Pulse

by Edna Buchanan

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  By the time dawn streaked the sky, he knew that Lucca was right about one thing. Rory was the place to start. He waited an hour, then called her from his study. She sounded warm and happy to hear his voice. Hers stirred him, replaying images from the night before, but he kept his tone impersonal and businesslike. They needed to talk. She said she would be there.

  Kathleen asked no questions but her smile devastated him. He went to the office, as though to work, reread Lucca’s reports, made notes, and listed names. Rummaging in his desk, he found the voice-activated tape recorder he once used to dictate memos between business meetings. He inserted fresh batteries, tested it, and drove to Twin Palms.

  Rory obviously expected a hug, but he brushed by herinstead and placed his briefcase on the table. “Okay, let’s get to work. Sit down.”

  “You’re like a different man this mornin'.” She looked puzzled, her voice still soft and tender. “Have you eaten breakfast?”

  “Make some coffee. We’ll need it.”

  When she brought his cup, she kissed the back of his neck, her hair spilling onto his shoulder. Instinctively he reached up to touch it, but caught himself. “Sit down,” he said.

  He punched the record button on the tape machine. “Tell me exactly what happened, moment by moment, the day Daniel died.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out.”

  “Why are we doing this?” she whispered.

  “To get to the bottom of it. Start at the beginning.”

  “The bottom of what?” Her voice remained calm, but for a moment there was a wild, unsettled look in her eyes. “My husband committed suicide.”

  “Something is wrong with that scenario. You said so yourself when we first met.”

  “But I’ve accepted it, finally. I don’t want to go there again,” she pleaded. “We—”

  “When we find out what’s wrong, what doesn’t add up, then we will know where the money went. You want to find the money, don’t you? Your future, Billy’s.”

  “Sure.” She sounded uncertain, eyes hurt.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I came home and he was—”

  “No!” he snapped. He regretted saying it more forcefully than he intended, but went on. “Start when you woke upthat day. No, no, better yet, the night before. What happened the night before? Was anyone else in the house?”

  “No. Just us.” She stared at him, long fingers plucking at the tablecloth.

  “Go on,” he urged. “What happened?”

  “Well, he came home earlier than usual. He was happy. Not ecstatic, but happier, more relaxed, than I’d seen him in weeks. He brought chocolate éclairs. Wanted to open a bottle of champagne at dinner. My aftercare counselor said that is often the case with suicides. Once they make the decision to take their lives, they’re no longer confused or in pain, they’re actually relieved and in good spirits, which, of course, makes what they do more shockin’ to those around them.

  “I thought he might be in a good mood because he had made a decision about his future, what career path to take. He was laughin’ during dinner, tellin’ stupid jokes he had heard at the restaurant. Billy acted up and was sent to his room.”

  “What did he say he was celebrating with the champagne?”

  “Nothin'. Us. Sometimes he did that when he was feelin’ romantic. It had been a while since he had.”

  “What next?”

  “That’s it. We took the éclairs and the rest of the champagne to bed with us.” Her voice trailed off, eyes empty, hands folded in her lap, like a schoolgirl at confession.

  For an awkward moment, he wondered what to ask next.

  “What time did you go to sleep?”

  “I don’t know,” she snapped, rising to her feet. She began to pace a short distance, back and forth. “Late, probably about one-thirty or two.”

  “Any arguments?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “What time did you get up next morning?”

  “Billy woke us about eight-thirty. He was hungry and excited. We were goin’ to the Museum of Science to see the dinosaur exhibit. We’d been plannin’ it for a long time. He had saved his allowance for one a them dinosaur model kits. Then we were goin’ on down to Dadeland to shop for school clothes. He needed sneakers. Then we were gonna see a two-o’clock Disney movie at the Dadeland theater.

  “I asked Daniel if he wanted to come with us, or meet us later for the movie, but he said he was tired, gonna relax for a while, then run some errands and work on a few projects around the house.”

  “What else happened before you left?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Did you eat breakfast? Did you say good-bye?”

