The Night Visitor (11 page)

The remnants of the dinner a nurse had brought Tom were on a rolling table. Tom had clamped a battery-operated reading lamp onto the table’s edge. He was planning on reading until Rory’s Aunt Donna spelled him at ten p.m., but he could hardly keep his eyes open. He stood and got the cashmere throw and goose down pillow that Evelyn had brought, glancing at Rory.

Her breathing was deep and regular, and she was snoring slightly. He didn’t try to wake her. She seemed the most normal this way. She was disturbing when she was awake. Tom had been dutiful about talking and reading to her and touching her, all the things the nurses and doctors had told him to do, while pushing away the feeling that this wasn’t his Rory.

He’d again settled into the chair when Rory stirred slightly and moaned. Tom looked up at her.

She moaned again in a way that was nearly a sigh, like when she would awaken late on a Saturday morning and see the sun streaming through the windows.

Tom got up and took her hand. Her fingers closed around his. They felt cool. Her lips were slightly parted and a smile teased the corners. She moaned again, more loudly, and again. She began turning her head back and forth on the pillow. Her dreamy expression changed to something resembling pain. She hadn’t opened her eyes. Her body writhed under the sheets and her moans turned into bleats. Tom knew these cries. This was not pain she was experiencing.

“Rory, wake up,” he said in a loud whisper, turning toward the open door, afraid someone would come in.

Her eyes were pressed tightly closed, and she was panting and whimpering. She squeezed his hand fiercely, her skin no longer cool. She inhaled sharply, followed by a long wail.

Tom kept an eye on the door as he felt his face grow flushed.

She let out a sharp cry and relaxed. She released her grip on his hand and exhaled slowly. A pink flush rose in her cheeks and moved down her neck. Her face and body relaxed.

The afterglow was unmistakable. Tom could not deny what had happened. He looked at her with wonder and fear.

She ran her tongue across her lips. Tom looked around for the lip balm a nurse had given him. When he finally found it and turned back to her, her eyes were open.

She blinked at him. Her gaze was focused and her eyes wide.

His heart beat faster. Was she really awake?

“Tom?” She took in her surroundings. “Where am I?”

He was speechless.

“What happened?” She tried to sit up, only to moan and fall back against the pillow, pressing her hand against her head.

He blinked back tears. “You’re okay, baby. You’re okay.”

“Tom…” Panic entered her voice.

He fumbled to find the nurse call button. He pressed it repeatedly then ran to the door and called, “Nurse…nurse!”

26

“Can I come in for a few minutes?”

Sylvia unlocked and opened the screen door for Detective Auburn. He stepped inside.

“Mom! Georgie took my—” Upon seeing Auburn, Vanessa forgot the crisis that had sent her to her mother. She hovered in the doorway that led from the hall to the living room.

Auburn smiled at the girl. “You must be Vanessa. You’re almost grown up.”

Sylvia gestured for her daughter to approach. She did, hooking her hand onto the back waistband of her mother’s jeans.

“Say hello to Detective Auburn.”

“Hello.”

“How old are you now, Vanessa?”

“Twelve.” Vanessa blushed and looked at the ground.

Sylvia said to her, “Go set the table for dinner.”

The girl didn’t move.

“Vanessa, go. Daddy’s gonna be home soon.”

When she had left, Sylvia moved to close the front door. She peered through the screen and shouted across the lawn to the reporters on the sidewalk, “Hey! Get off my fence.” She closed and locked the door. “Jackasses.”

In the next breath, she changed the subject. “You have any kids, Detective?”

He hesitated before saying “Yep” and immediately followed with “Rory Langtry’s awake. Fully awake.”

“Really? She going to be okay?”

“Her prognosis is good.” Standing in the living room, Auburn shifted his feet.

“Well. That’s lucky for them.” Sylvia exhaled and looked down. “It’s good they don’t have to go through what we’re going through with Junior. I don’t wish that on anyone. Even them.”

Auburn looked into the kitchen at Vanessa setting the table. “Can we talk someplace private?”

“Let’s go in the backyard.”

Sylvia led him through the kitchen and out the back door, with the terrier Chiclets trotting behind them, and they crossed a side yard lined with pots of herbs. In the backyard, they sat at a table and chairs beneath a lattice patio cover. Nearby was a large avocado tree, its branches heavy with fruit.

