Imperfect Contract (13 page)

21

Early the next morning, my little alarm clock dog rattled my bones with his barking.  He wanted out
—
fast. 

I called Vanessa, arranging to meet her for lunch and an afternoon of shopping.  It would be the perfect opportunity to get her talking about the hospital.  Ray and I agreed I'd tell Vanessa I was helping him.  She knew he'd been around and would suspect as much.  I'd be upfront and honest, and she'd be more inclined to talk.

We met at the fish tank in the mall.  By the time Vanessa arrived, I'd been watching the one-eyed puffer swim around for ten minutes.  I was surprised to see him.  Glad, too.  It felt good, so I named him Karma.  It seemed to fit.  Karma's continued usefulness—at least as entertainment for the shoppers—seemed permanent and hopeful.  We purchased grilled chicken sandwiches from Chick-fil-A and coffee from Barney's, keeping our tank-view table. 

Unlike the several varieties of saltwater fish that propel themselves by swishing their tails, the puffer moved by waving his top and bottom fins as well as the fin on the end of his tail.  Karma moved with the aid of translucent propellers.  Fascinating.  When he got in the rocks, he changed the direction of the propellers and backed out.  His wide, round head and tapering body suggested a living, miniature submarine.

I'd pulled on a pair of stretch jeans and a tee shirt, then added a pair of sandals, tiny gold earrings, and minimal make-up.  Vanessa, who looked like she'd lost weight, shone in a taupe-colored stretch pantsuit and matching long-sleeved blouse.  Even her sandals matched.  Today, she'd pulled her blond hair back with a huge butterfly clip.

"You always look like you stepped off the cover of Vogue," I said.

She sipped her coffee and smiled.  "You think shopping with me will make you grow taller, then you'll be able to wear the same stuff I do."

I sat extra-straight, trying to make the best of every inch of me.  "Very true.  But alas, I suffer from terminal shortness.  I push the limits of good fashion sense with my long skirts.  If I gain weight, I'll look like a tent."

She laughed.  We'd covered this territory before.  She wished she couldn't eat soup off the heads of most males, and I wished I could reach the top shelf in my kitchen.

"Hear anything from Craig?" I asked.  She seldom heard from him anymore except for an occasional telephone call in the middle of the night.  If he'd started harassing her again, it would explain her weight loss. 

"I haven't heard a peep from him in a month.  It has me worried.  Maybe he's coming here.  At least when his home number flashes on my caller ID, I'm sure he's up north."

 "Maybe he tired of the game or found someone else to torment?"

"I wouldn't wish anyone else the grief."

I popped the last bite of my sandwich into my mouth and chewed, savoring the flavor while thinking about how to proceed.  "Speaking of grief, when is the closing on your townhouse?"

"In a couple of weeks, I guess.  The mortgage rate will be high, about two points above the going rate.  My new mortgage broker, Carl, is more helpful.  He said I can refinance in a couple of years.  I think Carl might even help me.  Then again, he might be saying that to see if he can get into my pants."

"Oh, is he interesting or just horny?"

"Interesting."

"You going to go out if he asks?"

"He offered.  I refused."

"Why?  You need to get out."

"And you don't?"  She knew I hadn't dated much since Ray.  She had the habit of encouraging me to warm up to this therapist or that doctor. 

It wasn't for lack of opportunity that I didn't date.  I had settled in and felt content with my lifestyle.  That's what I told myself anyway. 

She continued, "I'm concentrating on my real estate deal.  I can't see becoming involved with anyone right now."

I decided not to pursue the comments about our uneventful social lives and picked up the thread that might lead to more detail about the home purchase.  "You're resigned to buying the townhouse."

"I am, but I think that bastard, Hutchinson, and the bitch, Amelia, did me wrong."

"Before we continue this conversation, I need to tell you something."

"What, you're seeing Ray again?  I saw you with him in the back of
Patty's
yesterday, deep in conversation."

"We were talking about the Hutchinson case.  I'm involved in it with him."

