One Scream Away (17 page)

When she finished eating, Neil materialized at the table, holding out his cell phone. “Do you want to talk to Abby?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I already dialed; just hit Talk.”

He left the kitchenette, and on the third ring, Cheryl picked up. Abby was waiting for breakfast, playing with Jeff and the three-year-old. Beth could hear Heinz barking playfully in the background. The few minutes of conversation lifted her spirits and focused her energy, grounding her after a night that had the distant, ethereal quality of a dream. She still felt as if she were floundering at sea, but Abby’s voice was like a lighthouse. Neil Sheridan, the lifeboat.

Beth pushed that maudlin sentiment away and snapped the cell phone closed, taking a deep breath. Time to face the music.

As much as she dared.

I
was meeting with the curator for the Westin-Cooper Museum,” Beth explained, her knees curled up in a wing-back chair, her audience rapt. “A prominent family had offered to sell a collection of antiques to the museum, and the curator, Anne Chaney, wanted to show it to me.”

“So you were already employed at Foster’s,” Sacowicz said.

“Part-time. At the office, I got a message from Anne that she would have to reschedule our appointment for another night. I remember I was glad; it meant I could go to dinner with Adam and a DA who was visiting from Chicago. He was going to work in his grandfather’s firm there, but he wanted to get into politics, so wining and dining this DA was a big deal. But then Anne called and said she could make it after all. I owed her a favor, so I told Adam to have dinner without me, and that I’d join them for dessert.”

“So your associates at Foster’s never knew you and Anne Chaney met that night,” Neil said. “They thought your appointment had been canceled.”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Anne had just moved into a gated community that backed up against a forest and a lake. I called her from my car and waited until I saw her come outside. She had some empty boxes from unpacking and went around back to the Dumpster. Bankes must have been there. When she didn’t come back, I walked around the corner and saw them talking. Arguing.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. But Anne was backing away from him, pulling her arm from his hand. Then Bankes hit her.”

She paused, closing her eyes as if rewinding the footage in her mind and playing it back might change the way it had ended.

“I called out.”
Stupid, stupid, thing to do.
“Bankes turned. He had his arm around Anne’s throat and a gun. He said if I moved, he would kill us both. I… I just froze. He shoved Anne up beside me and told us to walk.”

“Where?”

“Out into the woods, behind the town houses. He was right behind us, with the gun.” The panic leaked in, bleeding into her chest.

Ancient history. Keep talking.

“I kept thinking we should fight him, but Anne was hysterical. She wasn’t going to help.”

“Why did you think that?” Dr. Standlin asked.

“She recognized Bankes. He’d been, I don’t know, stalking her, I guess.”

“Chaney had told you that?” asked the lieutenant.

“No, but Bankes kept saying, ‘I told you, you couldn’t hide from me,’ and ‘It’s finally time,’ things like that. He talked to Anne the whole time we walked, taunting her.”

“Did Bankes talk to you during all that time you walked?” Standlin asked.

“Not really; it was all about Anne. I just happened to be there. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t a fighter then. I didn’t know how to defend myself.”

“So you just willingly walked into the forest with Bankes.”

The censure in Standlin’s voice struck like a lash. “What was I supposed to do? He had a gun. He had a bag looped over his shoulder and kept shifting it, but he always kept the gun pointed at us. Yes, I just walked willingly. I thought he’d kill us if I didn’t.”

“What kind of bag was he carrying?” Lieutenant Sacowicz asked.

“I don’t know. Canvas, I think, or nylon. Just a bag, like for a gym or sports. It didn’t look too heavy, but he kept… handling it all the way. Like there was something valuable inside.”

“And talking to Anne,” Standlin said.

“Taunting her. He liked hearing her cry.”

“At the trial,” Brohaugh said, “the prosecutor argued that Bankes had stalked Chaney for weeks, driven her to change her phone number, get new locks, move. But Chaney had a reputation for getting around with the men. Bankes’s attorney argued that one of her ex-lovers might have been her stalker.”

Neil looked at Beth. “Bankes didn’t harass you?”

“I wasn’t supposed to be there, I guess. He just pushed me against a tree and told me to sit down.”

