The Inquisitor (34 page)

I knelt in the darkness, watching.

Not that I could see much.

I more listened and waited.

The rain tingled my skin, heightening my senses.

If I could just get through this, I'd be in the clear. The idea left me incredulous, heady with relief. The obsession that had infested half my life would be lifted, the chasm it created filled, the hunger sated. It had seemed so overwhelming for so long, been so entwined in my psyche like a malignant tumor, I couldn't quite believe I'd finally excised it. But by hoisting Stewart Deloram into the noose and standing him on the brink, ruined and sentenced to death by hanging, I had accomplished exactly that, and more. Because unlike Jerome, who had faced doom with a determined courage, Deloram had screamed and sobbed for pity. Had he also uttered Jerome's name and begged forgiveness in all his garbled talk? I wanted to think so. That would have amounted to a confession- an unexpected bonus- and made his execution all the more perfect.

I started to tremble, not from cold, but at the freshness of the memory.

My plan had initially been to let Deloram endure the agony of a destroyed reputation for weeks, perhaps months, maybe even take his own life, just as Jerome had. But then I realized that I couldn't afford to wait, not with that damn cluster study in the works. Still, the justice of quietly stealing up the stairs and leaving that simpering coward to die a prolonged death alone in the darkness had filled me with exactly the tranquillity I'd hoped for. It reached back through all the scars and deep into the fissure I'd felt open on that November night in 1989, and salved it closed. At this instant of healing, the spectacle of him teetering on his toes, crying and struggling to draw breath, became an epiphany, one that I knew would displace the corrosive nightmares of the past fourteen years.

I also thought of the farmhouse surrounded with gardens and green hills where the shattered woman who'd never recovered from her loss of Jerome spent most of her days, self-confined with the blinds drawn, while my aunt cared for her.

Perhaps she would finally find solace as well, now that I had ended her long wait for vengeance. But she would still insist I feed her "all the tiny details" to let her "smell, taste, see, hear, and touch" how I'd destroyed his killer. She'd always claimed her catharsis wouldn't be complete unless she experienced every stage of that retribution herself, even if through my telling of it.

I'd little time to savor the possibility. Glancing in the direction of Janet's car, even above the storm I could hear faint traces of her screams. Definitely in labor now. And the heparin would be making her bleed. I'd injected it intravenously at the site of an abrasion where no one would notice the puncture wound. Nor would anyone have reason to do toxicology studies. They'd find her bled out, the consequence of a tragic miscarriage caused by accidental trauma. Of course I'd be there to manipulate everyone's interpretation in this direction.

I fingered the tire iron that I'd removed from the trunk of the car and used to break the door handle, jam the lock, and bend the roof latch so it wouldn't release, making sure she wouldn't be going anywhere. But Garnet should soon come looking for her. Take-charge Earl wasn't one to sit at home and wait for bad news. I'd counted on it, having no option but to silence him as well. He had a talent, more than anyone, for figuring everything out, and no way would he buy that Janet died here accidentally.

It wouldn't be easy to kill him.

I raised the tire iron in my right hand and sliced down with it. A menacing whoosh cut through the rain. That would be the force of the blow it would take.

I looked up in the direction of the highway and scanned a landscape I couldn't see, imagining the slope leading down from it. Occasionally a car or truck glided by, the sound of tires and motor drowned out by the hiss of the downpour, but the running lights, floating through the night like UFOs, gave me a sense of the terrain.

No way could a man slip and kill himself here. So I'd need to stage yet another credible accident, one that would make everyone think poor Earl had died of massive head trauma while trying to save Janet. At the moment I hadn't a clue what that mishap might be.

I would also have to take Garnet by surprise.

There I had an edge.

He wouldn't arrive the cool, rational, man in control who normally commanded ER with such a heads-up, steady-handed calm. Instead he'd be frantic to find Janet and not at all cautious.

I looked toward the tree where the car first hit and could barely make it out in the darkness. Neither could I see the ground around it. Earl, however, would probably have a light. If so, he'd spot his favorite resident lying there, and he'd stop and check me. Finding me alive but unresponsive, he'd rush on down toward the car to look for Janet. It should be easy to come up behind him with the tire iron.

But then what?

After I knocked him out, how to kill him and explain it?

I still had no idea.

I looked again toward the road.

The highway remained deserted for the moment. At least no one passing would see what went on down here in the dark- another plus.

I continued to stare, imagining the terrain between the highway and where I stood, trying to conceive a way to pull this off, but drawing another blank.

