A Dark Mind (7 page)

He waved a frustrated hand toward the dirt road. “It’s right there, Maureen. For God’s sake, are you going to let your husband die?”

No sounds of an approaching ambulance could be heard. What was taking them so long? She looked at Charles. She couldn’t sit here and watch her husband die. She needed to help him. She held out her hand.

The driver placed the razor in her palm. “You better hurry.”

As she brought the razor to her husband’s throat, tears clouded her already hazy vision. “I can’t do this.”

“You must. If you want to save his life, you’re going to need to find his thyroid cartilage.”

She wiped her eyes. “His what?”

“His Adam’s apple. Do you see his Adam’s apple?”

“Yes.”

“Move your finger over his neck until you feel another bulge.”

She did as he said, but her hands were shaking. “OK, I feel it.”

“That’s the cricoid cartilage.”

“How do you know that?”

“Your husband told me before he lost his ability to speak. You need to make a half-inch horizontal cut between that bulge and the Adam’s apple.”

Her hands shook even more as she lowered the razor to her husband’s throat.

“You better hurry.”

She looked at Charles. She couldn’t stop sobbing. His eyes were bulging. His mouth was moving but still no words came forth. And then it hit her. “He’s not moving. Why isn’t he moving?” It was as if Charles were paralyzed.

“I’m not a doctor,” the man said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m merely repeating what your husband told me before you awoke.”

“Oh, Charles,” she cried as she put her head to his chest.

“Make the cut or he dies.”

She straightened, used her sleeve to wipe her eyes once again, and then examined Charles’s throat. He was turning purple now. He would never make it if she didn’t do something fast. The gasping and gurgling continued as she located the area where she would need to make a small cut. She could do this. Charles often said she would have made a good army nurse. She couldn’t let him die. She would never be able to live with herself knowing that she could have saved him.

She placed the razor on his throat again and this time began to make a cut. His skin was much thicker than she thought it would be. She swallowed hard, pushing harder and deeper, trying not to think of what she was cutting into. When that was finally done, she asked the man to hand her the tube.

The annoying man began to crawl about in the high grass.

“What are you doing? Hand me the tube. Now!”

“I can’t find it. It was right here a minute ago.”

She used her fingers to pinch the incision closed as she watched the man crawl on all fours. He appeared to be moving in slow motion, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. She didn’t want to look into Charles’s eyes and allow him to see the fear etched across her face, but she couldn’t let him die alone. And he would die if she didn’t insert a breathing tube into the hole. Now. Blood oozed from Charles’s throat, and there was nothing she could do to help him. She remembered her purse in the limo. Maybe there was something in her purse that she could use to save her husband.

“Hold this shut,” she shouted at the man.

He did as she said as she ran to the limo, tripping and falling along the way, but never stopping until she reached the vehicle.
Frantically, she scrambled on all fours across glass, feeling no pain as pieces of bottle and window cut into her skin. She found her purse and dumped the contents onto the floor: a comb, lipstick, ID, and a pen. She took the pen apart. Ink spilled onto the seats and floor. She grabbed the brandy, unscrewed the lid, and poured alcohol into the small tube until the liquid coming through the bottom was no longer blue. Then she scrambled out of the limo and ran through the high weeds back to Charles.

The driver was no longer holding her husband’s throat. His eyes were focused intently on her face as if he welcomed the pain he saw there when he told her Charles had died without her at his side.

“You killed him,” he told her.

“Charles,” she wept.

“You cut too deep.”

“I didn’t. There was hardly any blood.”

She knelt down next to Charles, propped his neck in such a way that she could stick the tube into his trachea, but there was much more blood now and he was no longer breathing. She put her fingers to his wrist. No pulse. Nothing. He was dead.

“The good news is that your husband knew the truth before he died.”

She pulled her gaze from Charles and forced herself to look into the man’s icy blue eyes.

“I told him about Harry Thompson.”

Her breathing felt irregular as blood raged faster through her veins. “What are you talking about?”

