“That’s true, too.”
She marveled again at how photo-op he always looked. She’d seen him swimming. Even dripping wet, hair plastered to his skull, he looked photo-op, like an aging Olympic diver.
She didn’t have much time, she realized.
Sam probably wasn’t getting much cooperation from Helen.
The Senator was Amy’s only hope...
“I want to say something to you, Senator.”
The photo-op face scowled. “I’m not sure I want to hear it.”
“One thing I’ve learned working in the district attorney’s office is that... mistakes happen.”
“Whatever the hell that means.”
“It means that I doubt you meant to kill her,” she said calmly, not taking her gaze from his. While she was fishing for a response, she believed what she was saying. The Senator’s hankering for young women had long been an open secret.
But this one had gone wrong somehow... this one had ended in death. She didn’t believe that the Senator would ever be capable of violence. But an accident, yes...
“I don’t want to talk to you anymore, Amy,” he said. “You’re being ridiculous.”
But Amy continued on. “We’ll know a lot more when Doc Klever tells us how she died. But I’ll bet you didn’t mean to do it. I’ll bet the worst thing you did in all this was trying to put the blame on Richie. That’s probably your only real crime.”
She heard the back door open and turned around to see Sam walking toward them. She wondered where Helen was, and what had happened.
“I’ll have to ask you to stay here awhile, Senator,” Sam said. He looked tense. He glanced only once at Amy. He was clearly trying hard to be professional about all this. He didn’t want her feelings for Richie to influence him in any way.
“I’d also,” Sam said, “suggest that you contact a lawyer.”
“A lawyer?” the Senator said. “A lawyer? Sam, for God’s sake. Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“Yes,” Sam said quietly, “yes I do, Senator. And I mean no disrespect. I’m just doing my job.”
Now he looked at Amy. “I’ve called off the search. I don’t want that posse looking for somebody who may be innocent. We’ll find him some other way.”
He nodded to the Senator’s Land Rover. “And one of the state forensic men is on his way out here to go through the Rover.”
That was when the Senator surprised them both by sinking back against his vehicle and hanging his head. “I have cancer. I’m a sick man. I can’t deal with anything like this. One of the things the doctors warn you against is stress.”
When his head came back up, he was smiling an eerie smile. “How’s this for stress? Being accused of murder?”
He took a deep breath and sighed. “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. I find out if everything’s going to be all right. If I’m still in remission and everything. Wait till I tell my doctor that I’m a suspect in a murder investigation.”
He looked at Amy when he spoke next. “You guessed right, Amy. It was an accident. A pure accident.”
They didn’t speak. He seemed to have more to say.
“I had a little thing with her. Just a little harmless thing was all. And then the accident happened and — you know what she did, she fell over backward and hit her head on the edge of the TV. God, who would’ve thought you could die from something like that? Think of how many times the average human being must hit his head. And nothing ever happens. But this one time — just my luck — this one time...”
This time when he shook his head, he was no longer the photo-op senator.
There were tears in his eyes now. “I’ve got my doctor’s appointment tomorrow. My God, I didn’t need this. I sure didn’t.”
“I need to talk to Susan,” Amy said.
She wished she could feel more compassion for Senator Cummings — he looked so frail and old suddenly — but somehow she couldn’t.
All she could think about was finding Richie... before the posse got him.
Maybe Susan knew where Richie had gone...
She hurried back to the house.
Seventeen
1
Once again, Richie McGuire felt an overwhelming sense of unreality... of moments that had the texture and feel of a bad dream.
Ever since Darcy had come to the bar last night...
Darcy... something he had to remember about Darcy. Closed his eyes. Concentrated as hard as he could. Darcy... what was he trying to remember, anyway? The whole damned night was lost to him... no solid memory of anything really... but a memory fragment lingered nonetheless... the hill behind his house... saw something out his back window... but what had he seen? Had somebody been up on his hill doing something he wasn’t supposed to?
Had to think. Had to fight down the panic. Needed to think calmly, rationally. On the hill last night, in the slashing rain, on the hill last night, somebody had been doing something... but who... and what?
Then, up top, Steve Arnette was shouting again, warning him that he had only twelve seconds to come up and hand himself over or he would kill poor Jimmy...
What choice did he have?
Jimmy was alternately crying and screaming.
You never knew about Arnette. Maybe he really would kill Jimmy. There had always been that element of craziness in Arnette. Back when they’d been friends in high school, Richie had the reputation for being crazy... but it was Steve Arnette who deserved the title. Richie recalled one night especially... the night Arnette blindfolded himself and drove drunk out along the curvy river road at seventy miles an hour...
“You hear me, Richie? Twelve seconds!”
What choice did he have?
The cold, decay-heavy air of the root cellar was getting to be too much for him anyway. Starting to make him nervous... starting to remind him of the final darkness. He needed sunshine and warmth now.
Who had been on the hill last night? What had he seen? Somebody had been up there...
He put his hands on the ladder, took a final glance behind him at all the empty orange crates that had been used to store the various fruits and vegetables many decades ago...
He started climbing the ladder, one careful rung at a time.
Up top, Jimmy was crying again, yelling for Arnette not to hurt Richie. The wound had looked pretty bad. He was surprised that Jimmy still had the stamina for so much howling. He felt guilty about Jimmy. This was all Richie’s fault that Jimmy had been wounded. Hurting Jimmy was the same as hurting an innocent child.
Doc Klever was the first consideration. No matter what else Arnette had in mind, he had to get Jimmy to the Doc first.
Daylight and warmth came nearer as Richie neared the final rungs of the ladder. Dusty sunlight, slanting through the holes in the roof, fell on the floor around the opening. He could actually smell the sunlight.
Richie reached the final rung of the ladder and started to peer up through the trapdoor opening, like a hibernating animal taking its first peek at spring.
Arnette stood there waiting for him, legs spread wide, rifle aimed directly at Richie’s head.
“Where’s the gun?”
“Here,” Richie said.
“Lay it down real easy on the floor.”
“I’ve only got one shot left.”
“I don’t give a shit, Richie. I said lay the gun down on the floor.”
Richie reached down to his belt and tugged the gun loose. Then he started to bring it up through the opening.
“Nice and easy so I can see what you’re doing,” Arnette said.
Richie laid the weapon down a foot from the opening.