I felt a stab of panic. What if I couldn't think of something in time? Garnet could be here any second.

Once started, doubts nattered through me with the speed of a computer virus, and I knew for certain that all my plans, my subterfuge would end in disaster here at this last step.

The cries from the direction of the wrecked car below grew weaker. Or had the sound of the rain swelled? Its drumming disoriented me, the sameness of the noise as ubiquitous and confusing as the lack of visual markers in the darkness. My sense of up and down came only from the hard ground beneath my feet, and I widened my stance to better keep my balance.

Time played tricks as well. As I stood there, desperate for a way to deal with Garnet, the minutes oozed by so slowly they seemed to stand still. I nearly wore out the light on my watch checking it. Maybe I'd misjudged and Earl wouldn't show.

Eventually a white glow appeared beyond a line of bushes up beside the highway as a slowly moving vehicle drove into view. The lights, front and back, defined the shape of a van. It slowed and parked at an angle, the high beams on full. To my relief, the heavy rain made it impossible to see beyond a few hundred feet into the ravine.

The interior of the cab blazed white as the driver opened his door, and I saw Garnet slide out from behind the wheel. His tall figure became a silhouette as he started down the grade, flashlight in hand.

The sight of the man who had been my teacher, who would soon die, set my heart pounding, and I began to shake.

Yet borne on that same surge of adrenaline, the scenario I needed to explain his death crept to mind.

Rain stung Earl's face.

Wet clothes clung to his skin.

But he felt only the gut-shredding, ice-water terror that he'd find Janet dead.

If he found her body at all.

Either way, the answer lay in the field ahead. If she wasn't down there, he'd no idea where else to look.

The sodden ground had already soaked his shoes up to the laces in black paste. He watched for downed wires as best he could, yet with everything so slippery, he might just as likely slide into a live one as step on it. And he'd treated enough accidental electrocutions to know that circuit breakers didn't always trip the way they were supposed to.

But his desperation to reach Janet overrode everything. Despite poor footing, he walked briskly, his flashlight providing a ghostly pale orb that wobbled over the uneven ground. Beyond this little sphere, land and sky fused into a dizzying void, and the hissing patter of rain shredded by ragged, quick strokes of his own breathing were all he could hear.

His beam caught a solitary large tree surrounded by an apron of glitter.

What the hell?

He ran toward it.

Soon his shoes crunched on fragments of broken glass. The ground was too messy to show him any tracks, but the surface of the trunk seemed abraded, and the rough bark had picked up a smear of dark green paint.

His heart leapt as he played his light in a circle. No car, but off to the left lay what looked like an elongated twist of muddy cloth.

Oh, God, he thought.

As he ran closer, he couldn't tell if its color was the beige of Janet's raincoat. A few seconds later he made out the dark hair.

Thomas!

His body lay on its side, arms above his head as if he'd been dragged there, legs akimbo. Earl knelt by the young man and felt for a pulse at his neck.

The carotid artery rose firmly, a bit fast, but strong and regular.

He leaned down and put his ear to Thomas's open mouth.

Normal breathing.

He forced one eyelid open, saw a reactive pupil, then did the same on the other side with an identical result.

A quick check of the trunk and extremities verified no external bleeding to speak of.

Just a nasty looking bruise on the side of his temple.

He must have been thrown out of the car. Whether his neck had escaped injury and the cervical spine remained intact, he couldn't tell without a proper examination. Bottom line, nobody moved him until he had a support collar.

But where was Janet?

And the car?

He desperately played the light around him.

Nothing but the flash of wet grass, leaves, and bushes glimmered back at him.

The vehicle must have continued down the slope.

"Janet!" He sprinted in the direction it would have rolled, the rain smothering his cry.

Another hundred feet, off to the right, the red wink of a brake light caught the edge of his beam. He spun toward it and saw her car on its side in the middle of the creek, the undercarriage of rods, pipes, and cylinders glinting at him like the tightly packed innards of an open abdomen.

"Janet!"

His stomach clenched down so hard that its juices surged to the back of his throat. The burning fluid made him gag. He rounded the back of the car and probed the interior with his light, clamoring up the leather roof to reach the door on the driver's side. He saw her slumped and motionless, crumpled in the passenger compartment, her legs half submerged in water red with blood.

The fear he'd contained until now exploded in his chest. He heard himself screaming her name, but his voice sounded as if from someone else far off in the darkness as he yanked at the handle.

He couldn't open it.