“You know…Italy…Carlton Hotel Baglioni.”

One mistake, she thought. In fifty years of marriage, she’d made one mistake—one night with Harry Thompson. She’d never thought of Harry after that night. Only Charles. If she hadn’t
taken Harry up on his offer, she would have spent the rest of her life wondering what could have been. But being with Harry for twenty-four hours had been anticlimactic in so many ways, and yet that night had taught her so much. By morning, she’d known without a doubt that Charles was the only man for her. But she wasn’t going to give this lunatic the satisfaction of knowing any of that. Charles knew she loved him. In his heart, no matter what this man might have told him, Charles knew.

The man was insane, she realized too late.

She curled up next to Charles, wanting to be with him, knowing that more than likely she would be soon.

I would go home and watch what I done on the television. Then I would cry and cry like a baby.

—Albert DeSalvo

John and Rochelle

Sacramento

June 2007

As John lifted his head, blood pulsed inside his ears and made a loud swooshing noise. Both of his eyes were swollen shut, but he could see murky shadows through the corner of his left eye. He tried to lift his hands to his face before he remembered they were tied behind his back with thick, scratchy twine. The same twine had been used to tie both of his ankles to the front legs of the heavy metal chair he was sitting on.

He moved his head at every angle possible, trying to see where he was.

The room was dark and had a musty smell. The floors were concrete. He was in a basement. Not moving, he listened. All was quiet. After a moment, he tried to rock the chair, but either it was too solid or he was too weak, because the chair didn’t budge.

How long had he been here? A few hours? Twenty-four hours?

Rochelle.
Where was Rochelle?

He remembered her screams as glass sprayed, cutting them both. A baseball bat was the last thing he had seen before everything went dark. Out of the corner of his left eye, he saw something move across the room.

“Rochelle,” he whispered. “Is that you? Can you hear me?”

He heard a moan and then recognized her voice when she said his name.

She was alive.

“Did they hurt you?” he asked.

“I want out of here,” she said between sobs.

What had they done to her?

“Listen to me, Rochelle. I don’t know how many men there are upstairs, but I’m going to find a way out of here. I swear to you, I’ll get us out of here.” He paused, waited, and listened. If only he could see her. “Did they touch you? If they so much as laid one finger on you, I’ll kill them.”

More sobbing.

“Are you tied up?”

This time when she moved, he heard the rattling of chains.

Chains?
What was going on? Had those punks planned this? Nothing made sense. Tears quickly gathered, blocking what little vision he had left, blinding him.

“I want to go home,” Rochelle cried. “I just want to go home.”

Davis

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Lizzy heard a car pull up in front of the house and went to the window to peek outside. “Jessica is here,” she told Hayley, before
realizing she might as well be talking to herself. Hayley was engrossed in a book.

Tonight would be the first time Hayley and Jessica had seen each other since Hayley had been incarcerated nine months ago. The two didn’t always get along, but whether they were willing to admit it or not, there was an undeniable connection between them.

Hayley was more reserved than ever. Not sad. Not happy. Just quiet—keeping her feelings to herself.

Before Jessica had a chance to knock, Lizzy opened the door. Jessica blew past her and headed straight for Hayley. She leaned low and held Hayley tightly in a bear hug.

The contrast between the two was startling. Jessica was tall and healthy, with a pinkish complexion, while Hayley appeared pasty white and much too thin. Long seconds passed before Jessica finally released her and straightened. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Thanks,” Hayley managed, squirming in her seat.

Lizzy kept her eyes on them as she headed for the kitchen.

Jessica set her backpack on the floor and took a seat next to Hayley. “So, you’re OK?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yep.”

Jessica gestured toward Hayley’s ankle. “How long do you have to wear that thing?”

“Six months to a year.”

Lizzy brought a tray of cheese and crackers from the kitchen and set it on the coffee table in front of the couch. While Jessica made idle chitchat and Hayley did her best to feign interest, Lizzy picked up the remote and pointed it at the television. Before
she hit the Off button, a picture of Michael and Jennifer Dalton flashed across the screen.

