Shadow of Death

by Patricia Gussin

Again the buzz of a doorbell and a second round of pounding, now louder and more insistent.

  “Get rid of whoever it is,” Snake yelled as he lunged up the stairs. “Where the fuck? One of those honky brats musta lifted my piece.”

  Snake bolted up the stairs. “No, Snake, stay away from the children.” She rushed up behind him.

  “You hear that Minsk? Sounded like something hit hard in there. Let’s go in. On three!”

  Willard had weighed the options. There’d be hell to pay if they forced their way into this place without due cause: destruction of private property; no direct order to proceed; no search warrant. But what if something nasty was really going on in there? They’d look like fools just standing out there like idiots. And why was John Reynolds involved?

  Crashing through the front door with blunt force, the pair practically fell over Stacy’s unconscious body sprawled at the foot of the stairs. Blood streamed from an ugly gash on her head.

  “Shit. Check this floor,” Willard ordered. He was already bending over the slim, still body. “Toss me that blanket.”

  Kaminsky grabbed a blanket from the sofa and tossed it to Willard before hurriedly assessing the surroundings. “Broken glass in dining room. Phone off the hook in the kitchen.”

  “What the fuck is happening here?” Willard did a hasty examination of Stacy before covering her with the blanket. “This one’s out cold. Hit her head pretty bad. Call for back up, an ambulance.”

  “I’ll check upstairs. A kid called this in, right?”

  Snake took the stairs two at a time, not looking back until he felt a tug on his shirt. Spinning around, he faced Stacy.

  “Snake, please,” she pleaded. “Come down, go out the back door.”

  “Get out of my way, girl.”

  She didn’t let go of his shirt. He pushed her away. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, and his eyes widened in horror as he watched her tumble backward down the stairs. She hit hard at the bottom and for a fraction of a second, he just wanted to go to her, to cradle her in his arms, to tell her he was sorry. Of course, he couldn’t. He had to get the gun and get the fuck out. Fiery anger blasted through his veins. Right now he should be at Baker’s with Stacy, groovin’ to the music, not tearin’ through this honky’s house, trying to find his piece.

  Upstairs Snake faced a hall with three doors on each side and a bathroom with the door open at the end. The first door on the right was closed but not locked. Snake barged inside. Two cribs, each with a sleeping kid. He yanked the kid out of one crib and tossed it onto the floor like a rag doll. The thud reminded him of Stacy and his heart lurched, but a crash at the front door jarred him back to reality. He had to find his piece and get the fuck out. He rushed into the next room. Only a neatly made, empty double bed. He heard male voices downstairs. As he jerked open a third door, his heart slammed in his chest. The unmistakable static of a police radio.

  “Stop, mister!” A kid stood facing him from across the room. “This is my room. I’ll shoot you.” In the kid’s hand was the twenty-two, aimed point-blank at his chest. Could a kid that small shoot a gun? Yes. Some relative of Lonnie’s had wasted his own grandmother. He needed to get that piece. He hadn’t admitted to Stacy that it was Lonnie’s, and the poor fuck loved that gun.

  “Gimme the gun, little boy.”

  “I’m five years old, and my Daddy taught me how to shoot.” The kid’s voice was squeaky, but he did not back off.

  Snake took a zigzag step forward before he heard the heavy footsteps on the stairs. He pivoted when he heard, “Heading upstairs, Minsky.”

  Trapped. He had to get out. Now. Only way, the window. and leaning against the windowsill he saw a baseball bat. With one eye fixated on the kid, Snake lunged for that bat.

  Willard heard the crash as he reached the top of the stairs. Gun drawn, he edged into the hallway and slid along the corridor. In the dimness of the hall night-light, he could make out three doors on each side. All but two were ajar.

  “Halt! Police!” he yelled. Immediately, he became distracted by the screams. Sounded like a baby and his heart sunk. He’d seen too much child abuse, hated domestic violence. Gun ready, he jerked his body across the corridor and peered into a child’s bedroom. He could see two cribs amid shades of shadowy pink. One was empty, and the other held a bellowing red-faced toddler.

