‘Miss, I am sorry. I was told to keep you in this room.’
I slid as much southern sugar into my voice as I could muster, ‘But sir, please. I really need to go to the ladies.’ I sniffled for effect. ‘I really can’t wait any longer.’
For a moment all was quiet. I loudly choked back a sob. The lock clicked and the door opened.
‘Thank you, thank you, sir,’ I said coming through the door, wiping away imaginary tears.
‘It’s down this hall. Walk ahead of me and don’t try to run off.’
I slipped into the restroom. In the stall, I planned my next moves. Flushing the toilet, I walked over to the sink. I turned on the water and let it run for a moment. I bunched up a towel and dampened it, and turned off the water. Opening the door to the hallway, I smiled, hung my head and said, ‘Thank you, sir.’ Then I threw the towel in his face and took off running.
He was standing between me and the lobby with the front door, so I took off in the opposite direction. There had to be a rear exit and I would find it. Every moment, I faced another decision. Turn right. Turn left. Go straight. I no longer had any idea of my relative position in the building.
Suddenly, I faced a dead end with an open door to another room. Would I find a way out in there? Looking through the entry, I saw windows. Windows can be broken. I rushed into the room, thinking it was empty but then heard a voice saying, ‘She’s quite hysterical.’
‘I am not hysterical. She tried to kill me. Look. Look at my neck,’ I said raising my chin and pulling down on the collar of my blouse.
The man on the phone spoke again into the receiver. ‘And it looks like she injured herself to give credibility to her story.’
‘I did not do this,’ I shouted as Officer Ambrose pulled my arms behind my back. ‘I stabbed her. Go to my house. Take care of her.’ Cold metal encircled my wrists. A loud click echoed in my ears.
The man at the desk disconnected his call. ‘Miss Clark, I am very sorry for having to restrain you but it’s for your own good.’
‘Go to my house!’
‘We did, Miss Clark. There is no one there.’
‘Did you look in the kitchen?’ I shrieked as Ambrose led me out of the room.
‘Yes, Miss Clark. I am very sorry. We have a doctor on the way to help you.’
‘I’m not the one that needs help,’ I shouted.
Ambrose manhandled me down another hallway to a barred cell. He unlocked the door and shoved me inside. I stumbled and didn’t regain my balance until I ran into the opposite wall.
‘The doctor will be here soon, Miss Clark. Try to pull yourself together,’ the officer urged.
‘If she dies, her blood will be on your hands, too.’
He looked at me, shaking his head sorrowfully. ‘I’m sorry. When you get better, you’ll understand. Sit on the bench and be quiet. If you settle down, maybe we can take those handcuffs off.’ He walked away, his head swinging back and forth with every step.
A few minutes later, Ambrose and the sergeant led a man with a doctor’s bag up the hall. He was short with gray hair, balding on top and drooping across his forehead. Gray stubble marched along his jawline. ‘It’s very sad,’ he said to the policemen. ‘But often the line between genius and insanity runs very thin.’
‘I am not a genius,’ I objected.
‘There, there,’ the doctor said. The three men waited until two white uniformed hospital orderlies carrying a stretcher arrived outside the bars.
‘What are you going to do to me?’ I asked, jumping to my feet.
The cell door opened and all five men converged on me. ‘You’re going to have to take the cuffs off so I can give her an injection.’
‘No. No. I don’t want an injection. Stay away from me,’ I said as they backed me into a corner. I hissed at them, feeling primitive, animal, savage – I was ready to do anything to get away but with my hands fastened behind my back, I was helpless.
Ambrose flipped me around as if I was weightless and pressed my face into the rough wall as he unfastened the cuffs. The second my wrists were free, he spun me back around. I lashed out with my arms now, swinging punches but the orderlies easily overpowered me, pushing shoulders back, pinning in place like a dead butterfly.
The doctor reached for my arm. I tried to pull it away but the sergeant grabbed it firmly by the elbow and forced it out toward the doctor. The doctor squeezed my fingers under his arm and wrapped and tied a rubber tube above the sergeant’s encircling hands. He palpitated my vein. I willed it to flatten, to no avail. When the needle pierced my skin, I screamed.
