by Nick James
The Courthouse building took up an entire city block and he turned at the intersection and drove along the side of the building, turning again at the corner. He was almost at the next corner when he spotted her, sitting on the sidewalk with her back against the building. He quickly pulled over and got out.
Her arms were wrapped around her legs and her head rested on her knees. As he approached her head lolled back and she opened her eyes, make that eye. Singular. Her left eye was blackened and swollen shut. The left side of her face and her lower lip were swollen and bruised. Coagulated blood crusted around her nostrils, across her upper lip and down her chin. Her chest was covered with blood splatters dotting her cream-colored top. The top was ripped open across her left shoulder.
“Christine?” Bobby said. He made a mental calculation on where the closest hospital was located. Figured there was no point in asking if she was okay. He reached down and helped her to her feet.
She groaned as he pulled her up. Her purse had been sitting on her lap and it fell onto the sidewalk. She seemed completely unaware and attempted to focus on him. “Oh, Bobby. Did you bring me a little something? Come on, we’re gonna party, baby. Whatever you want,” she said, then staggered a step or two as she ran the back of her hand across her nose causing it to start bleeding again.
He got her into the front seat of the Mercedes, tossed her purse in the back seat then headed for St. Joseph’s hospital just a few blocks away. He was tempted to drop her at the ER door and drive away but thought better of it and helped her inside. He explained to the attendant that he found her walking on the street, thought she’d been assaulted, possibly raped and that he would pay any costs incurred.
It must have been a slow night in the ER because she was sedated and in a room a little after sunrise. Bobby went back to his new apartment, made some coffee and armed with the phone number called Christine’s home. It was just after eight in the morning.
Chapter Seventy-Two
“Daryl Woodley,” Bobby said once the male voice answered. He could hear the sound of children in the background. They sounded like very young children.
“Speaking.”
“Mister Woodley, my name is Bobby Custer. I live in St. Paul. I’ve just come from St. Joseph’s Hospital. I brought your wife there a little after three this morning.”
“Christine, Jesus, you found her, is she all right?” he half shouted.
In the background a little voice asked “Is it mommy?”
“Yes, she’s all right, at least as far as I know. I found her on the street, on my way home,” Bobby added trying to ensure a little bit of distance from Christine and her recent activity. “I think she was assaulted. She was bruised, but she didn’t appear to have any broken bones. I just left the hospital maybe an hour ago, she’s in a room, sedated. I’m sorry I don’t have any more information than that.”
“Oh, Jesus,” the voice on the other end cried. “Just a minute, can you hold on while I get a pen?” he said, then obviously set the phone down without waiting for Bobby’s answer.
“Okay, I’m back. I’m sorry, tell me your name again.”
“Bobby Custer.”
“And your number, please?”
Bobby gave him his phone number, then added that he worked for the law firm of Denton, Allan, Sawyer and Hinz just to add some more credibility. As he hung up Daryl Woodley sang “Thank you, thank you, thank you” into the phone.
Bobby woke in the middle of the afternoon. After a shower and two scrambled eggs he turned on his phone to check for messages. Mercifully there weren’t any. As he dressed he debated about going to see Christine. Then, ignoring all the warnings screaming in his head he drove back down to the hospital.
He was given directions in the hospital lobby by a smiling sixteen-year-old with a nametag that read “Information”. Christine had been moved and was now up on the third floor, in 311-B.
The hallways were a pale green in contrast to the pale blue scrubs the staff wore. There were three women seated behind the nurse’s station involved in a conversation that had something to do with the Cat in the Hat. 311-B was just past the nurses’ station and the door was open. Bobby approached cautiously.
A heavyset woman with salt and pepper hair was asleep and snoring in the first bed. Bobby walked past her and stepped beyond the white curtain partially pulled across the room.
