The Long Count

by JM Gulvin

  Still Alice looked doubtful.

  ‘You were talking about Nancy,’ he reminded her gently. ‘How you thought there were things she wanted to say?’

  Placing the keys on her desk Alice nodded. ‘Nancy and Mr Briers – they worked at Trinity of course, but after the fire Dr Beale made sure they were given jobs here.’

  ‘Why them in particular?’

  Alice shrugged. ‘I don’t know. There were cases that only they dealt with and I suppose he wanted the continuity.’

  ‘What cases, Alice?’

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I suppose it was Miss Annie mostly.’ She gave a nervous little laugh. ‘A woman in her fifties, skinny little thing, she’s been here since the fire. She was kept in isolation at first, though these past few weeks she’s been allowed outside, but only under strict supervision. She’s not allowed to mix with the other women and Mr Briers used to watch her closely.’ Looking up at him then she gestured. ‘Miss Annie’s a special case, one that the three of them worked on together: Dr Beale, the nurse and that orderly. They used to come up to his office. Sometimes it would be just Nancy, sometimes just Briers and sometimes it would be the two of them.’

  Brows knit, she looked a little puzzled. ‘They’d have meetings with Dr Beale – a lot of meetings, and especially just recently. I always found that odd because when he wasn’t with patients Dr Beale was so busy with his tapes he tried to avoid meetings as much as possible.’

  ‘Tapes?’ Quarrie said. ‘What tapes, Alice?’

  ‘The reels he made when he was researching: the notes for his book. He usually had me type stuff up but not those tapes, those he keeps locked in the safe.’ She colored at the neck once more. ‘Would you listen to me – blabbermouth. I really shouldn’t be telling you this.’

  Again Quarrie took her hand. He was smiling, his eyes kindly. ‘Alice, right now Briers is missing and Nancy McClain has vacated her apartment. If Dr Beale were here I’d be asking him why she might’ve done that. You can’t give me the answer to that question, but everything you can tell me has a bearing on what’s happening. If it wasn’t me asking, it would be a Louisiana cop.’

  ‘Even so, ‘I—’

  ‘Miss Annie,’ he said. ‘Why is she a special case?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Alice shook her head. ‘All I can tell you is that she tried to murder her husband. She stabbed him three times and it was a miracle he survived. Twenty-five years ago Miss Annie was deemed mentally unfit for trial. She was certified and committed to Trinity Hospital.’

  Head to one side Quarrie studied her. ‘Alice,’ he said, ‘does the name Mary-Beth Gavin mean anything to you?’

  ‘Of course,’ Alice said. ‘I never met her, but when Dr Beale was dividing his time between here and Texas, I spoke to her sometimes on the phone.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘Just business stuff. She ran the office down there, in charge of the paperwork; you know, the hospital records and everything.’

  Quarrie nodded. ‘When was the last time you spoke to her?’

  Alice’s eyes clouded a little. ‘It was just before the fire. She phoned here wanting Dr Beale urgently and she sounded pretty worked up.’

  ‘Why? What was bothering her?’

  Alice shook her head. ‘I can’t say. She never told me.’

  ‘But she spoke to Dr Beale?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And afterwards?’

  ‘He told me there was an emergency and he had to go down there right away.’

  Together they rode the elevator to the ground floor. There they passed through two locked doors into the women’s common room where the patients were sitting out. Some of the older women were knitting and Quarrie was reminded of what Pablo had said.

  Another pair of locked doors and they were deep in the heart of the building. Quarrie could sense Alice’s nervousness and got the feeling it was not just that she was breaking hospital rules that was worrying her. When they came to the next set of doors she peered through the glass panel and told him this was as far as she would go.

  ‘The nurse is on her break so if you’re going to do this it has to be now.’

  She unlocked the door and Quarrie passed into a narrow corridor that seemed to burn with the scent of disinfectant. Linoleum tiles on the floor and fluorescent strips flickering above his head, yet for all its light and modernity this hallway reminded him of Trinity.

