The Body and the Blood (25 page)

Chapter Fifty-two

Susan sat rigid and speechless between us, the only sounds she made were occasional sniffles.

“How long you think it’ll be ‘fore Sobel go after him?” Merrill asked.

“He may not have known before, but I can’t imagine he hasn’t figured it out by now. Probably just be waiting for the right opportunity.”

“Like when Daniels is alone and vulnerable,” Merrill said, “laid up in the hospital?”

We rode along in silence for a few moments, until Susan finally turned to me.

“Please, John. He was doing it for Mom. Please think about what she’s been through—what
he’s
been through, what this has done to him. Wouldn’t you do the same for me?”

Martinez’s bloody smile flashed in my mind.

“I’m not exactly sure what all I’d do to a man who did to you what Martinez did to your mom, but your dad didn’t do it to Martinez.”

“He made a mistake. He did a terrible thing, but don’t destroy his life over it. Where’s your compassion? Is it just for inmates?”

I should have known this would be her reaction. As the child of an alcoholic with years of a sick sense of loyalty, a total commitment to the family myth, she would be unable to do anything that felt like betrayal. In a dysfunctional family, the family itself is everything—guarding its secrets, maintaining its facades all that matters.

During our reconciliation it seemed as if she had broken out, removed herself far enough from the family to be free of its powerful undertow, but had I been paying attention lately, I would have seen that was not the case. She had become aware, but awareness and action are two different things. She’d been on her way to working through it, but something happened to prevent her parole from parental purgatory. It had to be what happened to her mom. What Susan was experiencing now, had been experiencing the past several months, was one of the many effects of the crimes committed not only by Juan Martinez, but by her dad too.

“I can’t just ignore what he’s done—for his sake as much as anyone’s. I want to help him. If he had killed Martinez . . . and I think he probably has now . . . but we’re talking about Justin. I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Not even for me?”

“I’m sorry. Don’t you see it’s for his own good?”

The empty road was flat and straight, stretching out for as far as I could see, and I was grateful for what I usually found boring since I felt numb, unable to concentrate on driving.

“Not for our child?” Susan asked.

Merrill looked over at me but didn’t say anything.

“For our family?” she continued. “Because I can’t be with you if you do this. I can’t be your wife or have your child if you could do what you’re about to do to
my
family—to
me
.”

When my parents divorced, I swore I would never do the same thing to my kids. Never. No matter what. It was one of the reasons why Susan’s news that she was pregnant hit me so hard. From the moment I heard it I knew I was out of options.

“Don’t say that,” I said. “Try to understand what I have to do. We’ve worked too hard, come too far. And we’ve always wanted a child of our own.”

“I just can’t. I’m sorry. I know myself. There’s no way.”

“Maybe in time?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “if you do this, I won’t get over it. Not now. Not ever. I can’t. I couldn’t. Please, for me, for the sake of
our
family, don’t do this.”

I had seen Susan like this before. Once she truly made up her mind, she would never relent. She didn’t get like this often, but when she did, I always knew she was not making vain threats.

“You’re asking him to do something he can’t,” Merrill said.

“There’s a world of difference between self-defense—even retaliation—and murdering an innocent man just to cover up a crime,” I said. “You’ve got to see that.”

“Can’t you understand the way our family—
your
family has been violated? Can’t you understand the desire for revenge?”

“Of course. He shouldn’t’ve killed Martinez, but I understand. And if that’s all he’d done—”

“You don’t know he killed—”

“I’m pretty sure.”

I looked over at Susan again, searching her face for any sign of love, any sign of understanding. There was none. She regarded me with the contempt reserved for the worst of all crimes—betrayal. And I was guilty. What could I say to her, how could I explain?

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“John, if you turn him in, I’ll leave you. I’ll have to—and I won’t have your baby either. I can’t. I just . . . won’t be able to. I mean it. If you could do this to him—to them, to
me
, then I’ll . . .”

