Cast in Stone (39 page)

"God,
how I've wanted to. They wouldn't let me stop," she said in a
very small voice. "They made me . . . do . . . things. Things
I—"

"Her
father got what he deserved. It's time the rest of them paid."

She
gave me a dismissive wave of her hand. "Wayne Hasu had nothing
to do with it. He was just a fool. It was always Claire. Claire's a
monster. He was going to the police. She—" She stopped,
shaking her head in some silent conversation. "Never mind."

"Tell
me where they are."

"I
can't."

"You
know Claire's loose, don't you?" Her eyes opened wide. "No.
You're lying. How can that be?"

"It's
a long story. Trust me. Terra managed it. Wherever Terra and your
husband are, she's there too."

She
turned away again, flexing her toes in the carpet, tugging at her
twisted lower lip. "Oh God," she said. "I can't stand
the thought that she's there watching, giving directions."

"Don't
you ever get tired of being a victim? How can you sit here while your
husband is out doing God knows what with her?"

She
turned back toward me now, squaring her shoulders, pulling the hair
out of her face. I thought for a moment she was going to strike out
at me. "Better with her than with me," she said.

"It
needs to stop," I said again. "It has to stop for him too."
"I can't."

"Right
now, as far as the law is concerned, the worst your husband is
looking at is harboring a fugitive, and that's only if they can prove
he knew she was on the run."

"She
called him last night."

"You
listen in, don't you?"

"If
you want to survive, it's a habit you learn."

"I
wondered how come you were surprised I was there with your husband,
but at the same time seemed to have the tea set up for three."

"You're
not lying to me. Claire is out."

"I
swear," I said. "Just about every police department in
the Northwest is looking for them right now. It's just a matter of
time. This is the only chance you're going to get. Do the right thing
here, and you can buy a lot of goodwill for your husband."

She
thought it over.

"I
have to be there," she said after a minute.

"Are
you sure?" I asked.

"I
think so. I need to see this end." .

"Where
are they?" I said again.

She
told me.

"I
need to use the phone." "In the kitchen." "It'll
be all right," I said lamely. "No, it won't," she
said.

The
high breeze had worked its way down to ground level, pulling with it
a thin, insistent rain that swirled unpredictably up sleeves and down
shirtfronts. Katherine Swogger, Marge Sundstrom, and I had been
standing in the meager shelter of a barren oak tree across the street
from the duplex for the better part of an hour when the Statie with
the stripes crossed the street to us.

His
plastic hat cover had collected a pint of water, which rolled off the
wide brim as he walked. "The warrants are in order," he
announced.

I
felt Katherine shudder on my left. The cop addressed himself to her.

The
duplex was a shabby prefab affair, mirror images, left and right.
Looked like two bedrooms and maybe a loft. Brown plywood siding,
three concrete steps leading up to bright yellow doors. Wrought-iron
railings. Both units were dark behind heavy curtains.

"The
church owns both units?"

"Yes,"
she said. "They're used sometimes as safe houses for battered
women. Sometimes as temporary shelter for homeless families."

Behind
him, two black-clad entry teams moved into position in front, while
two more quickstepped around back. Each team carried a heavy
fabricated battering ram up the short flight of steps that separated
the front doors from the street. "I'm way out of

line
letting the three of you be here," he said. "Anything
breaks down, Waterman, you get these ladies the hell out of the way
in a New York minute, you got it?" I said I did.

He
turned to leave. Katherine Swogger reached out and put a hand on his
arm. "Please, officer," she said. "Don't hurt him,"

"My
men are trained to exercise due restraint."

He
tried to leave, but she stopped him again. The cop was patient.

"Don't
let them bring him out like . . . Tell them to fix him up, please,"
she said finally.

His
eyes narrowed, but he stayed professional. "I'll take care of
it."

With
the crook of a finger, he summoned the two radio officers down from
the porch. They leaned in close, throwing glances our way as he
spoke, returning to their positions when he'd finished.

Without
any visible signal being passed, both front doors were suddenly
assaulted. On the right, the yellow door shattered, and bounced
inward on its single remaining hinge, and then swung fully open,
leaning awkwardly against the porch rail. The inside of the door was
adorned with a colorful poster: LOVE SHOULDN'T HURT. The team
disappeared inside.

On
the left, the lock held, leaving the ram huried in the cheap
hollow-core door. While the officer struggled to pull the heavy
ram free, one of the others reared back and planted his booted foot
just above the lock. The door burst open, dragging the ram, still
imbedded, with it. The armed officers went in back to back.

