His Right Hand

by Mette Ivie Harrison

  “Emma!” I shrieked as Kurt hurtled past me, throwing himself against the hood of the car. But the SUV was already moving, and he tumbled as it pulled out of our driveway.

  I hesitated for a moment, and then I knew what I had to do.

  Kurt moaned something to me as I rushed toward my car, still parked on the street. I felt for keys and found they were still in my pocket.

  I was racked with guilt for having put Cristal in harm’s way. I had cajoled her to come here tonight, exposed her to the wrath of this deranged woman, failed to protect her in her moment of need.

  I roared down the street after Emma’s car. I could just see the dark SUV ahead of me. I had to keep it in sight. I had to catch it.

  And then what?

  I had no idea. I just had to trust that I’d get some kind of inspiration in the moment, though I felt completely unworthy of asking for it. God must love Cristal, I thought to myself, even if He had His doubts at the moment about me and Emma.

  Chapter 37

  What in God’s name was I doing?

  I asked myself this again and again as I swerved after Emma Ashby’s zigzagging SUV. Whenever she made a right turn, I could see Cristal’s face pressed against the back passenger window. Emma seemed to be purposely taking corners fast so that Cristal wouldn’t have the chance to jump out of the car. But I wasn’t sure Cristal was conscious at all.

  Emma veered down the mountain toward I-15. I had a brief hope that a traffic cop would see her and stop her. Or at least chase after her so I wouldn’t have to anymore. The drive down the mountain was the biggest speed trap in the history of speed traps. I’d gotten two tickets there in the first two years we’d lived in that house. But no cops stopped her, and no cops stopped me as I flew down after her.

  There was a light at the bottom of the hill, and I could see that it was glowing green against the dark sky. I prayed that it would change to red, and it did. It seemed an answer to my prayers. God had finally heard me!

  But if He had, it didn’t matter, because Emma ran the light.

  Then it was up to me to decide what to do. I couldn’t see traffic going across. It was about just past 11 p.m. on a Monday in a small Mormon city in Utah, where most people had long since gone to bed after a dutiful Family Home Evening.

  I ended up running the light just like Emma did, although I don’t know if she closed her eyes like I did. Yes, it was a stupid move, but I did it anyway. I figured if I was going to die, closing my eyes wouldn’t make much of a difference.

  I kept hoping that I would hear a siren behind me, that Detective Gore would ride to my rescue. But I wasn’t going to wait for her. I had done sensible things all my life, and I had never changed the world. I didn’t need to make a difference in the world right now, but I needed to make a difference in my ward.

  I had told myself for a long time that men were the reason that women were so powerless. I had blamed problems in marriages on the husband again and again. I had assumed that Emma was being abused after the bishopric dinner. I had been so eager to see that narrative that I had been blind to her true character for so long. But not any longer.

  I turned onto the highway and sped up. I was driving my little compact. She was driving an SUV. I got great gas mileage. But Emma had power.

  She pulled ahead of me and yanked her steering wheel to the left to pull into the HOV lane. I guess when you’ve kidnapped someone, that counts as having a carpool. I kept behind her, thinking furiously about what I would do if I caught up to her, trying to imagine what she was planning to do when she arrived wherever it was she was headed. What was going on in that broken mind?

  Squinting in the darkness, I watched as Emma got herself caught behind a block of cars driving at exactly the speed limit. God bless the obliviousness of Utah drivers at any time of day or night. Emma was tailgating and no one cared.

  I pulled into the lane next to Emma and got a glimpse of Cristal’s terrified face under the freeway lights above, eyes now open wide. I’m not sure if I could actually see the dark trail of blood on her neck, or if I just knew it was there. She must be in pretty bad shape, but she wasn’t just lying back and accepting it.

  “Help me!” she mouthed. Or at least, I assume that’s what she was trying to say to me.

  “Stop her!” I mouthed back, taking a hand off the steering wheel to point and mime an exaggerated STOP like a kindergarten crossing guard.

  Emma was so laser focused on the road that she didn’t even look over at us.

  Cristal’s face was desperate. “How?” she mouthed.

  I shouted the only thing I could think of: “Emergency brake!” I pantomimed pressing down and hauling a lever backward, hoping she understood me. She’d have to reach around Emma in the front seat to manage it, but at least Emma wasn’t holding the butcher knife anymore. I didn’t know where it was now, dropped on the driveway back at my house or on the floor of the car.

  Emma sped up and I lost my view of Cristal. The SUV pulled in front of me and then moved around the car that had been blocking her in the HOV lane. I hoped to see the SUV lurch to a halt, but Cristal must not have been able to get to the emergency brake, or maybe it hadn’t worked to stop it at this speed.

  I was behind a semitruck and couldn’t follow. I lost Emma’s SUV then for several precious minutes, suppressing my feelings of panic as I kept pace with the traffic, waiting for a break in which to catch another glimpse of it. Finally, I was able to move left into the HOV lane, even though I had to cross a set of double white lines. I prayed, again, that God would forgive me.

  Where was Emma? Had she gotten off the freeway at some point? Was Cristal all right?

  What should I do? God, tell me what to do. Give me a revelation.