Tears stung my tired eyes, and my head began to throb. The full weight of what I was doing, of what I still had to do resting heavily on me.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Just kept driving.

I figured she’d be hurt, even angry, but not at me. I never dreamed she’d act like this.

“You sure about this?” Merrill asked Susan. “He’s got to do this. You know you forcin’ him in a corner he can’t get out of.”

She considered Merrill for a long moment but didn’t say anything to him.

“He’s given up so much for you, for your marriage.”

I thought of how I had hurt Anna, how sad she looked the last time I saw her, how she was no longer part of my life.

She dropped her head and began to cry.

“Please don’t do this. I love you. We can have a good life. We can get through this.”

“What if
I
turn him in?” Merrill asked.

She shook her head. She was resolute. Her decision was final. I would always be guilty of betrayal.

We fell silent a moment. Eventually, my phone rang.

I didn’t feel like answering it, didn’t want to talk to anyone, but I knew I had to.

“This bastard’s dead unless you can convince me he didn’t do it.”

It was Chris Sobel.

“What?” I asked, stalling. “Who? Who is this?”

“You know who. And you know who this is. Convince me he didn’t do it, that he didn’t murder Justin just to save his own ass, or your wife will be down to one parent.”

“Chris, listen to me . . . “

Merrill and Susan turned toward me. They knew what it meant.

“He’s not going to get away with it. We’re on our way to get him right now.”

“Then you’ll see him die.”

“Don’t do it. Don’t let him—”

The connection was broken. Chris was gone. Daniels was a dead man.

No one said anything, and we rode the rest of the way in silence.

As we pulled up to the entrance of Bay Medical Center, Merrill and I looked for Sobel, but didn’t see him.

“In or out?” Merrill asked.

“Out. Find Daniels, make sure he’s safe and stay with him. I’ll meet you inside.”

When we pulled up to the front door, Merrill jumped out and ran toward the main entrance.

“Stay down,” I said to Susan.

“I want to be with him,” she said, sounding like a little girl fearful for her daddy.

As she started to get out, I grabbed her, desperate to protect her, to make one last attempt.

“The fact that he sent the flyer to me and how well it was planned let’s you know it was premeditated—a cold-blooded act of murder. We’ve got to turn him in—for his sake.”

Before Merrill could get inside, Daniels walked out. I could tell by the way he greeted Merrill and waved to us, he had no idea we knew.

Susan jerked her arm out of my hand, jumped out of the truck and ran toward him.

As Merrill tried to usher them toward my truck, I looked around for any sign of Sobel.

When they neared the truck, Susan grabbed her dad by the arm and pulled him away from Merrill. As Merrill tried to grab her, she snatched her arm away and swung at him. As she did, his chest exploded and he collapsed onto the asphalt.

A split second later I heard the distant clap of Sobel’s rifle.

Chapter Fifty-three

I dove on top of Merrill.

Susan screamed. Daniels grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into the hospital.

Beneath me, Merrill moaned. Blood was everywhere, on his clothes, on the blacktop, still pouring from his chest, and now all over me.

I waited, but there were no other shots.

With all the strength I could gather, I hoisted Merrill into the truck, slammed the door behind him, and ran around to the other side, crouching as if that could keep me safe from a bullet.

Back in the driver’s seat, I popped the emergency brake and punched the gas pedal, my back tires screeching as we sped away.

Rounding the corner of the building, bouncing over sidewalks and cement parking lot curbs, I raced to the emergency room entrance.

Horn honking, we slid to a stop. I jumped out, ran around the truck, and opened the passenger door.

By the time I had Merrill out of the truck, two nurses and a young guy in pale green surgical scrubs were there with a gurney.

“Gunshot wound,” I shouted. “Just happened.”

After I helped get Merrill onboard, they quickly pushed him in, yelling various orders to the others waiting inside, one of them remembering to tell me I’d have to hang around because the police would want to talk to me.

