Love Lies Bleeding (23 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

“
E
xtradite?” Lawrence wheezed. “For what?”

“For the murder of Miss Elizabeth Morgan in September of nineteen sixteen.” Frank leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms so he could see the reaction.

The papery face in front of him seemed to collapse on itself. Tiny wrinkles became massive chasms in the face as it fell, the eyes lost any life they had, and the old man wept piteously. Frank had been prepared for anger, protestations, or regret, but not the utter despair he saw before him. Frank couldn’t remember seeing a man cry before unless it was a father he’d just had to inform about a child’s death. And this wasn’t just crying. These were great keening sobs that looked like they could kill him before Frank even got him home to stand trial.

Panting and bawling, the old man gained some composure at last, but not before a nurse approached and checked his oxygen, exhorting him to please calm down and giving Frank the stink-eye for causing her patient such medical distress.

Frank sat, trying to be patient as she got the situation under control. She fetched the old man some tissues and helped him wipe his face and blow his nose. Turning, she cautioned Frank against upsetting him again. Then she retreated to the front desk and her conversation with another nurse.

“It’s not what you think…” Lawrence whispered, wheezing.

“It never is,” Frank said. “Why don’t you tell me what happened…Tom?”

“We were in love, I thought. We were going to run away together.”

Ithaca, New York
September 16, 1916

He gazed at Libbie in wonder when he picked her up in front of Platt & Colt’s that evening. She looked beautiful as usual. Her dress was a black silk, which seemed unusual for a wedding day choice, but sometimes, there was no following Libbie’s reasoning. He figured she was going for drama.

What had begun as a perfect day had now clouded over. However, nothing could get his spirits down. The sun was receding behind the hills to the west, streaking the sky with watercolor swaths of flaming gold and peach. Massing thunderheads loomed, and the wind whipped about in abrupt chilly gusts that shook the car.

The drive to Cortland would take about an hour. Once there, they would get a room at the Little York Inn and tuck in for the night. The next morning, he would make Libbie his bride at the courthouse. No one knew them there, so anonymity was assured among the clergy and the civil servants employed by the justice of the peace. They could take their pick.

“Come on, let’s go,” she said. “I want to go to our spot first.”

“Libbie, it’s all the way on the other side of town. It looks like the weather is turning nasty. We should head for Cortland now before the rain starts.”

“I want to go to the falls first,” she insisted, pouting.

Sighing, he put the flivver in gear and off they went, bouncing toward the road that led to their favorite parking location near Buttermilk. She must want to spend time cuddling a bit before the long journey to Cortland.

“Are you all right, dear?” he asked, caressing her arm.

“No, I’m not all right,” she snapped. “I’ve been throwing up every morning for two weeks. My sister suspects something.”

“Well, they’ll all have even more of a surprise when we return from Cortland!” he said, slapping his knee as he laughed about it. He had to grab the wheel again with both hands when a large rut made him swerve.

She glared at him. He braked, unsure of this new mood of hers, and pulled in at the exit to the falls, their usual spot, sheltered by trees. Convinced it was the pregnancy making her cranky, he killed the ignition and reached over to hold her.

“Libbie, what is it? There’s no need to worry. Plenty of people do this every day. We all know there are people whose parents haven’t been wed the full nine months. It’s just understood. I love you. This is what people do.”

She shook her head at him, as if he were a small child.

“Tom, you don’t understand. It was fun while it lasted. I enjoy making love. Other girls my age think it’s shameful and awful and that ladies shouldn’t do it. But it feels good. So I like doing it. I especially like doing it with you. But the thing is, I don’t want to marry you.” She shook off his arms and extracted herself from the embrace.

He felt his stomach take a sickening dive, and his head spun.

“What?”

“I said it was fun, but I don’t want to marry you.”

“Why not? What do you mean?”

She looked at him as if he were slow. “Because you’re poor,” she said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to understand. “I won’t do it. I’ve thought about it, and I don’t want to.”

“Is that all I was to you? Some fun in a car? Libbie, I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment I first saw you. Don’t you understand?”

“We had some good times together. But that’s not what I want forever. I never have. I need someone who can give me everything I want. Stylish clothes, a beautiful house, a maid…all the things I have now and don’t want to lose. I have no desire to live in a run-down rooming house over on Linn Street, churn out ten babies in poverty, and have that be the end-all and be-all of my life. I’m better than that.”

“Your life? That’s the only one that matters here? What about me? What about this child?”

“What about you? You’ll get on with your life without me, find some stupid farm girl to marry, and have loads of children, just like everyone you know. Remember? It’s what you told me you wanted. You aspire to a pension, a wife, and babies. Well, I want more. And I can’t have it until this is all over. All I want from you is to help me with this. And then we’re done.”

“Help you with what?” he said, apprehensive.

“ I snuck some whiskey out of the house to make me a little sleepy, since I know this will hurt a bit.”

“Libbie, what are you saying?”

“
You’re going to help me get rid of this thing!
” she hissed.

As Tom looked on, horrified, she pulled a flask of whiskey and a buttonhook out of her bag, along with some clean white rags. She opened their blue blanket across the seat of the car, the one that had seen so much recent activity, and lay back upon it. Spreading her legs wide, she lifted her skirts and unhooked her garters as she had so many other times and gazed at him expectantly. Then, unscrewing the cap on the whiskey, she gulped down the entire contents of the flask and let out a delicate hiccup when she was done.

“Libbie, I can’t do this. I can’t kill our baby. I love you. I still want to marry you. The baby is part of us.” Tears of hurt streamed down his face. Frustrated, he wiped them with the sleeve of his shirt. “Please don’t make me do this,” he pleaded. “I can’t do it.”

