The Witch Of Agnesi Part 22

AS BONNIE WAITED FOR FRANKLIN, THE ambulance arrived. She kept an eye on Wendy, not sure how the woman would handle the delivery of her dead son. Afraid Wendy might faint, Bonnie captured Armen's attention.

"Stay close," she mouthed. "Be ready with an arm."

He nodded understanding and sidled up next to Wendy.

If she was aware of anything happening, she made no mention of it. Her body was ramrod straight, her good eye fixed on the stretcher rolling through the morgue door. She bobbed her head to some unheard rhythm, lips moving in wordless repet.i.tion.

A song, or maybe a litany from the rosary? Bonnie had no doubt she was witnessing someone in emotional and spiritual dissolution. In the face of such heartache, Bonnie had no doubt she was witnessing someone in emotional and spiritual dissolution. In the face of such heartache, Bonnie felt impotent.

Keene came around the rear of the ambulance in the company of Franklin. The former had a toothpick in his mouth, his hands jammed in the pockets of his grey trench coat, his eyes downcast as if searching the entrance for evidence. Though the night was calm, he appeared disheveled, windblown.

By contrast, Franklin looked crisp-his thinning hair combed, his tie pulled straight and tight. He picked up his pace, falling in behind the stretcher. Glancing at Bonnie, he offered a cheerless perfunctory nod.

Kevin, the night attendant, led the stretcher and its bearers past where Bonnie stood propped on her crutches. On the rolling platform, a zipped, black bag revealed the outline of the small figure contained within. For the briefest moment she felt anxiety for Peyton.

How could the boy breathe all shut up in that sealed bag?

Her vision blurred before she blinked back tears.

Wendy made no move to follow the litter bearing her son.

"Are you ready?" Franklin's face was a studied mixture of concern and cool reserve.

You've done this before, Mister Valsecci. What a life you've chosen for yourself.

Wendy nodded. She let Franklin take her elbow then turned back to Bonnie. "I need to do this without you."

At first, Bonnie heard the words as separate ent.i.ties, empty of meaning. When, seconds later, the signifi- cance sank in, she was stunned. She nodded and heard herself say, "Whatever you want."

Franklin led Wendy away.

Without you, Bonnie thought. Not-I've got to do this on my own-but specifically, "without you." Not-I've got to do this on my own-but specifically, "without you." She wasn't sure what to make of the statement, but a part of her-the Catholic schoolgirl part no doubt-accepted it as a form of retribution. After all, she'd abandoned Wendy just when the woman needed her most. She wasn't sure what to make of the statement, but a part of her-the Catholic schoolgirl part no doubt-accepted it as a form of retribution. After all, she'd abandoned Wendy just when the woman needed her most.

At the end of the wide hall, past Kevin's office and the behind-numbing chairs, Kevin slid open an over-sized, smoke-gla.s.s door labeled Examination Rooms.

From what Bonnie could see, the decoration scheme beyond the door was basic-black-on-white tile and acres of stainless steel. Steel cabinets sporting steel handles, gleaming steel tables, steel troughs emptying into steel basins. Even the overhead lights appeared to be cowled in polished metal.

Bonnie stood with Keene and Armen in awkward silence as the sliding-gla.s.s door slid shut. Through its smoky translucent surface, the blurred shapes of Wendy and the rest dissipated as if into mist.

The smell of cigarettes, coffee, and garlic caught Bonnie's attention. Keene stood at her elbow.

More to keep from obsessing on "without you" than any real desire for conversation, she asked, "Shouldn't you be in there?"

The big man picked his teeth with a toothpick in the final stages of decomposition. "My job was to find Peyton Newlin. He's been found." Keene's bulldog face was an unreadable stony mask.

He scratched his chest near his shoulder holster, and Bonnie could swear the fingers of that hand appeared to be aching for the pistol in residence there.

Bonnie couldn't blame him. She'd like to shoot something or someone right about now. "How did Peyton die?"

Keene's eyes flashed when he turned his gaze on her.

She braced herself for another lecture-she had no business in these matters of murder.

The big cop's gaze softened. "What the h.e.l.l?"

He pointed with his lantern jaw toward the exami-nation room. "That's what they'll figure out when the medical examiner gets here, but I'd say his neck was broken sometime early Friday morning."

The same night as Stephanie.

Bonnie tried to swallow her next question, but it demanded voice. "You saw Wendy Newlin's face?"

