Death Qualified (36 page)

    If the car wasn't there, no harm done, but if it was, they needed to find it.

    She asked a few more questions, but little new was forthcoming.

    "Mr. Yost," she said finally, "did this stranger tell you precisely where to look?"

    "Yes, he did."

    "You consulted a map and looked exactly where he told you to, is that right?"

    "Yes."

    "And you couldn't see a thing out there, could you?"

    "No. Just trees and the lava flow."

    "Mr. Yost, do you think it's possible that anyone could have seen the car from that viewpoint on the pass?"

    "Objection," Tony said.

    "Counsel knows that is pure conjecture."

    "Sustained," Judge Lundgren said, but in the witness box Frederick Yost was shaking his head.

    TWENTY-FOUR

    the fire had died; there were ashes left, and the end of a log faintly glowing. She should have added a log, banked it, Barbara thought moodily. Already the living room was chilled, as if the heavy fog had penetrated as soon as the flames failed to forbid entrance. She drew her arms around her closer.

    "Bobby, it's getting pretty late," Frank said at the doorway.

    She nodded, not really surprised that he was still up.

    "I told Bailey he could call as late as one in the morning."

    Frank did not move from the doorway. Before he could say anything, she said, "I was thinking of Mother." She heard his quick breath, and then he came across the room and sat opposite her. She kept her eyes on the glowing spot in the grate.

    "I was remembering one time when I was about twelve, thirteen at the most, and you came home one night as mean as a cat in a trap, snapping, snarling, stamping around. I wanted to ask you something, and she said, "Leave him alone." Just that, but in a tone of voice that she never had used with me before. I was pretty shocked, enough to send me upstairs to my room. She knew, didn't she? What it was like, I mean."

    "She knew," he said quietly.

    "You never wanted to talk about her before. It's been a cruel barrier, not talking about her."

    "I couldn't. I was too confused, I think. And jealous."

    "Good God!"

    "I know," she said in a very small voice, still not looking at him, aware that he was leaning forward, that he was tense, that he wanted to take her into his arms and pat her, and didn't quite dare, not yet. That was how he used to treat her when she was troubled; he would gather her up in his arms and pat her back and say, "There, there.

    World's not coming to an end, not just now, anyway."

    "You both had each other," she said then, "and it was so clear to me that I was an outsider, not needed, loved but unnecessary, superfluous. You had each other. And she understood you in a way I couldn't. She accepted you exactly as you were, but I kept thinking you should change a little, stop doing this, start doing that, whatever this or that was at the time. Funny, I can't even remember now in what ways I wanted you to change."

    "I used to practice my summations before her," Frank said.

    "She was the best audience I ever had, and sharp.

    She could find the flaw that I thought I had buried so deep it would take an archeologist to dig it out again."

    "You never tried another murder case after she died, did you?"

    From the corner of her eye she could see him shake his head slowly.

    "Couldn't seem to do it. Something went out, something died in me, too."

    "I failed you both," Barbara said in an even lower voice.

    "I was jealous and ran out on both of you." Her mother's death had been like an explosion, she thought, hurling everyone else into erratic orbits, while her mother had gone flying off into some infinity that was un imaging able.

    "Honey, no one ever thought that." His voice was soft and very gentle.

    "You had your life to get on with. We both knew that. She never once reproached you for going on about your own life. She loved you very much."

    "I know she did. Toward the end, she tried so hard to make me accept that she was dying, and I wouldn't. I pretended I didn't believe it. Maybe I really didn't believe it. I could have helped her, but I was afraid. Then Tony came along. He was my armor. She died before I could explain how afraid I was. I didn't even know how afraid I was. She was so good. And because you had her, you could borrow that goodness, but I didn't have anyone to tap into, anyone who was good enough that there was some extra, to hand out. I began to realize how evil people can be. Truly evil. Before that I just didn't believe in God, but afterward, I began to believe, and I hated him more than I can tell you." She looked up at her father finally.

    "I never told you any of this. I couldn't. I saw God as the cause of the evil, the injustice, the hurts, the deaths, the destruction of decent people. That boy I destroyed today, he didn't deserve what happened to him. He's just a stupid, vain boy, and he's destroyed. God and I are killing people, Dad. God set up that stupid boy, and I shot him down. Working together, in tandem, we're killing people. I ran when I realized that he was using me, as much as he used Tony, or you after Mother died, or the judges, or anyone else. I had to get out. There can't be any justice, because he stacked the deck, he stocked the Earth with us, and programmed us to go out and get each other any way we can. We were warned, the story of Job spells it out; he set up Job and he's been doing it ever since. He'll keep setting up dumb kids like that boy today, and we you. Tony, I, all of us we'll shoot them down, another life destroyed. I learned that I can't beat him, can't even engage him in a fair fight, and I ran away from it all.

    I swore I wouldn't let myself be used by him. But here I am, doing it again, being used, using anyone I can. And he's off somewhere laughing. God's will prevails."

    "Barbara, stop it," Frank said sharply.

    "That man lied, he wanted glory and fame, a commendation. He lied. He didn't care who he hurt or how much as long as he got a little piece of glory. He doesn't deserve a grain of regret."

    She shrugged.