I spun around, searching the parking lot for Sobel. I didn’t see anything, but had to stop looking in order to move my truck for an incoming ambulance.

I parked illegally next to the curb further down and ran back through the emergency room and around to the lobby to look for Susan and Daniels. There was every chance Sobel would try again once he realized he’d shot the wrong man. As I ran through the halls, everyone I passed stopped and stared in shock at the blood on my clothes.

I found Susan in the lobby alone. She was crying as she strained to see through the plate glass window. She startled as she heard me running toward her and spun around in a defensive posture. When she saw the blood on my shirt, her eyes grew wide and she ran over to me.

“Are you—what happened?”

“It’s Merrill’s. Where’s your dad?”

“Out there,” she said, jerking her head toward the door. “He went after him. Please go help him, John. Don’t let him get killed. Please. Don’t let anything happen to him.”

“Call Dad and tell him what’s happened. Find a security guard and stay with him.”

I then stepped on the mat that opened the automatic doors and ran through them.

Chapter Fifty-four

Attempting to keep my gaze wide and unfocused, I scanned the area slowly looking for movement. Things were far more still and quiet than I had expected. There were no police or hospital personnel where Merrill had been shot, and only now could the sound of sirens be heard in the distance. The rifle had not been loud. Perhaps most people who heard it didn’t know what they were hearing. It probably wasn’t until Merrill reached the emergency room that anyone called the police.

As I searched for any sign of Sobel or Daniels, I began with the staff parking lot to my left, panning slowly to the visitors’ lot directly in front of me, and finally toward the emergency room and doctors’ parking to my right. It was then that I saw him.

Limping along, gun drawn, Tom Daniels moved down Bonita Avenue toward 98 in the direction of GlenCove Nursing Pavilion and the First Methodist Church in pursuit of someone I couldn’t see.

I took off after him, noticing for the first time I wasn’t armed.

Running across grass, jumping over hedges, and winding through parked cars, I reached the spot where I had seen Daniels just moments before. He was gone.

I scanned the area again.

Nothing.

Continuing in the direction he had been headed when I saw him, I ran toward the quiet, mostly empty 98.

I didn’t get very far.

I actually ran past them, realized what I had seen, and had to come back.

Down a slope in an overgrown vacant lot near a drainage ditch, Tom Daniels was on the ground, Chris Sobel standing over him holding a gun to his head.

I walked slowly toward them, the tall weeds depositing small seeds and moisture onto my pants as I did.

Daniels was seated on the ground, leaning against the base of a small oak tree, a welt on his left cheek, blood trickling from his right nostril, his right eye swollen nearly shut.

As I neared them, I tripped over an empty beer bottle in a paper bag half hidden in the tall grass, accidentally kicking it forward. It almost costing Daniels his life.

Without taking his eyes off Daniels, Chris said, “Don’t come any closer, Chaplain.”

He seemed calm and in control. I wondered if he felt as though he had nothing left to lose and killing Daniels the only thing left to gain. If so, he was even more dangerous than usual.

“Okay,” I said, and continued slowly easing toward them.

“I didn’t mean to shoot Monroe. I actually liked him. It was this murdering motherfucker I was trying to hit.”

Murder leads to murder, violence to more violence, a downward spiral, a widening gyre.

“I know,” I said.

“You know what he did?”

“You visit Paula in Justin’s place?”

He nodded. “Not so this piece of shit could kill him.”

His shaved head gleamed in the faint light of a street lamp, its stubble looking like the five o’clock shadow on a weary man’s face. It was amazing how different it made him look. No wonder Paula didn’t realize he was the man she had thought was her brother the night of the murder.

“I came back to the quad, went into his cell to exchange uniforms and ID’s with him and . . . I got his blood on the uniform I was wearing—
his
uniform—there was so much blood. I loved him so much and he was—and there was all that blood. I couldn’t just leave him like that. I put him on the bed and covered him up.”