  Willard flipped the light switch by the door and scanned the room.

  “Holy shit,” he breathed as he saw an identical-looking child, silent and motionless on the hardwood floor. Dropping to his knees, he quickly determined that the limp body was breathing, that there was no obvious blood. “Lord have mercy,” he whispered.

  Hadn’t a kid called this in? Where was this kid? Willard crossed the corridor again and eased himself into the room directly across from the one with the babies. The one he judged the source of the crash, which had sounded like breaking glass. Backing against the wall, he crouched low, gun drawn and ready. Suddenly he froze as a little boy looked up at him in wonder. The kid’s hands shook, and in his hands was a revolver.

  “Easy,” Willard whispered, wondering what to say that wouldn’t scare the kid. “I’m a policeman. Okay, son?”

  “I was gonna shoot the bad man,” the kid announced, clutching a gun as if it were a stuffed animal. “He went out my window.”

  Willard’s gaze drifted to the broken window as Kaminsky came barreling up the stairs. “Careful, Minsk, go slow,” Willard warned. “Check out the room across the hall. There’s a baby in there. Call another ambulance, and secure the rest of the upstairs.”

  Lowering his voice, Willard approached Mikey. “Okay kid, you did great, but it’s time to give me that gun.”

  “How come you don’t have a uniform?” the kid asked, clutching the weapon precariously. Willard could feel the damp sweat spread under his arms.

  “I’m a detective,” Willard said, breathing easier now that the kid let the gun’s barrel slump toward the floor. “I don’t have to wear a police uniform. Okay?”

  “Okay then.” The kid shrugged and handed Willard the weapon.

  “Minsk!” Willard called, wrapping the gun in his handkerchief and stashing it in his jacket pocket. He grabbed Mikey by the hand and rushed out into the hallway. “Take this kid. I’m in pursuit!”

  Kaminsky appeared and reached for Mikey, taking him into the bedroom where one toddler screamed up a storm and the other lay silent and motionless on the floor.

  Outside, the streetlights provided just enough glow to see a beat-up Mustang, tires squealing, race off. He was too far away to get the license number, but something clicked. He’d seen that car before.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  By the time room service arrived on Saturday morning, Laura had showered and dressed in a pair of navy blue wool slacks and a crew neck sweater. David too had dressed, but in a conservative suit. They waited silently at the bronze and glass table in the parlor of the suite as the room service waiter arranged the fruit, served the Eggs Benedict, and poured coffee from the ornate silver service.

  “Will that be all, sir?” the waiter inquired.

  “Yes, this is fine.” David signed the check, added a gratuity, and pulled out a five-dollar bill for the waiter as he followed him to the door.

  Seated again, David said, “Laura, you leave for the airport in forty-five minutes. I’ve arranged a driver, and if you don’t mind, I’ll go with you and make sure you get on the plane.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Laura murmured.

  David’s hazel eyes never left her. “I know this is not the right time to ask, but could we have a future together, Laura? I mean, a real future.”

  “No,” she said firmly, yet her tone was tender. “I’m married and so are you.” She reached for David’s hand, the one without the gold wedding band. “But David, I want you to know I’ll never regret last night.”

  “But it doesn’t have to end. I know that I love you. I’m so very sure.” David struggled for the right words. “I think I’ve l
oved you ever since I first saw you. I was certain of it as I got to know you, especially during your time in the hospital. But now, after last night, I am so, so sure.”

  Laura moved close to him, barely touching.

  “Laura, please marry me? I know that sounds crazy. I know it can’t be now, but someday? You know how deeply I feel, not only about you, but also for your children. We can work this all out. There has to be a way to work this out.”

  Laura’s face was inscrutable. “That’s not possible. I can’t leave Steve. He loves me, and our children, and I care about him.” She paused. “Not the way I know that I love you, but I’m married to him, and I can’t even think of leaving him. Please understand, David.” Did she mean this? Could she just let David walk away?

  He stood and pulled her to him. Ignoring their untouched breakfast, they held each other on the sofa.

  “Will you at least continue to see me then?” David asked in a low, hoarse voice, tightening his grip on her.