A bruised and battered Christine was leaning back in the raised hospital bed focused on a man with a square chin and a hard look on his face. She was dressed in a sleeveless powder blue hospital gown with a matching powder blue nose splint. She held a tissue in her hand and from the look of her blackened eyes she had been crying for a long while. The swelling was still apparent on the left side of her face. Her left eye was purple and swollen closed with a bandage above the eyebrow that Bobby guessed might be covering a stitch or two.
An area larger than he remembered was bruised purple along the left side of her face. Brownish-green traces lingered along the very edge of the bruise. Black and blue marks dotted the upper area of her chest. Her arms, at least what Bobby could see were bruised and looked like someone had squeezed them in a vice grip and then hung on.
Both individuals turned to look at Bobby, the man glared and Christine looked shocked.
“Hi Christine. I wanted to stop in and see how you were doing. It’s me, Bobby, I brought you in last night,” he said hoping she picked up on his prompt and didn’t scream something like “This is all your fault.”
“Bobby, I’m Daryl Woodley, we spoke on the phone this morning. Thank you so much.” The man said as he rose to his feet. He hovered a good two inches above Bobby, was somewhat heavier and in a lot better shape. He thrust a muscular arm in Bobby’s direction and held out his hand. When Bobby took his hand it felt like he was squeezing a brick.
“Very nice to meet you, Daryl. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. How’s the patient?” Bobby said, then directed his attention back to Christine and tried to signal with a pleading look in his eyes.
“I guess it could have been worse,” she said. Her voice was scratchy, her nose was obviously plugged and she had a panicked look on her face just now. She didn’t sound tired, she sounded exhausted and she blinked back with her one eye.
“Well, I’m sure you’re in good hands here. Listen, I’ll leave you two. Daryl, you’ve got my number if I can be of any help,” Bobby said. He was already backing up, beginning to make his hasty retreat.
Christine slowly closed her eyes looking like she was about to fall asleep. Bobby smiled and took another backwards step in the direction of the door.
“Let me follow you out,” Daryl said softly, then directed Bobby toward the door by placing a hand firmly on his shoulder.
Daryl stopped out in the hallway just beyond the door. He had glanced around before he said anything and then almost whispered when he did speak. “I can’t thank you enough for finding Christine.”
Bobby shook his head suggesting any upstanding citizen would have done the same and hoped that would help bring an end to the conversation before it even began. “I’m just glad she’s all right. I’m sure she’ll look and feel a hundred percent better in another twenty-four hours.”
“In another twenty-four hours I hope to have her in rehab,” Daryl said. “I don’t suppose I have to tell you that she’s suffered a relapse. Jesus, she’s been clean for almost a year, and now this.” He shook his head like it didn’t make any sense to him. Bobby could only hope Christine continued to keep her husband in the dark.
“You, you found her on the street?” Daryl asked softly.
“Yes, by the Courthouse, actually. She was sitting on the sidewalk, leaning against the building. I don’t know, it just didn’t look right so I stopped.” Bobby said.
“Didn’t look right?”
Bobby shook his head to suggest he wasn’t sure. “I can’t really put a handle on it. I think maybe her clothes.”
Daryl’s eyes grew hard.
&n
bsp; “They were nice, you know what someone would wear to work. It was late, her head was resting on her knees. I thought she might be crying. Like I said, I don’t really know what it was other than it didn’t seem to add up, so I stopped just to see if she was okay.”
Daryl nodded like it suddenly made sense.
Bobby went for gold. “Once I saw her, I mean her face. She’d been attacked. I figured she had been robbed or something. I thought about calling the police, then thought in the time it would take the cops to get there I could bring her to the hospital.”
“You didn’t see her purse?”
The voice inside Bobby’s head screamed, “You idiot, her purse!”
“No I didn’t. To tell you the truth I was so shocked I didn’t even think of that until just now when you mentioned it. I just wanted to get her someplace safe and have her looked at.” He spoke in a soft, caring voice, making sure Daryl got the message loud and clear that Bobby was the city’s Good Samaritan.
“And you offered to cover her costs?”
