Breakaway (A Gail McCarthy Mystery)

by Laura Crum

  For a second Jeri was quiet. Then she said, "I've been taken off the case."

  "You have?" I said blankly.

  "The detective who went to the crime scene last night, the one who talked to you. Do you remember?"

  "Vaguely," I said.

  "His name's Matt Johnson," Jeri said. Once again she was quiet. Then she said, "He's an ass."

  I looked at her.

  "He was hired about the same time I was, and he's been steadily promoted ahead of me, due, in my opinion, to the fact that he's a man and I'm a woman. In any case, he technically outranks me, and he doesn't like me. Once again, in my opinion, because I'm a woman. He's in charge of the Nicole Devereaux murder investigation, and when we both discovered the overlap between my investigation and his, he asked that I be removed from the investigation. And that's what the lieutenant did."

  I still stared at her blankly.

  "Gender issues are very much alive in the sheriff's department," she said, answering the question I hadn't asked. "Don't you find that in your line of work?"

  "Sometimes," I said.

  "It becomes more obvious when you're dealing with a hierarchy. My current boss is not keen on female detectives. He pretty much sides with Matt Johnson against me, every time."

  I could hear the anger in Jeri's voice. But I had no comment, no thought.

  "Anyway," she said, "I just wanted you to know why I won't be involved from here on in. I'm sorry."

  I nodded.

  "You'll need to go down and give them a statement today," she said. "And you'll have to tell them what you know about the previous occasions at Nicole Devereaux's."

  I nodded again. I found I did not feel much like speaking. I couldn't imagine giving a statement to anyone.

  "Do you want me to drive you down there?" Jeri Ward asked.

  To my own surprise, I nodded again.

  "Go ahead and get changed then," she said quietly. ''I'll make you some toast."

  "I need to feed the animals," I said and got up.

  "Can I help?" she asked.

  "No, I can do it. It will just take a few minutes."

  I plodded out the door and down to the barn, wondering vaguely what was going on with me. My reactions seemed to be those of a withdrawn child. I didn't understand myself, couldn't explain myself to myself. But then, I didn't try much. I didn't want to think.

  Once in clean clothes, with my hair brushed and my face washed, I accepted another cup of coffee and a couple of pieces of toast from Jeri and followed her obediently out to the green sheriff's sedan.

  As we settled ourselves in the seats Jeri looked over at me. "Are you all right, Gail?"

  I met her eyes and shrugged. I didn't know what to say.

  Jeri kept looking at me.

  "I feel numb," I said at last.

  "Can you handle this?" she asked me.

  I shrugged again. "I guess so," I said.

  After a pause, she shrugged back and started the engine. "Then let's go."

  TWENTY-SIX

  The whole statement process took about two hours. I survived. Somehow I managed to answer questions while keeping my mind blank. I didn't think; I didn't feel. I stayed numb.

  Jeri drove me home with the concerned look in her eyes more pronounced than ever. As I climbed out of her car she made me promise to call a friend when I went in the house. I agreed that I would.

  Once inside and with the door safely shut against the world, I ignored the phone. Instead, I settled myself at one end of the couch and stared out the windows. I had no idea if I'd ever move again.

  All I wanted to do was sit and be quiet. Not think, not talk. Most particularly, not feel. I had the sense that a huge weight was poised above me, ready to crush me if I made the slightest wrong move. The safest thing was to hold still and be numb.

  But the phone rang.

  It was Kris. "Gail, I read about it in the paper," she said. "Are you all right?"

  "I don't know," I said.

  "I'm coming over," Kris said, and hung up the phone.

  In another fifteen minutes she was sitting next to me on the couch, wearing the same concerned look Jeri Ward had worn. Somehow one glance at me seemed sufficient to provoke this instant worry.

  "How are you doing?" Kris asked me.

  "I'm still alive," I said.

  "What does that mean?”

  "I don't know, Kris. It seems like all I can do is just keep being." Weird as this sounded, it felt true.