She didn't flinch, a good sign.  "You looked like you had more than Barry Hutchinson on your mind."

"I can't seem to move on.  I know he's poison.  He'll just hurt me again.  It always bothered me that he split when I got out of the hospital.  Poor timing.  Now I find out he had another girlfriend.  Not that he didn't have the right."

"He talked about it?"  She cocked a brow.

"Yes."

"Give it some thought, honey.  Guys like him don't come knocking on your door every day."

"I do think about it."  I stared at the tank, hoping to see our fish, but Karma must have stalled on the other side rather than continuing to go around and around.  He appeared from behind the big coral rocks on the left, taking a short cut.  "What were you going to say about Barry and Amelia?"

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"Sorry.  Thought you were."  I looked at her.

"When I first started doing business with them, Amelia told me about her trouble with Barry.  She knew I worked at the hospital, and I guess she felt close to me."  Vanessa played with her drink, then glanced over her shoulder at the tank.

"She covered some of that territory with me after the doctors transferred Barry to fifth floor."

"I think her story changed.  I think she wanted people to believe she loved him."

"Oh?"  I made waving motions with my right hand.  "Tell me more."

"One day at her office, she said she planned to file for a divorce.  Said she'd move on when she got her half of everything.  They hadn't gotten along for a long, long time, and she was tired of it."  Vanessa paused, looking thoughtful.  "I wasn't unhappy with the agency then, and I wanted to be helpful.  I told her about the trouble with Craig and the good counselors I found.  She wasn't interested.  She said Barry refused marriage counseling, and she'd had enough."

"That's about what she told me."  I kept the details to myself.

"I've been dealing with them for a long time.  One day, for instance, I went into the agency without knocking and without calling ahead.  The reception area was empty.  I heard Amelia and Barry in the back yelling at each other.  She was using real hard language, calling him a cheating mother-effer and worse things.  She screamed that the fact the woman was white insulted her worse than anything else."

"Did he say anything?"  I leaned forward in my chair, intent on every word.

"At first, just muttering.  Then he started yelling that she hadn't been a wife to him in a long time and what right did she have to question who he slept with."

"He didn't deny it?"

"No, he agreed with her.  He said his girlfriend showed him consideration, and he had every intention of leaving Amelia to live with her."

"Heavy stuff.  What did she say?"

"She said, 'How can you say that?  I've been sleeping with you, like a wife.'"  Vanessa raised her left hand, puppet style.  "'Now?' he yelled, 'what about all those other years?'"  She held up her right hand, making mouth movements with her fingers.  "Amelia said 'I worried about catching something.  I thought you were sleeping around.'"  Left hand.  "'I wasn't, but now I am.  So, why are you sleeping with me now?'"  Vanessa paused, a look of perverse satisfaction on her face.

"Then what happened?"  I prodded.

"I heard a crash, then Barry yelled, 'Don't break up the place.'"

"Whoa, really?"

"Yes.  Then another crash followed by a thump.  Amelia said, 'I'm going to kill you, you bastard.'  Then there was another thump and a thud.  I wasn't sure what happened, but I slipped out the door.  I took a ride and returned about thirty minutes later."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't want Barry to realize I'd heard the fight, so I asked about my real estate deal.  After awhile, I heard some noise in the back and Amelia's voice on the telephone, or maybe talking to someone in the back."

"Did she come out?"

"A bit later.  She said hello to me, told Barry she had a headache, and she left."

"Did you see any bruises or damage to her face or anything?"

"No.  But men who beat their women are smarter than that.  Craig never hit me on my face.  He broke my ribs, bruised my breasts, and battered about every clothed part of my body.  He wanted to make sure no one thought badly of him."

"I have to admit, I had no idea he beat you all those years, not until you asked for help.  It's a good thing you found the courage.  I'm sure he'd have killed you otherwise."

"He might still do that.  He refuses to believe I have a brain.  My independence drives him crazy."

"It's good you're going into a multi-family area, more people around."  I watched Karma for a minute.  "Van, did Amelia say anything more to you about her marriage?" 