She moved closer to the television and increased the volume.

“Woman brutally murdered in a truly bizarre chain of events. Husband is in custody. More at eleven.”

“Unbelievable,” Lizzy said.

“What is it?” Hayley asked.

“That’s the same couple who recently hired me to watch one of their employees. Jennifer and Michael Dalton own J&M Realty in Sacramento.”

“How well did you know them?” Jessica asked.

Lizzy turned off the television, figuring she’d watch more at eleven. “I met them twice. They were very loving toward each other, and they were planning to throw a big party to celebrate their fifteenth anniversary.” She shook her head. “There’s no way Michael Dalton would harm his wife.”

“Maybe it was all an act,” Hayley said with a shrug.

“That makes sense,” Jessica added. “Who would pay more attention to all of the little details than a private investigator? Maybe that man hired you on purpose and then put on a big act.”

“But they were
both
kissy and huggy,” Lizzy explained. “What you’re suggesting would make sense if it had been just one of them being affectionate.”

“Well, you know how women are,” Hayley said without elaborating.

Both Lizzy and Jessica stared at Hayley and waited. They knew the drill. If you stared at her long enough, she would eventually come around and finish her thought, which she did.

“Let’s pretend this couple is like most couples out there in the world. Lizzy arrives at their initial meeting. The husband knows
Lizzy is coming, and he’s ready. He knows he’s going to kill his wife, but he doesn’t know when he’s going to do it, so he wants to make it look like he and his wife are getting along. Days before their scheduled meeting with a private investigator, he tells his wife that they should throw a big anniversary party to demonstrate how in love they are after all these years. The wife, who has been waiting years for her husband to show her some affection, is thrilled beyond words. Husband continues to woo his wife up until the day the private investigator arrives, making it look as if the two of them are madly in love and have been all along.” Hayley leaned against the cushions behind her. “Women can be so naïve when it comes to men.”

“You don’t look convinced,” Jessica said to Lizzy.

“I’m not. Jennifer was a sweet woman, but she wasn’t a pushover. I don’t think he did it.”

“Statistics will likely prove otherwise,” Hayley said.

Davis

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Lizzy stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing dishes as she talked to Jared on the speakerphone.

“Looks like I’ll be staying in Virginia longer than I thought,” he told her.

“OK,” Lizzy said, feeling the same unease she’d been feeling more often than not. She felt safer with Jared here, but she had Hayley to keep her company. Besides, she didn’t like the idea of becoming too dependent on him.

“Is anything wrong?”

“No, just a lot on my mind.”

“You’re working too hard.”

“I think that’s what most would say is calling the kettle black.”

“You’ve been awful quiet lately,” Jared said. “What’s going on?”

Lizzy was still looking out the window when a dark Mercedes drove up and parked at the curb across the street. Their neighbor Charlee had a guest, and Lizzy now had an opportunity to change the subject. “Looks like your neighbor might have found herself a man.”

“Don’t tell me you have your binoculars out again,” he teased.

She laughed.

“It’s good to hear you laugh.”

After a short pause, she said, “I’m going to meet with Lieutenant Greer in the morning. After I file a report, he wants to talk to me privately. I’m hoping he’ll take me to Jennifer Dalton’s office, where I talked with her last.”

“Are you sure you want to get involved?”

“I have to get involved,” she said, but even as she said the words she knew it wasn’t completely true. She had no proof Michael hadn’t killed his wife. She believed that Michael was innocent based solely on intuition. In fact, she had yet to tell anyone about the strange look Michael Dalton had given her when she left the realty office that day. Something had been bothering him. More than anything, Lizzy wanted a chance to talk to Michael herself, but she wasn’t ready to tell Jared that bit of news, since it would only worry him. She would talk to the lieutenant tomorrow and see what he had to say about the matter.

“Are you still there?”