  Slowly he paced the corridor. Room after room, the doors staggered down both sides so no patient could see into any other. He could hear something, a woman’s voice, it was thin and nasal; singing, someone was singing a song though the words were muffled and all he could make out was the tone. Macabre that sound: he was conscious of sweat where it crept on his scalp.

  Finally he came to a door on his right; weighted and wooden, it was punctured by a panel of wired glass. When he looked inside he stared. Every inch of wall space was covered by scribblings of the same stick-children he had witnessed in that room at the burned-down hospital.

  Miss Annie was sitting on the bed. Bug-eyed and hair scant, she looked up from where she was singing to the porcelain doll she nursed at her naked breast.

  Thirty

  Isaac found the street he was looking for not far from Cain’s world-famous ballroom. A quiet suburb, a little rundown, it was nothing like his father’s place. Single-bedroom homes built side-by-side on quarter-lots with driveways that were overgrown with weed.

  He drove slowly, gaze switching from the road itself to the houses on either side as well as the cars parked against the curb. He drove the entire street, looking back the way he had come and at the end of each block he considered the side streets before he went on. He drove all the way to where the road petered into salt brush and scrub and there he turned the car.

  1433 was about halfway along with a pale blue VW Bug parked just ahead of the garage. Pulling up he switched off the engine and sat where he was with his palms sweating. Adjusting the mirror on the dashboard he took in his reflection where he was pale in the face. He checked his necktie and the collar of his tunic. He had hung the uniform on a coat hanger last night and had worked the toes of his shoes with polish and brush.

  No movement from where the VW was parked. Nobody in the yard, though the sun was still out and no wind disturbed the trees. He could see nobody at any of the windows and still he sat with his hands clasped in his lap. Another minute passed before he opened the door and got out.

  Hesitating for a moment on the sidewalk, he flattened the skirts of his tunic and pasted a hand through his hair. He looked up and down the street but no cars were on the move, nobody was walking, there was not so much as a dog. Making his way up the drive he glanced at the VW where a plastic flower was fixed underneath the windshield.

  On the stoop his palms were sweating even more than they had been just now and he worked one hand against his thigh. Lightly he knocked but nobody came to the door. He knocked again and still nobody came. Concentrating hard, he eased his tongue across his lips and knocked on the door once more.

  He was about to try one last time when he heard the clack of shears coming from the other side of the house. Sweat on his brow, he walked around the yard to the back and there she was, clipping dead heads off some weary-looking flowers. The kitchen door stood open and she was on her knees at the stoop wearing a pair of slacks and a loose fitting top. Her hair was dark and long and it hung in a single plait.

  She stiffened as his shadow fell across the grass. She remained like that for a few seconds then she looked up, eyes wide and her mouth open as she took in the uniform. The look on her face, the expression in her eyes, it was as if for a moment she thought he might be his father. Isaac opened his mouth to tell her she was mistaken but no words seemed to come and when finally they did his voice sounded as if it might crack.

  ‘It’s me, Mom,’ he said. ‘It’s Isaac.’

  For a long time she still seemed to stare. Then she was on her feet, and making fo
r the kitchen she tried to slam the door. Instinctively Isaac stuck out a foot and it caught between the edge and the jamb. Tears glassed. He swallowed hard.

  ‘Mom, please,’ he said. ‘Mom.’ He peered at her through the crack. ‘What’s going on? Why’re you calling yourself Carla Simpson?’

  He eased his shoulder against the door and with no choice but to step back, his mother let go and pressed herself against the kitchen wall. Palms flattened at her sides she stared at him. Isaac went in and closed the door. Then he turned to face her and leaned with his back to the door.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he told her. ‘I know this is a hell of a shock after all these years. It’s not exactly easy for me.’ He tried to smile. ‘Coming up here like this, it was just about all I could muster. The fact is I drove right past the house just now and when I got to the end of the street I almost gave up and went back.’

  Still she stood flat to the wall and her eyes were fixed on his.