  Kris shook her head. "You'd better call the shrink," she said.

  "No," I said. "I'm not going anywhere. I don't want to talk to him. I just want to stay here."

  "Oh, Gail," Kris sounded genuinely distressed. "I wish I could help you."

  ''I'm not sure anyone can help," I said.

  "And I'm going away, too." Kris grimaced. "I'm afraid every night now, staying in my own house, and Jo doesn't even want to come there any more. She's afraid, too. And after this ... well, I just need to get out of here. It was the same guy, wasn't it?"

  "Yeah," I said.

  "Gail, that's terrible. I don't even want to think about it."

  "Me either."

  Kris shot me another concerned look. "I was going to ask if you could feed Dixie; the woman who boards Rebby doesn't want any mares in that field. She thinks they'll make the geldings fight. But I'll try to find someone else."

  "I can do it," I said.

  "Gail, you've got enough to deal with."

  "I can feed your horse," I said. "I have to go to work. I have to live my life, Kris. Feeding your horse is no big deal. You know I have to keep going."

  Kris was quiet. "That's true," she said at last. "All right, if you want to. The key's where it always was."

  "In the big flower pot on the front porch?"

  "Right. And I feed her a fat flake of alfalfa, night and morning. Starting Monday night, for two weeks."

  "No problem," I said.

  Kris stayed for another hour, carefully not talking about Nico or the murder, until she finally ran out of innocuous conversation and I ran out of monosyllabic replies. When she left, Kris looked even more worried. Nothing I said seemed to reassure her.

  "Gail, I wish you'd call the shrink," she said.

  "Maybe I will."

  "Please."

  Kris took her leave and I went back to my spot on the couch.

  Roey jumped up next to me and curled herself next to my thigh. I sat in the corner and stared out the windows. The fog was clearing. Faint sunlight lit the low hills.

  Four hours later the fog crawled back in, long white fingers creeping over the pines and eucalyptus. Still I sat. I wasn't hungry; I wasn't thirsty. I could not fathom my strange state.

  Three more hours and dusk darkened the foggy sky. My back ached from sitting. I could hear Plumber nicker. Reluctantly and stiffly, I pushed myself up off the couch. The animals needed to be fed, even if I didn't.

  I made my way through the evening chores, doing what was necessary by rote. Nothing seemed real, nothing had any meaning. Not Plumber's bright, inquiring eye nor Gunner's out-thrust muzzle. Not the red-tail hawk watching me from the pine snag on the ridge nor the apricot-colored rose Francesca, in full and glorious bloom along the grape stake fence. Nothing touched me, nothing moved me. I felt nothing.

  Only the sense of an immense weight hovering above me, ready to cut loose. I kept my mind still; even my movements were slow and cautious. I did not want to tip the balance.

  Chores done, I made my sluggish way up the hill to the house, Roey frisking alongside of me. Even her exuberance was unsettling. I shut her in the pen and fed her and went back to sit on the couch.

  Some hours later I was still sitting there in the darkness when my pager buzzed. It took me a minute to comprehend the noise. I'd more or less forgotten that I was a vet, that I was, in fact, on call. With infinite slowness, or so it seemed, the thoughts sorted themselves out. I turned the pager off and called the answering service.

  "A John J
ay has a colicked horse out at the Bishop Ranch," the woman said.

  "All right. Tell him I'll meet him there."

  "The horse is in a stall in the main barn," came back the reply. "He said he'd be waiting for you."

  I hung up the phone and tried to gather myself together. I had to get up and go be a vet. A competent professional on whom lives depended. It seemed impossible, but I had to.

  Getting up off the couch itself seemed beyond me. I needed a mental whip to scourge my unwilling body, but my mind was limp as cooked pasta. There was simply nothing there to drive with. Reaching deeper, I found the still, small core of will.

