The window panes were gray again, but dry, when he awoke in the morning. He lay quietly, unmoving, as they gradually lightened from lead-colored to white and patches of blue began to appear, moving swiftly from one side to the other.
A nurse entered. It was the same one-Miss Jones-who had helped Dave tend to his wounds in the emergency room, after he returned from Stanhope’s lodge. Yesterday? No. The day before yesterday. Thursday. And today was Saturday. And Marie was dead.
Miss Jones busied herself-straightening his bed covers, plumping his pillows, taking his temperature, checking his pulse, refilling his water pitcher-while, at the same time, carrying on a one-sided conversation which he did not respond to-because, Marie was dead.
Completing her ministrations, Miss Jones departed, and he resumed where he had left off when she had interrupted him-looking at the sky and at the clouds as they gradually separated into smaller and smaller clusters, the way he remembered frog cells doing as he looked at them through a microscope in his high school biology class. He tried to recall the name of his teacher-of all his teachers and his classmates-and tried not to remember, that Marie was dead.
In a little while, Miss Jones returned followed by Dave Blumenstein. The two of them walked to the side of his bed-Dave on one side, and Miss Jones on the other. Dave checked the same vital signs that Miss Jones had checked earlier and smiled down at him.
“You’re looking considerably better,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“About the way you say I look, better,” he responded.
Dave grunted. “Which is better than you have a right to expect, with a wound like you suffered. I can’t remember seeing another one that bad, where the patient lived to tell about it. You had a very close call, my friend.”
“How close?”
Dave pointed to himself at a spot just below his collar bone and slightly to the right of center of his chest. “The bullet entered here and “-turning his back, he bent his arm behind him and placed his forefinger on a spot about six inches above his belt line, to the right of his spine-”it came out here. It tore up a lot of muscles on the way, and you lost a considerable amount of blood. But, fortunately, it missed everything vital. You were very lucky.”
“Thanks for the explanation. But, don’t call me ‘lucky.’ “
“Sorry,” Dave apologized. “I guess it was a poor choice of words.” He obviously knew why without further explanation. “I’ll change your dressing; and see how the wounds look.”
As Dave removed the bandage he tucked in his chin and tried to peer down his nose to see the hole in his chest, but it was out of his line of vision.
“It looks pretty bad now, but it’s clean and, once it heals, it will hardly be noticeable,” the young intern told him. “You will have a pretty bad scar on your back though, I’m afraid. Atleast, for awhile. But even that should disappear in time.”
“ ‘Time heals all wounds’, eh, Dave?” he responded with ill-concealed cynicism.
Dave paused in his examination of his wounds to look at him gravely. “It usually does, if you have enough of it, and the patience to wait.”
“But, what if the scar remains? Do you still consider that the wound is healed?”
He was sure that Dave now recognized that he was no longer referring to the possible scars on his chest and back but, rather, to the scar etched on his mind by the death of Marie. Even though he could not have known the full extent of his responsibility-or irresponsibility-he seemed to sense the root cause for his bitterness.
“A scar-any scar-is always an unpleasant reminder of pain and discomfort,” Dave replied as he finished changing his bandages and straightened up. “Some, of course are disfiguring and, if allowed to, can destroy a person’s chance for.. .for fulfillment. But, even the worst scars can be repaired, or hidden. The thing is, to learn to live with it, but not allow it to limit the way you want to live.”
He already knew he would have to learn to live with it, but he did not see how he could not let it effect the way he lived. But, he was not in the mood to engage in a philosophical discussion on the issue of his future life-style.
“Thanks for the advice. I’ll try to bear it in mind,” he told him without rancor.
Dave smiled. “It’s the cheapest thing you’ll get while you’re here. Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave?”
“Yes. How about taking this thing out of my nose, and the needles out of my arms. I feel like a puppet on a string.”
“I’ll remove the catheter,” he said, and did. “But we’d better leave the other two hooked up for another day or so. I’ll see how you’re doing when I come back this afternoon. Don’t try to rush things. It’s going to be a few days, at least, before we can be sure you’re out of the woods.”
“I have to go to my wife’s funeral, Monday.”
A skeptical frown creased Dave’s brow. “I don’t know, Mark. We’ll have to see.”
“Dave! I said I have to go,” he interrupted, emphasizing the ‘have’.
The young intern studied him pensively for a few seconds before replying. “All right, Mark. We’ll get you there. But, you’ll need as much rest as you can get in the meantime-starting now.”
As if on signal, Miss Jones immediately began plumping his pillows again. When she was satisfied with her efforts, Dave and the nurse started to leave when he suddenly remembered Bentley’s threatening implication that ‘Sally should be taking care of little Wanda just about now.’ He jerked partially upright, and instantly regretted the sudden movement as a red hot poker of pain passed through him.