Don’t do it. Fight.
The impulse threaded back into consciousness like big, ugly stitches in time, unraveling. Helplessness, weakness.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she said. “He had the gun. I just… I just did what he said, and he teased Anne and ”—she swallowed—“rubbed himself. Anne was crying.”

“What were you doing during all this?” Standlin asked.

I was by the tree, doing nothing. While Anne cried and begged him not to hurt her.

“Don’t just think it, Beth,” Standlin ordered. “Say it out loud.”

“I wasn’t doing anything, damn it! If I went for the water, I’d freeze. If I ran, he’d shoot me. I thought maybe if we both ran, but Anne… She wouldn’t…”

“She wouldn’t run,” Standlin finished.

Don’t just stand there, Anne, damn it. Do something.

Beth shook her head. “She curled up in a ball and cried.”

Anne, stop! You’re making it worse.

“That must have made you angry at Anne.”

Lochner stood up. “What the hell?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Beth said. “I wasn’t angry at Anne.” But even as the words came out, the first fat tear ran down her cheek. She didn’t know why, and she flicked it away with the back of her hand. “It’s just that she was making it worse. He wanted her to cry. He liked the sound of it. Then I saw him look around for his bag. He stepped away from Anne to drag it closer. It was just a second, but I thought maybe—” She swallowed. “I grabbed his arm.”

Run, Anne! Go, damn it.

“And the gun.”

Run!

“She ran. Finally, like I told her to, Anne started to run. And I fought with Bankes. And then the gun…”
Pop. Pop.

Oh no, oh no, oh no…

Lochner cursed, and from somewhere in the room Neil said, “Ah, Jesus.” Beth closed her eyes, but the memories were there, pulling at her, dragging her down.

Standlin stepped closer. “You convinced Anne to run, Beth? And attacked Bankes?”

Damn it, Beth, what were you thinking, attacking a man with a gun?
Adam’s voice, sharp with fury. She shook it off and looked at the room through blurry eyes. “I was just trying to get the gun.”

“It’s okay, Beth,” the lieutenant said gently.

But it wasn’t okay. Anne was dead.

Don’t tell
, Adam insisted,
they won’t understand
. Later, he’d said if they needed her testimony, she could tell the police she was there. But the police never needed it. Bankes was arrested the next day and convicted in a short trial. They had evidence from his shoes that he’d been at Anne’s townhome complex, an alibi that didn’t check out, gunshot residue on his hands. Without ever hearing Beth’s version of the story, he went to prison for life.

Now he was free.

Standlin held up some printouts. “There was blood at the scene that didn’t belong to either Bankes or Chaney, and two shell casings from a thirty-eight semiautomatic. One bullet struck Anne Chaney in the back while you fought with Bankes. What happened to the other?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you O-negative?”

Beth nodded.

“It was your blood at the scene, wasn’t it?” Standlin asked.

“My client isn’t going answer any more quest—”

“Were you shot, Beth?” Neil asked, sounding worried.

“No. No. I don’t know what happened to the other bullet.”

“Then what happened after Anne went down?” Standlin pressed.

Anne went down.
Such simple words, yet so descriptive. Anne had finally been running, as Beth had told her to, and just… went down. Dead, with one giant convulsion of her spine. The gun that killed her wrenched from Beth’s hands. The gunshot stinging against her palm. Bankes dropping beside Anne’s body, screaming, digging furiously into his bag.

And then Bankes, going mad.

“After?” Beth whispered. “He wanted
me
to scream then, for Anne. But I wouldn’t. I was afraid it would make him…” She touched the scar on her cheek. “He hit me with the gun.”

“Christ,” Neil said. He stared at her when she didn’t say anything more. “That was it? You were knocked out?”

Not quite. Not enough that she couldn’t feel the chill of the ground, or taste the retching combination of dirt and blood and bile that crawled down her throat. Not enough that she couldn’t feel her cheek on fire, or his hands on her thighs. She wasn’t out that much.

Don’t tell.

“When I came to, he was gone. There was nothing there but Anne’s body.” She shivered. “I ran. I went back the way we’d come. I got in my car and locked the doors. I drove.” Heat. All the way to high. “I went home, to our apartment. Adam was there.” Angry, because she hadn’t shown up at the restaurant. “I showered. I was dirty and bloody.”

And cold. So, so cold.

