SEVENTY-EIGHT
Natasha stared into her husband's open eyes through a veil of warm tears. His pupils were fixed and dilated.
“Oh, Ward, don't leave me,” she called, cradling his bloodred face between her wet hands.
“Is he dead?” Alice asked.
Natasha eased Ward's head down and began giving him chest compressions. After a dozen, she put her fingers to his throat and felt a faint pulse, then nothing.
“No, he's still alive.”
Natsaha gathered her thoughts. “Alice, on top of the refrigerator—bring me the black case!”
Alice tossed the gun to the couch cushions, ran, and returned in seconds with the case in her hands. Natasha opened it with bloody hands and turned on the defibrillator, purchased after her son's death.
“Now, look under the sink and get the trash bags. In the utility room there's a roll of duct tape in the cabinet over the washing machine. Bring those to me,” Natasha ordered in as calm a voice as she could manage. “Can you do that?”
“Sure I can,” Alice said, rushing from the room.
Natasha felt the blood flowing freely from Ward's open wounds, but she had to get his heart beating, and it might, at least until he had lost so much blood that his heart was starved.
“Oh, Ward, please stay with me. Please don't leave me.”
SEVENTY-NINE
Alice found the garbage bags and rushed to the utility room. In the collection of tools in the cabinet over the washing machine, there was a large roll of gray tape, which she grabbed up and carried from the room.
When she turned the corner she ran headlong into a solid mass holding a gun. It grabbed her with its free hand.
Alice screamed.
From the den, Natasha yelled, “Alice!”
“FBI,” the man yelled.
“Get the fuck out of the way,” Alice hollered, struggling to break away.
The man released her and she ran back to the den, jumping over the body of Evelyn Gismano and handing the bags and tape to Natasha, who had pulled Ward's wet shirt up over his chest. Agent Mayes rushed into the room behind her, then froze in place as he took in the scene. Before he did anything to help, he moved from Evelyn to Louis Gismano, checking each for a pulse. Natasha glanced up and noted his presence with relief.
Taking a plastic bag, Natasha laid it over the open wound and said, “Agent Mayes, grip him under his shoulders and lift him up for me.”
The FBI man put his gun in its holster, and did what Natasha told him to do.
Alice stood back as the man and Natasha raised Ward's torso, and she watched as Natasha pressed his guts into the cavity, placed the trash bag around her husband's stomach, took the roll of tape, and, with difficulty, secured the bag in place.
“There's no cell signal,” Agent Mayes told her. “And the driveway is blocked.”
“We have to get him to the emergency room,” she said. “We can't wait for EMS or he'll bleed out.”
“My car is up the driveway.”
“Can you carry him?” Natasha asked.
Mayes knelt, picked Ward McCarty up from the floor, and carried him. Passing the front door he began to run, with Alice and Natasha at his side. Natasha had the defibrillator case under her arm.
“Stay with us, Ward,” the FBI agent said.
The man put Ward in the rear of his car, then ran around and pulled him completely inside.
Natasha climbed in the backseat and kneeled on the floorboard. The agent slammed the doors and, as Alice Palmer climbed into the passenger seat, he placed a blue light on the dashboard, flipped it on, and roared out in reverse, turning the heavy sedan out onto the road. He jerked the shifter down and peeled rubber heading down the highway. A mile down the road, he picked up his phone and dialed 911 without looking.
“Please hurry,” Natasha commanded.
“I'm hurrying as fast as I can,” he replied, the speedometer passing rapidly through eighty miles an hour.
“Don't you like have a siren?” Alice asked him. And she realized, to her amazement, that she was crying.
EIGHTY
When Ward opened his eyes slowly, the first thing he saw was Natasha, sitting beside the bed holding his left hand.
“Welcome back,” she said, wiping away a tear from her cheek.
He turned his head the other way to see Alice Palmer asleep in the reclining chair by the window. There were small droplets of blood, like freckles, dotting her lax features.
