Extreme Justice (39 page)

He heard the shuffling of hands, the scraping of a chair.

“Your buddy Earl told us everything that happened, everything Armstrong said. Turns out it was true. He killed his brother, took his place, and framed Earl. He’d been off in Montana with his brother’s name and his brother’s money for twenty-two years when he got wind of the fact that Earl had been released. He couldn’t stand that. So he got himself transferred to Tulsa, then looked up his old jazz buddy Scat—Lily’s former husband—the one man on earth he knew didn’t like Earl any better than he did.”

He heard Mike take a deep breath, then continue. “The same hatred George had for Earl extended to Lily Campbell, since she was the one who dumped him to be with Earl. So he killed her and used her as a tool to frame Earl. He delivered the corpse in disguise, just in case he bumped into Earl. I think he was planning to plant it in Earl’s office, but when Earl came back to the club sooner than he expected—thanks to you—he had to ditch the stiff in a hurry. The stage light wasn’t the perfect place, but it was all he could get to without being seen. I don’t know why he took his disguise off in the men’s room; my guess is, once Earl was safely tucked away backstage, he planned to stay for the show. Probably wanted the pleasure of seeing Earl get hauled away by the cops with his own two eyes. After he was spotted by Tyrone Jackson, however, he changed his plans. Worse, he dropped his Buxley penknife.

“Armstrong came to the club the next day as Grady—at a time when Scat told him Earl wouldn’t be around—to recover it. I understand you caught them in the act of searching, so they acted like they’d been helping clean up, and introduced George to you as Grady. But they were too late—Tyrone had already found the penknife. Those little treasures were only given to the forty Buxley vice presidents. Once Tyrone figured out what it was, George knew it wouldn’t be hard to figure out who the man in the men’s room had been. So he had to kill Tyrone before he put two and two together.”

Ben heard the sound of knuckles cracking. “You’re probably wondering why Armstrong turned on Scat. Best I’ve been able to figure is that Scat was happy to help George along—till things started getting too hot. He probably didn’t know Grady planned to kill Lily, his ex-wife. And I think you put the fear of God into him when you went over to his place. He probably started talking about getting out or telling what he knew, so George killed him. He needed a second corpse anyway, since the first murder hadn’t put Earl behind bars.

“After Earl offed the Professor, he used your car phone to call 911 and get an ambulance for Tyrone and me and you. Tyrone was beat up something awful, but the doctor says he’ll recover—in time. And I’m fine.” He paused. “You’re the one we’re worried about.”

The room fell silent, but Ben sensed that Mike had not left the room.

“The D.A.’s office is going nuts trying to think of some way to charge your buddy Earl, but so far they haven’t thought of a thing. We can’t try the man for committing the same crime to the same person he’s already done time for. We can’t charge him with attempted murder or any other lesser included offense; as you know, double jeopardy bars the main offense and all the lesser includeds. They can’t stand the thought of letting him get away with murder. But even if they did think of a charge to bring against Earl—what jury would convict him when he’s already served twenty-two years for a crime he didn’t commit? They’re inclined to call it self-defense and let it go. In short—I think he’s gonna walk.”

Another silence permeated the air around them, longer and more awkward than before.

“I … uh … wanted to say something else. Something about … well, back at the refinery. Sure, I took some bad bumps on the head, but I came around a few minutes later. You—well … you didn’t.”

He realized that the strange tone in Mike’s voice was not so much discomfort as … guilt.

“Damn it, I never should have let this happen. How could I let that old creep get the drop on me? It was just so damn dark. I yelled at you for running in there by yourself, and then what did I do? The same idiot thing. I took the threats seriously enough that I didn’t call for backup before I ran in. An incredibly stupid mistake. And now you’re paying the price for it.”

Ben heard the chair scrape the linoleum a few more times; he heard the heavy intake and outflow of breath.

“Let’s face it, Ben. You pulled my fat out of the fire and it cost you. I know I make fun of you sometimes, and I know I’ve been bitter about your sister dumping me and the whole thing with your family, but … Jesus.”