  ‘But I couldn’t do that,’ Isaac went on. ‘I couldn’t just turn around and go back. I had to see you, Mom. It’s not as if I had any choice.’ His expression had darkened a little and he cast a glance towards the window. ‘I had to make sure I got to you before Ishmael.’

  *

  Quarrie was sitting on the couch in Alice Barker’s office, hat upturned on the cushions next to him he had his elbows on his knees. At her desk Alice looked a little pensive.

  ‘Why does she do that?’ Quarrie said. ‘A woman her age: why does she do that with a child’s doll?’

  Alice shuddered visibly. ‘I have no idea. I’m just a secretary. No matter how well I might get on with Dr Beale, he’s a professional and does not divulge anything about his patients.’

  ‘You haven’t heard from him this morning?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Have you heard anything since he left at all?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘How long has he been gone?’

  ‘I guess it’s a couple of days.’

  Quarrie nodded. ‘And he never spoke to you about Miss Annie?’

  Alice shook her head.

  ‘But you know he considered her to be a special case.’

  With a sigh Alice got to her feet. Hugging her arms about her she walked to the window and gazed across the grounds as if she hoped to see her boss striding up from the gate.

  ‘It was Mary-Beth who told me,’ she stated. ‘Trinity had burned and she was just about to leave. She told me that Miss Annie would be coming up here and she was one of Dr Beale’s special cases.’

  Quarrie frowned. ‘What did she mean exactly?’

  Shaking her head, Alice spoke without turning to look at him. ‘I don’t know. All she said was that Dr Beale wanted her brought here.’ She paused for a moment and then she added, ‘There is one other thing though: Mary-Beth told me that before she was a patient, Miss Annie used to be a nurse at Trinity.’

  Quarrie was on his feet. Crossing to the window he took her by the arm and turned her around so she faced him.

  Alice looked into his eyes. ‘We talked – it was the last time I spoke to her and I remember how Mary-Beth sounded agitated, a little upset. She told me that once upon a time Miss Annie had been a nurse down there working with Nancy McClain.’ Stepping around him she went back to her desk. ‘It must’ve been twenty-five years ago. Mary-Beth said she wasn’t known as Miss Annie then though, she was whoever she used to be before she got sick.’

  ‘So Annie’s not her real name?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. Nobody ever said.’

  ‘But it will be listed in the hospital records?’

  ‘Her full name, yes, of course. But I have no access to that.’ Catching the look in his eye she went on. ‘There’s no point asking anyone else because they won’t show you any of the files, not without written permission from Dr Beale.’

  Quarrie turned to the window and gazed across the grounds to the women’s wing but all he could see was that wizened-looking woman from behind a panel of reinforced glass.

  ‘I need to talk to her,’ he said almost to himself. ‘Alice, I have to speak to Miss Annie.’

  *

  Isaac sat in a cane chair in his mother’s living room. She was perched on the edge of the sofa, her gaze like that of a bird, eyes darting from his features to the window and from the window back. Isaac was more composed now, the tears that had threatened when he first arrived were not there anymore and his palms were no longer sweating.

  ‘I’m sorry this is such a shock,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t call but I had to know you were all right. I had to know he hadn’t gotten here ahead of me.’

  Lips hollowed into an oval, Clara looked at him but did not speak. She peered beyond him again to the door.

  ‘Why would Ishmael come here?’ she asked finally.

  Isaac twisted his lip. ‘He’s looking for you. He’s angry. He’s in some kind of rage, and you know he’s crazy, don’t you?’

  On his feet he crossed to the window and eased aside the drape. It was getting dark outside and he peered up and down the street. Clara remained where she was on the lip of the couch with her legs crossed at the ankle.

  Isaac spoke without looking round. ‘He killed Dad and I have to protect you. I couldn’t figure why he’d go after Dad at first, but as soon as I found those papers I understood. You’re not safe here, Mom. Ishmael had the key and he found those papers before I did. He knows where you are, and for all we know, he’s watching the house right now.’

  Sitting down next to her he tried to smile. ‘Look, it’s all right. It’s OK. I know this is a bolt from the blue. It was for me too. But so much has happened since you left. It was so long ago. We’re all grown up, me and Ish. We’re men now and when you left we were boys.’ Leaning back in the chair he sighed. ‘Ishmael’s problems, they’ve been going on for a long time.’