A tall, stooped man in whites, with a gleaming bald head, finished checking the machines. Ward looked across the bed, fixing him in his gaze. He recognized the man, but couldn't seem to remember his name.
“Ward, you're in the hospital and you're fine. Don't try to talk. You need to rest and gain your strength. Your injuries are very serious, but you're going to be fine.”
Ward tried to speak, but all that came out was a croak.
“Don't try to talk,” Natasha said. “You're safe. We're all safe.”
“I was dead,” Ward managed to say. “I was with Barney,” he told her. “I really was.”
“Your heart stopped,” Natasha told him. “But just for a few seconds.”
“I saw …” Ward started. “I saw you put the garbage bag around me. I was watching from …” He tried to point up, to remember more, and did. “I was with Barney and I saw you leaning over me trying to help me.”
Natasha's perplexed expression reflected confusion, but he was sure she believed him.
“You have to get some rest. You can tell me about it later.”
“We repaired everything, Ward,” the doctor said. “You're stable, and your vitals are getting stronger by the minute.”
“Thank, you, Scott,” he said, his voice cracking with gratitude. Scott Boggs was the doctor's name and his son had played Little League with Barney. Ward's right hand was throbbing and he looked down at the encasing bandage. He remembered the knife. “My hand …”
“There's extensive damage to your hand. Dr. Levingston, our orthopedist, took a look at it, and he's going to operate to reattach the tendons when you're stronger. Hopefully the nerves will grow back together in time.”
“I understand,” Ward said. “Thank you, Scott.”
Boggs put a hand on Ward's shoulder and squeezed gently. “You are so welcome, Ward. Mind your wife and get some rest. We'll manage the pain, and get you back on your feet in no time.”
“It could use some pain management,” he said.
“We're on top of it,” Natasha said.
A nurse had come in and Natasha stepped back to let her take her place. The nurse raised a syringe, looked at it, and inserted it into the IV tube culminating under the bandage on Ward's hand. As she depressed the syringe, Ward felt a cool sensation in his right hand as the pain faded.
He was aware of Natasha kissing him on the cheek as he floated away.
EIGHTY-ONE
Outside the overcast sky was cooling the summer air, and a pair of deer grazed without fear on grass near the tree line. FBI Agent John Mayes stood in the McCartys’ den watching the FBI's crime scene technicians gathering evidence. The case wasn't federal, but Mayes had decided that the least the FBI could do was process the scene to make sure things were done right, and the local authorities would be able to close the case as soon as possible.
He turned to see into the kitchen where Dr. McCarty sat looking out the window, her hand trembling as she brought a bottle of water to her lips. The rectangular bandage that covered the sutured knife wound on her neck was visible— that would be lasting evidence of the events of the night before.
Alice Palmer sat on a stool beside Natasha, playing her video game, lost in her own thoughts. The odd young girl had killed an extremely dangerous man, and had she not done so, she and the McCartys would be dead. And maybe he would have even killed Mayes.
The sheriff's deputy had driven the women back to the house. Mayes had arrived a few minutes earlier, so the two could give their official statements. Ma
yes and Firman would get Ward McCarty's side when he was no longer in and out from painkillers.
Alice had remained at Dr. McCarty's side, and she'd been a comfort through the long morning hours while Ward McCarty had been in surgery.
Dr. McCarty locked eyes with Mayes. She smiled weakly and nodded at him. She'd gone without sleep since the morning before, had gone through hell the night before, and had been in the OR observing her husband's touch-and- go surgery until ten that morning. She had only left him after he was out of surgery and had spoken to her. Despite the circles under her eyes, they remained bright, though worried.
John Mayes closed his notebook and signaled Bill Firman. Together, they walked into the kitchen.
Alice broke her concentration on the tiny screen to look up as they entered. Just for a second, though. The girl seemed no worse for the ordeal she'd been through, but he thought she might be in shock.
“Alice, this is FBI Agent Bill Firman,” Natasha said.