He scrambled up to stand astride the door and heaved on the grip with both hands.

Nothing moved.

He stomped the window.

It crisscrossed into a webbing of cracks.

He whipped off his jacket, wrapped it around his fist, and punched a small hole. Wanting to prevent pieces from falling on Janet, he reached in and slammed the pane from inside, sending showers of small, round fragments flying outward. It took several blows to clear it entirely.

But when he reached for the internal handle, he found it snapped off.

Frustration soared.

Using his flashlight, he knocked away the remnants of glass stuck around the edge of the frame and thrust himself through the opening, straining to grasp Janet.

Her head lay slumped forward on her chest so he couldn't see her eyes. But with her pallor in the light, she looked already dead.

His free hand grabbed her left arm, draped as if she were gesturing up at him, and the cold clammy surface of the skin terrified him.

"Oh, please, God, no!" He fumbled to find a pulse in her wrist.

It felt cold and lifeless.

He struggled to get closer, but wedged himself at the waist in the window frame. He propped the flashlight between the seats, and gently pulled her toward him.

"Oh, please, please, please," he whispered, sliding his fingertips into the depression where her carotid artery lay.

It fluttered like a frightened bird, the pulse weak, twice as fast as normal, but there. Definitely there.

"Janet! Janet! Janet, it's me!" He clasped her head between his hands and raised it so he could see her face. Her eyes remained closed, but she moaned, and her arms stirred, weakly shoving at his. The beam from the light cast her features in grotesque shadows, exaggerating a growing look of fear.

"It's all right, Janet. It's me, Earl," he reassured, frantic over what injuries she and the baby might have, at the same time desperate not to show it. "Everything's all right-"

Her lids shot up, her pupils flared wide, and she screamed, flailing at him with her fists.

"Janet! It's me, Earl! Earl!"

She froze. Her shimmering eyes darted in all directions, and he wondered if she could see him. "Earl?" The word floated from the depths of her chest on a long held breath.

"Yes! And now I'm going to get you out of here-"

"But the baby…"

"We'll take care of everything and he'll be fine."

"You don't understand." Her frail voice wafted between them, no stronger than a whisper.

The pool of blood where she lay assured him he understood all too well. "I'm going to get something to pry open the roof and get you out." He gently released his hold on her head, and started to wiggle back out the window.

"He's already here."

"What? Who's here."

She reached down to where her clothing appeared to have balled up over her stomach, or so he thought. One by one she removed the crimson-soaked folds, and revealed a round puddle of purple and red chunks. From its center trailed a telltale maroon cord that had been crudely tied off by strips of torn cloth. It looped deeper into her lap where he saw a flash of gleaming pink flesh.

He stared at it, unable to breathe or speak.

"Meet your son," she said, looking down at the infant swaddled in his own afterbirth. The corners of her mouth flickered upward, not in a smile, but tenderness. "He's alive, but just." Her murmuring voice remained flat and as drained of emotion as her body had been of blood. "Take him first. Get him help, then come for me." She looked up at Earl, her features drawn so tightly that a suggestion of the skull beneath emerged before his eyes. She began to gather the child in her hands, about to lift him up.

Already terrified for Janet's life, Earl hung above her, the sight of the baby momentarily paralyzing him. But her stark instructions galvanized him to action. His training, as did hers, allowed no illusions about what they faced. He immediately writhed backward, struggling to extricate himself. "Oh, Janet, Janet, Janet," he breathed, his emotions a cyclone- anguish, love, despair, grief, horror- all spinning out of control.

"He tore me up on the way out. I'm still bleeding badly, and already lost a lot of blood," Janet said, her matter-of-fact tone chilling. No embellishments were necessary. They both knew she lay near death. "The way he came out, so fast, I'm sure Thomas slipped me something to precipitate labor. The easiest would have been misoprostol."

Earl froze. Though no more than halfway out the window, he couldn't have heard right. "Pardon?"

"Thomas did this to me, Earl. Crashed the car. Knocked me out. Probably also injected me with heparin, the way I'm bleeding."

Her spent monotone made what she said all the more unreal. But he didn't need to be told twice. His own paranoid ravings fueled by anxiety an hour earlier had primed him, gotten him well past the it-can't-be stage for anything she might have told him, so that her words fell into place with an authoritative clunk. "Jesus!" he said, and immediately squirmed twice as hard to extricate himself.

"He's been gone for hours- left me here to die."

