The Ditto List

by Stephen Greenleaf

  D.T. looked around the room for something that would warm her, saw only a nylon windbreaker draped over the back of a butterfly chair across from the TV. He walked over and picked up the jacket. As he started to drop it across her shoulders he noticed the writing on the back: “Larry’s Lounge—Coors on Tap.” He swore and tossed the satin shell aside and went into the bedroom Del and Lucinda had so improbably shared.

  The bed was mussed, its linen wrinkled and limp and stained, its center springs collapsed. Clothes were scattered everywhere, men’s clothes, greased and giving off the smells of garages and grease pits. On the wall above the bed was a stylized rendering of a single word: LOVE. On the opposite wall was an 8 X 10 of Delbert and his Ford. On the tiny dressing table in the corner a jumble of jars and bottles testified to Lucinda’s efforts to please her man.

  D.T. entered with trepidation, almost stepping on a scant and filmy nightie that lay like a fallen cloud in the center of the doorway. He was more interested in the room than he cared to admit, was unable to stop himself from imagining what must have occurred in it despite all the rest that had occurred between the pair, the flower of sex a miraculous bloom in the desert of the relationship.

  The bulb in the lamp on the bedstand was red, the light in the ceiling was on a track that directed it at the center of the bed, the dresser mirror directly opposite was tilted to capture what the light revealed. Del apparently liked to stage his sex, to admire his thrust and ebb, to confirm his wife’s impalement. He wondered if Lucinda enjoyed display as well, decided she must, why else would she do it? He was tempted to open drawers and probe the closet, to look for further secrets, but he grabbed a thin blanket from the foot of the bed and returned to the living room instead.

  The blanket bore the heavy smell of talc. When he wrapped her with it Lucinda had no reaction. Excessively appreciated for what he had done for her previously, D.T. was hurt now by her indifference to his need to comfort her.

  He was trying to think of something sane to say when Dick Gardner walked in the open door, surveyed the scene, and moved briskly to the couch, the tails of blue pajamas flapping from beneath his short red jacket. If he was tired he kept its leavings secret.

  “Is this Mrs. Finders?”

  D.T. stood up. “Thanks for coming, Dick.” He performed the introductions. Lucinda barely acknowledged her second lawyer’s presence. After shaking her hand Gardner drew D.T. to the other side of the room. “She say anything to the cops?”

  “No.”

  “Did you?”

  “Only her name and that the dead guy was her husband. And that you were on your way.”

  “Okay. The woman’s in shock. She should go to a hospital. She got any friends in town? Someone who can take her there and stay with her?”

  D.T. shook his head. “I don’t know of any. She told me once she didn’t know anyone here in the city.”

  “She was married to the guy, right?”

  “Right. She filed for dissolution, then called it off.”

  “She’s a sexy little thing. How about the brain department?”

  “Ignorant, maybe. Far from stupid. Came from Reedville. Parents don’t want anything to do with her, at least her father doesn’t.”

  “This her first marriage?”

  D.T. nodded. “The guy’s been jailed for assault. A drunk. Typical punk.”

  “Good. Where’s the body?”

  D.T. pointed to the kitchen. Gardner told him to stay where he was, then went to see the scene. D.T. looked over at Lucinda. She was blinkless, breathless, as though her soul had gone to join her husband’s.

  He went to her side. “We’re going to try to get you to a hospital, Lucinda. Is there anyone who can go with you?”

  She shook her head silently.

  “Is there anyone who can come stay with the baby?”

  She shook her head again, then suddenly jerked erect. “I want Krystle with me. Where is she? Where’s my baby?” Her voice rose wildly, to a screech that alarmed him. D.T. patted her as he would a startled dog.

  “She’s still sleeping, Lucinda. She’s in the other room. Now just relax.”

  “What will they do to me? Will they kill me? They kill murderers in this state, don’t they? Don’t they kill people like me, Mr. Jones?”

  He squeezed her arm. “Listen to me, Lucinda. You’re not a murderer. What you did was fully justified. You stabbed Del to save your child. That’s clearly self-defense.”