In seconds, a warm sensation coursed through my limbs making me feel light and weightless. Hands slipped under my arms and ankles. Before I knew what happened, I was lying flat on my back. I looked at the lights in the ceiling passing over my head. And then, I was gone.
FORTY-TWO
I was foggy-headed when I awoke. And frightened. I didn’t know where I was. I blinked as I looked around the room. Was I still in Oak Ridge?
‘She’s opened her eyes,’ someone shouted out.
‘Miss Clark,’ someone else said while placing a hand on my shoulder. I flinched away from his touch. ‘You’re OK. Everything is all right. But we need you awake. Can you sit up if I help you?’
I nodded. ‘Mrs Bishop?’ The croaking voice I heard did not sound like mine. My mouth was so dry that my tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth. My throat hurt. ‘Water. Please.’
A nurse handed me a glass and I took one greedy gulp after another. When I handed the glass back, another nurse handed me a cup of coffee. ‘It’s a little hot, can you manage it?’ I nodded. ‘Drink up. We need to get you alert. We need your help.’
They needed my help? What had happened while I slept? ‘Mrs Bishop – did you get to Mrs Bishop? Is she still alive?’
‘We think she’s alive but we’re not sure. We’re going to get you over to her house as soon as we can,’ a voice said from the other side of the room.
Why would they want to take me to the woman who had tried to kill me? I looked toward the person who last spoke. It was the same man I’d seen talking on the telephone in that room at the end of the hall.
‘Who are you?’ I demanded to know.
‘Lieutenant Hammond. We met earlier but you might not remember.’
‘Oh, I remember all right.’ I turned away from him and looked at the nurse. ‘What’s going on?’
Before the woman could respond, Hammond said, ‘I’ll explain to you on the way over to the scene.’
‘What scene?’ I asked.
‘I’ll explain in the car,’ he said.
‘No! I will not go anywhere with you.’
‘But Miss Clark, you are needed …’
‘I’ll go where I’m needed but not with you, not in a police car and not with any officer of the law.’
‘Miss Clark, you are acting crazy,’ Hammond snapped.
If he was calling me crazy, he obviously didn’t believe I was an insane person who needed to be humored. That was definitely an improvement. Still, I wasn’t going anywhere with a policeman.
‘Oh, leave her alone,’ one of the nurses said. ‘You treated her like she was crazy when she was telling you the truth and now you’re calling her crazy when she expresses a healthy skepticism about your intentions. I’ll drive her over there.’
Things had really changed while I was asleep.
‘She needs to be briefed,’ Hammond objected.
‘I know enough. I’ll tell on the way over,’ the nurse insisted. ‘C’mon, Libby.’
In her car, the nurse said, ‘I don’t know the whole story but I’ll tell you what I know.’
‘First, what time is it?’ I asked.
‘1:45 a.m.’
‘How long was I out?’
‘Just short of four hours. We gave you another injection to bring you around – not the best things to do to a body. You will probably not react well to it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘In a
ll likelihood, you will develop a splitting headache later this morning, along with a seemingly unquenchable thirst. And when that hits, the only thing that’s going to make you feel better is a long, long sleep.’
‘Not exactly a cheery prospect. Tell me, what is going on here?’
‘After you were brought over to the hospital, there was an argument between the military and the physicians. We thought you should be in a proper mental health facility where you could be evaluated and treated. They argued that it would compromise security by bringing unwanted attention to our mission here. They worried about the risk that in your state you might reveal important information about your work here.’
‘What did you all decide?’
‘We didn’t have time to make a decision. The argument was still underway when one of the Bishops’ neighbors called the police station and reported he heard shots fired and a woman screaming and thought it came from the Bishop house.
‘An officer responded to the Bishop home but when he knocked on the front door and got no response, he eased the door open. At that moment, a shot rang out. The officer was hit – it was only a flesh wound but it was enough to make him lose his footing. He stumbled off the steps and fell on the ground, and broke an arm.’