  The way she stared at his uniform, his mother seemed transfixed.

  ‘Something, isn’t it?’ Isaac said. ‘One of us had to join though, us being Bowen’s and all and I guess the Army wouldn’t take Ish.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘I bet you wouldn’t have guessed it, would you? Three tours in Nam, Mom: I did three full tours in Nam.’

  Sweat on his brow, he spread his palms. ‘There was only one time I was ever really scared and that’s when I knew I was coming home. One last firefight, thirty-one of us already dead and they had us really pinned down. But the CP sent in air support and we got out of there without taking any more hits. Back at camp I phoned Dad and he told me Ish was at a hospital called Trinity.’ He looked beyond her then with his brow deeply lined and his eyes gathered into wrinkles. ‘You know, in the three years I was over there I wrote Dad every week and not once did he ever write back.’

  Listening to him Clara was sitting very upright, rigid almost, her hands balled into fists. Reaching over, Isaac smoothed out those fists and entwined her fingers in his.

  ‘Mom, that hospital where Ish was at was an asylum for criminals. I never knew that till I got down there. What was the old man thinking?’

  ‘He didn’t tell you?’ she said.

  He shook his head. ‘No, he didn’t. The truth is Dad never talked to me hardly at all. Since you left out he’s kept himself to himself, and in all those years he’s rarely spoken two words to me about anything other than what it was that had to be said.’

  Once again he got to his feet. ‘It’s weird,’ he said, ‘but ever since I found out he got shot, it’s like it was back when we were kids. Ishmael, I’m talking about. Twins and all, I can sense him the way I used to, and the craziest thing happened at the grocery store.’ His eyes dulled a little. ‘Actually, given what I found out since I guess it wasn’t so crazy after all.’ Turning again he smiled. ‘But it’s OK. There’s nothing for you to worry about. Not now. It’s why I came. I know what Ishmael wants and he’s not going to get anywhere near you. But we can’t stay here, Mom. It’s not safe.’

  *

&
nbsp; Quarrie bought Alice an early dinner at a restaurant about a mile from Bellevue while they waited for things to settle down at the hospital. Ordering their entrées he poured her a glass of wine and explained what he wanted to do.

  ‘You understand, Alice,’ he said, ‘every minute that goes by is a minute lost. So far the state police have come up with nothing on Briers and nothing on Nancy either.’

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ Alice said. ‘You told me Mary-Beth was murdered and Charlie Briers too most probably, and now he’s going after Nancy. Why would someone do that and what’s it got to do with Miss Annie?’

  Sitting back with his hands flat on the table Quarrie let go a sigh. ‘The fact is I don’t understand it myself. But Ishmael Bowen wants something. He’s looking for something only I don’t know what it is. I think he tried to get it from his father back in Fannin County but either he didn’t have it or he would not give it up and Ishmael shot him. He wiped his prints from the gun and put it in his father’s hand to make it look as if he’d killed himself. I don’t know why he’d do that, guilt with it being his father perhaps, but whatever the reason it’s a fact the Fannin County coroner has gone for it.’ Sitting back he spread his fingers. ‘Patricide, Alice; that’s a hell of a thing and very few people are capable of it. What it was made him do it I can’t tell you. But I saw him in Miss Annie’s old room down at Trinity. For some reason he was up there and I have to find out why.’

  Taking a sip of wine he glanced beyond the counter towards the kitchen. ‘Those steaks will be here in a piece, but if you’ll excuse me I need to call my son before he goes to bed.’ Pushing back his chair he got up. ‘He’s been doing a school project about an old train wreck and the whole thing seems to have upset him.’

  He found a payphone in the hallway next to the restrooms and, with no quarters in his pocket, he called collect. Eunice picked up and told him James was in the shower.

  ‘He’s been working that calf-roping horse with Nolo,’ she said. ‘The two of them been in the big corral ever since he got home from school.’