Hannah Green told her story with a minimum of emotion, delivering the details with a chilling dispassion that seemed to imply she was still more upset about the loss of the remote control than she was about her father’s death.
Maybe she is crazy, Joanna decided.
Sitting there hunched in the breakfast nook, with her multiple chins resting in her good hand and with the ruined one once again back in its concealing pocket, Hannah Green didn’t appear to be a danger to anyone. Still, Joanna recognized that she would need help in dealing with this woman. She could go through all the motions of playing hostess, of feeding her unwelcome guest and warming her. But somewhere along the line, the charade would come to an end. Joanna knew that when that moment arrived, she would need back up. Had Jenny understood or not?
As Joanna continued with dinner preparations, she wondered if it would be possible for her to find some plausible excuse to slip into her bedroom. There, in a matter of seconds she could dial 9-1-1 and call for help. What Joanna feared though, was that once Hannah’s suspicions were aroused, she might fly into the same kind of murderous rage that hat overtaken her when she killed her father.
“And then,” Hannah went on, taking up her story again after a long, thoughtful pause, “when I knew he wasn’ movin’ no more, I turned him over on his back and left him there. Left him starin’ up at the sky. Even if he was dead, I wanted him to see my face afore I left. I wanted him to know it was me and nobody else ‘at kilt him. Then I pulled ‘at there remote right out of his pocket and went back home. But my program was over by then. It was a special about Judy Garland, and I missed the whole thing. Course, it could be on the reruns later. Maybe I’ll have a chance to see it then. Do they have TVs in jail?”
With the meat in the oven, Joanna started peeling potatoes.
“They do,” she answered without conviction. Even if television sets were available to inmates, it didn’t seem likely that Hannah Green’s fellow prisoners would be any more interested in a Judy Garland retrospective than Reed Carruthers had been.
How is it possible, Joanna wondered, that this whole thing started over a stupid television remote control? How can that be? Was that all there was to it? Was a simple argument over a television channel enough to send a murderous Hannah Green hurtling through the cold desert night?
What Hannah said next chilled Joanna to the bone. It seemed almost as though the woman had peered into her skull and heard those unasked questions.
“It wasn’t just the TV, neither,” Hannah Green continued doggedly.
“It wasn’t?”
Hannah shook her head. Removing her damaged hand from her pocket, she held it up to the light, examining the bent and useless fingers. “I did it because of this here, too.”
“Because of your hand? Are you saying your father did that to you?”
“I was gonna to leave oncet, but he didn’t want me to,” Hannah recalled. “Mama was real sick, you see. Daddy needed someone to stay there and take care of her. He slammed my hand in the car door so as I couldn’t go.”
“When did that happen?”
Hannah shrugged. “A while back,” she said.
“How recently?”
“Not recent. It was after my husband divorced me and I came hone to Daddy and Mama’s place.”
“When?” Joanna urged, thinking as she asked the question that it Reed Carruthers had attacked his daughter, Hannah might be able to enter a plea of self-defense.
“Nineteen sixty-five or so, I guess,” Hannah Green answered after a period of frowning consideration. “That must been about when it was.”
“More than thirty years ago?”
Hannah shrugged. “That’s right. Like I said, it’s been while.”
Somewhere at the far end of the house, the dogs began barking. The chorus was stifled almost immediately. Daring to hope that help was at hand, Joanna carefully rinsed the potatoes, put them in the pressure cooker, added water and salt. As she placed the potatoes on the burner, someone began pounding on the seldom-used front door.
Concerned that any intrusion might upset the woman Joanna glanced at her warily. “Someone’s at the door, Joanna said.
The woman nodded but didn’t move.
“I’ll have to answer it.”
Hannah nodded. “You go ahead,” she said.
By the time Joanna had crossed the kitchen to the doorway into the dining room, Jenny had already opened to front door. Detective Ernie Carpenter burst into the living room, followed closely by Dick Voland.
“We’ve got the house surrounded,” Ernie barked. “Where is she?”
“In the kitchen,” Joanna said, motioning in that direction While Ernie pushed past her into the kitchen, Dick Voland slid to a stop beside Joanna.
“Are you and Jenny all right?”
“Yes,” Joanna said.
From out of nowhere, Jenny suddenly squeezed between them and grabbed Joanna around the waist. She clung there, saying nothing.
“Is she armed?” Dick asked.
“I don’t think so,” Joanna managed.
The flood of relief that washed over her then took her by surprise. One moment she was laughing. The next, laughter unaccountably changed to tears.
“Mommy, why are you crying?” Jenny asked, peering up into her face. “I called Mr. Voland. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”
That was the precise instant when Joanna’s knees buckled and would no longer support her weight. If Dick Voland hadn’t been right there to catch her, she might have fallen all the way to the floor. She was still sobbing as he took her gently by the shoulders and steered her to one of the dining room chairs.
“Shhhh now,” he said, awkwardly patting her shoulder. “It’s okay, Joanna. Everything’s under control.”
ELEVEN
The next half hour or so was a blur of frantic activity. The whole house buzzed with cops while Joanna fielded a concerned call from Marianne Maculyea, whom Jenny had also called, reassuring her that everything was fine, that help had arrived, and that Hannah Green was being taken into custody. When it was time for Ernie Carpenter to lead a handcuffed Hannah Green out to the waiting patrol car, they can through the living room, where Joanna and Jenny were sitting on the couch.
Hannah stopped in front of them. “Them dogs of yours is real nice,” she said to Jenny.
Jenny nodded. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Then Hannah looked at Joanna. For a few seconds the eyes met. There was such an air of hopelessness about her-such beaten-down defeat-that Joanna couldn’t help feeling sorry for the woman. Even at Joanna’s worst, in those bleak days right after Andy’s death, she hadn’t been nearly as lost as Hannah Green. One important difference was that Joanna Brady had been blessed with something to live for-she had Jenny. Hannah Green had nothing.
“Thanks for Iettin’ me get that load off my chest,” Hannah said. “Needed to tell somebody. Guess I been needin’ to for years.”
“You’re welcome,” Joanna said.
“Come on now,” Ernie Carpenter urged, taking Hannah by the elbow and propelling her forward. “We’ve got to get moving.”
Joanna walked them outside. When she came back into the house, she could smell something burning. Out in the kitchen, the pot with the potatoes in it had burned dry. “Damn!” she exclaimed, dashing for the kitchen. “There goes dinner.”