“Dave!” he called after him. “Wanda? Miss Skrnczak? Is she all right?”
The young intern whirled at the first sound of his voice and rapidly retraced his steps to ease him back to a prone position.
“Don’t do that again, or you won’t be going anywhere Monday.” He quickly reexamined him to be sure the wound had not been re-opened. “Wanda’s all right. In fact, she’s goinghome this afternoon. That policewoman you told me about did try to get in to her room, but she was spotted in time. She had gotten hold of a volunteer’s uniform, and almost fooled everybody, but the intern on duty-Harold Jefferson-recognized her by her er.. .mammary endowments.”
Miss Jones-who had returned with him to the side of the bed-gazed in silent consternation from one to the other of them, as if they were talking in a foreign language. Apparently, she had remained blissfully ignorant of the drama being enacted around her during the past few days.
“You say she’s going home? She’s not being put under arrest?”
“Apparently not,” Dave replied. “Your friend, Dan Tobin, and the FBI man, Hollander, spent quite a lot of time with her yesterday, and she’s been under guard since Thursday afternoon. But, when I told them that I intended to release her, they said it was all right and that they would see she was taken care of.”
He was relieved to know that Bentley’s plans for her-whatever they might have been-had been thwarted-and he was glad that Hollander had apparently decided that it was not necessary to formally charge her with anything-at least, not yet.
“Thanks, Dave-and thank Harold Jefferson for me, too,” he told him. “Tell him he’s got a bonus coming.”
The young intern made a deprecatory gesture. “Sure, sure. Now, forget it and get some rest. I’ll see you later in the day.”
Within minutes of their leaving, he had fallen asleep again and when next he awakened, the view of the bright blue sky was partially blocked by the stocky, broad-shouldered outline of Dan Tobin.
“Hello, Dan,” he said softly.
The figure outlined against the window turned and walked toward him, reaching with both hands to grasp the one he held out to him.
“Mark! By God boy, it’s good to hear the sound of your voice again. How are you feelin’?”
“All things considered, probably not as bad as I should be-or deserve.”
“Ah, now! None of that,” Dan remonstrated. “The doctor says you’re going to be just fine, so just thank the good lord that you’re alive.”
“I will-if I can ever learn to live with myself again.”
“Oh, come off it now, Mark!” Dan said impatiently, recognizing the cause of his bitterness. “How could you know that Marie would turn up at a time like that?-after being gone for two days and nights without a word? There’s no way you could have prevented what happened-and it won’t do you-or her-a damn bit of good to go on thinkin’ ‘if this’ or ‘if that’, or ‘if’ anything else.”
Dan was the only one who ever had dared talk to him with such unequivocal frankness-and the only one he ever had accepted it from with equanimity. He had always both respected and appreciated the Irishman’s advice and, occasionally, even had followed it. And he knew he was right this time. But, he also knew that he would never be able to be satisfied to simply accept the facile answer-that he could not have prevented what had happened-as an excuse to shrug it off as nothing more than an unavoidable coincidence.
“That’s easier said than done, Dan. It might help if I knew where she was during the two days and nights-and who she was with. And, especially, how she happened to turn up at just that moment. Have you been able to find out, anything?”
Dan shook his head. “No, Mark, Not a thing. I’ve talked to your neighbors, the Adamsons, about it and Phil told me about his conversation with you just before.before Bentley and Bucheck arrived. Sybil says she did not speak to Marie and that she didn’t take anything with her except the clothes on her back. She did say that Marie did seem to be in a bit of a hurry though, because she didn’t bother to close the garage door when she backed out.”
“She never does.did.” It was still difficult to think of her in the past tense with the memory of the last time he saw her alive still so vivid in his mind. “Is Hollander working on it?”
“He’s not convinced that her disappearance was connected with the rest of it, but he’s got a couple of his men trying to trace her movements after she left the house. So far, they haven’t come up with anything though.” He hesitated, a pained expression creasing his brow. “What did happen, anyhow? I had my secretary, Joan, take the phone so I could call Hollander as soon as I heard who was there with you. While I was talking to him, I heard her scream and then she says she was cut off. Do you remember what happened after Marie arrived?”
“I remember,” he said, certain that he would always remember every one of those last brief moments of her life. And reluctantly, and painfully, he recounted and relived them for Dan’s benefit. “It.was uncanny, Dan. None of us heard her coming and, all of a sudden, there she was, standing in the doorway. And, it was as if the three of us were all paralyzed, waiting for her to make up her mind whether to come in or.or disappear again.” Her face came into sharp focus again. “It was strange, because she didn’t seem surprised by what she saw-just angry-as if what she saw confirmed what she suspected. Then, when she did finally move, she went right for Bucheck, and the gun. Bentley tried to stop her and I tried to get between her and Bucheck. The gun went off. I’m sure it was accidental-but they probably would have killed us both anyhow, even if she hadn’t.”
