Truly Married (25 page)

It took some coaxing to get Helen to take the first bite, and it was only then, when she clumsily picked up the spoon, that Sharon noticed her hands were red and swollen.

“Helen, what happened to your hands?” she asked.

The other woman examined them for a moment before she answered. “It’s eczema. I’m allergic to soap and detergents. Sometimes it gets really bad, like now. It itches,” she said as she rubbed the top of one with the palm of the other. “I guess I forgot to put the salve on them.”

She dipped the spoon in the oatmeal and took a bite, then ate it all, along with a piece of dry toast made from bread Sharon had found in the freezer. The loaf in the bread box was moldy.

“Now you feel better, don’t you?” Sharon said as she wiped Helen’s mouth and hands as she would for a child. “You mustn’t ever forget to eat. Your body needs the nourishment.”

“I won’t,” Helen said, still with no animation or real understanding. “I’d like to go to bed now.”

Sharon knew she had to get help. This woman was ill, both physically and mentally. But she didn’t want to frighten her. She felt sure Helen was very fragile, and almost anything could push her so deep into the trancelike state that she would never come out.

Chapter Thirteen

“Y
ou can go to bed in a little while,” Sharon told Helen softly as she again helped her to stand, “but let’s go back into the parlor and talk for a few minutes first. Okay?”

Helen didn’t respond, but allowed Sharon to lead her out of the kitchen and settle her on the couch in the living room. “Now, you sit right here and don’t move,” she told the woman. “I have to get something out of my car. I’ll only be gone a minute.”

Helen nodded with childlike trust, and Sharon hurried outside. Fergus scrambled out of the car when he saw her coming, and met her halfway.

“What’s the matter,” he asked in alarm as he cupped her shoulders with his hands.

“Nothing,” she assured him. “That is, I’m in no danger, but Mrs. Vancleave seems to be in some sort of a trance. Something’s awfully wrong with her, and I want you there as a witness when I question her. Come back in with me, but stay out of sight. I’m sure she won’t speak at all if she knows you’re there.”

“I’ll come,” he said, “but I have to warn you that since I’m an officer of the court there might be legal repercussions if I don’t read her her rights and she says something to incriminate herself while I’m listening. The information probably couldn’t be used in court unless she’d be willing to repeat it to a police officer.”

Sharon hadn’t thought of that, but there wasn’t time to do anything about it now. They’d just have to take their chances that it could be straightened out later.

“That is a complication,” she agreed, “but she’s too emotionally unstable to risk upsetting her by introducing a strange man into the discussion at this point. She doesn’t seem to be aware of much of anything except that her husband is dead. When we get inside I’ll go to her in the living room, and you stay back out of sight.”

Fergus agreed and they returned to the house. He stayed in the entryway, while Sharon sat down beside Helen on the couch. As before, Helen was staring blankly at nothing and didn’t acknowledge Sharon’s reappearance.

She touched the other woman’s loosely clasped swollen hands in an effort to establish contact with her again. “Helen, has your doctor examined you lately?” she asked carefully.

Helen blinked, then managed to focus her gaze on Sharon. “My doctor? I don’t need a doctor anymore. My husband is dead.”

She was really hung up on the fact that Floyd was dead. Under the circumstances that wouldn’t be unusual, except that she didn’t seem to be able to focus on anything else.

“Yes, dear, I know,” Sharon said again, as she had several times since she’d arrived, “but—”

She stopped in midsentence as she realized that what Helen had said could easily be interpreted as meaning that she didn’t need a doctor now because her husband was dead and couldn’t beat her up any more.

Sharon hesitated a moment to gather her thoughts and put them together before continuing. She had to proceed with a great deal of caution. Otherwise she could botch the whole thing.

She took one of Helen’s limp hands and held it. “Your husband sometimes hit you, didn’t he?” She said it calmly, as a statement of fact, not a question that could be easily denied.

In the silence that followed she held her breath, afraid Helen would take offense and order her to leave, but she merely nodded and spoke in that emotionless monotone.