Ben heard the chair scrape again, this time coming closer. “It’s not easy for me to say this kind of stuff. You know that. But I just wanted you to know that whatever the hell I might have said, and however I might have acted, I think you’re pretty damn all right, okay? Even though we do things differently, you’ve got a lot of guts. I consider you a friend, a good one. And I’m not just saying that because you’re … you’re …” His voice faded. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

The voice moved away, circling at the outer edges of the room. “Jesus, I feel like I’ve been talking forever. Can’t we get some music in here or something? Maybe some of that folk crap he likes. Christ, some of those songs go on forever.”

His eyes were so swollen they felt as if they’d been glued shut. Was it the beating or the fall? He couldn’t be sure, and frankly, what did it matter? He wasn’t going anywhere; he didn’t seem to be able to move at all. So why worry about it?

For the brief moments that he knew anything, he knew he was completely nauseated. Movement would only make it worse. There was a tube taped to his mouth, and he could hear the balloon beside his cheek inflating and deflating with each breath. Another tube was strapped to his wrist, feeding him something cold and sweet. It hurt a little, but at the moment, what didn’t? Frankly, consciousness was not all it was cracked up to be. He decided not to force it, to relax, to let himself go. One moment he was in a Tulsa hospital bed, and then he was somewhere else. But mostly he was nowhere at all.

“Are you the wife?” There was a stiff impersonal tone. He did not recognize the voice.

“No. Just a good friend.” That voice was a different matter. Definitely Christina.

“Does he have any living family?”

“A mother and a sister. But the mother is out of the country and the sister … well, we don’t know where she is. His mother is rushing here, but she probably won’t arrive today. I’m his emergency contact person.”

“Very well. I need to discuss his situation with you. I’m afraid there’s been little change. When Mr. Kincaid was brought to St. John’s several days ago, he was in critical condition, and he’s remained there ever since. He is completely comatose. We believe he is entirely unaware of himself and his environment. He does not respond to external stimuli. There is no evidence of language comprehension. A respirator has been helping him breathe. If the respirator were removed … well, we just don’t know.”

“There must be something you can do.”

“If so, I’m afraid no one here knows what it would be.”

“So what do we do?”

“Well, we wait. We hope he comes around. But eventually …”

“Yes?” There was an urgency in her voice, a pressing quality that told him she knew what was coming.

“Well, at some point we’ll have to make a decision about the desirability of perpetuating life support.”

“It’s too soon for that.”

“I agree. But … you might be thinking about it, just the same.”

The silence seemed interminable. He had almost moved on when he heard: “Thank you, Doctor. Now, if you don’t mind …”

“Of course. If there’s anything I can do …”

“Actually, there is. Do you know of a place nearby where I could get a harmonica?”

“A harmonica? May I ask why?”

“I’m going to play Bobby Darin songs. You know—like ‘Mack the Knife.’ I know it seems crazy. But he likes them.”

He had expected everything to be white, all white, but was pleased to find instead that it was a vivid Kodachrome green. It was a forest, deep and impenetrable and alive, just like the one he had played in as a boy behind his grandmother’s house in Arkansas. In fact, it
was
the one he had played in as a boy behind his grandmother’s house in Arkansas.

Never mind that his grandmother was long since dead, that the property had been sold, and that the forest had been clear-cut by a major lumber company. It was here, and he was in it.

“Be-en! Are you ready?”

He turned and saw her running toward him, weaving expertly between the trees, pigtails flying. It was his sister, Julia, except she was only nine years old. Come to notice, he was only eleven himself.

He remembered this summer. His parents had gone abroad for some Mediterranean cruise, and he and Julia had stayed with their grandmother, playing, drinking lemonade, basking in the sun. This was before puberty, before adolescence, before college and husbands and broken promises. This was back when the world was about lightning bugs and comic books and blindman’s buff, and he and Julia had been the two best friends in the entire world.

“Are you ready?” she asked breathlessly.

“I am,” he said. He wondered what they were going to do this afternoon.

“Where’s the first clue?”

Ah, a treasure hunt. Ben had prepared dozens of elaborate treasure hunts for his younger sister, with clues sending her far and wide across the property until at last she reached the Snickers bar buried at the final destination.