Sylvia waited for Auburn to speak.

“I just came from a meeting with the assistant DA.” He took a breath before continuing. “They’re not filing charges against Richard Tate. The DA reviewed the case herself. I wanted to tell you personally before you heard it someplace else.”

“Shit.” Sylvia hit the table with her fist.

“They consider it justifiable homicide. Danny came to the party with a loaded weapon, took Rory hostage, and made it clear that he intended to murder her. Richard Tate had the right to protect the life of his stepdaughter and his guests and to protect his home. No jury would convict him. The DA won’t file charges in a case that she knows she’ll never win.”

“That’s it? They say no go and it’s over?” Sylvia reached down to pet Chiclets, who’d put his paws against her leg. “It’s not right, Henry.”

“You can fight it out in civil court.”

“Damn straight I am. I’m suing Richard Tate for everything he’s got.”

“Let your conscience be your guide.”

“You’ve got nerve, telling me to listen to my conscience.” Sylvia darted a finger at him. “Go tell the Tates that. Tell that to Rory Langtry. Ask her why she won’t take a lie detector test and answer questions about who really murdered her sister and shot Junior.”

“That happened five years ago, Sylvia. Right now, we’re dealing with what happened last Saturday night between Richard Tate and Danny.”

Sylvia patted her lap and the dog leaped onto it. “It’s all tied together, Henry. Danny tried to get Rory to tell the truth about what happened at Five Points. Now he’s dead. Rory’s always claimed that she was home alone that night. The only other person who knows she was actually at Five Points is Junior and he’ll never have a chance to tell his side of the story.”

Auburn turned up his palm. “Sometimes life sucks.”

She looked hard at him. “Henry, don’t tell me that you absolutely believe the official story about Five Points. That Junior killed Anya and shot himself.”

He blinked his tired eyes. “Officially the case is closed.”

“Thank you, Henry. That tells me what I want to know. It’s not closed for you either. Not in your heart.” She eagerly looked at him, waiting for him to respond.

Auburn scratched his fingers through his moustache several times. “Sylvia, what can you tell me about Danny believing that he was communicating telepathically with Junior?”

“Who told you that?”

“Doesn’t matter who told me. Did Danny talk to you about it?”

She frowned and pulled her lips to the side. “My mom forced it out of him when Danny started to go downhill. He stopped caring about everything except staying locked up in his room and spending time with Junior. He lost weight. Looked bad. He said that he and Junior had found a pathway where they could communicate, like tuning to a different wavelength on the radio. He said being with Junior like that was the best thing he’d experienced, this total connection to another person. Said it was like living times two. What he saw, heard, felt
—
it was all twice as intense.”

The dog licked Sylvia’s cheek. She maneuvered him until he was lying across her thighs. “Henry, I want to be clear about one thing. No one in this family knew that Danny was planning to attack Rory.”

“I know.” Auburn studied her. “Did Danny say that Junior gave him information about the Five Points shootings?”

“Junior always showed him the same thing. Junior came home, found his doves loose inside his loft, and tried to get them out. He slipped on blood. He saw Anya dead, and then he was falling. Then darkness.”

After a pause, Auburn asked, “Did Danny say who did the shooting?”

“No. He said that Junior didn’t see who it was. He said it wasn’t always easy to figure out what Junior was trying to tell him.”

Something clicked for Sylvia. “That’s how the shootings really happened, isn’t it? I could tell by the look on your face when I mentioned the doves. Danny knew details that weren’t public, didn’t he? Henry, after all we’ve been through over the past five years, please level with me.”

“Yes, you’ve described things that weren’t released to the public.”

“Oh…I get it. You’re thinking that Danny did it.” She hugged the dog close. “That night Danny went to a party with his buddy. The buddy disappeared with some girl and lost track of Danny. Danny came home late. Said he’d gone to the beach with some people he’d met. But you couldn’t ever find those people. You gave Danny a hard time about that. Henry, I’ll never believe it. Danny idolized Junior. It was Rory. She shot her sister and Junior.”

Auburn reached into his jacket pocket, took out several photos, and handed them to her.