  “No, David. I can’t. Not ever, and I’m not even sure I can return to school,” she said. “Maybe I should drop out. It’ll be too hard to see you all the time around the hospital and know I’ll never be with you again, not like last night.” She paused, lowering her head. “I just don’t know what to do.”

  “No!” After a moment, he met her eyes once more. “Laura, I’m going to be leaving Detroit. I’m taking the position of dean at Stanford University. I’ll be moving to California as soon as it can be arranged.” He hesitated, “Unless you tell me not to.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Yesterday I met with the President of Stanford. He came to Montreal to offer me the position.”

  “You’re leaving Detroit?”

  “I didn’t accept at the time, how could I? But it seems the timing is right if this is what you want.”

  Laura hugged him tighter. “You know it’s not.”

  “Please, won’t you reconsider? We don’t have to decide this now.”

  “Promise me something,” Laura spoke in a whisper. “Please, we have to act as if last night, our whole relationship, never happened. You must understand, it’s the only way I can go on. There are so many innocent people involved.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that, Laura. It’s asking too much. I don’t think I can.”

  “You must.”

  Holding her hands in his, he felt his eyes fill with tears. “We’ll both make a promise then. If you need anything, anytime, anywhere, for any reason, or if you change your mind, you’ll let me know.” His voice was low. “I’ll make sure that you always know where to find me, wherever I am.”

  She reached up with both hands and held his face tenderly. “I promise.”

  Neither spoke much in the car on the way to the airport, but their hands held tight. The roads seemed miraculously clear of snow.

  The airport was mobbed. After waiting for nearly ten minutes in line, Laura was finally able to call home once more, where the telephone at the Nelson home was not answered by Stacy Jones, but by Susan Reynolds. Laura’s first thought was that she’d dialed the wrong number.

  “It’s no mistake,” Susan said quickly, “I’m at your house. Some things happened here last night. But listen to me very carefully, Laura,” Susan continued firmly. “Everything is okay.”

  “What are you talking about? What things?” she stammered. “What are you doing at my house?”

  “It’s going to be okay,” Susan reassured her.

  Laura gasped as she saw a horde of people pushing through the gate area to board the Chicago flight. “There’s no time. The plane’s leaving.”

  “Just give me your flight details, Laura,” Susan urged. “I’ll be here when you get home and explain everything.”

  “The children?”

  “Fine. I swear.”

  Hurriedly, Laura gave Susan her flight information. “I’ll take a cab home,” she said quickly, barely daring to ask one more question. “Steve?”

  “Steve’s fine,” Susan answered immediately. “He’s on his way home. Just get back here, okay?”

  “As soon as I can.” Hands shaking, Laura hung up the phone.

  Pulling herself together with an enormous force of will, Laura approached David, and they rushed toward the crush at the gate as passengers jockeyed for position.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She looked away. “Everything’s fine,” she lied.

  David squeezed her hand one more time. His eyes were fixed on her as she passed through the gate. When she finally allowed herself to glance back she saw the expression of naked despair on his face, and she looked away.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Laura arrived at Detroit Metropolitan Airport at 3:30 Saturday afternoon with an ashen face and puffy eyes. The trip had been a blur, and when the customs agent at O’Hare had questioned her more carefully than many of the other travelers, she realized she must look as bad as she felt, anxiety accompanying every thought as she boarded the plane for Detroit. What could have happened at home? Why was Susan there and not telling her anything? Could somebody know about last night with David? A desolate sadness combined with panic and guilt overwhelmed her as she headed for the taxi stand, relieved that she’d accepted the five $20 bills David had pressed into her hand without a word as they parted at the gate.

  As the cab approached Puritan Avenue, Laura began to panic. The story of Steve’s twin brother flashed before her eyes. Helen Nelson had been out, and when she had arrived home, Phillip was already dead. The vision seemed so real, Laura grabbed the seat with both hands, somehow knowing that whatever had happened, it was about one of the twins. Tossing two $20 at the cab driver before the car had fully stopped, Laura bolted toward her front door, noticing that its frame was cracked on one side.