“And you didn’t tell anyone,” Standlin said. A statement rather than a question.

“Of course I did. I told Adam.”

“And?”

“He took care of me. He got a butterfly bandage from a first-aid kit for my cheek, and he helped me get to sleep.”

“He didn’t take you the hospital, call the police?” Neil said, incredulous.

“He would have the next morning, but he watched the news. Someone found Anne’s body within hours. By afternoon, they had a suspect. It was on TV, and I saw they had the right man. I don’t know what to tell you…” She looked down, bracing herself for the guilt to begin gnawing again. “We’d just found out I was pregnant. Adam was worried about what a trial would do to me and the baby. And they didn’t need me. Bankes was held without bail. Then he was convicted.”

Standlin said, “You could have told all this to Sacowicz or Sheridan when they came looking for him a week ago.”

“I could have. I wish I had. But I thought Bankes was coming for
me
, and I knew there was nothing I could do to send him back to prison. I thought maybe if I offered him enough money—”

“And if he didn’t take it, it didn’t matter,” Neil said, his voice rough. “Because you could handle him now. You’re strong.”

“Don’t respond to that, Beth,” Lochner ordered. “He’s try—”

“Stop.” Beth felt as if a dam were crumbling. She turned to Neil. “You’re right. I did think I had to handle Bankes myself—”

“Beth!” Lochner said.

“And I did want to kill him.”

Adele Lochner sank into a chair.

“The system set him free, and I thought he was coming for me or my daughter. If I couldn’t pay him off, I didn’t think I had any choice but to kill him. But in the end, I didn’t do it. In the end,” she said, looking straight into Neil’s eyes, “I tried to call you.”

I
n the end, I tried to call you. The weight of that dropped like a load of bricks on Neil’s shoulders. Be careful what you wish for, said one part of his brain. But his conscience spoke louder: She needs you; don’t fuck it up this time.

Ten more minutes spent hashing through the story yielded nothing new. And Standlin, digging deeper and harder, only seemed to push Beth further away.

“That’s it,” Neil said. “Beth needs to sleep.”

He thought she looked grateful for that. For a minute he thought she might not even argue with him. Then she stood. “So, I’m staying here, I guess?”

“You’re staying here.”

“You said you could pick things up for me at the house. Would you?”

Neil nodded. “Of course. What do you want?”

“There’s a widow in Boise who’s sending me dolls. Two are already lost, but a new one is supposed to arrive this morning. It will need a signature.” She paused. “And I’ll need my black light and laptop so I can work.”

“Police are watching your house, just in case Bankes shows up,” Neil said. “I’ll have them sign for the package and stop by and get it.” It would be just as well if Beth had something to keep her occupied while she was holed up here. He sure as hell wasn’t letting her out.

Standlin came over, medical bag in hand.

“What’s that?” Beth asked, noticing the needles coming out of the bag.

“Two things,” Standlin said. “One, we need blood to compare to the unidentified sample found at the scene of Anne Chaney’s murder. And two, I’m giving you a light sedative.”

Beth bristled. “You can have all the blood you want, but I don’t need a sedative.”

“You’ll have nightmares. Sheridan says you always do.”

Neil fielded a glare from Beth that might have wilted a lesser man. “Take it, Beth. You’re no good to anyone running around half-comatose.”

She scoffed. “You mean half-nuts. You’re just afraid I’ll crack up, slip away from you, and—how did you put it—go home to blow his brains out.”

“I’m not afraid of that,” he said, deciding to make things perfectly clear. “There’s no way in hell I’ll let you slip away from me.”

Chevy lay on Beth’s bed, feeling her, smelling her, sliding into dreams where she cried in desperation and screamed in pain, pleading with him to stop yet knowing he wouldn’t, not until he’d milked every whimper and gasp and shriek from her body. He woke hard as a club and tried to go back under again, but sunlight streamed through the slats in the blinds. He couldn’t make it work.

Morning. And where was Beth? Gone, he thought. Probably at a friend’s or at a motel. Maybe under locked guard already. It all depended on how quickly she’d decided to spill her guts to the cops, and how much of the truth she had decided to tell them. He rolled off the bed and slipped to the window, parting the blinds a mere fraction of an inch. Yup, there it was, halfway down the block. A gray sedan now: cop car.