Final Justice (50 page)

"Besides," Betsy took out another fish and this time began scaling it with an almost tender stroke of the blade. "I'm a'gettin' married soon. Gonna have me a new life, I am."

"Well, I'm happy for you," Sara said uneasily as she began to back away. "And I wish you the best."

Dreamily, Betsy said, "Why thanks a whole bunch. I know I'm gonna love Tennessee."

"You're moving to Tennessee?"

Betsy glared defiantly. "Said I was, didn't I? How else you think I'm gonna be able to marry Elvis Presley if I don't move to Memphis? You think he'd want to live in this shitty little town? Hell, honey, if God ever decides to give the world an enema, he's gonna stick the nozzle right here in Hampton, Alabama, but me and Elvis ain't gonna be here to see it. No sir, we're gonna be up in Tennessee. Now if you ain't gonna buy some fish, get the hell out of here. You've wasted enough of my time."

By the time Betsy finished her tirade, Sara had backed all the way to her car and could not get out of there fast enough. If she was willing and could stay rational long enough, Betsy could have helped with her testimony on past beatings, but Sara knew there was no hope.

She drove a block further to the courthouse but could not find a parking space. Out-of-county tags meant lots of curiosity seekers were coming in for the trial. Parking at the supermarket, but in front and nowhere near the alley and Betsy with her knife, Sara hurried back to the courthouse. She was relieved to find the county prosecutor, Melvin Parker, still in his office. They had been in school together. He was two classes ahead, but she had known him well enough then to call him by his first name now. "Mel, I've got to talk to you about Emma Jean Veazey. I want to know if I can testify in her behalf."

He was putting papers in his brief case but stopped to look at her in wonder. "What on earth for? What could you possibly..."

Sara replied, "I know Rudy used to beat her. I think he was beating her that night, and that she killed him in self-defense."

His smile was that of indulgence conveyed upon a precocious child. "Then let her plead self-defense and testify on her own."

"But why can't I testify, too?"

"Were you there that night? Did you see what happened?"

"No, but..."

"Have you ever seen him hit her?"

"No. But if you'll let me explain..."

"Then you can't testify."

"But Luke told me Rudy had beaten her. He told me he even caused her to have a miscarriage. If the jury hears that..."

Mel shook his head. "That would be hearsay evidence and not admissible. Besides, this is something you should be talking about with Burch Cleghorn. Not me. He's her attorney. My job is to prosecute her for first-degree murder on behalf of the state."

"But she did it in self-defense. Rudy brought the knife into the bedroom threatening to kill her. Then he started beating her and raped her. Emma Jean was ready to cut her own throat to end her misery but wound up stabbing him instead in self-defense, damn it."

Mel threw up his hands. "I don't want to hear this. Talk to Burch."

"I can't. Because he won't let her tell how it happened. Good grief, Mel, he won't even let her have visitors, wouldn't let her get out of jail on bond. Don't you see? He wants to put her away."

"That's a serious accusation, Sara." Mel's lips were a thin, condemning line. "Granted, Burch may be guilty of personal indiscretion, but he would never stop a client from pleading however they wanted to, much less deliberately try to have them convicted. You should be ashamed of yourself for saying such a thing."

"Please, Mel. You've got to help me. Burch isn't going to postpone the trial for a few weeks until Luke is well enough to tell what he knows, but you can. And you could see to it Emma Jean gets a new lawyer, too, and..."

He waved her to silence. "I suggest you stay out of it before you find yourself in very deep trouble. Don't you know Burch could sue you for slander? Now I've listened to all of this I'm going to."

He shoved her aside and walked out. Sara stared after him, feeling like she had been kicked by a mule.

Kicked, bruised, but not down, for she had yet to begin to fight.

Chapter 30

Jury selection had been completed on Thursday. The Judge declared a recess till Monday. That left Sara only three days to find a way to see Luke. She feared that even if she succeeded he'd be in no condition to help. Her motive was not only to save Emma Jean, but also herself. If Burch succeeded in his scheme, he would regain some of his stature in the community, which would make him cocky enough to carry out his threat to expose her affair with Dewey. And if Luke didn't fully recover, he'd be unable to carry out his threat against Burch.

Tim went to bed early that night. Sara curled up on the sofa pretending to be engrossed in a movie. As soon as she heard him snoring, she was out of the house and on her way to Birmingham. In less than an hour she turned into the hospital parking lot. She entered through the emergency room which was busy, as she had hoped. No one noticed as she casually walked through the waiting area and into the hall leading to the vending machines. Beyond was a stairway, and when no one else was around, she hurried up to Luke's floor. The halls were quiet, the lights dimmed. Visiting hours had ended long ago. Nurses had made their bedtime rounds and were at their stations, busy making notes in patients' charts before shifts changed at eleven.

Sara looked up and down the hall. Finding it clear, she emerged from the stairwell just as a nurse came out of a patient's room and recognized her.

"You!" The tray of medication she was holding rattled in her anger. "You know you aren't allowed on this floor. It's after hours, anyway. I'm calling Security."

Sara backed away. "No, it's okay. I'm leaving, honest..." She ran back to the stairwell and all the way down to the basement. She didn't know where she was going, only that she was not leaving until she saw Luke.

"Where'd she go?" someone yelled in the distance. "Did she make it all the way down here?"

