Impact (33 page)

Tollison put a hand on Spitter's shoulder, but it was quickly shrugged off. “Did you hit the cop or did he hit you first?”

“I didn't hit
no
one. They been after me since she died, and now they got me. They're going to kill me, wait and see. They're going to beat me till they kill me. What they don't know is, I don't give a shit if I die or not.”

The fervor of the declaration was chilling. “Why do they want to kill you?” Tollison asked softly.

In a twist of emotion, Spitter seemed about to cry. “Because I wouldn't do what they want.”

“What did they want you to do?”

“Tell them about Aunt Carol.”

“What did they want to know about her?”

“Everything.”

“Who's
them
, Spitter? Who wants you to talk about Carol? The police?”

He shook his head.

“If you tell me who they are, maybe I can help you. Maybe I can get them to stop.”

Spitter blinked. “The man.”

“What man?”

Frowning, Spitter called upon his only area of expertise. “The one in the Taurus with the CB unit.”

Remembering the encounter on the road to Laura's, Tollison asked, “A curly-haired man with a beard? A gray car?”

Spitter's nod was vigorous. “He came to the graveyard and asked me about Aunt Carol. Over and over.”

“What did he want you to say?”

Suddenly flustered, Spitter looked away.

“Tell me, Spitter. I need to know.”

The recollection was clearly agony. “He wanted to know if we did it.”

“Did what?”

“You know.
It
. He claimed me and Carol used to sneak off all the time together. He offered to pay me a hundred dollars to sign a paper that said so.” Spitter shook his head so violently Tollison was afraid he would hurt himself. “I
hate
that guy. I hope he dies and they bury him without his head and nobody guards his grave.”

Tollison suppressed an urge to embrace the boy. “I'll try to get him to stop bothering you. Okay?”

Spitter wiped his nose on his sleeve, then nodded.

“Good. I have to leave now, Spitter, but I'll be back in the morning. I'll get you out of here and take you home.”

“I don't want to go home.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“The graveyard.”

“Why there?”

“She talks to me out there.”

“What about?”

“Things.”

“What things?”

“What it looks like where she is.”

“Where is she?”

Spitter blinked again. “In Heaven Above. Don't you know
that
much, Mr. Tollison? I thought you were her friend.”

“When you get out of here, I want you to see someone,” Tollison said finally.

“Who? A doctor?”

His tone made the profession seem despicable. “A woman named Laura. She was Aunt Carol's friend, and she needs help because her husband was hurt in the crash that killed Aunt Carol. If you like her, maybe you could help her around the house, clean up the yard, maybe even help take care of her husband. What do you think?”

Spitter frowned. “I don't know. I got things to do.”

“She's got a car you could work on.”

“What kind?”

“Mercedes.”

“Yeah? What year?”

“'Seventy-nine, I think.”

“You think she'd let me drive it?”

“Probably, if you can get it fixed.”

“What's wrong with it?”

“Why don't I take you out to see her, and you can decide if you want to help while you check the car out, too?”

Spitter nodded reluctantly, then lowered his head to the desk and began to breathe in sleepy sighs. Tollison patted him on the back, then went to the door and pressed the buzzer and waited to be let out.

Five minutes later he was driving aimlessly, winding through the back streets of the sleeping town, climbing into the wooded hills, his thoughts a stew of past and present as he looked for a place from which to watch the sunrise. As dawn threatened to inflict him with another day, he realized the Donahue house was one road over from the one he traveled.

After a left and a right, he cruised slowly past the lane. Surprisingly, the lights were on, golden rectangles that easily outstripped the pink spilling over the hill behind him. Too tired to think, Tollison turned into the drive and, regardless of hour and etiquette, went to the door and rang the bell.

Sooner than it should have, the door opened. “Keith. What on earth are you doing here at this hour?”

“I was in the neighborhood so I thought I'd stop by.”

“You must be joking.”

He leaned against the door frame. “Actually, I'm not. I don't suppose you have any coffee on the stove.”

“I don't, but I can make some.”

“Were you awake or did I wake you?”

“Awake.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Laura Donahue countered, the question hinting of equal exhaustion and a mild hysteria.

He followed her to the living room and waited in front of the emerging view while she disappeared into the kitchen. When she joined him in the light of the new day, her face was smudged and blurred, its outlines rearranged as though she had labored to erase whatever messages it contained.

When she felt his glance, an apology edged through her lagging smile. “If I'd known you were coming I'd have done something about … this.”

Her gesture encompassed every inch of her, from the paint-spattered Levi's to the sweatshirt from Sonoma State to the battered shell around her soul.

“What are you doing up at this hour?” he asked again.

“Things.”

“Like what?”

She shrugged. “Reading. Thinking. Crying,” she added after an awkward pause.

“Crying over what?”

“Jack. You. Life.” She exhaled a distant whistle. “Sometimes there just seems to be a lot to cry about.”

Her reached for her hand. “Has he gotten worse?”

Her smile was crooked. “I'm afraid not. But then you wouldn't know, would you?”

He reddened. “I'm sorry I haven't been out to see him, but I just couldn't …”

“Couldn't what?”

He looked at the treetops rising through the morning mist and tried to tell the truth. “I've hated Jack for forty years—once I was so mad at him I tried to shoot him with my BB gun. And now he's my client, so I have to stop. But I was afraid if I came out here and saw you nursing him back to health, I wouldn't be able to. Watching you at the hospital that day, hearing what you said and the way you said it, almost drove me crazy.”

“I suppose I understand. And I suppose you don't have to see him if you don't want to.” Her words curled. “You can just send a video crew, the way you did last month.”

“You know that's for the lawsuit.”

“But
video?
My God. It was so … mercenary.”