"No.  The problems with the sellers and with the mortgage company began.  Our relationship fell apart, and we quit having social conversations."  She slurped the last of her coffee through the hollow plastic stirrer.  "One day in the hospital, she said 'By the way,'" again Vanessa used her hand to depict her conversation, "'Barry and I made up.  Isn't that grand?  Now I have an invalid to take care of and still no husband.'"

"Heavy stuff." 

"I thought so."

"Have you told any of this to the cops?"

"No, they haven't asked anything except a few questions about my purchase transaction."

"They will.  I helped Ray make a list of people who were there when Hutchinson coded.  You're on the list."

"Thanks a bunch."

"I couldn't help it.  Besides, it's part of the record."

"Okay, sure." 

I tried to make eye contact, but she looked away. 

Vanessa said, "Let's go shopping.  You have anything special in mind?"

"Something slinky."

"Thinking about Ray?"

"Yeah."  I loaded Vanessa's trash with mine and double stacked the cafeteria-style trays.  Taking the last sip of my coffee, I added it to the pile.  "Let's go."

Two hours later, I had a foxy little-black-dress from the sale rack at Macy's, high-heeled sandals from a new boutique shoe shop across from Gordon's, and some sexy underwear from Victoria's Secret.  For the underwear, I used a gift certificate from my ever-hopeful mother.  She'd approve.  If I promised to wear it for Ray, she'd even buy me more.  She loved him like a son.  Vanessa didn't buy anything.  She saved her pennies. 

"Vanessa," I said, climbing behind the wheel of my Mini, "how about you follow me over to the station and get your conversation with Ray out of the way?"

She stood beyond the swing of the door on the driver's side.  Her car was about two rows over.  "Why would I want to do that?"

"Because if you do it now, I'll be there with you.  At another time, maybe not."

She put both hands on top of the car and bent to look in the window.  "Are you sure he's there?"

"Let me give him a call."  I dug in my purse for my cell phone, turned it on, then keyed in Ray's work number.  He answered on the first ring, made a crack about my cell phone being out-of-service, then said he'd wait at the station for us.  "He'll be there.  You know where it is if we get separated?"

"Yes."  She gave me the directions, not the ones I would have taken, but one of the many possible routes from the mall to the police station. 

22

As I closed the car door, Vanessa pulled in next to me in the police station lot.  We walked side-by-side into the building, rode the elevator to the second floor, and approached the reception desk in silence.

"Good morning, Sophia," the elderly volunteer said, buzzing open the security door.  "Detective Stone is expecting you.  He said to send you right on back."

"Thanks Elsie.  You're looking well," I said as we passed through the door.  Elsie was a fixture around the department.

In the hallway, a couple detectives leered at Vanessa but only glanced at me, nodding hello. 

Unsmiling, Ray watched us walk across the room.  I'd surprised him, and he didn't appear to appreciate it.  The edges of his goatee twitched, but he smiled when we drew near, sending a mixed message. 

He stood and greeted Vanessa, extending his hand.  "Thanks for coming down," Ray said.  "Have a seat.  I want to talk to Sophia."

Vanessa said, "Fine."  The word dripped with attitude.

I wanted to tell her to lighten up.  Ray was already pissed, and she was about to make it worse.  Instead, I followed him to the coffee room. 

The tiny break room reminded me of the one on my nursing unit—messy, an empty donut box on a cluttered table, various notices on a large corkboard, a small refrigerator, and a full coffee pot.  It was unoccupied except for a dead roach on the floor near the john door. 

He stopped and faced me.  "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"You call me in the middle of the afternoon and tell me you're bringing someone in to question.  Someone, by the way, who might prove to be a suspect."

"I brought her because she has information about Amelia and Barry.  She overheard a fight, one with physical contact.  I thought you needed to know.  It happened before the shooting."

"Sophia, she could tell me all about it when we bring her in for an interview."  I knew he was mad.  He called me Sophia.