  “Of course.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Billy wanted pancakes,” she said, sitting down again, “but there wasn’t time. We had to run or we’d never make the movie. We all had cereal and bananas. Then we took off.”

  “Where was Daniel?”

  “Right in there.” She cocked her head toward the kitchen. “Readin’ the newspaper. He came to the front door, I saw him and waved as we pulled out of the driveway.”

  “What were you wearing?”

  She sighed, slumped in her chair, hand to her forehead. “A cotton sundress, a flower print, and sandals. Took sweaters in the car ‘cuz it’s always so cold in the movies.”

  “What was Daniel wearing?”

  “?l’ jeans he’d pulled on to come downstairs, and a T-shirt.”

  “What was the last thing you said to each other?”

  “What?” She looked startled.

  “As you left. What did you say?”

  Her voice quavered as he checked the tape to be sure it was rolling.

  “I asked him to take some things out of the washer when it stopped and put ‘em in the dryer. He said, ‘Sure. Have fun.’ That was it. We never talked again.”

  “What happened next?”

  “We saw the dinosaur exhibit. Stayed longer than we thought. Then drove down to Dadeland. Traffic was horrible, parkin’ god-awful once we finally got there. Billy and I had this big discussion in the shoe store about why an eight-year-old boy did not need one-hundred-dollar Michael Jordan tennis shoes. I called the house once to git Daniel’s thoughts on the shoes and to make sure he put the clothes in the dryer, but there was no answer. I thought he was outside or maybe runnin’ his errands.”

  “What movie did you see?”

  “We didn’t. By the time we were done shoppin', no way could we make it to the movie theater in time. I promised Billy we’d go the next day. We stopped for French fries at McDonald’s and came home.” She swallowed.

  “So you got home earlier than you expected?”

  “By two hours or so.” She raised her eyes to his. “If only I’da come back even sooner, I could have stopped him. His car looked like it was in the same place that it was that mornin'. We brought the packages in from the car. I didn’t see him around. I called out to him, but he didn’t answer. His coffee cup was still sittin’ on the table. When I checked the utility room the clothes were still in the washer. I was irritated by that and called out to him again.”

  “Was the front door locked when you came in?”

  “I used the key. I guess I would have noticed if it wasn’t.”

  “Was the alarm on?”

  “No, we only used it at night when we went to bed, or if we all went out. With Billy and the cat in and out every five minutes, that kitchen door is always openin’ and closin', so we didn’t turn it on during the day.”

  “What happened next?”

  She looked past him out the window. “I called him again …” Her voice broke. “And he didn’t answer. I picked up some of the bags, Billy’s new shirts and trousers, and went upstairs. The door to Daniel’s study was closed. The house was quiet. Billy was down in the kitchen working on the dinosaur kit. I went to Billy’s room and s
tarted to put his things away, but then I started gettin’ curious about where Daniel was and went down the hall to the study. I opened the door.”

  “Show me.”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s important.”

  “Why are you doin’ this to me?” she asked plaintively. “After what—”

  “I have to know everything.” His words were demanding, his voice even, but his mind reeled with excitement, as though the elusive scent of truth was finally in the air, at last.

  He followed her slowly up the stairs. She was breathing heavily like someone in pain. “I opened the door.” She turned to him, eyes pleading.

  “Do it.” He ignored a sudden need to touch her, to comfort her.

  Sniffling, she turned the knob. “The blinds were drawn. I saw the blood first. It was everywhere. I screamed and ran to him, then I saw the gun. I think I screamed again. He was barely breathing, but I felt a pulse. I would have fainted, ‘cept I heard Billy, pounding up the stairs hollering, ‘Mommy! Mommy!’ ”

  “What did you do?” His voice was a whisper.

  “I came out, slammed the door behind me.” She closed the door and turned back toward the stairs. “Caught Billy there, at the landing. I was hysterical, I half carried, half dragged him downstairs to the phone. I dialed nine-one-one. I couldn’t let go of Billy for a second for fear he’d run upstairs. He was already struggling with me, hollerin', ‘What’s the matter! Where’s my Daddy!’

