever, until the universe turns to dust.