Finally she rolled over and lay still, spent. Her eyes fixed upon the far wall, unseeing.
Something shifted inside her.
At the center of her soul where hope used to live, a black dot appeared. It grew bigger. Deeper. Eating toward the outside. The hope that had guided Lorraine’s life began to crumble into the pit and disappear. In her mind’s eye she could see the pieces breaking off the edge like shale, falling, falling until the darkness swallowed them up. Until nothing was left but a bare, unstable rim.
From the bottom of that black hole she felt the throb of a new suffocating spirit.
Fear.
For a long time Lorraine couldn’t move. When she pushed to her feet, exhausted and shell-shocked, she found herself wandering the room aimlessly. At some point she turned on the TV, keeping the volume low, and flipped through channels, searching for local news.
“. . . this morning . . .” A blonde female reporter stood between the two AC Storage buildings. Behind her, yellow crime-scene tape stretched in front of Lorraine’s apartment. Someone in street clothes ducked beneath the tape and entered the front door. Lorraine’s fingers curled into her palms. That was her and Martin’s home. Tammy’s home. How dare strangers so casually walk in and out.
A strand of hair blew onto the reporter’s cheek. She brushed it away. Such a normal motion. How could she act so calm on this terrible, deathly day?
“. . . In a strange twist, we’ve learned that the victim, Martin Giordano, was an assistant manager at Atlantic City Trust Bank, which was robbed last night of a record seven million dollars. Police investigating the two cases aren’t talking, but one source within the department did say there is conjecture of a connection. Did the four robbers come to believe Giordano recognized one or more of them? Or is this just an unfortunate and tragic coincidence?”
Lorraine blinked at the TV, her dulled brain trying to sort through the words. At least the “connection” the police wondered about didn’t include Martin’s involvement in the crime. Or if it did, they weren’t saying it.
Martin had said nothing to her last night about recognizing one of the robbers. That couldn’t be it.
“If he finds you here we’re going to lose a lot of money.”
Had Martin helped those robbers? But if so and they didn’t trust him, her question to Detective Tuckney remained. Why didn’t they shoot him before they left the bank?
“. . . questioned by the police,” the reporter continued. “Meanwhile the victim’s wife and daughter are at an undisclosed location for at least tonight.”
Lorraine stared at the screen. They knew that already? That she and Tammy weren’t going home tonight?
The news switched to another topic. Bitterness rose in Lorraine. That’s all the time her wonderful husband deserved? Two lousy minutes?
She sank onto the edge of the bed. A phrase from the story echoed through her mind. One source within the department . . . One source within the department . . .
Lorraine sat up straighter. Reporters had sources on the police force. Why couldn’t the Mafia?
She thought about it. They did. Of course they did. With everything the Mafia controlled, surely they paid dirty cops to give them inside information. What if one of those paid sources told them what Martin had said in his interview last night? What if Martin had recognized one of those men and just didn’t want to tell her about it? Maybe that’s why the man came by this morning. Martin was trying to assure the robbers he wouldn’t talk. He’d do that to protect her and Tammy.
That was it. Had to be.
Lorraine buried her face in her hands. “Martin, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for doubting you.”
“If he finds you here we’re going to lose a lot of money.”
“No.” She shook her head. Martin had just been scared for her and Tammy. He wasn’t talking straight.
“I just want Tammy to get well.”
Anger at her own traitorous thoughts shoved Lorraine off the bed. She swept hair from her eyes. Enough of this. She’d go crazy spending the rest of the day in this motel room, with nothing to do but think. She should go out and take care of the horrible business that awaited her. She needed to stop by the bank and talk to someone about picking up Martin’s final paycheck. She had to find a funeral home and casket for Martin that she could afford. Detective Tuckney said it might be a few days before Martin was released after the autopsy, but she should get this much over with.
Because maybe, just maybe, cleaning her husband’s blood off the floor wouldn’t be the worst of her tasks. What if that voice inside her head was right? What if she and Tammy were no longer safe in this town?
“He’ll kill us all . . .”
But where would she find the energy to do these tasks now? The mere thought turned her limbs to water.
Tammy stirred on the bed. Lorraine watched her daughter, feeling so helpless. She didn’t want Tammy to wake up. She didn’t want to answer the questions and dry the tears.
“I just want Tammy to get well.”
Tammy’s eyelids rose, her gaze still blank from sleep. She sighed and uncurled the fist at her neck, then slid the hand down to her belly. One leg straightened. Her chin tucked down, and she blinked at Lorraine. “Hi, Mommy.”
The little voice brought fresh tears to Lorraine’s eyes. “Hi, sweetie. How do you feel?”
A huffy breath. “Better.”
“I’m glad.”
Tammy looked around the room. “Where’re we?”
“The motel. Remember I brought you here to sleep?”
“But why can’t we go home?”
“Because . . .”
“Where’s Daddy?”
“He’s . . .” Lorraine sat on the edge of the bed, summoning courage, but all she felt was exhaustion. Her throat tightened. “He’s at work.”
“But he got hurt. Wasn’t he hurt?”
Lorraine nodded.
Her daughter’s eyes rounded, and the bottom lip pooched out. “Will he get better?” Tammy whispered.
An ache spread in Lorraine’s chest. She searched her brain for something to say. Not a lie, but not the truth. Not yet. She pressed her lips in a sick smile. “Come here, honey.”
Tammy sat up, and Lorraine drew her into both arms, resting her chin on the warm head. Her daughter snuggled in, trusting in her so completely. Lorraine’s eyes squeezed shut.
“Mommy?”
“Hm?”
“I want my bear.”
Lorraine thought of the scene on TV. The yellow crime tape, strangers going in and out of her apartment. And here they were — homeless. Tammy had lost her daddy. And now she couldn’t even have the stuffed animal that comforted her most.
“Okay, sweetie. I have to go out and do a few things. On the way we’ll stop by the apartment and get Belinda.”
TWENTY-NINE
The back of Kaycee’s neck crawled as she pulled into a parking spot in front of Studio Creations on Main. She stared at the darkened, bagged photo on the passenger seat floor. After Mark’s phone call she cringed at the thought of touching it. She didn’t want to think what she was thinking. Never would she forgive herself for this.
Leaning over, she picked it up with thumb and forefinger and slid it into her purse.
She got out and locked her car — something she rarely did on Main Street. But then most of the time, at least in warm months, she walked the two blocks here.