The
undercurrent of weather" was drowned amid the shouts coming from
the duplex. One by one the lights in both units came on. The shouting
died down. The three cops still outside shooed the neighbors
back to their homes. Katherine Swogger leaned heavily on my left
side. Marge had slipped her arm through mine. She was shaking so hard
her teeth were chattering. "Take it easy," I said. "It'll
be over soon."

The
team on the left appeared on the front porch.

"Empty,"
the sergeant shouted.

One
by one the officers walked back into the street and waited. A shadow
appeared in the door of the right unit. Both women tensed. The
sergeant walked briskly over to the Statie with the stripes. I
disengaged myself from the women. "Stay here," I said. As I
closed the distance, I began to pick up parts of the conversation.

"Well
then, give him a frigging shower," said Statie. He saw me coming
out of the corner of his eye and motioned me over. He was angry.

"Did
you know what was going on in there?"

"No,
and don't tell me," I said.

"I
been at this twenty-four years, but this is the capper," he
huffed. "Jumping Jesus." He spoke to the sergeant. "Bring
the women out. Make sure they're decent. We'll transport them
separately."

As
the sergeant hurried back inside, I walked back over to Marge and
Katherine. "They're bringing the women out," I said. The
two women stood huddled together, fused by some unspeakable kinship.

Claire
Hasu came out first, her eyes rolling in her head like a spooked
horse, handcuffed behind, and officer on each elbow, her head
sticking out from the top of an orange police-issue poncho. Her feet
and legs were bare and otherworldly, seemingly translucent, in
the purple glare of the mercury vapor lights.

A
red-and-white Shephard ambulance pulled up in front of the house,
partially muffling her voice, blocking our view. The doors were
opened from the inside. Two white-shirted EMTs stepped out into the
rain.

Terra
came out next. Same arrangement. Another orange poncho, this one
cinched in place by a bungee cord around the waist. In the odd
artificial light, her

black-clad
legs all but disappeared, leaving her torso to float on air. From
behind the ambulance, Claire's voice rose again.

"Tell
them they've made a mistake. Tell them," she said as Terra was
led by.

"Be
quiet," Terra said without looking at her mother.

Claire
offered pointless resistance as they pulled her, skidding on her bare
heels, around to the back of the ambulance, lifted her onto a
collapsible gurney, and pulled the straps tight.

Whatever
else she had to say was cut off as they lifted her into the
ambulance. Two members of the assault team, bulky flack vests still
in place, climbed in after her, pulling the doors shut behind them.
Without turning on its lights, the ambulance purred off down the
street.

Terra
didn't watch it go. Her eyes were locked on Marge Sundstrom, who had
crept out from beneath the tree and stood now in the rain-slick road
no more than twenty feet from the woman she had known as Allison
Stark. Marge opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.

A
white state police cruiser came to a stop between the two women. The
driver hustled around and opened the door. Only Allison's head was
visible above the car. Her lips curled as she spoke.

"You
cow," she said in an even tone. "I only wish I had a chance
to work on you. I'd make you bark like a dog." The cop tried to
push her into the car. She kicked a leg out backward and locked her
chin onto the roof. "You want to hear about your precious Nicky?
How he liked it with the Vaseline. How he liked me to—"

The
Statie with the stripes shouldered his way through the other cops,
grabbed her by the hair, bent her head to her waist, and, using his
knee as a catapult, launched her into the backseat.

"Get
her the hell out of here!" he shouted at the driver.

As
the police car pulled away, Marge stood transfixed in the middle
of the street, her feet wide apart, hands thrust deep in the patch
pockets of her plaid wool coat. She stood for a long moment after the
car had gone, then turned quickly and walked toward me.

"I'll
be in the van," she said, brushing my shoulder on the way by.

By
the time they brought Jeffrey Swogger out, fifteen minutes later,
Katherine had gravitated across the street. She stood tall among the
knot of police officers along the sidewalk, her wet black raincoat
shimmering with reflected light.

His
curly hair was soaked and plastered to his skull. He wore the same
blue suit he'd worn when I met him, except without the tie and the
belt this time. They'd done the best they could. Although his face
was ruddy from a recent scrubbing, the lips were still a bit too
bright, the eyelids still a shade too defined. Katherine called his
name. He tried to speak. The lips moved, but nothing seemed to come
out.

"Oh,
they're gonna love him down at King County," said one of
the cops behind me. A second cruiser pulled to the curb.

I
turned and walked around the corner to the van. My legs were stiff. I
felt like the Tin Man. Marge sat low in the passenger seat, staring
out the side window into the darkness.

"You
okay?" I asked, as I buckled up.

She
took a deep breath. "That wasn't nearly as much fun as I thought
it was going to be."

"Funny,
but I think that's what the Reverend just said."

The
little smile told me she was going to be all right.