  You must, I told myself, and I got up. My legs felt as shaky as my brain, but I walked out to the truck. It wasn't until I was rolling down the driveway that I remembered I hadn't eaten anything since the two pieces of toast Jeri had made for me this morning. No wonder I felt weak. Oh well. Nothing for it now.

  I drove the short stretch to the Bishop Ranch resolutely not thinking about how I would deal with a difficult case. I did not think about anything, just kept the truck on the dark road and my mind blank. It seemed the only possible way to exist.

  All was quiet at the Bishop Ranch. The three-quarter moon had risen above the ridgeline and its gray-silver light mingled with the orangey glow from the low pressure lights that were scattered about the barnyard, showing me the old buildings and corrals. A few vehicles were parked here and there, but I didn't see any people. The horses visible in a shed row off to my right all had their heads down, munching hay.

  Automatically, I looked toward Clay's house. Both his truck and the new sports car were visible in the driveway, and lights were on in the windows. The big white truck with BISHOP RANCH painted on the doors-the truck Bart usually drove-was parked near the main ranch house. Lights were on in the windows there, too. But still, no people apparent.

  I shrugged and got my flashlight out of the truck. The big barn was to my left, and this was where the client was supposed to meet me. I headed in that direction.

  No doubt the barn had lights, but I didn't know where they were. Using my flashlight, I searched for a switch near the door, but found nothing. I shone the beam down the barn aisle but could see nothing-no human beings, anyway, just the occasional horse face looking over a stall door. Perhaps the colicked horse was at the other end. I started walking.

  The flashlight beam showed me quiet horses in their stalls; the shadowy cavern of the big barn stretched away around and above me. An owl hooted softly somewhere up in the beams; I could hear the rustles and thuds of horses moving, the steady chomp, chomp of horses eating. That was it. No one hailed me, there were no lights, no sound of a disturbance.

  About halfway down the aisle I stopped. Something was wrong. The client hadn't arrived yet, maybe. I felt the quiet darkness and it did not feel right.

  Some tension, some intensity, something palpable-was it footsteps? I took a step backward, swung the flashlight in an arcing sweep.

  All my instincts screamed a warning, fear rushed into the blank hole of my mind. The flashlight swept wildly down the aisle; I saw a figure and turned without thinking to run.

  In the turn the light caught someone just behind me; I screamed, startled out of any wits I had left.

  "Why, Dr. McCarthy." Bart Bishop bared his teeth at me. "Did I scare you?"

  I said nothing, just gripped the flashlight and looked at him. I saw something in Bart's eyes, something I could not place, and then a voice spoke from behind me.

  "Gail, what are you doing here?" Clay's voice.

  I turned to find Clay approaching from the other end of the barn; his was the figure I'd seen, then.

  I took a deep breath. Gathering my wits, I spoke to both brothers. "Someone called me out here for an emergency colic. Someone named John Jay. He was supposed to meet me here in the big barn."

  Bart and Clay looked at each other. After a minute, Bart stepped over to what appeared to be a big supporting post and reached behind it. With an audible click, overhead lights switched on, illuminating the barn.

  We all looked around. No one was visible but the three of us.

  "I don't have any boarders named John Jay." Bart said. He made it sound like an accusation.

  I could feel fear seeping out of my bloodstream and anger pumping up.

  "Why didn't you turn those lights on earlier," I demanded of Bart. "You nearly scared me to death, sneaking up behind me like that."

  At the same time, I noted there was a flashlight in Clay's hand, a flashlight that had certainly not been on as he walked down the barn aisle toward me.

  "How the hell am I supposed to know there's no boarder named John Jay?" I demanded again, my voice rising.

  Bart looked at me and narrowed his eyes. "I didn't know what you were up to, sneaking into my barn in the middle of the night. I thought I'd better see."

  "For God's sake, what did you suppose I was up to? You could see my truck parked out in the driveway in plain sight. Why the hell didn't you just turn the lights on and say, 'Hey.' And for that matter, what were you doing sneaking around the place at night yourself?"

