Bedbugs (51 page)

“So you don’t know what these
shapes
really looked like.”

It was a statement more than a question. Kip shook his head angrily. “Come on, you
know
I don’t know. I’ve told you a hundred times, they were... were little creatures... little brown things, and they were swarming all over her. Suddenly, her shirtsleeve flew up into the air and landed right there at my feet. I screamed, and when I did, it was like, all of a sudden they were just gone—vanished.”

“And then you’ve told me you were never sure, but you think you might have blacked out for a short time,” Dr. Fielding said.

Kip shook his head vigorously from side to side. “I don’t know. I might have. All I know is, the next thing I saw was my mother, lying on the ground, all cut up and bleeding all over the place. She didn’t move, and I think even then, as soon as I saw her, I knew she was—” When he swallowed, his throat made a loud clicking sound. “She was dead.”

“Now Kip, you’ve told me before that you and your father were down at the foot of the driveway, more than a hundred yards away from the cellar hole when this happened.”

Kip nodded, no longer conscious of the tears streaking his face.

“And you know, too, that the police concluded that someone—some crazy person or maybe several crazy people—must have been hiding down there or had come out of the woods and done that horrible thing to your mother.”

Again, Kip nodded. “I
know
all that,” he said, his voice low and trembling. “And I know that you and everyone else I’ve told about what I think I saw are convinced I imagined the whole thing. My dad and everyone else is convinced that, when I saw her all cut up like that, I sorta went crazy and must have imagined seeing those things that attacked her.”

“I don’t disbelieve what you say you saw,” Dr. Fielding said. She glanced down at her notebook as she jotted something down. “I just want to help you get through this so you can let go and start putting it all behind you.”

“That’s just the point,” Kip said, his voice winding up higher, edged with panic. “That’s it exactly. There’s no way I’m going to be able to put any of it behind me if my father starts working on the house again, is there?”

“You don’t
know
that,” Dr. Fielding said. “Besides, don’t you think this might be important to
him
? He’s got to deal with his grief, too. He’s suffered just as much as you have. Maybe by starting back to work on the house, he’s making his own commitment to try to get beyond what happened.”

“Honestly, Dr. Fielding, I don’t know if I even dare go out there again.”

“That’s my point exactly.” Dr. Fielding tapped her pen on her notepad for emphasis. “I think you have to go out there, because I don’t think you’ll ever get over it—not
really
—until you do.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kip said, and again his gaze shifted to the window and the freedom beyond it. “Like you always say, I have to face my fears. Confront them head on.”

“Absolutely,” Dr. Fielding said.

“But what if... what if those creatures that killed my mother are real? What if they’re still out there?”

2

E
very Friday morning, after dropping Kip off at Dr. Fielding’s office, Bill Howard usually drove out to either the Eastern or Western Promenade in
Portland
and took a long, brisk walk. Over the past five years, he had dealt with the grief of losing Lori, his wife, as best as he could—which, for him, meant being as solid and steady as he possibly could be for his two boys, Kip and Marty.

The problem was, even now he didn’t feel all that strong. Usually it was only on these walks—and late at night—that he let his guard all the way down. If the salty wind was blowing in from
Casco Bay
, he could even almost convince himself the tears in his eyes were from the wind.

Today, though, he had gone back to the law office on
Commercial Street
to make a phone call he had forgotten to make earlier. He parked the car in the parking lot besides the office building, and ran up the flight of stairs, taking them two at a time. He was winded when he walked into the office and heard Lillian, his secretary, say, “What a surprise. Here he is now.”

Bill glanced over to see Sidney Wood struggling to get his bulk out of the overstuffed chair by the far wall. He’d been flipping through an issue of
People
. When he dropped it onto the coffee table, it slipped onto the floor, but he ignored it as he started walking toward Bill.

Sidney Wood was probably... no, strike the “probably”... he was
the
richest real estate dealer and most influential man in Bill’s hometown of
Thornton
,
Maine
. He also
wasn’t
the kind of man who drove all the way to
Portland
on a warm Friday morning just to make a social call.

“Sid. How are you?” Bill said, walking over to shake his hand. The man’s grip was cool and slightly damp, the kind of handshake Bill had always characterized as a “cold fish.” In Sid’s case, it was most appropriate.

“Can we step into your office?” Sid nodded toward the closed office door. The aura of stale cigar smoke clung to Sid like a well-worn suit as Bill unlocked the door, swung it open, and stood back to allow him enter.

Sid made himself comfortable in the chair next to the desk, took out and peeled a cigar, and stuck it into his mouth. He made a show of snapping open his Zippo lighter.

“Well, Bill,” he said between sucking puffs as he got the cigar stoked. “I seem to find myself in need of the services of a good lawyer. And since you live in
Thornton
—hell, I sold you that property out on
Kaulback Road
—so I figured I’d give you the business.”

Bill had to resist the urge to say “Lucky me.” as he watched the clouds of blue smoke swirl up around Sidney’s balding head.

“I need you to race right over to the county courthouse with me and get the bail they set on my son reduced.”

Bill walked around his desk and sat down, taking out a pen and legal pad. “Why don’t we start at the beginning, Sid? Tell me what happened. Then I’ll see what I can do.” Sid cleared his throat and leaned forward to tap the glowing tip of his cigar on the edge of the ashtray on Bill’s desk. Most of the ash missed and fell to the office floor.

“Hell, you know my boy—
Sidney
. Everyone around town calls him Woody.”