“It's been proved time and time again that visual aids are indispensable in showing the consequences of disability,” he intoned officiously, then went to her side and took her hand. “It wasn't so bad, was it? I told them just to film a typical day in your lives. Nothing cute, nothing phony. It's why I didn't come along, so Chambers couldn't say I staged it.” He paused. “They have to come back, you know.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn't let them film everything.”

“I don't have to.”

“Yes you do.” As she pulled away from him, his temper echoed through the house. “Don't
fight
me on this, goddamnit. You got me into the case, now let me do what has to be done to
win
it. I'm going to send them out again, and this time I want every nasty bit of your life
on that tape.”

It was long seconds before she could bring herself to speak. “Maybe by the time the trial starts he'll be back to normal and the freak show won't be necessary.”

He closed his eyes. “My job is tough enough without you implying there's something perverted about it.”

“I beg your pardon. I thought
Jack
was the one who had it tough.” She crossed her arms in clear disdain. “Since you're not making another horror film, how come you're here?”

He was beside her with a step, embracing her gingerly at first, then roughly, his apologies muffled by her soft shoulder. When at long last he paused to give her a chance to stop him, her arms locked at the base of his spine. Her tongue probed lips, parted teeth, entered a grateful mouth; his hand slid like a serpent around her ribs, advancing on her breast.

When she sensed his purpose, she pulled away. “I can't.”

“Then why did you—”

She shivered. “I don't know. Maybe because it reminded me that there was something to live for outside these walls. But I shouldn't have teased you like that. I'm sorry.” Tears returned, then flowed toward a plucky grin. “You're not the only one who's frustrated, you know. I can't do what I want, either.”

“What
do
you want, Laura?”

She feigned an awkward gaiety. “For Christmas, you mean? I want all kinds of things. A new dishwasher, a new bra; mostly, a new husband.” Her laugh was manic. “But Jack is like the Mercedes—I can't get rid of him until I fix him up.”

Shamed by the brief burlesque, she turned toward the window that looked onto her husband's lapsed ambitions. “I want to feel
normal
again, Keith. I want things back the way they were. Sins and all.”

He couldn't suppress a glance toward the bedroom in the rear. “What we did wasn't sin, Laura.”

“Not then, maybe,” she murmured. “But it would be now.”

He tried to make himself dispute her, but his only response was a digression: “I need to use your phone.”

Her eyes widened. “Who will be awake at this hour?”

“Every client I've ever had.”

He went to the kitchen and dialed the number. Brenda answered after the second ring. “I've seen Spitter,” he said.

“How is he? Is he hurt?”

“He got beat around a little, but nothing serious.”

“The bastards. Can I go get him?”

“Not till ten or so. I couldn't get hold of a judge, so I'll have to make bail at the arraignment. But he'll be all right. The jailer's watching out for him.”

“Did you talk to him, Keith? How did he get in trouble?”

“The cops rousted him from the cemetery. But what's messing up his mind is that insurance investigator who's been prowling around town since the crash. He's been grilling Spitter about Carol. He seems to be trying to get Spitter to admit there was something sexual between them.”

“You must be kidding.”

“You'd better warn Alec about this, Brenda. If they're suborning Spitter, God knows what else they're up to. At least Alec's got plenty of time to counter whatever lie they're trying to establish.”

“There's not
that
much time; Alec says we could go to trial in March.”

Tollison labored to persuade himself that the forecast must be false.

“Thanks for helping, Keith,” Brenda was saying. “I know you don't have any reason to do me favors these days.”

“Anytime.”

“I do try to do right by him, you know. It's just, I don't always know what right is. I was jealous of Carol for a long time, angry and hurt that Spitter liked her better than he liked me. Now I just wish she was here to give him whatever it is he needs.” She sighed. “Where are you, by the way? At the office?”

“Home.”

“No you're not, I just called there.… You're with
her
, aren't you? Jesus, don't you ever get
enough?
I'll bet you didn't see Spitter at all. I'll bet he's rotting away in that goddamn
jail
because you couldn't keep your hands off her long enough to get him
out.”

“No. I was just down there, Brenda. I—”

“You'll regret this, you bastard. You can do what you want to
me
, but to leave Spitter in that hellhole while you … well, you're going to wish you hadn't.
Believe
me. You and that bitch will wish this day had never
happened.”

Before he could object again, Brenda hung up.

Her tirade still ringing in his ear, Tollison trudged back to the living room. “Who was that?” Laura asked.

He told her.

“How is she?”

He shrugged. “Mad at me.”

“I'm sorry.”

He looked at her.

Discomfited by his distress, Laura switched subjects. “Brenda hired Hawthorne, didn't she?”

He nodded. “It would be wise if you'd follow her example.”

“We've been all through that, Keith.”

“What if I lose, Laura? What if you come out of the lawsuit without a dime?”

For the first time that morning, he sensed some purpose in her. “I can
deal
with it, Keith. I told you that before. Why are you going back on your promise to help me?”

“There's quite a large conflict of interest here, for one reason. If I lose, people will say I went in the tank deliberately, so Jack would have to be institutionalized and you'd be free to ride off into the setting sun with me.”

“You don't lose other cases, so why would you lose this one? Besides, Mr. Hawthorne's going to help you, isn't he?”

“So he says. But talk is cheap with lawyers, especially with lawyers who are supposed to be your friends.”

Her eyes were falsely bright. “Well, the way I see it, I've got two lawyers instead of one. So I don't want to hear about this anymore. Let me get you some coffee. Then we'll go see Jack. If you want to.”

“Sure,” he lied.

Moments later she was waiting at the head of the hallway, extending a grin and a cup. “Shall we?”

He accepted both the coffee and her silent toast.