  "I always check the horses before I go to bed. It's a good practice." Bart watched me steadily.

  I said nothing; I could feel my hands shaking.

  Clay looked concerned. "I'm sorry we scared you, Gail. I saw someone pull in when I was looking out my window, saw the flashlight go into the barn. I didn't know it was you. I was just checking."

  I nodded. The shakes were growing stronger; I wasn't sure I could trust myself to speak steadily. Tightening my jaw muscles, I said, "It must have been a prank. I'll be going."

  I started walking. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Bart shrug and continue strolling down the barn aisle, looking casually into the stalls as he passed. Clay fell in beside me. His eyes were worried.

  "I'm really sorry, Gail. I know you found that other woman down the road last night. I was going to call you, but I didn't know if I should. We're all a little paranoid around here since we heard."

  "Right," I said.

  I did not feel up for conversation. I knew Clay was going to think I was angry, but I didn't care. All I wanted was to get in my truck and get out of here. I could feel that I was about to start crying.

  Clay stayed by my side until we reached the truck. I started to climb in, but his hand on my arm detained me. I didn't look at him. I knew there were tears on my cheeks.

  "Gail, I'm really sorry," he said again.

  "Right," I said. "It's okay. I've got to go." Still not looking at him, I climbed in the pickup, waved a quick good-bye, and started the engine.

  Something was shifting, something was changing. I knew Clay was looking after me, but I did not look back. The tears were flowing faster now; my breath was coming in gulps.

  I sobbed all the way home.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The weight had shifted. I could not stop crying. Overwhelming waves of grief rushed over me, too painful to bear. I sat on the couch and sobbed and sobbed, gasping for air.

  I thought of Nico as I had seen her last; I thought of her bright, pure face in life. I thought of my parents; of Lonny, who wasn't here to hold me; of Blue, my old dog; of all loss, all grief.

  Like lava, searing pain poured out of me, streaming down my face. I cried, feeling I would never stop, sobbing noisily and messily in the empty darkness, staring at the blank windows, knowing that balance had gone and I was falling.

  It was like tumbling into an abyss, in free fall, going down and down, with no bottom in sight. I was lost. It seemed as if Gail was no more. Only endless grief.

  I don't know how long I cried. It seemed like hours. It seemed like forever. Eventually the tears slowed to a trickle and the gasping sobs eased. The pain became a quiet river, rather than a raging torrent. It flowed steadily through my limp body and exhausted mind, running out of my eyes gently.

  I still sat on the couch, facing the dark windows. I found I was waiting for dawn. I
had no idea how far away it was; I did not turn to look at the clock. I merely watched.

  Swirls of anxiety and grief went through me, tears flowed sporadically now. I watched the night sky from a desolation of loneliness and waited.

  I am in the abyss, I thought. I am in the dark night of the soul. The words came unbidden; I remembered that Nico had said them to me.

  My mind seemed to be working again. I found myself wondering what happened now, now that I was here at the bottom. I had never cried like this in my entire life, that I could remember. My whole body ached from crying.

  And yet, there was relief in it. I could feel, I was feeling, the terrible sadness. No doubt this was what the shrink had meant when he talked about feelings of grief that I'd repressed for so long. Feelings about myself as a lonely child, feelings about my parents' death. Every time I thought of my parents, a few more tears leaked out of my eyes.

  And then there was Nico. I found I could think of Nico now, in fact, I couldn't stop thinking of her. Of her grace and beauty, of the horror of her death. Mixed with grief was a steadily growing rage, every time I saw her dead body in my mind.

  He had done this, the evil man who came at night to the horses. I remembered the fear I'd felt in the Bishop Ranch barn and wondered if he had been there. Had I felt his presence? Had the call been a pretext to get me out there where he could kill me?

  I felt strangely detached from fear now. Grief and anger were taking up all the emotional space I had. There was no room for fear.