He handed her a scrap of paper. She unfolded it eagerly and read: “ ‘Not C, nor D, nor E, F, G, H, I. To the home of the traveler you must now fly’ ”

She peered up at him, confused, thinking it over. The sunlight made her freckles appear golden. “Traveler? You mean Mom and Dad. But they’re—”

All at once she beamed. “No, you mean the bird’s nest.” Yesterday, during their exploration of the forest, they had discovered a blue jay’s nest on a high branch of an old oak tree. They had watched it for almost an hour. They didn’t disturb anything. They just watched, watched the mother care for her hatchlings, watched her bring them grubs and bugs to eat.

“I get it.” The pride of solution made her face glow. “Not C, D, E, F, G, H, or I because they’re blue
jays
.”

She raced toward the old oak tree with Ben close behind. At the base, she stopped unexpectedly, pushed up on her tiptoes, and kissed Ben on the cheek. “You make the very best ever treasure hunts, Ben.” Her eyes were wide with excitement and admiration. “I hope this goes on forever.”

Ben watched as she shimmied up the tree, his eyes brimming with tears. I hope it does, too, he thought.

Ben?

What? What? Why was she interrupting?

“Ben, this is Nurse Tucker. You can call me Angela. I’m here to take care of you. Whatever you need, I’m here to provide.”

Go away, he thought. I don’t want to be bothered.

“ ’Course, it’s going to be hard for you to tell me what you want, since you’re not talking. Tell you what. You just think about whatever it is you want, and I’ll see if I can’t figure it out.”

He heard footsteps moving around the bed, surveying the situation.

“Sheets all appear to be properly tucked and folded. Your IV bag is filled. Respirator seems to be working normally. All outward appearances are A-OK.” There was a pause, and the voice drew closer. “What I’m more concerned about is what’s going on inside.”

He sensed her presence more than felt it. Was it the shadow, the warmth? Somehow, he knew she was drawing near.

“Ben, listen to me. I know it may be very … peaceful where you are right now. Very tranquil. It must be tempting to just stay there. But, Ben, you’re needed here. By your friends, your loved ones. All the people you’ve helped. And the however many more you could help in the future. If you come back.”

Yes, yes, no doubt. May I go now?

At the end of the summer, Ben’s parents arrived to collect their children. Julia met them both at the door, wrapped her arms around them, and smothered them with hugs and kisses. Young Ben stood by himself in the corner of the room.

His father noticed. He pulled a small package out of his coat pocket. “Hey, Ben. I have a present for you.”

Ben glanced up, then looked back down at the floor. He didn’t budge.

His mother, peering over Julia’s shoulder, frowned. “Benjamin?” She exchanged a glance with her husband. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know.” He walked over to Ben and laid his hand on Ben’s back. “Perhaps we should have a private talk.”

He escorted Ben into one of the back bedrooms and shut the door. “All right, son. Let’s have it.”

Ben twitched uncomfortably but didn’t say anything.

“Come on, now. I’ve seen that guilt-ridden expression before. Tell me what you’ve done.”

Ben’s mouth was so dry he could barely speak. “You remember … before you left you lent me your pocket knife.”

“Of course. My top-of-the-line Swiss Army knife. Bought that thing in Zurich when I was just a college kid.”

“You said I could use it if”—he coughed, sputtered—“… if I promised to take care of it.”

His father looked down at him sternly. “Ye-es …”

Ben reached into his pocket and held out the knife. It was rusted and faded; one of the blades was bent. “I left it out in the rain.”

His father nodded gravely. “I see. So that’s what this is all about.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You see your parents for the first time in three months, but you can’t enjoy it because you know you’ve done something bad. Is that about it?”

Ben brought his head up. His eyes were wide and scared. “Are you going to … to punish me?”

“Yes, Ben, I’m afraid I am.”

Ben threw his head down dejectedly. “You must hate me.”

“Whoa, boy. Wait just a minute.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, scooped Ben up, and sat him down on his lap. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea here. Sure, I’m going to punish you. How else would you learn not to do things like that? But that doesn’t mean I hate you. Just the opposite. You’re still my boy, no matter what you do.”

He put a finger under Ben’s chin and lifted it till their eyes met. “Understand that? Doesn’t matter what you do or say. Doesn’t matter what I do or say. You’re my boy, and you always will be. Got it?”