    "He did exactly what he had to, given who he is. Do you think he had it in him to resist that kind of temptation?"

    "A person with some decency in him would have called the sheriff and told him exactly what happened."

    "You'remaking my point. Dad," she said wearily.

    "Where do we find those persons with some decency?

    Mother had it and she's dead. Nell is a decent person, and where is she? Face it. We live in the charnel house, and are so inured to the carnage that we don't even see it any more."

    The phone rang then, and she jumped up to take the call.

    "Got her," Bailey said.

    "She called Roy earlier tonight and he put on his act, the one you outlined. She said to sit tight, she'd call back. And she did. She's taking an early flight to Eugene, tomorrow. Arrives at nine-fifteen."

    When she hung up, her father had closed the fireplace screen and was at the door leading to the hall. They both knew that the moment for intimacy had ended.

    "I heard," he said' "Good job." His gaze was level and indecipherable then.

    "What I came in here to tell you before, and got sidetracked, was that this evening after court Mike was looking for you, to talk, he said. I'm afraid I told him to leave you alone in a pretty sharp voice. He was a bit startled. I just wanted to tell you." He walked out and at the stairs he said, "Good night, Barbara."

    Ruth Brandywine was dressed in an elegant mauve cashmere suit with a mauve silk blouse. The clothes were lovely, but the color was not good for her sallow skin; it gave her a purplish cast that was reminiscent of late-night horror movies on a bad color television on which everything that wasn't a shade of green was a shade of purple.

    Her thin hair had been fluffed and teased in an attempt to make it appear fuller, but now it looked like a steel wool pad that had been pulled out from the center. Her eyes were like little drops of black ice.

    Barbara studied her for a moment from the defense tam ble, where she remained as she asked, "When did you first meet Lucas Kendricks?"

    "I don't remember."

    Barbara picked up the transcript.

    "From your perpetuation of testimony which the court watched on video, I see that you stated that you never met him under that name.

    Which is right. Dr. Brandywine? That you don't remember, or that you never met him?"

    Dr. Brandywine shrugged and said, "I may have met him years ago, but I don't remember the occasion. As far as I am concerned, it's the equivalent of saying I never ' met him."

    "And when did the man you called Tom Mann, or Tom Manning, become your patient?"

    "Early November, 1982."

    "Can you recall the day?"

    "No."

    "How did he become your patient?"

    "At the request of a colleague who asked if I would be willing to help the young man. I was willing."

    "You had a private practice at that time?"

    "No."

    "Just one patient?"

    "Yes."

    "Who was the colleague who made this request?"

    "Dr. Emil Frobisher."

    "He was a teacher at Rocky Mount College?"

    "Yes."

    "And you joined the staff at the college in September of that year?"

    "Yes."

    "When did you meet Dr. Emil Frobisher?"

    "I don't remember."

    "Well, did you know him before you were offered the position at Rocky Mount?"

    "No."

    "The position was offered to you in August, I believe you stated. So you met him between August and November

    "I can't really say."

    "But we know that Dr. Frobisher died on November fourteenth of that year, and you said you met him after you were offered a position at the college in August.

    Doesn't that mean that you met him during that period, between August and November fourteenth?"

    "If you put it that way, I suppose so."

    Barbara shook her head and moved to stand directly before the woman.

    "Dr. Brandywine, did you meet him during that period?"

    "Yes. I believe I must have met most of my new colleagues during that period."

    "Thank you. That must have been a very busy time for you, making a major career change, finding a house, moving, preparing for your classes, meeting so many new people?"

    "Extremely busy," Dr. Brandywine said.

    "Did you and Dr. Frobisher become close friends during those few weeks?"

    "No."

    "He was a mathematician, not even in your department, isn't that right?"

    "Yes."

    "Would you estimate that you met sixty people during that period?"

    "Perhaps even more. I really don't remember."

    "Of course. So we will call it sixty. And Emil Frobisher was simply one of them, in a different field from yours, with few if any similar professional interests. A virtual stranger, one might even say. Dr. Brandywine, why did you agree to accept his student as a patient?"

    "I was interested in the case."

    "Did Dr. Frobisher offer to pay for your services?"

    "No."

    "Did the young man pay for his treatment?"

    "No."

    "How long did you continue his treatment?"

    "Until he left in June."

    "June of this year?"

    "Yes."

    "You accepted him as a patient before Emil Frobisher was killed on November 14, 1982?"

    "Yes. A week or ten days before that."

    "But you didn't know he was Lucas Kendricks at the time?"

    "No. If the name was mentioned, I forgot. In my files he was Tom Mann."

    "How was he presented to you? How did you meet Tom Mann?"

    "Dr. Frobisher brought him to my house."

    "You treated him there?"

    "Yes. He stayed with me for six weeks and then he had a unit in student housing on the campus. I saw him as an outpatient from that time on."

    "You accepted him into your home?"

    "Yes."

    Barbara regarded her for a second, then turned away and walked back to the defense table.

    "Why, Dr. Brandywine? Isn't that highly unusual?"

    "Not really."

    "Had you done such a thing before?"

    "No."

    "Have you since then?"

    "No."

    "What was your diagnosis of his condition?"