He paused to contemplate the truth of what he had just said. Undoubtedly, that was the purpose behind their coming there in the first place-and the pretense of placing him under arrest was only a device to take him somewhere else to do it, and then be able to claim that he was killed trying to escape. And, of course, they would have been prepared to do the same to anybody else they found there with him. At least, Bentley would have. He was not so sure about Bucheck as he remembered the deputy’s unexpected reluctance to follow the sheriff’s orders to shoot him, too. So, Marie’s precipitate action had, in all likelihood, saved his life since it probably had caused Bentley to hurry his shot-and given him the fraction of a second to move that had caused the bullet to miss ‘everything vital’.
“She.she turned around and fell.into my arms,” he resumed. “I laid her on the floor and.and knelt beside her. I heard Bentley and Bucheck arguing. Bucheck didn’t even realize who she was! Then, Bentley told him to kill me too. But, for some reason, he refused and Bentley took the gun away from him and shot me himself.” He again saw the red flash bursting from the gun muzzle and felt the impact of the bullet. “The whole sequence-from the time she opened the door, until Bentley shot me-couldn’t have taken more than-half a minute, maybe less-certainly less than-than it takes to tell about—or remember it.”
Dan huskily cleared his throat, “But.didn’t she ever say anything? Anything at all?”
“Yes. She said something. While I was.kneeling beside her, she looked up at me and said.she said, ‘Mark, honey, I’m so sorry.’ “ He saw her lips struggling to say something else, and felt her go limp in his arms. “I’ve been trying to figure out what she was sorry for.”
Dan blinked rapidly and turned away, walking to look out the window while a large, white, fleecy cloud briefly blocked out the sun and passed from view. He closed his eyes and waited until he heard Dan’s gruff tones above him again.
“Did Grace tell you what happened to Bentley and Bucheck?”
“Yes. She said they were both killed in an accident on the same curve where Ben’s driver crashed last Monday.”
“That’s right,” Dan confirmed. “They were in Bentley’s Cadillac. I don’t know how he managed to get that gut of his behind the wheel, but he was drivin’. They hit head on, just like the truck. Bucheck went through the windshield and must have been killed instantly. But, Bentley was impaled on the steering column. The emergency crew said he never stopped screamin’—and he didn’t die until they got him out of the wreck. It took almost two hours.”
After a momentary pause, Dan went on to tell him of finding the pictures of the hijacking in the wreck, and of getting the negatives from Phil-of Hollander’s locating the rest of the drugs, and other stolen freight at Stanhope’s lodge-and the amazing discovery that Flynn was still alive.
“Alive!” he exclaimed. “It’s not possible!”
“Well, it is and he is,” Dan responded. “Though he might just as well not be for all the good he is to us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your.. .the bullet lodged in his spine. If he continues to live, he’ll probably never walk or talk again. He’ll probably never be able to tell us anything-even if he had a mind to.”
He recalled, with regret, the healthy, lithe, athletic build of the young deputy, now forever immobilized. But, his regret was tempered by the memory of the apparently sick mind that controlled the body and turned it into a dangerous, and deadly, instrument.
“What has Wanda told you? I understand you and Hollander spent a lot of time with her yesterday.”
“We did, and she’s got a grand memory, I’m happy to say. She had a lovely list of names and dates all written out for us-for you, actually, but she made no bones about givin’ it to us when we told her what had happened to you. You’ve made a real conquest there, Mark. It was all we could do to keep her in bed until the doctor came in and assured her that you were going to pull through.”
“I’m glad she’s decided to cooperate,” he told Dan. “She’s made some pretty bad mistakes in the last couple of years and she’s been brutally victimized by Bentley and the Stanhopes. But, I think she’s got basically good instincts, and she’s intelligent enough to avoid making the same mistakes again. I’m going to do whatever I can to help her make a decent life for herself in the future.”
Dan nodded understandingly. “I got the impression that she was hopin’ you would-and that was at least part of the reason she was so worried about you.”
“Is Hollander going to bring any charges against her?”
“No. He’s promised her immunity in exchange for her cooperation.”
It was what he had hoped for. Dan went on to tell him that Hollander was also getting corroborating testimony of Wanda’s information from some of the other girls that had attended the parties at the lodge with her-also in exchange for immunity. He also told him how Grossman had been apprehended as he was about to board a plane for Mexico, and was talking volubly. Unfortunately, he had little of interest to confess.