  Steve appeared from inside the house. He rushed forward and half-embraced her.

  “What happened, Steve? What’s with the door?” Without thinking, she pounded her fist against her husband’s chest. “Where are the kids?”

  Steve grabbed her wrists. “Hey, calm down now.”

  “What’s happened?” she demanded. “Tell me for God’s sake!”

  “Laura, stop. It’s important for the kids that you stay calm. Don’t go inside unless you can promise that.”

  Laura pushed brusquely past her husband. Inside, she found Susan, sitting on the couch reading a story to the boys. Nicole was quietly playing with wooden blocks in the corner of the living room. Absently, Laura noticed that everything looked as she’d left it. She heard Steve come in and close the front door behind him. The sight of three of her children, safe and content, filled Laura with relief. But as she felt the welcome wave pass through her, she wondered about Natalie.

  “Mommy!” Mikey and Kevin jumped up to greet her.

  Taking a deep breath and hugging the boys, Laura tried to act normal. “Hi guys!”

  “Mommy, Mommy!” Mikey began excitedly, “I had a gun. And the bad man ran away. And the policeman took away the gun. I was gonna shoot it, I really was.”

  Laura looked quickly from Steve to Susan. “Oh, honey,” Laura responded, rumpling his hair. “Sounds like you’ve been watching too much TV, huh?”

  “Mommy, up there.” He pointed to the ceiling. “The policemans were here and—”

  “Hang on, baby, “Laura interrupted. “Where’s Natalie?” She looked first at Steve, then at Susan. “Taking a nap?”

  “C’mon, sit down,” Steve said, going to her, taking her by the arm.

  “Where’s Natalie?” Laura repeated. She refused to sit down, looking again from Steve to Susan.

  Susan exhaled sharply. “Laura, we’ve got lots to explain.”

  Laura ignored her and started for the stairs leading to the twins’ bedroom. Steve tried to pull her back. Susan said nothing.

  “Natalie’s at the hospital, Mommy.” Mikey ran over to Laura, tugging at her slacks for attention. Laura reeled backward, every trace of color draining from her cheeks.
Steve quietly reached for her once more and forcibly sat her down next to Susan. Mikey pushed himself against her knees, and was joined by Kevin and Nicole.

  “What happened to my baby?” Laura managed in a voice fringed with panic.

  “First of all, Natalie’s going to be all right,” he told her as all three kids tried to pile into her lap.

  Laura looked to Susan for confirmation, who nodded. “Why don’t I take the kids upstairs for a while so you two can talk. Come on, you guys, who can run up the steps the fastest?”

  As Susan raced up after them, Laura stared at Steve. “Tell me,” she demanded, not waiting for the children to disappear up the stairs. “Where is my daughter?”

  “Nobody could reach you,” he said. “When the cops came, they called Detective Reynolds. Apparently, he wanted to be notified about any ‘unusual activity’ about us, and I guess last night qualified. By the time he got here, the ambulance had taken Natalie and Stacy to City Hospital. He called Susan to come stay with the kids, which was lucky for us. Otherwise, they would have been packed off to some godforsaken temporary shelter.”

  “What are you talking about?” Laura sank into the couch, weak and lightheaded.

  “They got me at the hotel,” Steve went on. “I’d just come back from the first night’s big dinner. I drove straight through to the hospital early this morning. Natalie’s okay, I swear it. Then Reynolds showed up. He tried to call you himself,” Steve hesitated, “but the hotel told him you’d checked out already.”

  Laura started to get up. “Steve, for God’s sake, tell me what happened.”

  Laura grabbed Mikey’s battered copy of Green Eggs and Ham and pressed it to her chest as Steve pieced together the story as best he could. There’d been an intruder. Signs of violence. Broken glass. Broken high chair. The baby-sitter was unconscious when the cops got here. Apparently shoved down the stairs. Laura tried to fight off panic as he explained that Natalie, her sweet-tempered, sensitive toddler, had been thrown out of her crib by the intruder. That she was in the hospital. That there’d been a gun. That there were so many awful questions remaining.