  “I’m guilty, Mr. Jones. I killed him, so I’m guilty.”

  “Sssh. You’re not guilty of anything. Dick Gardner’s the best lawyer in town, and he’ll prove it if he has to. In the meantime, don’t say anything like that to the police or to anyone else. Just leave the talking to Mr. Gardner.”

  He tried to get her to meet his gaze, but she was looking at a place beyond him, perhaps to see how someone who always tried to do right had somehow managed to commit the biggest wrong there was.

  Dick Gardner came back in the room and D.T. went to join him. “Any doubt that she did it?” Gardner asked.

  D.T. shook his head.

  “What’d she tell you about it?”

  D.T. told him the story, trying to remember her every word, trying to capture the madness of the evening, the innocence of the girl, the wickedness of the man she’d slain. Gardner absorbed it all, but was not visibly moved. “Where’s the baby?”

  “Sleeping.”

  “I want it checked out at the hospital, too. Detailed exam, everything recorded. I’ll call a pediatrician I know and have her there.”

  “Okay.”

  “The cops will want a matron to go along. Who’s going to take her?”

  “I am, I guess.”

  Gardner looked at him skeptically, then shrugged. “They’ll want someone to take formal custody of the kid or the matron will have to take it to social services. You know anyone who’ll want it?”

  “No.”

  “Well, she should be out on bail in a few days. If you want to chance it, you can just disappear with the kid at some point, let them track you down, play dumb when they find you, and hope by that time they’ve let her out on bail. It’s not strictly legal, but it’s the only alternative to social services if there aren’t any relatives around.”

  D.T. nodded. “I’ll do it if I can.”

  Dick Gardner smiled. “Who the hell’s going to teach you how to change a diaper?”

  “I don’t know,” D.T. admitted.

  Dick Gardner looked over at his client. “What’s the story of the marriage? Why’d she want to shed him?”

  “He drank and beat her up.”

  “Lots?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bad?”

  “Fairly.”

  “Arrests?”

  “Not for that. Just for clubbing a guy with a pool cue.”

  “Was she ever hospitalized?”

  “Once that I know of. I took her there myself. He broke her nose, messed her face up pretty good. It was while she was pregnant. He also punched her belly. He threatened to do worse if she went through with the divorce.”

  “So she didn’t.”

  “Right.”

  “Who was the doctor?”

  “Faber.”

  “A good man, but not a good witness. Too goddamned precise.” Gardner eyed D.T. closely. “I don’t suppose you got any pictures?”

  D.T. smiled, quickly pleased. “As a matter of fact I did. They’re still in the camera in my trunk. They’re not developed.”

  Gardner slapped his back. “You old devil-dog. I knew that despite your performance in the Stone case there was some reason people claim you’re a good lawyer.”

  D.T. ignored the jibe. “When I was taking her to the hospital he tried to run us off the road.”

  Gardner raised his brows. “You’re kidding. You saw him?”

  “I’ll testify to it.”

  “That’s not exactly what I asked.”

  “Right,” D.T. said. “But it’s what you
want to know.”

  Gardner only smiled and nodded. “You report it to the cops?”

  D.T. shook his head. “She asked me not to.”

  Gardner thought it over. “Well, partner,” Gardner began, slapping him again on the shoulder, “I don’t think this little lady has too much to worry about. Battered women have been killing their husbands all over the country, and most of them have been getting off scot-free. It’s the modern crime of passion. Been wanting one to walk in my office for a long time. The publicity alone should take care of the fee. Come on. I’ve got a question I want to ask our charming client.”

  They walked over to where Lucinda sat. “Lucinda? How are you feeling?” Dick Gardner asked.

  “Okay. I’m just cold.”

  “That’s natural, Lucinda. In a few minutes Mr. Jones is going to take you and your baby to the hospital. To make sure you’re both all right. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, if you are all right, the police will want to question you. So Mr. Jones will bring you downtown to the police station. I’ll meet you down there, and I’ll be with you when the police talk to you. I may or may not want you to answer their questions. In the meantime, I don’t want you to say anything to anybody about what happened in the kitchen. Do you understand that? It’s very important.”