“Okay,” Alice said.
“This won't take long,” Mayes told the women.
“That's fine,” Natasha told him. “I'd like to get cleaned up and get back to the hospital as soon as possible.”
“Me, too,” Alice said, without looking up. “I stink like a pig.”
Alice's video game emitted a series of musical notes and she smiled broadly before turning the screen toward Dr. McCarty
“I beat it,” she said, proudly.
“That's good, Alice,” Dr. McCarty told her, smiling.
Alice turned the machine off and placed it on the counter. “You can give it to one of your sick kids or something.”
“I had your car pulled out of the hole. You can go whenever you like,” Mayes said.
Alice shrugged. “I told my mother I'd come home tomorrow. I thought I'd stay around to keep Natasha company—if she wants me to, I mean.”
Dr. McCarty placed her hand on the girl's. “That's absolutely fine. My parents are coming in tomorrow, but until they get here, I could use the company.”
Alice beamed.
“Dr. McCarty,” Mayes said. “We need to get an official statement if you feel up to it.”
“Should I have Gene Duncan here?” she asked.
“You don't need him,” Firman said, then almost sheepishly added, “Naturally that's strictly up to you. We just want to help you through this.”
She looked at Mayes, and he nodded.
“I feel up to it now,” she said.
Firman said, “So, this is what we have already. Alice came to see you after the model car thing. She'd found the car on the airplane ride and returned it to Mr. Gismano, who was posing as Todd Hartman. She came here to talk to Mr. McCarty about a job.”
“That's good,” Alice said.
“Louis killed the guard outside. Evelyn Gismano, whom you believed was Leslie Wilde, had a gun, the .38, which she left near the couch. After Louis Gismano shot his wife, he was trying to kill Dr. and Mr. McCarty with his knife. Acting in fear for your lives, Alice picked up Evelyn's gun and shot Louis. Total self- defense. End of story.”
“That's right, isn't it, Alice?”
“No,” she said, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. “I told you already. I brought that gun in my bag and—”
“I think you are mistaken,” Firman interrupted. “That misconception on your part might be problematic for you, Alice. There are legal ramifications as to the gun, which is a weapon that was stolen in a burglary.”
“By Earl Tucker. I said that. I gave you his address.”
Alice looked at the frowning agents and at Natasha.
“But we agreed you were mistaken, because of the excitement,” Mayes said. “Remember?”
“Okay. But Earl deserves to be arrested. Anyway, I saw Leslie … Evelyn, with the gun. She was brandishing it all around the house. What a total bitch.”
“That's all we need,” Firman said. “Isn't that right, Agent Mayes?”
Mayes closed his notebook and pocketed it.
“Okay, whatever. Could I like go take a shower?” Alice asked. “I mean you obviously don't need me to tell my story, right? Just do me one solid and leave in the part where I say, ‘I killed the fucker and I'd do it again.’ Okay?”
“In fear for yours and the McCartys’ lives, you killed the fucker and you'd do it again. Got it,” Firman said, shaking his head.
Dr. McCarty leaned over and put her arm around the young girl's shoulder. “Alice,” she said. “You go take a shower. Pick out something to wear from my things. Whatever suits you.”
“Cool,” Alice said, smiling. “It won't fit though.”
After Alice left the kitchen, Mayes said, “She's going to need some psychiatric help.”
“I agree,” Natasha said. “Her mother and I will see to it.”
“Strange kid or not, it was a brave thing she did,” Firman said.
“Yes, it was. She's odd, I'll give you that, but she's intelligent in so many ways. I guess she's just a teenager. By the way, Agent Mayes, I never did thank you for showing up last night.”
“Wish I'd gotten here sooner.”
“If you hadn't come, Ward would be dead,” she said. “There was no way we could have waited for an ambulance.”
“Dr. McCarty,” Bill Firman said, looking at Mayes before looking back at her. “I want to officially apologize for being such a hemorrhoid.”