“According to him,” Dan was saying, “he had nothing to do with the actual hijackings, didn’t know Closter or Stanhope or that either of them was involved, and didn’t know it was Stanhope’s lodge that was used for storing and distributing the drugs.”
“I can’t believe that, Dan. He must have talked to some of the girls about where they went.”
“Oh, he admits knowing where they were taken. But, he claims he was never there himself, and didn’t know it belonged to Stanhope. Except for the girls, he also claims he didn’t know anybody else who attended the parties.”
“But Wanda told me that he once showed her a newspaper clipping about a man named di Riccio from Philadelphia who had been at one of the parties. How did Grossman.”
“She told us about that too”, Dan cut in. “He says Bentley showed him the story and for the same reason, apparently, that he told him to show it to Wanda-as a warning.”
“Did he explain how he knew which driver he was supposed to drug?”
“Well, it was up to the girls to find out everything they could about the drivers-their names, the companies they worked for, their regular routes, the days and times they came in, and so forth. Grossman kept a regular log on every driver who ever came in to one of the truck stops, and also passed the information on to Bentley. Then, the day before the hijacking, Bentley would call him and tell him which truck stop he should be at and, the next day, either Flynn or Bucheck would come by and tell him which driver to watch for and what time to expect him. I wouldn’t have thought so, but apparently the trucking companies operate on such tight schedules-and the drivers are such creatures of habit-that the scheme worked perfectly. At least, according to Grossman, it did until last Monday when Haggerty wouldn’t eat all his pie.”
He paused as if to give them both a chance to reflect on the incongruity of Haggerty’s loss of appetite leading to the gruesome series of events, and deaths-including Marie’s-which had followed. He wondered-even knowing the full consequences of the driver’s decision-if he could wish that the driver had finished the unwanted pastry. He probably would continue to wonder about it for the rest of his life, and never be able to decide whether he would be willing to trade the dissolution of the hijacking/smuggling operation for the restoration of Marie’s life-and the resulting loss of an opportunity for a new life with Elise.
Dan cranked up the head of his bed, and pulled a chair up alongside so that he now looked down at him as the Irishman continued. “Grossman says that when he heard about the crash on the late news that night, he thought only that the driver had somehow eluded the two deputies and that it was strictly an accident. He says he didn’t find out what really had happened until Flynn came by the next day and told him. When you came in a few minutes later and started questioning Wanda about Haggerty, he figured he’d better report it to Bentley right away-which he did as soon as you left.”
So Bentley had known about his brief conversation with Wanda-which accounted for his attitude when he saw him later-and had dispatched the two deputies to impress on her the necessity of not talking to him again. But, coupled with his revelation about Closter, it must have seemed to the sheriff that he was considerably closer to a solution of the driver’s death than he actually had been at the time.
Dan continued with Grossman’s confession, explaining how the truck stop manager said that he and Bentley divided the proceeds from the prostitution and the sale of drugs to the girls-and how Flynn and Bucheck divided the profits from the miscellaneous items taken in the hijackings and sold through the truck stops. It confirmed what he already suspected, but he was forced to admire the criminal ingenuity of all of them. They had not missed any opportunity of squeezing the last ounce of blood from the flesh of their victims.
“Grossman says it was Bentley who got him involved to start with,” Dan was saying, “He says he was the original owner of all three truck stops, but Bentley found out that some of the girls were hustling-with Grossman’s knowledge and encouragement, of course-and threatened to close him up if he didn’t cooperate. He claims that Bentley forced him to sign all three places over to him but, so far, Hollander hasn’t been able to locate the deeds among Bentley’s effects.”
“I’m convinced Bentley was only acting on somebody else’s orders,” he told Dan, “and that ‘somebody’ is the real leader of the gang.”
Dan nodded in agreement. “Hollander and I believe it too. But we were hoping you might have developed some idea who that might be.”
“I’m afraid not, Dan. I was hoping that one of the others-especially Bentley-would be willing to talk. I didn’t anticipate all of them.getting killed, or maimed.”
“Ah, well. Who the hell could. You only did what you thought you had to. Hollander’s kind of.peeved that you didn’t tell us sooner about Wanda, and the pictures but, what the devil, it probably wouldn’t have made any difference one way or the other.”
“No, Dan. He’s right. It would have made a difference-especially to Marie.”
Dan opened his mouth as if to protest-but closed it again without voicing it. For a few moments they sat in silence, each lost in his own thoughts until with a deep sigh, the Irishman pushed himself to his feet. With a murmured promise to return the next day, and to keep him advised of further developments, he left. As the door swung shut behind his departing back, he felt the weariness embracing him once more and, closing his eyes, remembered-Marie was dead.