Bill nodded. He knew Woody, and he knew all too well what was coming next. Anyone who had ears had heard the blown-out muffler and squealing tires of his Camaro. Anyone who went to Art’s, the corner gas station and convenience store, or the Big Apple had seen Woody and his friends hanging out there. They took pride in their reputation as the local tough guys, but generally their offenses amounted to smoking a little pot and maybe starting a fistfight every now and then. They did it mostly to break the small-town monotony. No
real
problems, unless you counted a couple of speeding tickets and an occasional “drunk and disorderly.” Bill had always thought Woody and his friends were just street punks who didn’t have the brains or guts to do anything
too
serious.

The only question was how serious is the trouble this time? Obviously it was a bit more than a misdemeanor if the judge had set bail.

“Well, he got into a bit of a problem down at—I dunno, one of those bars downtown. Might’ve been Free Street Tavern. He was down there with his girl friend, Suzie, and—well, she claims he hit her, beat her up, in fact. This was sometime last night.”

“Do you know when?” Bill asked. “You must’ve gotten a phone call.”

Sid shrugged his shoulders, waving his cigar like it was a magic wand that could make his son’s problems miraculously disappear.

“The cops arrested him and threw him in jail for the night. The bail commissioner set his friggin’ bail at ten thousand dollars. The worst of it is, Suzie says she’s pressing charges for assault.”

Bill frowned from the cigar smoke as much as from the problem that had suddenly dropped into his lap.
If only I’d gone out to the Prom for my walk today
, he thought bitterly.

“Ten thousand’s pretty high, don’t you think, if it’s as minor as you say?” Bill sat back and rubbed his chin. “When Woody’s gotten into trouble before, has he had any problems with not showing up in court?”

Sid shrugged again, rolling the gray tip of his cigar in the ashtray. “He might’ve had a couple of problems with unpaid speeding tickets.”

“That all?” Bill asked, trying to draw him out.

Sid stroked his jowls with one hand and glanced out the window. “Well, last year he got into a bit more trouble. He was... I guess he’d had a bit too much to drink—hell, what boy
doesn’t
overdo it now and then. Anyway, he got stopped for running a red light and had a bit of a scuffle with the cop who stopped him.”

“How much is a ‘bit’?” Bill asked. “Enough for a charge of aggravated assault?”

Sid looked down at his shoes and nodded. “Yeah, enough for that. The bail for that was posted at five thou, and then the son-of-a—He didn’t show, so I lost my money.”

It was now Bill’s turn to shrug. “Well, at least I can understand why they set the bail so high. But Sid, you’ve never used me for your lawyer before. Why now?”

Sidney
shrugged. “Just haven’t had the occasion to,” he said. “But I want you to go over there and talk to the judge. See if you can get it reduced.”

“I’d have to file a petition for a bail review,” Bill said. “That will take a little time. I might not be able to get him out until Monday. But just off hand, would you say he did it?”

“Did what?” Sid asked.

“Did he beat his girlfriend up?”

Sid laughed aloud, but his laughter turned into a wheezing cough. It was several seconds before he regained control. Bill noticed a small glistening line of drool on the left side of Sidney’s chin.

“What the hell does
that
matter?”
Sidney
took a handkerchief from his suit coat and wiped his face. “My son’s in the slammer, and I want you to get him out. I’m sure as hell not going to pay ten thousand dollars and then have him blow it by not showing up. Look—” Sid leaned closer to Bill, looming over his desk—”I don’t think I need the Portland P. D. taking care of a personal problem, if you know what I mean. What I want is for you to get my boy out of there. He and Suzie can straighten out whatever differences they might have.”

“Where’s Suzie now?” Bill asked. “I might have to talk with her.”

“Who the hell knows? Last I heard, she was in the emergency room at Maine Med. Got a pretty serious cut on the side of her face. Word is, she slipped and fell in the parking lot after she and my boy had their little spat.”

Bill nodded and then glanced at his watch, noticing that it was close to the time to pick up Kip from his doctor’s appointment. “I don’t think I’ll have too much trouble getting him out, but like I said, it might be too late to do anything before Monday.”

“I ain’t paying you so my boy can spend the weekend rotting in jail,” Sid said, scowling deeply. “I want his bail reduced, and I want him out—
now
!”

Bill shrugged, wishing he didn’t feel so powerless against Sid. Maybe that was how guys like him got everything they had, by rolling right over everyone. Bill considered himself a pretty tough lawyer, but still... Sidney Wood had a way about him that was pretty hard to beat.

“Look, if the district court judge says the bail’s good the way it is, there’s not much I can do about it. I’ll have to get the police records on what happened and all the reports on any arrests. It’s gonna take a little time to prepare the petition.”

Sid smiled—smirked, actually, and shook his head from side to side as he exhaled thick blue smoke. “Monday’s not good enough, Bill. I want you to hump your ass over there right now and talk to the judge. Get that bail reduced to personal recognizance.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Bill said, standing up. He made a point of checking his watch. “Look, I’m running late. I’ve got an appointment in five minutes.”

“And right after that, I expect you to head over to the courthouse and get
Sidney
out with no problems. Am I correct?”

Bill did the best he could to mask his irritation. “Like I said, I’ll do what I can. I can’t make any promises.” He dropped his pad of paper—still blank—onto the desk and escorted Sid to the door. They both left the office, and Bill locked the door behind him as he went.

At the front desk, he asked Lillian to give the police in
Thornton
a call and have them send over Sidney Wood Jr.’s record. Then he dashed out into the warm morning sun, leaving
Sidney
Wood Sr. huffing as he made his way down the flight of steps to the Commercial Street sidewalk.

3

“S
omeone’s here t’see yah,” the police sergeant called out as he unlocked the cell door and swung it open. “I’ll wait for you over there.” He indicated a chair next to the door as Bill entered the cell. The policeman slammed the door shut and turned the key in the lock.