"He's outside, lying on the ground. He must be playing possum, damn it-"

"What?" Even in her depleted state, her voice suddenly found strength. "Get him! For God's sake, before-" She cut herself off, eyes bulging wide, looking behind him.

No sooner had he propelled himself the rest of the way out the window than his world exploded into white.

But he could still hear Janet as she summoned new powers to scream.

I stood over Garnet's body, squinting down at him as the rain stung my eyes, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Out cold, or pretending?

Janet's scream from the interior of the car stopped abruptly, as if she'd checked herself. In the ghostly illumination of the flashlight, I saw her huddled over, rocking, and heard her murmuring something. Strange that her fury would be strong enough to rise over the roar of the storm, then she'd shut up like that.

But no one could have heard, not with the din of all this rain, I thought, glancing back toward the deserted highway. Neither would people be likely to see us if they did come along. The glare of the van's headlights continued to hit a wall of darkness well before reaching where I stood. Still, with its motor running and being lit up like that, its presence would attract the attention of passing vehicles. Better shut it down, make it appear abandoned at the roadside, as if someone had car trouble. But first…

Tire iron at the ready, my hand shook as I leaned over, lifted Garnet's limp wrist, and felt for a pulse.

My fingertips found the strong throb of a radial artery. Nowhere near dead. And he could be faking the unconscious bit.

Still holding my weapon in the air, in case of a miraculous recovery, I grabbed him by the ankles and began to drag him around the rear of the car. I avoided looking in Janet's direction. The way she swayed back and forth while muttering soft, barely audible noises disturbed me more than the shriek she'd let out earlier.

As I struggled with him over the rocky streambed, my mind raced, obsessively going over the night's events, making sure that in my hastily ad-libbed plans I hadn't left any loose ends.

My initial plan had been rock solid and wasn't supposed to have ended like this. I'd gone to join Earl and Janet for dinner, confident that I could have no better choice of companions at the very time Deloram kicked and choked himself to death. Not that I should have required an alibi. Once someone discovered the body and the police ruled his dying a suicide, there would have been no official suspicion of foul play. But Garnet and Janet might have had niggling doubts about that verdict. So I wanted to stay off their radar by appearing as eager as they were to get at the bottom of things, plus, if Stewart managed to hold on for hours, be by their side at the determined time of death. And if it all worked out, they'd have no formal option but to accept that Stewart died by his own hand, nor would there be any concrete evidence to justify their continued pursuit of the cluster study. But just to be on the safe side, I'd come prepared to give them something else to worry about.

Then Graceton had blindsided me by turning up exactly what I'd been afraid J.S. would eventually realize: the correlation between her shifts and the unexpected deaths in palliative care. That connection could point directly at me, once someone figured out the key, and I couldn't allow it to happen.

So after dinner I'd implemented the plan that I'd originally intended to be a diversion- slipped misoprostol tablets into a steeping pot of tea with no one the wiser, the drug having no effect on me or Earl- and improvised the rest. First I insisted on driving Graceton, to keep her at my side and under my control until I could think of what else to do. Then on the way into St. Paul's the extent of the blackout and the landscape at Ellicott Creek, combined with the blind luck that she couldn't buckle up her seat belt, presented the opportunity to stage a crash that I'd survive and she wouldn't. But it was such a desperate long shot that I didn't dare attempt it without thinking everything through a bit more. Instead I tried to accompany her to J.S.'s bedside, hoping my presence would keep the woman who loved me from saying anything reckless even if she had begun to guess the truth. Then I had to back off that move in the face of Graceton's insistence that she see J.S. alone. My continued persistence on being there might in itself have aroused suspicions.

God, what a back-and-forth, seat-of-the-pants mess everything had become.

I finished tugging Garnet into position, leaving him on his back, his feet perpendicular to the undercarriage of the car, his face lined up to be crushed when I righted the vehicle. Standing over him, I began to tremble again, still frantic that having thrown everything together on the fly, I'd made a misstep that would trap me.

Finish the job, I thought, reining in my nerves, and leaned my weight against the car. The idea was to get it rocking and then pull it on top of Garnet. The Mazda looked precarious enough, sitting on its side. After it smashed his head, no one would notice he'd been knocked out first, and the cops would think he'd toppled it on himself while trying to free Janet.

I couldn't budge it.

Shit!

It must be wedged against some rocks in the streambed.

Unable to see much, I reached down into the flowing water and felt around near the submerged front tire. Several small boulders the size of soccer balls were wedged against it. I worked at one near the periphery with my fingers and felt it loosen. But this would take time.