Sarah stood there, stunned, unable to move. All she could think of was Patches, jumping from her arms and running back toward the house.
30
SARAH WALKED SLOWLY INTO the bedroom, afraid of what she might see, afraid of finding Patches.
She stopped at the foot of the bed. The knife handle looked obscene, protruding from the red-stained sheets. She was fairly certain that the knife was one of her own, and she shuddered to think of how it had been used.
Now Sarah noticed an odor in the room. She recognized the smell, but it seemed totally out of place. Then she looked more closely at the red-stained sheet and the red spatters on the wall. They were too red.
“Sarah.”
She turned as Alex came into the room. He took her by the arm and gently pulled her toward the doorway.
“I didn’t want you to see this,” he said, “until I had a chance to prepare you for it.”
“Is it paint?”
“Yes.” He closed the bedroom door.
“I thought it was blood,” she said with disgust.
“So did I.” He put his arm around her. “I guess that was the idea.”
“I mean, I thought she’d—I thought it was Patches.”
“Patches is in the kitchen,” he said.
The big cat was under the table. Officer Bauer was politely trying to push him away.
“I’m allergic,” he said in apology as Alex and Sarah entered the room. He brushed cat hairs from his pant leg.
Sarah took Patches upstairs to Brian’s room, happily squeezing him until his green eyes nearly bulged out of his furry head. Brian seemed even more happy than Sarah.
“Can I take him outside? He likes to play in the snow.”
“No, honey, not now.”
“Why not, Mom?”
“Just wait for a little while, Brian, okay? Then we can all go out together.”
Sarah was thinking about the knife stuck in the bed. It had to have been Christine, she thought. Except Frank O’Hara had told them that Christine was dead. Well, whoever had done that could still be in the neighborhood. Sarah was beginning to feel as if they were prisoners in their own home. First she’d been afraid to go to her shop, and now she was afraid to let Brian outside alone.
“You can take Patches downstairs and watch TV if you like,” she said.
Sarah left Brian in the family room and found Alex and the two policemen waiting for her in the kitchen. She saw that Alex had brought in the sacks of groceries and set them on the counter. Alex told her that Officer Eastly had contacted Detective Yarrow on the police radio and had let him talk briefly to Yarrow.
“I told him we’d been vandalized and that Mrs. Green had terrorized you in your shop yesterday. He said he already knew about Green. I also told him that, well, that you still thought this woman was Christine.”
Sarah gave him a brief smile. She knew that he was standing up for her, even in the face of his conviction—and the conviction of me authorities—that Christine Helstrum was dead.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Officer Bauer said to Sarah. He straightened the form in front of him and clicked open his pen.
Sarah sat at the table and told him what had happened after she’d returned home from the grocery store.
“Did you notice anyone in the neighborhood as you drove up to the house? Anyone unusual.”
“No.”
“Any strange cars parked in the street?”
Sarah shook her head no.
“Did you open the back door when you came in?”
“No.”
“And as I told you before,” Alex said, “it was locked when I left the house.”
“Then it looks like whoever did this picked open the lock. We didn’t see any signs of forced entry, no scratches around the lock or the doorframe.”
“Is it that easy to open a lock?” Sarah asked.
“For some people, yes,” Officer Eastly said. “Especially a lock like that.”
He was standing against the counter. Sarah had to turn in her chair to face him.
“What do you mean, ‘a lock like that’?”
“A spring lock. What you want is a dead bolt. Much tougher to open.”
Sarah looked at Alex.
“They’re not too difficult to install yourself if you’re handy with tools,” Eastly added.
“I’ll call a locksmith,” Alex said.
Officer Bauer had a few more questions for Sarah. Then he said that he and Eastly were going to look around outside while they waited for Detective Yarrow. Alex phoned several locksmiths, but all of them were either closed on weekends or too busy to install any locks today. He found one, though, that could do the job tomorrow, Sunday, if Alex didn’t mind paying double time.
“I don’t care what it costs,” Alex said. “Just get out here as soon as you can.” He hung up and looked at Sarah. “Not till tomorrow.”
“What about tonight? Are we safe in here?”
“I’m sure we are,” Alex said. He turned away from her toward the doorway, but not before she’d read the uncertainty in his face. “I guess we should start cleaning up the living room,” he said. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. “And the bedroom.”
“Why don’t we eat lunch first,” Sarah said. “It’s getting late in the day.”
“I’m not very hungry.”
“Neither am I, but I’ll bet Brian is. Anyway, we should try to eat.”
While Sarah made toasted cheese sandwiches, Alex went upstairs, pulled the sheets from the bed, and brought them down in a bundle. He set the knife on the counter and took the sheets outside to the trash. Sarah saw now that it was a boning knife, exactly like one of hers. Then she searched through the drawers until she was certain that the knife was hers. She wondered if perhaps Alex shouldn’t have touched it, in case the police wanted to take fingerprints.
Or maybe they only do that for serious crimes, she thought with a grim smile. After all, we’ve only been vandalized.
They finished lunch just before the arrival of Detectives Yarrow and Keene.
