Stranglehold (13 page)

"Look, everybody lies anyway. You lie to get what you want."

''I don't."

"No.
You
don't. You're fucking perfect."

"I didn't say I was perfect."

"You sure as hell seem to think you are."

She turned to him.

"I don't lie, Arthur. Do
you
?"

And she never saw it coming.

One moment his hand was at his side and the next moment he was slapping her.

She fell back against the sink, oddly aware that the water was still running and raised her arms to her face reflexively to fend him off because now that he'd put the beer down on the sideboard he was at her with both hands. The blows were getting through and they were hard, coming fast. He was using the heel of his hand and ball of his thumb, pounding at her, trying to hurt her, hitting at her head and cheeks and jaw, and she could smell the beer-stink on his breath and did not know whether she was more shocked or frightened at the attack.

She heard herself shrill his name once as she slid down the wall of cabinets to the floor and heard him growling at her,
bitch, you fuck with me?
grabbing at the collar of her blouse and pulling her up, ripping the fabric, so that she was kneeling in front of him held in place by one of his hands while he hit her with the other and she was crying, sobbing, she had her arms out in front of her but it wasn't any good, he was using his fist now, short tight jabs to the eye, to the nose. Punishing her. She could hear the pain roaring in her. Her entire face and head burned with pain. She inhaled her own blood, swallowed it. He was going to kill her.

She saw her father beating her mother in a drunken rage.

The man was bigger. The man was going to kill her
.

Suddenly he threw her back into the kitchen cabinets and stood and released her. Her eyes skittered up to him and thought,
he's crazy, he's gone crazy
because she saw that he wasn't even looking at her now, he was standing over her looking up into the fluorescent lights above. He seemed tranced. Alien. He was panting and his shirt was torn—
had she done that?
He looked like some primitive warrior slipped somehow into modern clothes standing triumphant above his prey, his victim.

You bastard, she thought.

You coward.

He stepped off her and in four long strides was out of the room.

Headed for the stairs.

No! she thought. You are not going to
touch
him!

Her hand slid across a pool of her own blood as she tried to get up and then she was up and running after him, his own half-empty bottle of beer appearing as if by magic in her hand. She was halfway up the stairs when she saw him turn the corridor down the hall to Robert's room and then she missed a step and slipped again, her half-closed swollen eye betraying her. She pulled herself up by the banister, spilling the beer across the wooden stairs but holding tight to the bottle because if he came after her again or did anything to Robert, she'd use it on him,
she would
.

He wasn't in the darkened hall but there was a night light on in Robert's room and she raced toward it, flung herself into the entrance.

Then stopped.

Robert was asleep.

And Arthur was sitting on the bed holding him—his eyes closed. Gently rocking
.

I'm living with a madman, she thought.

Dear god. I have been all this time.

"Get
away
from him!" she hissed.

Arthur opened his eyes and looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time all evening and was surprised to find her there.

Madman
.

She stepped forward and raised the bottle.

His expression changed from that dazed look of surprise to something that seemed to her like sadness, genuine and deep.

She wanted him out of there.

"Get away!" she said.

He didn't seem to understand at first.

Then he set the boy down gently on the bed and stood staring at her a long second before he stepped slowly forward. She moved aside for him, aware of the bottle clutched in her hand and ready to use it if she had to. He didn't even glance at her as he walked past her out the door.

A moment later she heard the front door slam and a moment after that heard his car start up and pull away.

The dark felt suddenly thick with ozone.

She collapsed to the floor.

She was crying silently and everything throbbed and she couldn't see at all out of her right eye. Somehow she was going to have to clean herself up and get Robert out of there. She was going to have to make up a story for him as to how she got this way so he wouldn't be frightened seeing how she looked. She was going to have to pack a few things and phone Cindy and pile their stuff into her car and then drive to Cindy's house and get him settled in.

And she hoped Cindy had a camera.

Because her next stop was going to be the sheriff's office.

He wasn't getting away with this.

She was not going back to him.

It was her and Robert now.