  And it came to me. Like a fist to the head. I felt enormous pain, a flash of something that was either a light or just so much sensation it overwhelmed me. I might have crashed, but my arms were still steady on the wheel, as if someone else were holding them there.

  Stay! I heard a voice say to me. It sounded like Carl’s ghost voice, low and smooth and absolutely convincing.

  I stayed, right there in the HOV lane. And then I saw Emma’s SUV ahead of me again. Good. That was good.

  Only, what did I do now? I’d never been in a car chase before, only seen them in movies. If this were a movie, I would drive her off the road by ramming her car with mine. But in a movie car chase, there wouldn’t be dozens of other cars on the road, innocent citizens who might be harmed too if we ended up crashing. I also wouldn’t be driving my dinky little car, which would be wrecked instantly if I tried anything like that. God had given me one wonderful revelation, but there wasn’t another one to follow. Was I too distracted to hear the Spirit speaking to me? Or did God trust that I was going to do the right thing now? How could He trust me, if I didn’t?

  I saw the SUV’s back window go down on Cristal’s side. Was she trying to talk to someone else on the road?

  No.

  She was throwing things out of the SUV. I thought I saw a book crash onto the highway pavement. Then a backpack. And a bunch of papers.

  What was Cristal doing? She could end up wrecking a bunch of other cars, if only by startling them. Luckily, nothing was too heavy. Was it possible that God was inspiring Cristal to do all this?

  Around me, cars were honking on all sides. The drivers were also picking up cell phones, presumably to call Utah Highway Patrol about the debris falling around them and the dangerous SUV.

  In less than two minutes, I heard two UHP cars coming up fast on the left.

  The desire to be a hero had faded, leaving me exhausted and feeling ridiculous. I pulled out of the HOV lane and let the patrol cars zoom past me.

  One of them sped ahead and pulled in front of Emma’s car. The other one pinched her in on the right. The sirens were blinking red and blue, but Emma kept going, trying to outmaneu
ver the police cars.

  In one breathless, heart-stopping moment, I saw Emma’s SUV crash over the median barriers and land in the strip of grass between the two sides of the freeway. The front of the SUV was crushed. Only momentum kept it moving forward, and then it eased slowly to a stop.

  I pulled right and stopped my car. The chase was over, though I still felt my blood galloping in my veins.

  My head pounding so hard I could hardly see straight, I ran across the freeway in time to see Cristal limping out of the SUV. She didn’t get far before Emma tackled her from behind.

  I lunged forward, but one of the UHP troopers stopped me from getting any closer.

  “Does she have a weapon?” he asked me. We were standing about twenty feet away from the vehicle.

  “She had a knife before,” I said, as Emma got to her feet and swayed.

  “You stay here, all right?” said the trooper. He pulled out a gun and moved closer.

  I could hear cars rushing by behind us on the freeway only a few feet away. My phone was buzzing in my pocket. I only looked down at it after I saw Detective Gore step out of one of cars I’d assumed had pulled over to rubberneck.

  “Let me handle this,” she said, holding up her badge to the UHP trooper. “She’s a murder suspect and I need to take her into custody.” Detective Gore gestured to Emma Ashby.

  “I’ll back you up,” said the trooper.

  Detective Gore flashed a glance at me. “You keep out of this now. I should never have gotten a civilian involved.” She looked nervous. Did she think that I was going to tell her superiors about when she’d come to the house and admitted to me she knew who the murderer was and asked for my help?

  But my righteous anger deflated as I realized she hadn’t asked me to do any of this. She’d specifically told me not to do this. But at least there were dozens of witnesses who could now testify in court against Emma. She would be under arrest for kidnapping and reckless driving, along with a dozen other minor charges, just for what happened tonight.

  I watched as Detective Gore took out her gun and slowly approached Emma, who was now staring at her bloody hands and at what looked, from the angle of the bone, like a broken arm.

  As for Cristal, as soon as Emma had let her go, she had come to life again and crouched toward the far side of the upturned SUV. She kept glancing up at Emma to time her final flight properly. I could see the coiled energy in her back, hands pushing against the ground to give her a good head start, once she had decided to move.

  Detective Gore stood with feet spread and gun trained on Emma. “Stop, Emma. It’s all over now.”

  Emma glanced up at her and I saw no sign of recognition in her eyes. Was she going to throw herself at Detective Gore and end up being shot? My whole body was tightly clenched. I wanted her to stand trial for her husband’s murder, not be killed in front of my eyes.

  “We know you killed your husband. Your fingerprints were all over that classroom.”

  So why hadn’t they arrested her before now? Because of President Frost, of course.

  “You had an argument with Carl, didn’t you? What was the argument about?” asked Gore.

  Emma took another step forward and I winced. Please, God, I prayed, save Emma. She was a murderer and maybe worse, but she was also a mother. Her children deserved to see her again, even if it was in prison.

  “We never argued,” said Emma, stumbling slightly. “Carl was the perfect husband.” She kept repeating this to herself.

  “You found out about his affair. You were furious. How could he do this to you after more than twenty years of marriage? How could he betray you and your children?” Gore prompted.

  How much of what Gore was saying was backed by proof, and how much was guesswork?