Almost immediately Alex released his pent-up anger and directed it at Yarrow. He blamed him for what had happened in Sarah’s shop and in their home.
“If your men had stayed at the shop as they were supposed to,” Alex said bitterly, “they could’ve arrested Mrs. Green and she’d be in jail now and none of this would’ve happened.”
“Not necessarily.” Yarrow spoke calmly, almost gently. “First of all, the officer staking out your wife’s shop left to answer an emergency call less than two blocks away—an armed robbery in progress. As a matter of fact, he interrupted the robbery and arrested the—”
“I don’t give a damn about that,” Alex said.
“Alex …” Sarah put her hand on his arm.
“I’m just trying to explain to you, Mr. Whitaker, that yours is not our only case.”
Alex ground his teeth and said nothing.
“And even if Mrs. Green had been stopped before she entered your wife’s shop,” Yarrow went on, “we could’ve brought her in for questioning, perhaps, but that’s all. We certainly couldn’t have arrested her.”
“Why not?”
“Because we have no proof that she’s committed a crime.” He turned to Sarah. “Now, Mrs. Whitaker, I understand that you still believe this woman, Mrs. Green, may be Christine Helstrum.”
“Well, yes, except …”
Yarrow raised his eyebrows and waited.
“Except,” Sarah said, “she’s supposedly dead, isn’t she?”
“We’re still waiting for positive confirmation.”
“What do you mean?” Alex was incredulous. “I thought her body had been positively identified.”
“I talked to the Albany police today,” Yarrow said. “They’re ninety-nine percent sure the body is Helstrum’s. However, they weren’t able to get a positive ID on her fingerprints because of the condition of the body. Right now they’re trying for a match
with her dental records.”
“So this woman could be her.” Alex’s anger had left him. Now his face was pale. “Christine could be alive.”
“It’s doubtful,” Yarrow said, “but possible. Mrs. Whitaker, I’d like you to look at these photos again.”
He turned to Keene, who handed him a manila envelope. Yarrow withdrew two photographs and gave them to Sarah. They were the same pictures she’d seen several days ago: Christine Helstrum, front and profile, blank expression, close-cropped hair, droopy eyelid. However, the eyelid seemed less noticeable in the photo than it had when she’d stood face-to-face with Mrs. Green. Sarah tried to imagine this face with longer hair and heavy makeup. She shook her head slowly.
“I … I don’t know,” she said. “I think it’s her. I just can’t be certain.”
Yarrow nodded and took the photos from her.
“Now what?” Some of the bitterness had crept back into Alex’s voice.
“I’ve got Officers Bauer and Eastly canvassing the neighborhood,” Yarrow said. “Maybe one of your neighbors saw something that will lead us to Mrs. Green, or whoever this woman is. Also, I’m putting a twenty-four-hour watch on your house. That’s about all we can do for now.”
After the detectives had left, Sarah and Alex went to work in the living room.
They tipped the tree upright and secured it in the stand. Then they got down on hands and knees and began sorting through the demolished presents, which were sprinkled with pine needles, strands of tinsel, and pieces of broken ornaments.
“This may take a while,” Alex said, trying to keep his voice light.
Sarah smiled. “We’ve got all weekend.”
They found precious little that was not damaged. When Alex uncovered a batch of ripped pages from the rare history book, he knew immediately what they were. He hugged Sarah and thanked her for buying him the book, as happily as if it were Christmas morning and the book were whole. And they both smiled when he held up an undamaged pair of lavender bikini briefs.
Their smiles did not last long, though, as they began gathering up slashed clothing and smashed toys, stuffing it all into plastic trash bags. They picked up the ornaments that had survived the crash and replaced them on the tree. Then Alex straightened the strings of lights and the dangling tinsel while Sarah vacuumed the carpet. When they were finished, they plugged in the lights and stood back.
“As good as new,” Alex said.
“Not quite. No presents.”
“Only temporarily. Look, tomorrow or Monday I’ll give our insurance agent an estimate for all of this, and then we’ll all go out on a shopping spree. We’ll make this a Christmas to remember.”
“It’s already one I’d like to forget,” Sarah said.
Alex put his arms around her. “We’re safe and we’re together. That’s all that matters.”
They brought Brian down to the living room. When he saw the tree, his eyes lit up like blue-colored lights.
“All right! It’s just like it was!”
He walked up to it and touched a shiny ornament, a strand of tinsel, the tip of a branch—just to make sure it was real. His face fell, though, when he stepped back and looked under the tree. It was bare now except for the cotton snow.
“Don’t worry, pumpkin,” Sarah said, coming up behind him and crossing her arms over his chest. “There will be more presents under there than before.”
He tipped his head back into her abdomen and looked up at her, smiling.
“Really, Mom?”
“Really.”
Later Sarah and Alex went upstairs to the master bedroom. It smelled of paint. Alex opened the windows, letting in cold air. Sarah examined the mattress and saw that the red paint had soaked through the sheets, leaving a plate-sized stain. In the center of the stain was a small slit where the knife had been thrust, giving the illusion that the mattress had bled after it had been stabbed.
“What are we going to do about this?”