Keene squinted at her. "Yeah, I saw it." His tone was wary, with an accompanying air of finality.

"Has it occurred to anyone that in the middle of all this violence there's a violent man on the loose?"

Keene's nostrils flared. "You're a real piece of work. You know that?" He brushed past her, heading for the smoky-gla.s.s door.

"No, math lady," he called back over his shoulder. "It would never have crossed the minds of us slow-thinkin' flatfoots to consider Colonel Newlin. Thank G.o.d we got you to keep us in line."

He slid open the door to the examination room.

Without a look back he shut it between them.

"That went well." Armen patted her hand.

Bonnie felt heat rise from her neck to her face. "I suppose I should work on my tact."

He created a centimeter gap with thumb and fore-finger. "Maybe a little."

An uncomfortable pang shot through her lower ex-tremities, particularly her insistent right foot. Need to get off these d.a.m.n crutches. Need to get off these d.a.m.n crutches. She hobbled to a hard-metal chair and plopped down. She hobbled to a hard-metal chair and plopped down.

Staring up at Armen, she said, "It just makes me nuts. You'd think Ralph Newlin would try to keep it together so he and his wife could get through this nightmare. Instead, what's he do? He beats her almost unrecognizable."

From the look on his face, it was evident Armen had no answer for the perverseness of the human race, let alone Colonel Ralph Newlin. "I think Sergeant Keene would like to get Colonel Ralph alone in an empty in-terrogation room for a little one-on-one."

She reached up and took Armen's hand. "You think?"

"Like I told you before, you're not as good at read-ing people as you believe you are. Keene's no tin man. He may be rough around the edges, but the man's got a heart."

He has no trouble hiding it around me.

With a hiss, the door to the examination slid open. Franklin Valsecci emerged first. Without hesitation, he strode the thirty paces to where Bonnie sat and squared up on Armen. "Do you mind if the lady and I have a private conversation?"

Armen glanced uncertainly at Bonnie. She nodded, and Armen released her hand.

As fast as her crutches allowed, she followed Frank-lin into Kevin's small office. Her former student shut the door. Ten seconds pa.s.sed then another ten and still Franklin didn't turn around.

Okay, Mister Valsecci, what's on your mind? She pulled out the desk chair and sat. She pulled out the desk chair and sat.

With his back still to her, Franklin said, "That woman out there is on the brink of a nervous break-down."

The statement was so obvious Bonnie held her breath waiting for what Franklin would add.

He turned around and leaned against the door, his hand on the k.n.o.b. His posture indicated he meant to keep her prisoner in the tiny office until he had his say.

With a motion Bonnie had come to recognize as his I'm-about-to-get-serious-gesture, Franklin used his thumb and forefinger to wipe the corners of his mouth. "She doesn't need someone in her face right now mak-ing demands on her."

"By someone, you mean me."

Franklin nodded and held Bonnie's steady gaze. "By someone, I mean you."

The room began to feel claustrophobic, and she found herself liking this conversation less and less.

You're a big boy now, Franklin, and this isn't Algebra One. Spit out what you really have to say. "You can't think I'm that insensitive. Of course I won't make de-mands of Wendy." "You can't think I'm that insensitive. Of course I won't make de-mands of Wendy."

"Do I have your word on that?"

Bonnie opened her mouth to agree, but something made her hold back the promise. "What's going on, Franklin?"

Another long moment pa.s.sed before Franklin spoke. "Wendy Newlin refuses to press charges against her husband."

"You're kidding me?"

Bonnie winced. She'd always hated that phrase. People invariably used it at the most inappropriate times. It rang out no less stupid when she was the one giving it voice.

"Did Wendy have a reason?"

Franklin approached her. Hands on both arms of the desk chair, he leaned close. "I didn't ask. I was es-corting a woman to identify the dead body of her son."

Bonnie felt as if she were being violently wrenched in opposite directions. A large part of her wanted to see Ralph Newlin drawn and quartered. She wanted Wendy to be his executioner all the while screaming, "Enough is enough."

But Franklin was right. For whatever reason, Wendy had made a decision-a misguided one to be sure-but one of her own choosing. The city morgue, where Peyton lay dead, wasn't the place to try to change her mind.

"I won't say a word." For now. For now.

Franklin held her eyes a moment longer then pushed off the chair. He towered over her. "Thanks, Missus P."