  “He was a wonderful father. He was always there for William. He would never have done anything to harm his son,” said Emma. “Never.” She was shaking her head. Who was she trying to convince?

  “And then you found out that your marriage wasn’t legal, nor were your children’s adoptions. All that money you had assumed you would have was in jeopardy. Cristal might get it all if he changed his will.” Gore was egging her on, but Emma’s expression seemed oddly blank, as if she wasn’t hearing it.

  My eyes moved to the side for a moment as I saw Cristal sneaking her way around the other end of the car, and into the arms of the UHP trooper. As soon as he had hold of her, he hustled her inside the car.

  Cristal was going to be all right, I thought. No thanks to me. And all this time, I’d thought that Emma hadn’t known Carl was transgender. But she must have found it out, perhaps recently. Maybe some part of her mind had still been refusing to accept it, while the rest of her plotted against him. I did not understand her at all.

  “I never cared about the money. Carl knew that. He knew that I loved him for him. Our marriage was based on respect and affection. It was as good as any of the other marriages we saw around us,” said Emma defensively.

  “Emma, you strangled your husband. You brought that pink scarf with you from your house. Any jury will see intent in that,” Gore said. “We have proof of where you bought it. The receipt was in your house for a set of three scarves, and the charge is on your credit card statement from only two days before Carl’s death. You went to the church building that night to kill him. And then you walked home and waited for someone to find him. But when no one did after a few hours, you panicked and called the Wallheims.”

  Was that all that Kurt and I had been to Emma? A convenient way to get someone else to find the body so she wouldn’t look as guilty? Well, at least it hadn’t worked, since the police had suspected her from the first moment.

  Why had she left the scarf there, though? Was it just a hysterical woman’s mistake?

  “I bought that scarf to show to Carl. He liked that color on me. There was no other reason,” said Emma. But it seemed to me that she wasn’t as foggy minded as she had been. Her eyes were narrowing sharply at Detective Gore.

  “Did he fight you at all? As you wrapped that scarf around his neck, did you tell him why you were killing him? Did he think he deserved it?” asked Gore.

  The detective was crying, and I thought that of all the people who had been involved in this case, she was the one who had understood Carl Ashby the best. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know much about her at all. She wasn’t Mormon, but somehow she was in Carl’s heart.

  I could absolutely see the scene as she described it, Carl submitting to Emma’s punishment because, even after all these years, he still didn’t think he was really a man.

  “He had a devil inside of him. I had to get it out. I had no choice,” said Emma. She leaned over and vomited, and I wasn’t sure if that was because she was remembering or just reacting physically to the trauma of the accident. Did she need medical attention? Did she have brain damage? A concussion? Was she in imminent danger?

  “Tell me about that night. Tell me what you said to Carl as he died,” said Detective Gore. She was close enough now to Emma that she could have reached out and grabbed her. Instead, her gun was still steady, because Gore understood Emma as well.

  “He said that she deserved some of his money. He said that she was his daughter, born of his body. He said he’d die before he’d let her be abandoned by him, like he’d been abandoned by his parents.”

  I found myself choking at this. Carl had needed to give his daughter up for adoption so he could live the life he imagined for himself, give himself a real future. But at some point, he must have reconsidered that choice. We all reach an age when we begin to wonder how much we are like our parents, and it haunts us.

  “He begged me to understand, because he said that I was a mother. But I wasn’t her mother. I needed to protect my own children. And our children needed that money. All of it. They needed to know that their father was their father. That he had been rightly sealed in
the temple.” There was the mother in her again, the fiercely protective spirit that I had connected with from the beginning. Was I looking into a mirror image of myself? Could I become this?

  “Those kids are lucky to have you,” said Gore, without a hint of irony in her voice. She glanced back at me.

  Gore handcuffed the unresisting Emma and led her away from the SUV. I moved toward Cristal in the UHP vehicle, and asked to speak to her before she was taken to the hospital to be checked over. She had a line of dried blood on her neck, but it didn’t look too bad. She was in better shape than Emma, in fact.

  Once the door was opened, Cristal flung herself into my arms as if I were her own mother.

  “I am so, so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen to you.”

  I owed her more than an apology. Kurt and I would do everything in our power, I vowed silently, to make sure that she got the money that Carl had intended for her to have. Carl had died to give it to her, and it seemed the last thing that Kurt and I could do for our friend.

  Cristal sobbed into my shoulder, shaking violently for a long time. Then she took a deep breath and said, “I have a test tomorrow. I need to study.”

  I almost laughed at that interjection of the mundane into this heightened reality. Instead, I said, “Tell me your professor’s name. I’ll write and make sure you’re excused from this test.” It turned out I could do this one small thing for her, after all.

  I called the professor while we waited for an ambulance. I watched as Emma, handcuffed despite her broken arm, was bundled into another.

  Chapter 38

  Since I was sitting next to Cristal and she was clinging fiercely to me, the EMTs assumed I was her mother. I didn’t bother to correct them.

  “Come, get in and we’ll make sure your car is transported,” said an EMT with the most exaggerated unibrow I had ever seen, gesturing to the back of the ambulance.