  “I understand. But I killed him. I—”

  “No more of that.” Gardner’s voice would have stopped a train. “Nothing about your husband. I mean it, Lucinda. Agreed?”

  “Okay.”

  “Now. I warn you, Lucinda, after the police question you they’ll probably put you under arrest. You’ll be entitled to bail, but it will probably amount to several thousand dollars, at least initially. Do you have that much money?”

  “Not nearly. I got eight hundred dollars saved up. It’s for Krystle to go to college. No one in my family’s ever been to college. I want Krystle to be the first.”

  She was talking only to herself, as though the past two hours had been erased. D.T. and Dick Gardner exchanged glances. Gardner spoke again, his tone as calming as a cordial. “I’m sure Krystle will do just fine at college, Lucinda, but in the meantime we have to find someone she can stay with until you’re released on bail. Are your parents available?”

  “No. They … no.”

  “Brothers? Sisters? Other relatives?”

  “My brother got killed on his motorcycle. My sister’s born again. She ain’t got time for no one but Jesus.”

  “Mr. Jones says he’ll take the baby until you’re released. Is that okay with you?”

  She looked at him as though he were a stranger. “You don’t have to do that, Mr. Jones. I can take care of her. She won’t be no trouble in jail.”

  “They won’t let you take a baby to jail, Mrs. Finders,” Gardner said. “It’s either Mr. Jones or social services, until they let you out.”

  “You already been too good to me, Mr. Jones.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Dick Gardner leaned over his client. “I have one more thing to ask, Mrs. Finders.”

  “What?”

  “When did you last have your period?”

  Lucinda’s eyes narrowed, then hardened from the suspicion that she was being mocked. “What? I … what did you say?”

  “When did you menstruate last? What day?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t keep track.” There was anger in her voice, a stubborn stiffness that hadn’t been there all evening. D.T. hoped it meant she was swinging back toward normal, that she had shed the crust of Delbert’s death.

  “Well,” Gardner said, “when you do get your period again you give Mr. Jones here a call and he’ll arrange for a doctor to see you, okay? It’s very important. The very first day. Can you remember?”

  “I guess so. But why? I know what to do with that.”

  “We’ll go into it later. Right now I’m going home and catch some sleep. Give me a call when you leave the hospital for the police station, D.T. I’ll meet you there. If she’s going to be held for observation, let me sleep till seven. One way or another I guess I’ll see you later on. Mrs. Stone going to show up in court?”

  D.T. shrugged and raised his hand to the lapel of his coat. The photographs still lay in their wool-blend grave. D.T. wanted to reach for them, to display them, to knock Dick Gardner out of his icy confidence, to do what he had been unable to do in a fair fight in the courtroom—end the Stone case on terms he could live with. But his hand held fast while Gardner waved and left the room.

  Additional technicians streamed in and out of the small apartment, the tools of their trade encased in small black bags. All of them glanced curiously at Lucinda, all admired her looks, all were intrigued by her capacity, and all swept past her without a word of greeting or consolation. Minutes later two men wheeled in a metal gurney, disappeared into the kitchen, and reappeared with a body zippered into a black rubber bag and strapped to the gurney with canvas belts. The gurney’s wheels giggled as they left the building. Beside him, Lucinda Finders said something softly to herself. D.T. draped her with his arm.

  Time took place unoccupied by either of them, was filled only with the bureaucratic aftermath of violence. D.T. struggled with words, formed sentences and abandoned them, considered clichés, condolences, catchalls. Nothing seemed as appropriate as Delbert’s death. Finally, the police matron arrived and they left for the hospital.

  The matron took Lucinda and the baby in a black-and-white. D.T. followed in his Ford. At the hospital, Lucinda’s dilemma became routine, banal. Lucinda went one way, the baby another, borne by a hefty nurse. The matron hesitated a moment, then followed after the aide who led Lucinda.