Another called back, "I don't know. We'd better check and see."

There was a door on her right, and she pushed it open without reading the sign:
Morgue—No Admittance.
As soon as she saw the white mounds on stretchers lining a far wall, she realized with a jolt where she was.

The sound of running footsteps grew closer. There was no time to shiver in the 42-degree temperature of the morgue nor to be afraid of its occupants. She had to find a place to hide, and ran into the shower adjacent to the autopsy room. Drawing the curtain closed, she held her breath.

The outer door opened.

"I don't see her in here."

"Then let's go. This place always gives me the creeps."

Even after they had gone, Sara stayed where she was, shivering with cold. It was too soon to risk leaving. She just wished it weren't so quiet, for it made her all the more uneasy, like expecting to hear one of the bodies breathe, cough, or show some sign of life. By her watch, an hour passed. It was after midnight. They should have stopped looking for her, and a new shift of nurses would have taken over.

Once again, she crept back up the stairs. Again, a nurse came out of a patient's room. This time, Sara managed to duck into a supply closet before she was seen. In her haste, she bumped into a bucket of dirty water that sloshed over her bare legs.

She smelled the odor of heavy disinfectant at the same instant her legs began to sting. Groping about in the darkness for a light switch, she couldn't find one. Neither could she locate a sink, which explained why the janitor had left the dirty water. He was too lazy to take it wherever he was supposed to dump it.

Long moments passed as she pranced from one foot to the other in a dance borne of anguish. She bit her lip till she tasted blood to keep from crying out and wondered how much longer she could stand feeling like her flesh was on fire.

* * *

Slowly, methodically, Luke held on to the triangle-shaped bar and pulled himself up and down. It hurt like hell, but he had to get his strength back if it meant working day and night. Bad enough that the physical therapist didn't think he was ready to be wheeled down to the gym to work with weights. He wanted to
walk,
damn it, wanted to get his legs going again. Sure, he'd had it all explained to him that, after over a month of being flat on his back, his muscles had weakened, but that didn't ease his anxiety to return to normal.

It didn't help, either, to have a feeling people were keeping something from him. Alma was pissed off, too. He could tell that easy enough, but he didn't really care what had her riled. What bugged him the most was not having a phone. He'd asked for one, but Alma said he needed his rest and shouldn't be talking a lot. What he
needed,
he thought with a painful grunt as he pulled himself up again, was to talk to Emma Jean, to see her, hold her, and ask what he'd been planning to ask the night he got shot, which was if she loved him enough to run away with him. Hell, he knew she had to be nervous after all this time not seeing him, and as soon as he could walk, no,
crawl,
he was going to find a phone and call Sara. Maybe she could sneak Emma Jean into the hospital. And where was Sara, anyhow? Why hadn't she been to see him? She would tell him what was going on, by God. He was also plenty mad with Matt and Kirby for obviously not calling her like he'd asked.

The first days after he woke up had been hazy. He had drifted in and out of consciousness as doctors poked and prodded. Finally, he was able to gather his wits enough to start asking questions, only to be told he needed to rest. God, he was sick of that word. He had too damn much to do to keep laying there.

He needed to make sure Buddy Hampton followed his orders to put his son to work at the mill. Only then could he leave Hampton.

He was exhausted, arms aching, but he managed to pull up a few more times before calling it a night. Since he'd refused to take sleeping pills he'd probably lay awake till morning, anyway, but he didn't care. He felt like he'd slept enough for a lifetime. Besides, ever so often someone would open the door, look around the room, then leave without saying anything, and he wondered what was going on.

He pressed the button to roll the bed to a sitting position and reached for a magazine. He was hungry. All they would give him at night were crackers and juice. He longed for a beer and a burger.

He thought how relieved he'd be to start his new life. Wreaking justice for his mother, as well as Ocie, had taken its toll on him. He just wanted peace. And Emma Jean.

His eyelids grew heavy. He put the magazine aside and was about to roll the bed back down when the door quietly opened.

He had turned to one side, could not see who it was but irritably called over his shoulder, "I don't know what the hell you people are looking for, but you're starting to get on my nerves. So get out and leave me alone."

"Luke, it's me."

He rolled over to gasp, "Sara! Thank God. Where have you been? I've been worried..."

"Believe me, I've tried to get in here. Just give me a minute to wash off." She crossed to the sink, turned the cold water on full blast, and started splashing it on her legs, wincing with pain all the while.

"What are you doing?"

She told him about the bucket of disinfectant, then said, "You have no idea what I've been through to get in here." She recanted her vigil outside his room for weeks, only to be banned from the hospital once he woke up.

Patting her legs dry with a towel, she went to give him a hug and a kiss, hurting all the while. Her skin was a fiery red and needed burn ointment. She had to get home and tend to that, plus there was no time to waste, anyway, because Security might still be looking for her.

"I'm sorry you're hurt, and I can't understand why you wouldn't be allowed to see me. I've asked for you, and..."

"Alma doesn't want me to tell you about Emma Jean," Sara said in an angry rush. "Oh, Luke, are you really going to be okay? You
sound
okay..."

He pushed her away. "What about Emma Jean?"

"She killed Rudy, and..."

His hands snaked out to tightly grasp her shoulders. She gave a little cry, but he held tight. "What the hell are you talking about?"