“Yes, but I deserved it. He worked so hard, and was so stressed when he got home. I tried not to upset him, I really tried—but I usually managed to do something stupid, and...well...sometimes he’d punish me.”

For the first time she seemed to actually see Sharon when she looked at her. “But he didn’t mean it,” she said urgently. “He was always sorry.”

Sharon was appalled, but she managed to keep her voice even as she assured the poor battered woman that it wasn’t her fault. That her husband had had no right to abuse her.

Helen merely shook her head sadly and looked off into space.

Sharon pondered her next move. She had the perfect opening for exploring the premise that kept niggling at her, but did she dare attempt it? Was this confused woman strong enough to face, and either admit or deny, the accusation Sharon desperately needed to voice? Or would it drive her over the edge of reason into the bottomless pit of madness?

She wished she could talk it over with Fergus, but knew she couldn’t risk losing Helen’s tenuous attention, which she’d so painstakingly gained. It was doubtful that she’d ever regain it.

Taking a deep breath, she offered up a quick, silent prayer. “Helen, it’s unlikely that a jury would convict you for killing your husband,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “Your neighbor and the police will both testify that he beat you on several occasions.”

Sharon heard a muffled exclamation from the entryway, and knew Fergus was shocked and probably furious with her.

However, Helen’s only reaction was one of relief. “Do you really think so?” she asked, and for the first time there was a touch of expression in her tone. “I didn’t plan to do it, you know, but when I heard you quarreling with him and learned that he not only abused me but was unfaithful...I...I had no idea he was...was doing that. S-something just burst inside me....”

A sob shook her, then the tears came. She bent over, put her head in her hands and wept.

Sharon moved quickly to put her arms around the distraught woman. “That’s all right. Go ahead and cry,” she murmured. “Get it all out of your system. You were driven to do what you did. It’s not your fault.”

Although there was no noise other than Helen’s massive sobs, something caused Sharon to look up. She saw Fergus standing in front of them. The past few minutes had been so stressful that she’d forgotten he was in the house.

His expression mirrored her own feelings, a mixture of deep compassion and profound relief. Her eyes filled with tears as he, too, knelt down and comforted both women with gentle strokes and softly spoken words.

Sharon felt as if a heavy suffocating darkness had been lifted and the brightness of sunshine had once more returned to her world. In an effort to protect her sanity she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on just how terrified she was of the charges that had been filed against her, and how impossible it would have been to defend herself against them.

Now, for the first time since she’d returned to Floyd Vancleave’s office and found him lying on the floor with a letter opener protruding from his chest, she felt free. Free to get on with her life, to hope, and plan, and dream of a future. A future with wings instead of bars.

It took quite a while before Helen managed to pull herself together and stop crying. When she finally straightened up and looked around she saw Fergus for the first time, and blinked. “Who...who are you?” she sniffed.

He reached into his pocket and handed her a large white handkerchief. “I’m Fergus Lachlan, Ms. Sawyer’s attorney,” he said. “Are you all right? Would you like me to call your doctor?”

She blew her nose and shook her head. “No. He can’t help me. I...I guess I need a good lawyer.”

Hope expanded even more in Sharon’s heart. Apparently Helen intended to confess to the police. That would make everything much easier for Sharon.

Fergus, ever the realist, didn’t just wonder, he asked. “Are you willing to tell your story to the police, Mrs. Vancleave?” His tone was kind and understanding.

Helen drew her arms tightly against her and hunched her shoulders in anguish. “I... Yes, I will. I can’t go on living like this. Feeling so
guilty.
I never dreamed I was capable of taking another person’s life—”

“Anyone is capable of killing, given enough provocation,” Fergus interrupted, “and you had plenty of it. If you’ll give me your attorney’s number I’ll call him for you.”

She shook her head sadly. “I don’t have one. Oh, I believe Floyd had a man who did our income tax, but—”

“That would be an accountant,” Fergus explained. “Look, I’m not trying to solicit business, but if you want me to I’ll represent you.”

Sharon gasped. She knew he had more difficult, high-profile cases than he could comfortably handle without volunteering for one any competent lawyer could defend. He’d taken hers because he’d felt obligated to, but he was offering to defend Helen because he was a compassionate and caring man.