"Listen, I'll tell you what.  Why don't we just leave?  You can make your own arrangements to see her."  I took a quick step toward the hall.

"You're unreasonable."  He reached out and touched my arm.

I brushed him off, turning to face him.  "You think it's fine to use my services anytime you need help at the hospital.  Meanwhile, I'm ratting on my friends, then you get pissed when I deliver them to you."  My face flushed—I felt the heat.  "She's had a tough life.  I wanted to be around to support her during the interview.  Screw it.  I'm going home, and I'm going to tell her to leave with me."

"Like hell, you will.  I'll talk to her for a minute now, but depending on what else I find out, I may need to talk to her again—without you holding her hand."

"Okay."  Without further conversation, we rejoined Vanessa.

"Vanessa," Ray said with a smile, this time a bit more sincere.  "Let's go into one of the interview rooms where we can sit and talk without interruption.

"Sure."  She followed Ray, and I brought up the rear.

Ray held the door open, ushering Vanessa in with a wave of his right hand.  When I started to follow, he said, "You can come in but don't say anything."

Without interrupting, Ray allowed Vanessa to tell him about Amelia and Barry Hutchinson's fight, nodding encouragement at frequent intervals.  Every once in a while, he'd jot on his tablet.  I strained to see his notes, but the glare from the window obliterated them, perhaps by his intention, but I thought not.  When Vanessa finished, we sat in silence for a couple of minutes. 

Ray leaned forward in his chair and looked Vanessa directly in the eyes.  "Vanessa, you said Amelia came out of the office and pretended as if nothing happened."

"Yes, that's what I said."

"Did you see evidence he'd hit her?  Maybe it was Amelia who hit Hutchinson."

"She's pretty dark skinned."  Vanessa appeared thoughtful.

"Did you see any evidence Hutchinson had been hit?"

"No, I told you."  Vanessa raised her voice a few decibels.

"Back to what you overheard.  You said you heard a crash, some yelling, the sound of fists, and another crash."

"I definitely heard her get hit, she yelled in between, said she was going to kill him, then I heard her fall."

"How do you know it was Amelia who fell and not a chair or even Hutchinson?"

"Well, I . . . I . . ."  She looked confused and uncomfortable.  She smoothed her jacket over her slacks, buttoning and unbuttoning the collar closure a couple of times.  "I know the sound of a body hitting the wall.  A body sounds like a body, not like the crack of a chair."

Ray took a long moment to make notes, doing nothing to help her feel less uncomfortable.  Vanessa squirmed in her seat.  He asked a few general questions, then wrote several lines on his pad. 

Ray stood, pushing back his chair.  "Vanessa, thank you for coming in.  You've been a big help."  He opened the door, our signal to leave.  As we passed in front of him, he said, "Vanessa, I'll be talking with you again.  I'm in the process of interviewing everyone who was around on the day he died, just to get the facts straight.  Where can I reach you?"

Vanessa swallowed hard and gave Ray her home number and mobile number.  She looked pale.  I thought all the discussion about abuse was painful for her, raising threatening memories.  She looked in my direction, grimaced, then walked out of the station too fast for me to keep pace.  By the time I reached the parking lot, her car was gone.

Ray had followed me out of the station, but as I gathered my thoughts, I pretended to be unaware.  "Sophi." I heard his voice from a few feet away.

"Yes."  I turned to see him approach.  I suspected he had an agenda unrelated to the case.

"I'll call you later.  Will you be home?"  His voice was soft, the drawl more evident.

"What for?  I got the idea you were angry."

He bit the side of his lip, looking thoughtful.  "I am pissed about you bringing her here with her half-baked story, but that's not what's on my mind.  I figure we can keep this case and the rest of our lives separate."

"That's a thought."

"I'd like to take you to dinner."

"Call."  I raised my hand about half-way and hurried to my car.  I had the little black dress, proving I wanted to go out with him.  Still I was ambivalent.  Fool me once, I thought, shame on you.  "Fool me twice," I said under my breath as I started my Mini's engine, "shame on me."