  “When he heard me say, ‘Send an ambulance, my husband’s been shot and I think he’s dying,’ he started screamin’ and kickin’ even worse.

  “I called Jill, the mother you met here that day, the car-pool mommy. I was gonna drag Billy to the neighbors across the street, but we hardly know those people, an older couple, and I didn’t want him with strangers. Jill got here in two minutes, brought her next-door neighbor. She may have a big mouth and her idea of a hot meal is Pop-Tarts, but when you need ‘er, she’s there.” She hugged her arms as though the memories had chilled her body. “They took Billy and was pullin’ away just as the rescue squad drove up. Thank God for small favors.

  “I was so relieved to see ‘em. As bad as it looked. I still thought they could save him.”

  “How bad did it look?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What did Daniel look like?”

  Her body shrank like a wild creature about to run. He caught her by the shoulders. “Tell me, please.”

  “I don’t care about the money! Leave me alone!” She wrenched away, directing her fury toward the empty study. “Daniel, you son of a bitch! How dare you do this to me! You’ve ruined my life!”

  “Tell me.”

  “Blood was everywhere,” she sobbed. “He was drenched in it. Some caked, some dried, some fresh and oozing out with other stuff. His face was distorted, huge and swollen. Discolored. All black, purple and puffy around his eyes. The bullet went in one side and came out his face. It was like it wasn’t even him anymore.

  “But they were radioin’ and on the phone and workin’ on him. I thought maybe it was ‘cuz they could save him. They made me wait outside the room. Then they said the rescue copter was coming in to airlift him to the trauma center. Next time I saw Daniel they had his entire body in one of those blood pressure suits with a big bandage around his head. The helicopter landed on that vacant property down at the corner. The treetops looked like a hurricane was stirring ‘em up. They stopped traffic. Strangers were watchin'.” She paused to blow her nose into a tissue she had fished from her pocket. “I’ll never forget that day. I couldn’t go with ‘em. I was gonna drive, but a police officer took me.”

  The recorder clicked off. Frank flipped the tape and they went downstairs to finish. She sat, hands again clasped in her lap, her expression unutterably sad.

  “They told me later that Daniel was being kept alive by artificial means. I kept askin’ if there was even a ten percent chance that he might make it. They said no chance, his brain had been destroyed. He was brain-dead.”

  “Did you see him in the hospital?”

  “Oh yes, I sat with him for the longest time, talkin’ to him. Beggin’ him not to die. But I finally believed the doctors. You can jump-start a heart, but you can’t jump-start a brain. I woulda brought Billy in to say good-bye, but there was nobody to say good-bye to. Nothing but tubes and bandages and machines. I didn’t want Billy to see his dad that way.” She blew her nose.

  “They couldn’t take his eyes,” she said softly. Palm fronds shimmied in a soft breeze outside the window. “They’d been destroyed. But they were searchin’ the national registry for organ recipients.” Her eyes met his for a moment and her voice dropped. “For you.”

  He thought of himself at that time, in his hospital bed propped up by pillows, about to drown in his own unpumped blood, gasping for air, his life and hope nearly gone.

  “I never saw the note he left on his computer screen until later, with the detectives.”

  “What was Daniel wearing when you found him?”

  She gave him a reproachful look. “A sport shirt and a pair of navy slacks.”

  “So he changed after you left. What else was he wearing?”

  “Shoes, socks, his wedding band. What does any of it matter?”

  “Where are the clothes he was wearing when it happened?”

  “Gone. Ruined, bloodstained. They cut them off him. They did give me his weddin’ ring.”

  “And Daniel?”

  “Cremated, as he asked in the suicide note …”

  “Convenient,” he muttered. This was not right. Somehow he knew it wasn’t. She had to know that, too.

  “What are you saying?” She stared in disbelief.

  “You’re not telling me something, Rory. What are you hiding?”

