Locked In (26 page)
T
hey came through the door of my room—Hy and John, supporting a man between them. I knew from his photographs he was Ben Gold.
A pair of concerned orderlies followed.
Hy turned to the orderlies, said, “Sorry, this is private business.” Motioned for them to leave and shut the door.
Gold wore a buttoned-up coat. I could tell that under it he was handcuffed. The look on Gold’s face was one of terror. Hy
shoved him forward.
“There,” Hy said, pushing him close to my bed. “See? That’s what you’ve done to my wife!”
Gold closed his eyes. Hy shook him, forced his gaze onto mine. “I want you to see, dammit! This is what you did to her. I
can also show you crime scene photos of Haven Dietz. You disfigured her for a hundred thousand dollars, then you killed her
so you could keep the money.”
Gold’s mouth worked.
“Where’s Larry’s body?”
Rasping breaths, but no answer.
Hy said to Gold, “I’m asking you one more time. Where?”
“I… don’t… know.”
Hy hit him. Hit him hard enough to send him flying across the room and crashing into the wall. Gold slumped on the floor,
gasping.
The orderlies were through the door now. John went to speak with them while Hy took out his phone and speed-dialed. I listened
as he talked to Adah.
“She’ll contact the SFPD,” he said after ending the call. “They like her a hell of a lot better than me.”
The orderlies remained by the door, watchful.
I looked down at Gold. On his outflung arm I saw the gleam of the finely woven silver bracelet that had ultimately revealed
him.
Metal grazing my fingers…
Flash!
Silver links in the brief, harsh light…
Falling…
Falling…
No. Not falling any more.
I
t was my birthday—a perfect summer afternoon in San Francisco, even though the rest of the country was well into autumn. I
sat in my wheelchair in a spot of sun on the deck, Alice the cat curled on my lap—she’d really become fond of this chair and
the way we could zip around—watching Ralph stalk a bird in the backyard. He was getting old and slow and would never catch
it.
No big party, no dinner out, no trip to Touchstone or the ranch. This year I’d opted for a quiet day and an intimate dinner
at home with Hy. Most people who’ve been confined to hospitals for over two and a half months would’ve been aching for company,
balloons, cake, champagne, presents—the works. But I’d had more company and excitement since I was shot than the average person
does in a decade. Being right here, right now, with my husband cooking up something exotic in the kitchen was exactly where
I wanted to be. I’d gone through the round of birthday calls and cards, e-mails and floral deliveries, and now here in the
sun I felt pleasantly sleepy.
I’d come a long way in a short time, but I still had a long way to go. My doctors said my recovery was a miracle, and I certainly
agreed. If I hadn’t crashed when I did, needing immediate risky surgery, I might have remained cut off from the world for
the rest of my life.
When you experience something that shattering, you realize how casually we take all the givens—speech, motion, the ability
to communicate with a glance or a gesture. The urge to make love, which last night had moved Hy and me to a successful conclusion.
The ability to imagine a future.
A future that now didn’t belong to a number of people: Harvey Davis; Amanda Teller; Paul Janssen; Larry Peeples, whose body
had been found buried in a remote hilly section not far from his parents’ vineyard; Haven Dietz; Ben Gold.
Although Gold disavowed the confession he’d made on tape to Hy—which wouldn’t have been legally admissable anyway—he’d made
one bad mistake. A .38-caliber Smith & Wesson Night Guard revolver registered to Larry Peeples had been found in the trunk
of his car; the bullet that had killed Haven Dietz had been fired from it. There was no physical evidence he’d shot me—the
bullet had been too fragmented—but at least he’d go down for Haven’s murder. To my surprise, Gold had ignored his public defender’s
suggestion that he press charges against Hy and John for assault and kidnapping.
Hy’s treatment of Gold had been harsh, but not as harsh as I’d feared. He hadn’t crossed the line after all. I understood
why he’d gone as far as he had. When someone nearly destroys your life, you hit back. I was certain that, if Gold’s victim
had been Hy, I would have done the same. And in a sense, that was what Gold had done when he lashed out and killed Larry Peeples:
Larry had, after all, destroyed Ben’s life by his refusal to go away with him.
I petted Allie and leaned my head back and let the sunlight play on my closed eyelids. Visions flashed on them.
SF General. Where I had almost died—twice.
The Brandt Institute, where I’d worked hard with the therapists so I could finally come home two days ago. Where I would continue
to work daily toward a full and complete rehab.
Hy came onto the deck, carrying two champagne flutes. He stood in front of me, raised one glass.
I brushed Allie off my lap and got up, holding tightly to the ebony-and-brass tripod cane he’d gifted me with that morning.
Took the other glass and looked into his eyes.
He said, “A wise man recently told me, ‘
Saika mukua kettae.
Her spirit is strong.’ That was Elwood, and it turns out he knew what he was talking about.
“Happy birthday, warrior woman.”