He jammed the barrel of the small .38 harder into Daniels’s head and pulled back the hammer.

He closed his eyes, squeezing them hard against the horror, tears streaming out as he did. On 98, the occasional traffic produced an intermittent breezy noise that sounded like shifting wind in an open field. The sirens in the distance drew closer.

I nodded toward Daniels. “He was having Justin accuse Martinez of one of your crimes?” I asked.

On the ground, Daniels was motionless. He didn’t shake his head or give protest to anything we were saying, just sat there staring into the distance.

“We had a deal . . . He was gonna get out when I did. We were going to leave everything behind and be happy. He would paint. I would take care of him.”

“But Justin decided not to testify against Martinez.”

“He just couldn’t do it. He was too honest, too good, too pure to lie—even against a fuckin’ rapist like Juan. He tells this piece of shit he’s not going to do it. This bastard tells him he understands. Just meet with him secretly one more time to give him a chance to convince him. If he’s still not comfortable, he won’t bother him again. All the while he’s planning to murder him. And I helped him by meeting with Justin’s sister, but I had no idea.”

“I know.”

“He wanted to see his sister so badly, but I told him, if we’re careful and we pull this off, he’ll be able to see her all the time.”

I nodded.

For a moment, no one said anything, and I could see that Chris was re-living something in his mind. He still held the gun on Daniels, hadn’t even shifted his weight, but his distant stare and faraway expression let me know he was somewhere else—probably with Justin.

“Justin had changed his mind about me, too, though. Hearing the details of what I’d done to that dealer in Pensacola was just too much for him. We weren’t going to be together, but he was going to wait until I got out to turn this cocksucker in. He knew it would probably come out that I had been the one who had committed the crime, not Juan. But he’d have to do it soon, because once I was out, he’d be much more vulnerable.”

We were all silent a moment, and things seemed to slow down, as if the world around us was creeping by at quarter speed.

“How could you do it?” Chris asked. His tears were dripping down on Daniels. “To Justin? Sweet, innocent Justin.”

“He was going to take me away from my family,” Daniels said. He was answering Chris’s questions, but he was looking at me. “Take me away from Sarah when she needed me most. Sweet, innocent, Justin my ass. All he was doing was looking out for himself. He didn’t care what Martinez had done, that he would get out and do it again. He didn’t care about my wife or what I was trying to do to save her. All he cared about was Justin. Didn’t even care about you, did he?”

I eased toward them some more.

“Chaplain, I asked you not to come any closer. I’m gonna kill him for what he did. I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I have to. This’ll all be over in a minute. Please, just back away.”

I thought about how easy it would be to just back away and allow him to avenge the death of his lover. I thought about how much Daniels deserved it, how easy it would be to pick up Sobel later, how less complicated and costly it would be for me, how easier my future would be if I’d just let it play out.

“I can’t.”

“But he deserves it.”

“I know.”

“Don’t really see any way you can stop me.”

In my most reasonable, reassuring voice, I said, “Can’t we just talk about—”

Judging I was close enough, I dove for him, tackling him to the ground. As I hit him, his gun went off, putting a round into Daniels’s right arm. As we hit the ground, my head struck something hard—a root or a rock or an anvil—and I felt dazed.

With just a fraction of my faculties, I began to wrestle Chris for his gun. We both had a hand on it, but neither could get it away from the other—until he grabbed a handful of my hair, picked up my head, and slammed it down on whatever it had hit before.

I could feel the world start to fade, blackness closing in on me quickly like an aperture, and I made one last effort to get the gun away from him. Instead of trying to get the gun, I merely tried to make him lose it—and it worked. I slammed his gun hand down on the ground as hard as I could, punching him in the stomach as I did, and he let go of the gun.

Just as he did, Tom Daniels stepped into view and shot him, a single small caliber round in the back of the head. He was dead instantly, and, as I lost consciousness, I figured I was about to be too.