  “You’re right.” She sobbed again, shoulders shaking.

  He resisted touching her. “Tell me.” He stood over her chair, his voice harsh. “Say it.”

  “We weren’t … Daniel wasn’t … We weren’t the marriage made in heaven. It wasn’t perfect.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Things were real rough between us, beginnin’ when Billy was about four. Daniel worked nights, was never home except to sleep. He’d go out with his friends after the restaurant closed. I wanted more children, I wanted to play house. I’d wake up at four, five a.m., and he wouldn’t be there. The business was hard. He’d be hyper and busy all evenin', the people around him all out for a good time. He said it was hard for him to wind down just like that, to go home and go to bed. We had a big blowup. I thought we weren’t gonna make it. Went to counselin’ last year for six months. Part of the agreement was for him to git outa the restaurant business and into somethin’ more normal so we could have a family life. That’s what we were doin'. I thought it was workin’ out. I thought he was happy. I had no idea. I’m so mad at him for not talkin’ about it, but I’m mad at myself for not seein’ it and doing more.

  “If only I’d come back sooner. I could have stopped him. I could have been there, offered more help. If only I had, he wouldn’t be gone now.”

  That’s it? Frank thought. There had to be more. “What else didn’t you tell me? What else are you lying about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I’m sorry I put you through this.” He sighed and sat silently for a moment, his head in his hands. “Rory, Daniel’s death, the missing money, Harrington’s murder, they’re connected, all parts of a puzzle, and sooner or later I’ll find the piece that puts it all together.”

  “But what if there’s nothin'? What if Daniel wasn’t happy, lost the money, couldn’t go on and that’s all there is? I can finally accept it now. Why can’t you?”

  “I know there’s more. Trust me.”

  He left her standing at the door, pale and exhausted. They did not touch.

  The rescue squad dispatched to Twin Palms the day Daniel Alexander was shot had come out of Station Eight on Oak Avenue. Frank called S
tation Eight and asked for Lieutenant Sheldon, whose name was listed on Lucca’s report.

  “I’m a friend of the family, helping out,” Frank explained when Sheldon came to the phone. “I’m in the neighborhood. Could I just stop by the station for a minute?”

  “You a lawyer or working for one?”

  “No, just a friend.”

  “Sure, if we don’t have a call before you get here.”

  Another member of the rescue team that day was also on duty when Frank arrived. The third was on vacation. They talked in the immaculate kitchen area where a burly firefighter stirred potatoes and carrots into a huge Dutch oven simmering on the stove. Whatever was already in the pot smelled great to Frank.

  “Beef stew,” the lieutenant said. “We’re getting ready for lunch.” The sounds of men playing pool came from another room.

  “The guy had no chance,” the lieutenant said candidly, when Frank asked about Daniel Alexander. “But we work closely with the organ procurement team. He looked to be a prime candidate, so we notified the hospital, put on a compression bandage, the suit, did all we could to keep him going. The family should have peace of mind. It’s not like he was writhing in pain or coulda made it if he’d been found sooner. I mean, the guy was leaking brain matter.”

  “So he never spoke, never regained consciousness?”

  “No way. He was a dead man. Never knew a thing or had a thought after he pulled that trigger.”

  They remembered little about the scene, the house, or even Rory, other than to recall that next of kin had been present.

  “All I ‘member is it was upstairs,” the other firefighter said vaguely, “and I rode with him on Air Rescue.”

  “We see so many,” the lieutenant explained. “But even if it had just happened this morning, we probably couldn’t tell you what the inside of the house looked like, what anybody was wearing, that sorta thing. We get so focused, it’s like tunnel vision. All we see is the victim. It’s really intense.”

  “We went into an apartment once,” offered the other firefighter, “we’re supposed to wait ‘til the cops arrive. But some woman was screaming that her pregnant sister had been stabbed, so we go charging in, start working on the stabbing victim and never even notice the guy crouched in the corner still holding the knife, ‘til the cops show up and shoot ‘im. At first we thought they were shooting at us.”