Sylvia brushed the dog onto the ground. Her disgust grew as she looked through the photos. She tossed them onto the table. “You could have told me that you went to see Junior. This family still has some rights, don’t we?”

“I haven’t seen Junior in five years,” Auburn said.

Sylvia snatched back the photos. They showed three large wounds on someone’s back. “Then who took these? Someone at the hospital? The same person who’s been talking about my family to you? If these show up on the news, someone’s gonna—”

“Junior has sores like that?”

“This is Junior’s back, right?”

“That’s Danny’s back. The medical examiner took those shots at Danny’s autopsy. He couldn’t figure out what caused those wounds and wondered if you could provide any insight. The ME speculated that Danny could have done that to himself with acid or maybe he’d contracted some strange flesh-eating bacteria. He took samples to analyze. But he says that if he didn’t know that Danny had been a healthy, twenty-two-year-old man, he would have assumed he had been bedridden, because these wounds are consistent with…” Auburn took a spiral notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped the pages. “Decubitus ulcers or pressure sores. The severity ranges from stage one to stage four, which these appear to be.”

“Bedsores,” Sylvia said. “What did you do to yourself, baby brother?”

Auburn reviewed his notes. “Was Danny weak, feverish, coughing, having trouble breathing?”

Sylvia gaped at him.

“Did Danny complain of lower back pain, blood in his urine, dark urine, headaches?”

“What are you saying now?”

“Danny had pneumonia and his kidneys were inflamed.”

Sylvia covered her face with her hands. “I can’t deal with this right now. Please go.”

“The bloody gauze pads, painkillers, and antibiotics we found in Danny’s room suggest that he was treating himself for something. You weren’t aware that Danny was ill?”

“No. Please go.”

Auburn gathered the photos and began walking down the side yard.

“Henry.”

He turned.

Sylvia looked beaten down. “Did Danny die from the bullet or the fall?”

“Bullet. Straight through his heart.”

27

Rory was sitting up in bed in her private hospital room, intently writing with a pencil on a sheet of pink stationery, turning the pencil lead onto its side and rubbing it against the paper. Other marked-up sheets of stationery were scattered around the bed. Startled when she heard the voices of two of her best friends in the hallway, Rory began grabbing the papers and stashing them beneath the bedcovers.

“Hello, you. Oh my gosh. You look great.” Victoria and Hannah spoke at the same time as they entered the room carrying gift bags, adorned with ribbons and balloons, and a bouquet of flowers. There were hugs and kisses.

Rory beamed. “What a surprise. Thanks for coming by.”

“Are you kidding?” Hannah put the vase of mixed flowers on a table that was covered with bouquets and potted plants. “We could hardly wait until we got the okay to see you.”

“Can I sit here?” Victoria hoisted herself onto the end of the bed and faced Rory. “Open the gifts.”

“You didn’t have to buy me anything.” Rory took chocolate truffles and bottled margaritas from the first bag. “I’m gonna enjoy these. Thank you.” From another bag, she took out lotions, lip balm, and scented hydrating mist. “Thanks! I can use these in this dry hospital air.” She spritzed some of the mist over her face. “Mmm…lavender. Heavenly. Try it.”

The girlfriends leaned in and Rory spritzed them.

“We miss you in spinning class,” Victoria said. “We dedicated a class to you.”

“The music was all girl singers.” Hannah was looking at the dozens of floral arrangements. “Rihanna, Lady Gaga, Miley Cyrus…It was super fun.”

“I would kill to go to spinning class,” Rory said. “No exercise for me until the doctor says it’s okay. The only workout I get now is twice a day when an aide helps me walk a few times around the nurses station.”

“You can walk that far?” Victoria asked.

“I’m dizzy as hell, and if I turn my head the wrong way, I’m about to lose my lunch, but I’m walking.”

“That’s great, Ro,” Hannah said. “Are there any other restrictions on what you can do?”

“A laundry list. No bending, lifting, or straining. No overdoing anything. No driving until the doctor releases me. One thing I
can
do is rest.”

Victoria picked up a cashmere throw and draped it across the foot of the bed. Under it was one of the sheets of stationery Rory had been working on. Victoria frowned at it.

Rory took it from her and put it face down on a nightstand. “Getting caught up on correspondence.”

“Other than feeling dizzy, are you okay?” Hannah asked.