“It was the least I could do under the circumstances. I just wanted her looked at and safely in a room. I don’t know what their policy is, but I didn’t want her turned away. I didn’t know if she had insurance or anything.”
“You said you’re a lawyer?”
“I’m with a firm here in town, Denton, Allan, Sawyer and Hinz,” Bobby said dodging the direct question.
Daryl nodded and extended his hand. “I really can’t thank you enough, Bobby. You saved her. Now we’re going to get her well, again.” His eyes watered and he swallowed the lump that was suddenly in his throat.
“You’re both in my prayers,” Bobby said. He smiled and extended his hand while the voice inside his head screamed get the hell out of here.
All the way home the familiar voice was back, screaming Prez. He glanced around the empty underground parking just to make sure he was alone, then pulled Christine’s purse from the floor of the back seat and hurried inside.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Bobby had been lost in a quagmire of Morris Montcreff files for the past few days. He was halfway through a second legal tablet of his own notes, not to mention having become rather adept at navigating the firm’s online references when his desk phone rang.
“This is Bobby,” he said and glanced away from the contract he’d been studying. He pulled the sheet of white paper with a corned beef on bagel sandwich from Cecil’s delicatessen toward him.
“I have a gentleman up here to see you,” Marci said, then lowered her voice. “A police detective.”
Drugs, murder, rape, falsifying documents, firebombing cars, the ticker tape of potential crimes flashing across his mind in red letters with the word WARNING just below seemed endless.
“I’ll be right there,” he said, then quickly wrapped his sandwich and slipped it into the top desk drawer. He brushed the crumbs off his desk and scattered them across the carpet on his way out the door.
On the way to Marci’s receptionist counter he cursed the fact there wasn’t a back staircase he could use to make his getaway. His heartbeat began to pound a little louder in his ears with every step. He passed Angie’s cubicle just as she looked up. She seemed to mouth something, at least her lips moved, but he couldn’t make out what she said over the pounding and he simply nodded.
As he came around the corner Marci moved her head to indicate the grey-suited figure hiding behind a copy of the Wall Street Journal.
“May I help you?” Bobby asked just as the Wall Street Journal came down and Daryl Woodley jumped to his feet.
“Hi Bobby, sorry I didn’t call ahead. I was wondering if I might grab a moment of your time?”
“Of course, great to see you again, Daryl. Come on back,” Bobby said more for Marci’s benefit than anything else, then he added, “How’s Christine doing? The kids?” Just as they rounded the corner and headed back toward his office.
If Daryl had answered any of Bobby’s questions it didn’t register. Bobby felt himself growing more on guard with every step he took. “Please excuse the mess,” he said, stepping into his tiny office. “Grab a seat. Let me get some of this out of the way,” he said then, pushed two stacks of accordion binder files off to the side. He closed the open file on his desk and sat down.
He took a deep breath and caught the sent of raw onions and corned beef seeping out of his desk drawer. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on the desk and asked, “Is this business or pleasure, Daryl?” Immediately regretting the question the moment the words had passed over his lips.
“Little of both, I guess. First off, I just wanted to say thanks, again. I mean if it wasn’t for you…” Daryl’s voice trailed off. He stared somewhere over Bobby’s shoulder possibly at a number of uncomfortable options.
“I’m just glad she’s okay,” Bobby replied.
Daryl nodded. “She’s back in treatment, the department has some pull so I was able to get her in right away. It’s gonna be at least ninety days.” He looked up at Bobby. “I just wanted to ask you about that night again. Some of it just isn’t making sense.”
“Okay. Not sure I’ll be able to add anything, but go ahead.” He smiled and attempted to swallow the fear in his voice.
“You say you saw her on the street?”
“Yeah. Not actually on the street itself. She was sitting on the sidewalk, leaning against the Courthouse. Like I said it just didn’t look right. Can’t tell you why, exactly.” Bobby shook his head reminding himself to shut up.
“Which side of the building was this?”
“That would have been the north side, the one across from the Lowery building.”
