“Where’s Nedra?”
“In the bedroom. I put her to bed.”
“Why didn’t you take her to a hospital?”
“I was going to, but... I wasn’t thinking clearly, I didn’t have any idea what had happened to her. I still don’t, except that she’s been through some kind of hell...”
“The worst kind.”
“What did he do to her, for God’s sake?”
“Locked her in a root cellar in a house she owns in Lake County. That’s where she’s been the whole three and a half months.”
“Jesus!”
“How did you get her here?” I asked him. “She wouldn’t have come willingly, not the shape she’s in.”
“She was... wild. She didn’t even seem to know me at first. I couldn’t control her, she tried to claw me... I had to hit her and then carry her to the car.” A tremor ran through him at the memory. “I never hit her while we were married. Never, not once.”
“She still unconscious?”
“She woke up when we got here. She knew me then — didn’t try to fight me anymore. She was... God, it was like she was a zombie. I had some sleeping pills, I got her into bed and made her take one...”
“Show me where she is.”
He led me into a shadowed bedroom at the rear. Nedra was asleep on her back, with a comforter tucked up under her chin. Her gaunt, bloodless face didn’t look quite so ravaged in repose. I went over and listened to her breathing. It sounded normal enough.
“That bruise on her chin,” Merchant said miserably. “That’s where I hit her.”
I had nothing to say to that. I took hold of his arm, prodded him out of there and back into the living room.
“What happened with Runyon?” I asked then.
“Runyon. Is that his name?”
“You never saw him before?”
“No, he was a stranger to me. Is he dead?”
“No.”
“But he’s badly hurt? He might die?”
“He might, but I doubt it.”
“That’s too bad. I wish I’d killed the son of a bitch.”
“No you don’t. You’re a lawyer, Merchant; you know better than that.”
He drew a deep, shaky breath, started to speak, changed his mind, and sank bonelessly onto the arm of a leather couch. Pretty soon he said, “I was in the house when they walked in. I don’t know why I went there again tonight. The same perverse impulse that made me drive by on Saturday, I guess. I’d been thinking about her all day, I couldn’t get her out of my mind.”
“What happened when they came in?”
“As soon as I saw her — the way she looked — I went a little crazy. He had his arm around her and I tried to pull her away. She screamed, tried to jump on me, and he pulled his damn gun and waved it in my face... I don’t know, I tried to take it away from him and he... it went off. The muzzle must have been right up against his body.”
“All right,” I said.
“I felt him jerk and then he fell down and Nedra... that’s when she tried to claw me, that’s when I hit her. I hated to, but... the only way I could stop her—”
“Where’s the gun?”
“...What?”
“The gun. It wasn’t in the hallway with Runyon. You must have taken it with you.”
Blank stare. “I don’t remember.”
“Were you wearing a coat or jacket?”
“Suit jacket.”
“Where is it?”
“I must have taken it off, but I don’t remember where.”
I left him and went hunting through the house. He’d shed the jacket in the bathroom adjacent to the room where Nedra was sleeping. The .22 was jammed into one of the pockets. The front sight had ripped through the cloth and it was hung up in there; I had to tear the pocket even more to get it free. I wrapped the weapon in a towel, took it out to the living room.
Merchant looked at the bundle, shook his head and looked at me. He said, “What do we do now?”
“One of us is going to call nine-eleven,” I said, “and get an ambulance out here for Nedra. Then one of us is going to notify the police, tell them what happened to Victor Runyon. It’ll be a lot better for all concerned — you in particular — if you’re the one who makes both calls.”
“Yes. You’re right.” He shoved off the couch arm, started across to where a telephone sat on an end table, then stopped and looked my way again. “Will you wait here with me?”
I nodded. “You’re going to need my help.”
“You seem to know all about what happened to Nedra. I’d be grateful if you’d explain it to me.”
“After you make the calls, Mr. Merchant.”
I sat down on the couch, with the towel-wrapped pistol in my lap, and closed my eyes. Long day, long bad day, and I was bone-tired and I wanted to sleep. Hours to go before I got to do it, though. Hours and miles to go.
Merchant was talking into the phone. I sat there with my eyes shut and tried not to think about the other explanations I would have to make, the ones to Kay and Matt Runyon.
Chapter 23
Kerry and I finally had our little showdown on Tuesday evening.
There was another message from her waiting when I got home Monday night, but it was too late and I was too exhausted to return it then. I called her at Bates and Carpenter on Tuesday morning and we arranged for her to come to my place at seven o’clock. It wasn’t much of a conversation and it didn’t make me feel particularly optimistic; but then, there wasn’t anything ominous in her tone and I didn’t have any premonitions of doom.
She got there right at seven. We kissed — not much of a kiss — and went into the living room. I asked her if she wanted something to drink; she said no. She drew a deep breath, let it out slowly against her teeth. It made a sound like wind in a hollow place.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” she said, “and I’d better get right to the point. I haven’t been working every night the past couple of weeks. I lied to you about that. I’ve... been seeing someone part of the time. Another man.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t want it to happen, I tried to keep it from—” She stopped as what I’d said kicked in. “You know?”
“Paul Blessing. Blessing Furniture Showrooms.”
“My God. How did you...?”
“Barney Rivera. He saw you and Blessing together one night and couldn’t wait to tell me.”
“How long have you known?”
“Since Friday night, for sure.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I would have,” I said, “if you’d been available.”
“You didn’t... I mean...”
“Follow you around? Spy on you? No. I thought about it, but I didn’t do it. I didn’t want to make something sordid out of it — bad fifties melodrama. I have too much respect for you for that. For myself too.”
She was silent for a time. She’d come here to do this a certain way and I’d rocked her equilibrium; she was regrouping.
I asked her, “Do you love him?” It was the question uppermost in my mind and I wanted it out in the open first thing.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think so, not the way you mean. A strong physical attraction... and he’s a good man, kind...” She let the words trail off. Then, almost angrily, she said, “God, I hate this.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I haven’t slept with him. I want you to know that.”
“All right.”
“I mean it. I haven’t.”
“I believe you.”
“I wanted to, I admit that. I almost did, Saturday night.”
“What stopped you?”
“You did. How I feel about you, what we’ve been to each other. I have too much respect for you too.”
“It shouldn’t matter, I guess, but it does. I’m glad.”