‘Oh no. The same arm that was shot?’
‘Yes, but at least he has one arm that still functions. We patched him up, too, while you slept. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Hammond was concerned enough about what was happening over there, that after he sent in help and reinforcements for the injured officer, he personally made a trip to your house. He didn’t find a body but he noticed a throw rug on the kitchen floor that seemed to be in a peculiar spot. He lifted it and saw smeared blood on the floor. Then, he looked in your trash can and found towels stained with reddish brown. And he came to the hospital and here we are.’
‘So what’s going on at the Bishop house?’
‘That I don’t know. But right now, the police are assuming it’s a hostage situation. They just don’t know who the hostages are and who is holding them.’
As we pulled up to the scene, the situation looked anything but normal. Patrol cars filled the street in front of the Bishop home. I stepped out of the nurse’s car and looked around for a familiar face. I heard a voice shout, ‘Over here, Miss Clark.’
I turned and saw Lieutenant Colonel Crenshaw and Charlie Morton standing side by side. I walked over to them and saw relief wash over Charlie’s face. ‘Thank God, you’re OK, Libby.’
‘What happened? What’s going on inside the house? Is Ann in there?’
Crenshaw placed a hand on Libby’s shoulder. ‘Let me explain, Libby. Let’s go sit in my car.’
I didn’t particularly trust Crenshaw either but I slid into the passenger seat just the same. I did, however, keep a hand on the door handle, just in case. ‘How did you get involved in this?’
‘You look wary, Miss Clark. I can’t say that I blame you. Lieutenant Hammond called me over to your house. Besides the evidence in your kitchen, we found a trail of blood leading down your steps. It ended just where someone would have stood to get into an automobile and drive away.
‘Both the lieutenant and I thought it was possible that the story you told was true. I admit that I was still skeptical. But I couldn’t neglect what I saw with my own eyes. When we arrived over here, I became a believer. I’m sorry for doubting you – we all regret it.’
‘I think this is connected to Irene’s death.’
‘In all likelihood, that is correct. What do you theorize happened?’
‘Dr Bishop was having an affair with Irene Nance,’ I began.
‘Correct,’ Crenshaw said.
‘Irene was pregnant.’
Crenshaw nodded.
‘Bishop had been in that situation before. This time, he decided to eliminate the problem by killing Irene before she could kill his career.’
‘That part of your theory needs to be reconsidered, Miss Clark.’
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Do you have evidence pointing in another direction?’
‘Just before midnight on Christmas evening, a car belonging to Mrs Bishop’s sister did go through the gate into our facility.’
‘Well, that puts Dr Bishop here and gives him the opportunity to commit the crime.’
‘Not exactly. There was only one passenger in the vehicle. It was not Dr Bishop. It was a woman – his wife, Mildred Bishop.’
‘But I thought she was protecting her husband. I thought that’s why she attacked me.’
‘Apparently, she was just trying to save her own neck.’
‘So she must be the one firing the gun inside the house?’
‘Probably. But it is also possible that Dr Bishop has the weapon and thinks somehow he can protect his wife. Or maybe we heard gunfire because he killed her when he found out what she had done.’
‘But she was injured. How did she get to her house?’ I asked.
‘We found the car parked a block up the street. There was blood on the driver’s seat and a spotty trail of blood up to the house. We assumed she drove herself home.’
‘So where do things stand now? What do you need from me?’
‘It’s a long shot. But we were hoping that you could try talking to Mrs Bishop on the bullhorn. Maybe your presence would catch her off guard. Maybe you could convince her to release her daughter. It seems worth a shot.’
‘OK,’ I agreed. ‘I don’t think it will do any good but I’ll try.’
The police provided me with as much cover as possible. I lifted the instrument to my lips and shouted. ‘Mrs Bishop, this is Libby Clark. I need to talk to Ann. Could you let her come out, please?’