Somehow she didn't feel kindly enough to respond to Franklin's gesture of grat.i.tude. She'd always hated being shamed into doing the right thing.

"At least tell me the police are looking for this maniac."

"He's wanted for questioning by both civil and mil-itary police."

She could almost taste his eagerness to throw her this bone. Thank G.o.d for small favors. Thank G.o.d for small favors. Her sense of claustrophobia returned. "What say we get the h.e.l.l out of here?" Her sense of claustrophobia returned. "What say we get the h.e.l.l out of here?"

Outside the small office, Wendy stood next to Armen, her arm linked through his. As Bonnie and Franklin approached, Wendy turned her disfigured face in their direction. "Your charming man has vol-unteered to take me home."

RIDING IN THE BACK OF ALICE, WITH WENDY AND Armen up front, put Bonnie in mind of an interminable New England car vacation she took, as a child, with her father-three, no four states-on one sweltering, eternal July day.

His moon-face aglow with a maniacal mixture of fatigue and hubris, her father had turned back to her and exalted, "We're making good time now, shrimp-boat."

Bonnie hadn't wanted to burst her father's bubble by telling him she was carsick. Ten minutes later when she threw up all over her little brother, her secret came abruptly, and disgustingly, out of the closet.

Perched dead-center on the edge of the back seat, trying to peer through the front winds.h.i.+eld, she felt a little like that nauseous child right now. More than likely the fact that Alice should have had her shocks replaced some time in the administration of the first George Bush was a major contributing factor. Every b.u.mp, every swerve in the road went straight to her head or the pit of her stomach, most times both. And just like that long ago vacation, she didn't want her nausea to be the focal point of the trip.

Face it, Pinkwater. You don't want Armen to see you hurl your cookies. And if she didn't want a repeti-tion of that embarra.s.sment, she needed to do something, anything to take her mind off the road. Unfortunately, she'd promised away the subject starring center stage on her mind-Colonel Ralph Newlin being drawn and quartered. And if she didn't want a repeti-tion of that embarra.s.sment, she needed to do something, anything to take her mind off the road. Unfortunately, she'd promised away the subject starring center stage on her mind-Colonel Ralph Newlin being drawn and quartered.

Wendy solved the problem for her. "You're mighty quiet back there."

"I wasn't sure you wanted to talk."

Wendy swiveled in her seat to give Bonnie a one-eyed stare. "Depends on the subject." She sighed as if she held back an ocean of tears.

Bonnie laid a hand on the woman's arm. "I want you to know how sorry I am for not being there today."

"You have nothing to apologize for." She curled her fingers around Bonnie's hand. "No sooner had I hung up the phone than Ralph came storming into the living room, bristling for a fight. I knew what I was in for and should have ducked and covered. Instead, I let him know that when Peyton . . ."

The life went out of her voice. She sat for a time shaking her head and staring into the s.p.a.ce between the seats. Like at the morgue, her lips moved, but no words came out.

Bonnie reached to embrace her.

Pulling away, Wendy raised her fists. Her chest heaved, her breathing becoming rapid and shallow. She regarded Bonnie warily.

Not sure what to do, Bonnie leaned back, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the anxious woman. She knew d.a.m.ned well it wasn't a good time to speak inanities.

Little by little the tension eased in the car until Wendy lowered her hands. She tried to smile, but the asymmetry of her face made the expression seem more like a grimace.

Bonnie was once again sure she was in the company of someone destined to fall into a thousand pieces.

"I told him." The three words fell from Wendy's lips in a soft whisper. "When Peyton came home we were leaving."

Silently, she mouthed, "I told him."

"Wendy, this can wait."

The woman c.o.c.ked her head and leveled her good eye in Bonnie's direction. "Are you sure? It doesn't feel like it can." Her fist came to her face, and she abraded the swollen cheek like she could sand it back into con-formity.

A pearl of moisture gathered at the damaged cor-ner of her mouth, and she licked it away. "He went crazy, screaming that he'd never allow me to take his son. Then the hitting started."

Bonnie expected tears, but Wendy's face became hard, all shadow and dark lines. In that face was the promise that Ralph Newlin would never make her cry again.

"When he was finished with the punches and the slaps, he tried to rape me." She cast an anxious glance toward Armen. "The b.a.s.t.a.r.d couldn't get it up."

She nodded, color rus.h.i.+ng to her face. "He tore out of the house. I laid there, my blouse ripped open, until I heard the rumble of his Stingray fade."