“The mattress?” Alex said. “Junk it, I suppose. And we can paint the wall. And the headboard?” He touched the paint spatters on the brass work at the head of the bed. “I think I can find something that will remove this without harming the brass. But let’s deal with it tomorrow, okay? I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
“You’ve had enough?” Sarah said, and they both laughed.
Later that night Sarah took Brian up to his room and read with him from Frank L. Baum. When his eyes began to droop, she tucked him in bed, kissed him good-night, and left him with Patches curled up on the end of his bed. She left his door ajar in case the cat might want out later. Then she went down the hallway to prepare the guest bedroom for herself and Alex.
Brian was dreaming that someone had come into his room, and when he opened his eyes, there really was someone in his room, standing just inside the doorway.
Or is this still part of my dream? he wondered.
“Timothy?” the woman said softly.
Brian could tell that it was a woman even though the room was dark. He could see her outline in the doorway. She was shaped like a woman, and she had long hair. Not as long as his mother’s, though. And her voice—when she’d said that one word—had been deeper than his mother’s voice, so he knew for sure it wasn’t she.
“Are you asleep?” she whispered, and walked quietly toward his bed.
I am asleep, he thought, and he almost said so.
He knew he was asleep, because he knew that some stranger couldn’t just walk right into his room like this. Still, he was afraid. He knew that even in his dreams bad things could happen if you weren’t careful. So he closed his eyes almost all the way and held still and pretended to be asleep.
“Are you ready to come with me?”
The woman stood now at the foot of his bed. He saw her only as a shadowy figure, her arms at her sides. From one hand dangled a long, narrow object that glinted dully in the meager light.
“The cat,” she whispered. “They let the cat sleep in here?”
Brian watched her shake her head from side to side.
“Cats smother babies,” she said quietly, viciously. “They strangle babies with their tails.”
She reached down and touched Patches. Brian could feel the big cat purring, even through the sheet and the blankets.
“Bad kitty,” the woman whispered, and began to stroke the cat. Then she slowly raised her other hand, the hand holding the long, narrow object.
Brian could see the object more clearly now—his mother’s butcher knife. He nearly asked the woman if she would please give him the knife so he could return it to his mother, because he knew she’d been looking for it—in fact, she’d even blamed him for taking it. But he said nothing. He was certain now that he must be dreaming, and he thought that if he spoke to the woman then the dream would become real. And he knew—although he wasn’t quite sure why—that he didn’t want this dream to become real. He held perfectly still and kept his mouth closed.
The woman raised the knife to chest level, then tucked it under her left arm. She leaned down and gently lifted Patches from the bed.
“Bad kitty,” she said softly.
She held the cat to her chest as if it were a baby. And then, petting the cat with long, gentle strokes, she turned and walked from the room.
Sarah awoke to a scream.
She sat up in bed, the high-pitched wail still echoing in her brain. She strained to hear more, but the room was dark and silent. Alex snored softly beside her.
It must have been a dream, she thought.
She got out of bed, pulled on her robe, and stepped into the hall. For a moment she was disoriented—the head of the stairs was straight ahead instead of to her left as it should have been. Then she remembered that they’d been sleeping in the guest bedroom.
She walked around the dark stairwell and past the master bedroom to Brian’s room.
The door was slightly ajar, just the way she’d left it. She peeked in and saw her son stir once in his sleep
and then lie still. Sarah walked back toward the guest room. She stopped at the stairwell. With one hand on the railing, she peered down into the darkness and listened.
Silence.
She stood there for several minutes, until she was certain that nothing was moving downstairs.
31
IN THE MORNING SARAH banged her elbow getting out of bed.
It was the first time she’d slept on the fold-out couch, and she’d forgotten about the metal braces running along the sides. She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her elbow and muttering under her breath, careful not to wake Alex. Since this was Sunday, she thought he might want to sleep in.
She walked down the hall to the master bedroom and opened the door. The room was cold, but Sarah decided to leave the window open because she could still smell paint. She examined the mattress and wondered if they would have to junk it, as Alex had said. She wondered if they would even want to keep it.
After she’d showered and dressed, she looked in on Brian. He was just waking up.
“Good morning, pumpkin.”
She went over and kissed him on the forehead.
“Morning.”
“How are you this morning?”
“I had a bad dream.”
“You did?” She sat beside him on the bed.
“A woman came in my room and took Patches away.”
Sarah glanced around the room. The cat was not in sight.
Of course he’s not in here, she thought; that’s why I left the door open.
She smoothed the hair on Brian’s head.
“I peeked in on you last night,” she said. “Maybe I walked into your dream.”
“Can you do that?”
“Maybe.”
“Did you take Patches?”
“No, honey. He’s probably downstairs. And he’s probably hungry for his breakfast.”
“I’m hungry, too, Mom.”
“Then why don’t you get up and get dressed and we’ll all eat together, okay?”
“Okay.”
Sarah met Alex in the hallway.
“Aren’t you going to sleep in?” she asked.
“On that torture device? I feel like I’ve slept on a bag full of auto parts.”
Night of Reunion: A Novel Page 22