Daryl nodded like this made sense, but then said, “Not exactly a main thoroughfare, mind me asking what you were doing at that hour?”
Bobby shook his head suggesting he didn’t mind at all, while the alarm bells sounded in his head. “I do that from time to time, I love the building, itself.”
“The Courthouse?”
“Yeah,” Bobby shrugged to suggest ‘Isn’t that crazy?’ “So I zipped around the building, but it’s the park up in front of the library I really enjoy. You know all the lights on the hundred-year-old trees. Then you’ve got the Landmark Center on one side and all lit up, the library, the theatre, no real traffic. I just find it very relaxing, soothing I guess. I probably drive around the thing at least once a week.”
“In the middle of the night?”
Careful, careful… “Not usually,” Bobby said and smiled.
“And what, you couldn’t sleep Friday night?”
“Exactly,” Bobby said and then just smiled.
“You said you didn’t see her purse?”
“That’s right, but like I said before, I was so shocked and well to tell the truth, I was damn scared. I just wanted to get the two of us into the car and the hell out of there. I didn’t see anything or anyone, but it was obvious she had been assaulted and I didn’t know if the person or persons were still around or maybe coming back. I’m sorry, Daryl, but given everything, I didn’t even think to look for her purse. Frankly the thing could have been right next to her, but I was in such a panic mode that even if it was right there, well it just didn’t register with me.”
Daryl nodded, then sort of frowned as if he was thinking of something else. Eventually he looked up at Bobby. “Well, I’d better get out of your hair looks like you’ve got a lot to do,” he said indicating the stacks of files. He rose to his feet and extended his hand. “I want to thank you once again, Bobby.”
Bobby shook his hand and said, “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
Bobby glanced at his watch a half dozen times as the elevator carried him up to the fourth floor. He unlocked the door to his unit, closed it behind him and turned the deadbolt lock. He hurried into the kitchen and pulled the window shade. He opened a cabinet door beneath the granite-topped island and pulled out Christine’s purse, dumped the contents out across the black g
ranite counter and wondered ‘What the hell had he been thinking?’
He pushed her phone, a quarter and two dimes off to the side, grabbed a white plastic garbage bag and shoveled two tubes of mascara, lipsticks, a blusher compact, Tampax, eyeliner, nail polish, a broken nail file, car keys, children’s photos, two condoms and half a Milky Way candy bar into the trash bag.
He rifled through her pocketbook, her driver’s license was there along with a half dozen photos of two little boys and another photo that looked like her husband Daryl from about ten years ago. Bobby didn’t see any credit cards and there wasn’t a hint of the two hundred dollars he’d handed her that afternoon.
He turned his attention to her phone and scrolled through her text messages, there were close to a dozen. The ones from Daryl read: “Didn’t hear you leave…” “Running late?” “Where are you?” “Are you all right?” “I’m worried?” “You’re scaring the boys!!!” and finally “Fuck You”. They began a little after five on Friday morning and stopped shortly after midnight Saturday morning.
There were two other messages, both from Prez. The first one came early Friday morning, “Don’t forget the raincoat” it said. The time made sense but the message didn’t and Bobby tossed it back and forth in his mind for a minute before he gave up.
The second contact from Prez was a text message and read, “Party corner of Charles and St. Alban’s 5:30, treat for you!” It had been sent late on Friday afternoon, after Christine had met Bobby and before Bobby’s disastrous meeting with Prez.
Bobby thought back to that meeting. Someone had been in Prez’s car honking the horn. He figured it had been a woman, he just never dreamed it might have been Christine. Then Prez’s parting words drifted back, “Bobby, you think I just been sitting around like some stupid street punk you can screw whenever you feel like it. Fuck you, man, I got my own sources.”
He hadn’t stopped thinking about it two hours later. He’d taken the trash bag with the makeup and the debris from Christine’s purse and tossed them in a dumpster behind the grocery store. Then he left the empty purse in a city receptacle for trash on a busy street corner.