“You can and you will,” she insisted. “I don’t want anything to do with us. We don’t exist anymore. This brat will ruin everything for me. I won’t be branded a harlot just for doing something I like to do. If I’m going to have a bunch of kids, I’m going to do it with a lawyer for a husband and a maid to do all the work. Do you hear me?!
Do
it! I’ve already lost Stephen LaBarr, and it’s your fault.”

“Who the hell is Stephen LaBarr?”

“The man I was supposed to marry before I got involved with the likes of you. I found out the other day that he’s engaged to some debutante in Manhattan. They can go be boring together, but now I’ll have to find another doctor or lawyer instead. My father is furious. And my mother hasn’t been able to leave her bed since she heard the news.”

“How is that my fault?” he protested. “Making love requires two people, Libbie. And from my end, it
was
love. I’m not sure what it was for you.”

“It felt good. That was all,” she said. Then, through gritted teeth: “Now
do
it!”

Grasping the buttonhook, he squeezed himself into the area in front of her, gingerly grasping her skirts and pushing them above her waist. Now he knew why she’d worn black. To hide any stains. She’d had everything planned. And he’d been the perfect dupe. His hands shook as he held the buttonhook near her. He could not make himself go further.

“Come on. Let’s get this over with,” she slurred.

Still, he hesitated.

“You’re yellow, I guess.”

Another tear pooled in the corner of his eye, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, his eyes begging her to stop this insane quest.

“You’re just a coward. You’re poor, you’re not very smart, and you’re craven to boot. A big fat chicken. Boy, do I know how to pick them.”

“Libbie, please…”

“What a spineless disappointment you turned out to be. Truth be told, I don’t know if you were a good lover. Once I begin comparing, I’m sure you won’t even rank in the pantheon of my favorites. But one thing’s certain. In case this happens again, all the boys I sample from now on will have money. Lots of money,” she said, tossing an arm across the seat in her inebriation.

Suddenly, as though it had a mind of its own, Tom’s hand bolted forward, and the buttonhook found its destination inside her. Driven beyond all sadness and rage and frustration, he drove it to the hilt into her, grinding it and turning it violently as he did so.

Libbie grunted and doubled over, the hook still protruding from her. She yanked it loose, panting from the effort and pain. Looking down, her eyes widened as she saw what he had wrought. A deep plum colored stain blackened the blanket beneath her, growing larger and larger.

“What did you do?” she demanded, fright now tinging her voice. “Take me to Doctor McKay, right away!” she said, looking up at him and clutching her damaged midsection. Her voice was slurred from alcohol and pain.

“Why, so he can clean you up and you can go marry your rich lawyer? Do I look
that
stupid to you?”

“I think you’ve punctured something!”

“Only your dreams for the future,
dear.
” He leaned back on the bench seat and casually watched her suffer. In the distance, a looming black cloud let out a low rumble.

Over the next few minutes, heavy beads of perspiration broke out on her face, and it turned an unhealthy gray. Her lips lost all color.

“Get me…to…the doctor,” she managed to squeeze out. “Something…wrong. Hurts…”

The blanket was now more plum black than blue. The back of the car filled with a slick, metallic odor. Yet still, he sat. In fact, a small smile played at the corners of his mouth. He was going to make sure she hurt as he was hurting now. He didn’t know how long he sat there, observing her as she restlessly shifted positions, her feeble moans echoing through the car.

Her pallor was now a pale ashen, and her lips were pale blue. She clutched his arm and looked over at him, terrified. After a few minutes, her hand fell to her side, lifeless.

“Libbie?”

Okay, it wasn’t fun anymore, putting her off and being cruel. It didn’t come naturally to him the way it did for her, and he was tired of it. He tried rousing her to tell her he would take her to the doctor now. But she wouldn’t respond.

“Libbie! Libbie, wake up!” he said, shaking her.

She fell to one side like an unbalanced sack of potatoes. Her eyes were unblinking, accusing.

“Libbie, oh
God,
wake up. Please wake up!”

He tried for what seemed like hours to revive the woman who up until two hours ago was going to be his bride. But it was no use.

And then his mind shifted into high gear.
No one will believe you
, it said.
No one will believe that she told you to do this. No one will believe that you didn’t mean to hurt her. You didn’t want to hurt the baby. You just wanted to go and get married. She ruined everything. But no one will believe you
.

He looked at her, dress and blanket soaked with blood, head to one side, eyes unfocused, and he started to sob. Throwing himself on her, he cried until he didn’t think he had any strength left to summon. Realizing his precarious position if he were discovered, he looked around the car. Seeing no one, he came up with a makeshift solution.

He wrapped Libbie in the blanket. Tighter and tighter, he pulled it around her, throwing in the buttonhook as he rolled it. Remembering their walk several weeks ago, he managed to push open the back door of the car and dragged the blanket and its grisly contents to the log several yards away, praying the entire time that he would not be interrupted. Sweating profusely, he pulled the body, a little at a time, behind the log until he could barely see it.

Good old Hi. Like any farmer, he had left a shovel in the back of the flivver. Grabbing the farm implement, he began to dig a grave. At first, it wasn’t much, but finally, it fit the gruesome parcel he wanted to squeeze into it. It didn’t have to be very deep; he only wanted to make sure it wasn’t unearthed by woodland creatures before he was able to get out of town.

He rolled Libbie into the grave, blanket and all, and started filling the hole. When he’d packed the cavity with soil, he pushed with all his might, shifting the fallen log several inches so it sat over the bulk of the hole. Then he covered the top with anything he could find…large rocks, sticks, twigs, leaves, nests, whatever he could use to disguise it. As he did, he prayed that he’d be able to get a head start before the authorities stumbled upon the body. His chances were dwindling by the moment.