Helen relaxed against the back of the chair and closed her eyes wearily. “I’d be most grateful if you would,” she said.

Fergus stood up. “Fine. The first thing we’re going to do is have you examined by your physician. Then, if he says you’re strong enough, we’ll go to the police station, and you can give your statement to them.”

Helen groaned and opened her eyes. They were filled with fear. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, you do,” he said gently, “but don’t be afraid. I won’t let them question you. All you have to do is voluntarily admit that you killed your husband and tell them how and why. When the judge sees how frail you are there won’t be any trouble arranging for bail.”

* * *

An hour later Sharon and Fergus were sitting in the waiting room of Dr. Jonas Hardy while the doctor examined Helen Vancleave. Fergus had called the office and arranged for an emergency visit, and she’d been taken back to the examining rooms as soon as they arrived.

Before leaving the house, Sharon had offered to help Helen shower and make herself more presentable, but Fergus had said no. “I want the doctor and the police to see her just the way we found her,” he’d said. “Her appearance is bound to strengthen a plea of diminished capacity, or temporary insanity, as well as self-defense.”

It wasn’t long before they were told the doctor wanted to talk to them and were escorted to his office. Fergus had already given him a sketchy outline of what this was all about, so he got right to the point.

“I’m having Mrs. Vancleave admitted to the hospital. I understand that you were going to take her to the police station so she could confess to killing her husband, but right now her physical and mental health are more important than her legal difficulties. She needs treatment right away, and I can’t allow her to be badgered by the police in her present condition.”

Fergus nodded. “I’d expected that she might have to be hospitalized, and I have no intention of allowing the police to ‘badger’ her. They can’t even question her without your permission, but she seems to be overly burdened with guilt. She confessed to Ms. Sawyer and me voluntarily, but we don’t know any of the details, because we haven’t questioned her, either. I realized that I needed medical advice about her condition first.”

“You’re very perceptive,” the doctor said.

Fergus smiled. “Thanks, but it didn’t take much perception to see that she’s close to the breaking point both physically and emotionally. That’s why I’d like for you to give permission for a police officer to come to the hospital as soon as she gets settled in and take her statement. I’m sure she’ll feel better once she gets that off her mind, and I’ll be right there all the time to see to it that she’s not hassled. You’re welcome to sit in, too, or appoint a medical representative to do it.”

Dr. Hardy hesitated for a few moments before answering. “I guess we can give it a try, but I definitely do want to be there, and I’ll need your word that I can stop the proceedings if she seems to be getting too upset.”

“Of course,” Fergus agreed.

Sharon and Fergus took Helen to the hospital and stayed with her while she was being admitted. They explained to her the arrangement they’d made with the doctor for the police to interview her later when she was rested, and she assented to it.

After that Fergus took Sharon home, then went to the police station to make his report and set up an appointment for an officer to meet them at the hospital to take Helen’s statement later in the evening when the doctor would be free to be there. Sharon wanted to go to the station with him, but he refused.

“This is strictly legal business,” he said, “and you’d just be in the way. Now, please don’t argue. I’ll be back in time to take you to dinner, and afterward we’ll go to the hospital together. Meanwhile, why don’t you try to reach Ray and let him know what’s going on?”

* * *

Sharon and Fergus had dinner at a restaurant in one of the renovated hundred-year-old warehouses facing the cobblestone streets at Maclede’s Landing in the old section of downtown, and afterward they returned to the hospital. They arrived a few minutes before the appointed time and found homicide detective Zurcher already there, waiting in the small lounge on Helen’s floor. They were joined a short time later by Dr. Hardy, and after a little preliminary planning they all walked down the hall to Helen Vancleave’s room.

Dr. Hardy went in first to check her vital signs and reassure her, then he opened the door and motioned the rest of them to come in. Helen was reclining on the bed and had an IV in her arm. Her red raw hands had been medicated and were protected by loose-fitting cotton gloves, but she’d been cleaned up and looked considerably better than she had earlier.