EIGHTY-TWO
Thirty- six days later, Natasha parked her Lexus in the garage and held on to Ward's arm to help support him as they entered their home through the kitchen. Her parents had left the day before to return to Seattle. Having them there had been a comfort, but Ward was fully able to walk short distances on his own, despite the painful tightness in his chest and abdomen. The operation on his hand had restored partial use of the fingers, although there was no feeling in them. Therapy would restore some measure of use, and some of the feeling could return in time, but the doctors agreed that his fine- line drawing days were done.
He looked around the living room and was pleased that there were no signs remaining of the events that had put him in the hospital. Except for the new carpet and the gray wool curtains on the windows, it was just the way it had been before.
Slowly, Ward sat down on the couch, and Natasha handed him the remote. “You hungry?”
He tossed the remote aside and took her wrist. “I'm starving, but not for food.”
“Not now, big boy,” she said, laughing.
“Why not? Doctors said I could exercise.”
“Walking is what they had in mind,” she said, laughing and pulling her hand away. “Besides, you might embarrass our friends.”
“What?”
He looked where she was pointing, and laughed at the sight of the wave of smiling people coming up the hallway.
EIGHTY-THREE
On a crisp January morning Natasha stepped up to a podium set on risers outside Carolinas Medical Center—NorthEast under the new sign: THE BARNEY MCCARTY PEDIATRIC SURGICAL CENTER. The bright sunshine cut the chill off the soft winter breeze.
She looked out at the crowd of doctors, nurses, technicians, local politicians, businessmen, and lawyers, some of them friends of hers and her husband's. With the laughter of several children—a good number of them patients— rising into the air, Dr. McCarty gathered herself to speak.
“I want to thank each and every one of you for coming today. This wing, which we are here to dedicate, stands behind me due to the unselfish donations of a great number of people whose money helped us make it a reality.”
The crowd applauded wildly. Someone yelled out, “And the video game sure didn't hurt!”
“I guess I should mention that the sales from my husband's video game, which I hope all of you own, were certainly a big help, and will ensure that this center will be able to help children without the financial means to cover their care. That is all the more appropriate since most of our patients play video games, Ward's included.”
The crowd laug
hed and applauded.
“As most of you know, this was a dream of ours that you shared. We wanted to do this in memory of our son, Barney, who, as most of you are aware, died tragically in childhood four years ago.” She felt on the verge of tears, but fought it. “But it was more than money that built it. This dream was paid for with love, creativity, and hard work, as well as the generous donations of so many people.”
She looked out and saw a beaming Flash Dibble. His wife, a perpetually frowning fireplug of a woman a few inches taller than her husband, was wearing a long mink coat. Natasha wasn't crazy about the man, but he had generously contributed a million dollars to the unit, and pledged five more to be paid over that many years.
Ward's uncle Mark and his aunt Ashley stood behind the Dibbles, smiling proudly. In the spirit of his many second chances, Ashley had taken Mark back after he divorced Bunny. Natasha also saw FBI agents John Mayes and Bill Firman near the back of the crowd, and Tom Wiggins, along with Howard Lindley's parents, who'd happily made a six- figure donation since the McCartys’ and Alice's testimony had freed their son from death row.
Natasha paused until the applause ended. “So today, I know that my son, Barney, is here with us in spirit, and his love will live on inside this building, and every child and parent who passes through these doors will have a better opportunity to live healthier, happier, longer, and more productive lives.”
Natasha jumped when something grabbed her legs from behind and she looked down and laughed. Bending, she lifted the small child and anchored him on her hip before continuing. She cut her eyes back at Ward, who shrugged.
“Obviously my son thinks I've said enough.”
There was more resounding applause and laughter.
“So, if we can move this inside you'll find hot coffee, fruit punch, and an assortment of cakes and cookies. Our staff and volunteers will be happy to guide you through the building. We're open for business starting this afternoon, and this facility will be open as long as there are patients who need the services. Thank you again.”
The Last Day Page 22