  Useless, D.T. found the waiting area. Its magazines were older even than his own. One was devoted to cars. He read it closely, every phrase unfamiliar, every fact a revelation. By the time the matron and Lucinda returned he thought he had learned why he often stalled on his way to work.

  D.T. asked Lucinda how she was.

  Her smile was wan. “Okay. They gave me these pills. To relax me. I don’t think I better be too relaxed right now, though, do you, Mr. Jones? Not if I got to talk to the police.”

  D.T. glanced at the matron. She bore an odd resemblance to Audie Murphy. “Are you taking her to the station?” he asked.

  “That’s my orders.” Even the voice was husky.

  “Couldn’t it wait till she gets some sleep?”

  “You’ll have to take it up with the people downtown. I got to bring her in.”

  “What about the baby?”

  “I do what they say downtown. They want me to take it, I go to social services. That’s all I can do.” The matron shrugged. Complications. Trivia. “Let’s get rolling.”

  D.T. told Lucinda to stay where she was, then returned to the nurses’ station and asked about the baby. He waited while someone was unintelligibly paged. A moment later a young woman in a white coat came up to him, her face narrow with concern. “Are you the police?”

  “I’m a lawyer. D. T. Jones. I represent the mother.”

  “I thought this was Dick Gardner’s case.”

  “It is. I called Dick in on it. Are you the pediatrician he mentioned?”

  The woman nodded. Her blonde hair bounced. She seemed far too dainty to deal in anything as unsavory as illness. D.T. wondered if she and Gardner were lovers. “Is the mother in jail?” the doctor asked.

  “Not yet. She’s here in the hospital.”

  “But she killed the father?”

  “I … I’d better not say anything about it. How’s Krystle?”

  “Fine. There’s minor destruction of hair, slight burns on the left cheek and arm, some bruising from the way she was handled. Must have been an ugly scene.”

  “I’m sure it was. Are all your findings contained in the hospital record?”

  “Of course.”

  “How about pictures?”

  “There’s really nothing that would show up on a snapshot, I don’t
believe. In this case words will be more than sufficient. And I’ll be happy to provide them.” She smiled the smile of an expert witness.

  “Thanks for your help,” D.T. said. “Is Krystle discharged?”

  “Yes. I hope not to social services.”

  “We’ll make other arrangements. I hope.”

  “Good. Do you do divorce work, Mr. Jones?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think you represent a friend of mine. Rita Holloway? Something about a patient of hers?”

  D.T. nodded. “Esther Preston. Right. Which reminds me, I’ve got to talk to them. We go to court on Friday.”

  “Rita says you’re the only lawyer in town who would help her.”

  “Well, she hasn’t been helped. At least not yet.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Her smile would have won his heart if it hadn’t been previously captured by the evening.

  He backed away. “Well, I guess I’d better go. The matron will be sending out the dogs.”

  “Good luck, Mr. Jones.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Krystle’s one of the lucky ones, actually. Most of the time when the parents use the child as a weapon the child doesn’t come out so good. Tell Mrs. Finders she can get her baby in Room 34. And tell Dick Gardner he owes me some scampi.”

  D.T. went back to the waiting area. Lucinda was where he had left her, looking at him anxiously. “Where’s Krystle? Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine. She’s ready to go. You can get her in Room 34.”

  “Now?”

  “Now. I’ll meet you back here.”

  Lucinda and the matron went after Krystle. D.T. went back to the nurses’ station. “Who treated Mrs. Finders?” he asked the woman at the desk.

  She shuffled some papers. “Dr. Lind.”

  “May I speak to him?”

  “I’m sorry. He’s in emergency right now. It may be some time.”

  “Okay. I’ll get in touch with him later. Please tell him this is a criminal matter, and he may be called upon to testify in Mrs. Finders’ case. His records should be complete.”

  “Our records are always complete, sir.”

  “Sure they are.”

  D.T. went back to the waiting area to call Dick Gardner. He told him they were about to leave for the station. Gardner grumbled fuzzily, but said he would be there as soon as he could. Moments later, Lucinda joined him, clutching Krystle as though she had recently dropped her. “They say she’s just fine, Mr. Jones.”