It was late, almost four in the morning. Hell of a time to wake folks up if he was wrong. But he wasn't wrong. The way she described it, there was only one place he'd go after that.

"Officer Welch will take your statement, Mrs.
Danse
, and then we'll let you go get some sleep."

She nodded.

The woman was one big bruise. He wondered what she'd told her son about that. When they'd picked her up at her friend's house and driven her over to the clinic she was worse. He'd taken one good look at her and insisted she get medical attention right away. You didn't mess with blows to the head.

The photos they'd taken were impressive.

If she decided to go after him the photos alone could probably put the bastard away for a little while.

Privately he thought that would be the best possible thing for Arthur
Danse
.

He got out of the chair. His back hurt. Everything hurt. The station needed better chairs for guys like him. He was old and it was late.

"I'm going to see if I can't have a talk with Arthur," he said. "Make sure he knows what we know until that restraining order comes along. Okay?"

She removed the ice pack from her face and nodded again. "Thanks."

Tiny little voice
. He'd heard
its
like before. Usually, right after the anger passed. As the realization of what they'd been through, and maybe what they'd escaped, settled in.

Officer Welch—who was
Martha
Welch, thank you very much, and for his money, a credit to both her sex and the badge—stopped him at the doorway on his way out.

"No backup, Ralph?"

"Nah. I know this guy from way back."

"You sure?"

"He's a punk. He beats up women. And maybe cats and dogs."

"Cats and dogs?"

"I told you. We go way back."

The streets at that hour were deserted. The snow had long since given way to snowplows and strong noon midday sun. Still he drove carefully and within the speed limit, aware of his own exhaustion.

With anybody other than Arthur
Danse
he'd have been tempted to wait until tomorrow. Or maybe hand it over to somebody else. Somebody fresher.

But with
Danse
, he wanted the news to come from him.

Danse
in Duggan's estimation was your basic bad seed. Born bad, raised bad and grown bad. He got slicker as he got older and nobody had any doubt at all about the quality of his intelligence but in people's personalities as well as in bureaucracies, shit always seemed to float to the top.

He wasn't surprised by what had happened tonight. He'd been waiting for something like this to come crawling out of Arthur for a long while.

Too bad it had to hurt the lady.

She was a nurse, she said. Seemed like a decent type. Not from hereabouts.

It always amazed him at what people could overlook in people. Sometimes, he guessed, it was all for the good. You take his daughter, Ginny.

Ginny could look at her own daughter—his granddaughter Stephanie—and all she seemed to see was this happy, simple, loving little girl who was, sadly, very much alone among her peers. Duggan saw what most everybody else saw. Down's syndrome. It made him want to bleed for them both, for all the pain they'd go through all their lives.

But Ginny had found a way to look at
Steph
that seemed to omit the prognosis for their future and concentrate on what was right in front of her eyes—that happy, loving little girl. She overlooked all the rest of it.

In her case it was probably for the best.

In Lydia,
Danse's
case it might have turned out lethal.

She was lucky to have gotten out of there.

He was going to try to help her stay out.

He pulled up onto the narrow dirt strip of road that led to Ruth and Harry's place. He was certain that was where
Danse
would go.

Whatever else you had to say about him, Artie sure seemed to love his dear old mama.

And sure enough, his headlights swept the big black Lincoln right out front.

He pulled up and cut the motor and stepped outside into the starless night. The wind blew chilly up here. He zipped his jacket higher.

The house was dark, silent.

He ascended the steps to the porch and saw a light go on inside and curtains fluttering in the living room window.

He didn't have to knock.

Ruth was right at the door.

"Morning, Ruth."

"Morning, Ralph."

The nightgown and robe looked like they must have been purchased sometime in the 1950's and worn every night ever since.

The grim, almost lipless cut of her mouth told him she knew what he was here for. He said it anyway.

"I need to talk with Arthur, Ruth."

"He's not here."

"That's his car. Right over there, Ruth."

She shrugged. "He went for a drive with Harry."

"With Harry? At four in the morning?"

"That's right."

"Happen to know where they went?"

"Nope."

He looked at her.

It wouldn't do to call Ruth a liar.