A shot fired out from the house, shattering the headlight on a patrol car. A second shot dinged a lamp post. I sighed, turned the bullhorn over to the officer standing beside me, and walked over to where Crenshaw waited. He gave me a grim smile and said, ‘Thank you for trying.’
FORTY-THREE
The military reinforcements that Crenshaw requested marched forward to firm up the barrier with more bodies and more fire power. The time ticked by. I had nothing to do but observe and listen. Officials, it seemed, were torn between the fear that any move on their part could harm those whom they believed might be hostages and the anxiety that doing nothing might be even worse. The decision making was complicated by the presence of two commanding officers: Lieutenant Hammond of the police force and Lieutenant Colonel Crenshaw who was in charge of the unit of soldiers.
The thin light that arrived just before dawn was seeping into the sky when sudden movement erupted among the soldiers and police. They all went into shooters’ stances and drew beads on the front of the house. I followed the direction of the gun barrels and saw the spark that caused the flurry of action. The door was opening slowly. Through the crack, a hand emerged waving a towel. ‘Hold your fire’ screamed up and down the line surrounding the house.
The door opened further, then all the way. Ann Bishop stepped out on the front porch.
Instinctively, I ran towards her but was stopped before I got far. Soldiers stormed up the steps; one grabbed Ann and took her down the stairs, the others rushed inside. In a moment, another uniform walked out holding up Dr Bishop, whose pants leg appeared torn and darkened as if by blood. Medics loaded him into a waiting ambulance.
Crenshaw stepped up to me and said, ‘Thank you for your persistence, Miss Clark. We owe you a debt.’
I looked away. Too little. Too late. I wish I’d done something differently. I didn’t know what but there must have been a better way to resolve the situation.
A soldier stepped out on the top step of the house. ‘Lieutenant Colonel Crenshaw, you’re needed in here.’
‘Well, Miss Clark, they must have subdued Mildred Bishop. I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ Crenshaw promised.
A minute later, Crenshaw emerged and walked straight back to me. ‘Mildred Bishop is dead, Miss Clark.’
‘Dead?’
‘Yes, from
the looks of it, she bled to death while we waited for her to surrender.’
‘I did kill her then.’ A torrent of guilt flooded me with a fresh wave of pain. I caused the death of another human being. I made the wound that caused her to die. What Mrs Bishop had done was horrible but still she was Ann’s mother. I had no right to kill her.
‘Don’t blame yourself, Libby. She would have been captured or killed, now or later. Just like Hitler. Violence leads to a violent end. You’ve done no wrong. You are a heroine.’
I heard his words and believed he was sincere. ‘Thou shalt not kill’ thundered in my head. ‘If she’d been captured sooner, she’d still be alive.’
‘And with that outcome, there would be a trial. Not only would it be a security risk but it would cause prolonged anguish for her husband and daughter.’
Yes, but Ann might forgive me then. I could never expect that now. I’d violated one of God’s commandments. It seemed in both my private life and my work, I was following the same path. Who was I to judge when to kill and when to not?
FORTY-FOUR
I climbed into one jeep for a ride to the guest house, Ann got into another. I don’t know if Ann was aware that I was even there. She didn’t even spare a glance in my direction. Dr Bishop was already on the way to the hospital to be treated for the gunshot wound he’d received when he tried to rush his wife and take away her weapon. After his injury was addressed, he, too, would return to the guest house where we would all stay while police finished their investigations. Lieutenant Colonel Crenshaw promised all of us that the military would come in and clean all the biological contaminants out of both of our homes. The military sure had fancy terminology for bloody messes.
By the time I arrived at my temporary residence, my head was throbbing, just as the nurse said it would. Each beat of my heart seemed to worsen the pain. I turned down an offer of breakfast, slipped into a pair of pajamas that the police thoughtfully retrieved from my home. As I collapsed on the bed, my last thoughts were of Irene Nance – Irene, who worked right here in the very place I was falling to sleep. Irene, who didn’t deserve to die.
Scandal in the Secret City Page 27
