Married to a Stranger (15 page)

E
MMA PUSHED OPEN
the door of Tasha Clayman’s room at the Wrightsman Youth Center and looked inside. Tasha’s mother, Nell, was sitting in a desk chair beside the bed where her daughter lay, staring up at the ceiling. Nell stroked Tasha’s arm while Wade Clayman hovered in a shadowy corner of the room, gazing out the window, his eyes filled with worry. Burke had called to tell her that Tasha had begun slipping and refused to see anyone but Emma. Burke had apologized profusely for asking, but he wondered if Emma could possibly find a way to come and talk to her.

The idea of an exhausting session with the Claymans on her way to the train seemed like more than Emma could possibly manage, but now that she had arrived at the Wrightsman Center, she felt strangely happy to be back, to be needed by a patient. If nothing else, she thought, it would keep her mind off her own problems.

Wade Clayman turned and looked at the doorway. He saw Emma and greeted her with a cry of relief. His relief turned to dismay as Emma limped into the room on her cane and and he saw the extent to which she had been injured.

“My God,” he exclaimed. “You poor girl.”

Tasha lifted her head, oversize on her skeletal frame, and stared. “Dr. Hollis. What happened to you?”

“I was the victim of a crime,” said Emma, amazed that they were unaware of her situation. It seemed as if the news coverage had been unceasing. But then, having a dangerously ill child took precedence over anything else, she reminded herself. “I wasn’t planning to come in yet, but I am so concerned about you, Tasha.”

Tasha’s bulging eyes widened, and a rare smile caused her skin to wrinkle into accordian folds. “Thanks,” she said.

“I need you to work for me today,” Emma cautioned.

Tasha nodded tentatively. “I’ll try,” she said.

Nell, who could not tear her anxious gaze from her daughter’s gaunt face, let out a sound between a laugh and a sob. “Please try, Tasha,” she pleaded.

Wade pulled up a chair for her, and Emma sat down.

“Let’s talk about disappointment,” Emma said.

A
UDIE
O
SMUND
pulled into the clearing where the old Fiore house stood. It was a run-down farmhouse with asbestos shingles and a roof that desperately needed replacing. Two hundred yards from the house was a tin-roof lean-to, which was probably used now as the barn. Audie got out of his patrol car, climbed up the front step beside a pile of empty terra-cotta flowerpots, and knocked at the door. There were a couple of ears of Indian corn decorating the front door, although some woodpeckers had pecked off most of the corn. There was no car around. He wasn’t optimistic.

As he waited, he thought about that female lieutenant from the state police. “That was a waste of time,” she had said in a real tight voice after David Webster and his wife drove away together today. “Why didn’t you get a positive I.D. from that witness?” she demanded, treating Audie as if he were a rookie cop. Audie knew from experience that the state police always acted superior, strolling in with their nice suits and fancy haircuts. He was ready for that. But it was harder to swallow when the state cop was a woman like Joan Atkins. She seemed to make a point of keeping her part of the investigation to herself, making sure to keep Audie out of the loop. She was a type of woman he did not care for.

Still, there was no way Audie could argue on his own behalf. It had backfired. So now Audie was out at the Fiore place, trying to make up for his oversight. No one answered his knock, and when he tried to peep through the windows, he saw that the panes were too grimy to be transparent.

They haven’t done much for this place, Audie thought. It would probably be different if the husband was still alive. Audie looked around the clearing impatiently. She could be out with the horse, he thought. It was worth a try. He began to walk out toward the broken-down old lean-to, which was overgrown with a blazing red vine and up to the windowsills in dry, brushy grass. He heard a whinny as he approached.

“Mrs. Tuttle?” he called out. He could discern the horse’s rear end under the lean-to. All of a sudden, the bottom half of a white face appeared out of the shed’s gloom.

“Who is it?” a deep voice asked.

“Police,” Audie announced. “Who are you?”

A teenaged kid wearing a gray sweatshirt and a Philadelphia Eagles cap pulled down to his eyebrows emerged from the lean-to, holding a curry comb. He looked warily at Audie.

“I live here,” said the kid.

“You’re Mrs. Tuttle’s son?”

The boy nodded.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Sam,” said the boy.

“Well, Sam, I’m looking for your mother.”

“She ain’t here. She had to go up to Trenton. Some insurance thing about my dad. He was a firefighter. He died in a fire.”

“So I understand,” said Audie. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” the boy muttered. “Why do you want my mom?”

“She’s helping me with a case. She came forward as a witness,” Audie said. “Didn’t your mom tell you?”

The boy shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Typical teenager, Audie thought. “Do you have a number where I can reach her?” Audie asked.

The boy frowned. “No. We had a cell phone, but we had to get rid of it. My mom said we couldn’t afford it. What was she a witness for?”

“Well, a woman got attacked a while ago at the next place over. Hunter got killed. You must have heard about it,” said Audie.

“I heard about it. She said she saw that?” the boy scoffed as if his mother was prone to exaggeration. “She didn’t see that. The cops came here and asked us questions after it happened. She didn’t see nothing. We were both home, but neither one of us saw it or heard anything.”

“No. She just saw some…suspicious activity around the Zamsky place a while back. You see anyone over there in the last couple of months?” Audie asked hopefully.

“Me? No. I don’t know nothing,” said the kid.

Audie sighed. “All right, son. When do you expect her back?”

“Tomorrow, I guess. Maybe late tonight.”

“Well, I’m the police chief. Chief Osmund. You have her call me,” said Audie, turning away. He did not intend to call Joan Atkins and tell her that he had lost his witness. It might take a little doing, but he was going to catch up with the Tuttle woman and get that I.D. on David Webster if it was the last thing he did. In the eyes of that state police lieutenant, he was only a country cop, but that didn’t mean he was ready to be made a fool of.

E
MMA LED
the Claymans through a good session and discovered that she actually felt energized by the encounter. At the end of it, Wade Clayman admitted that he regretted wasting time on late-night business meetings that he could have spent with his daughter, and Tasha had looked at him in amazement.

On her way out of the center, Emma kept her gaze lowered, so she would not have to explain her life to everyone she encountered. But she had to speak to Burke before she left. She turned the corner onto his corridor and tried not to make eye contact with the person who was coming out of his reception area as she was approaching.

“Hey,” said an angry voice. “Wait a minute.”

She decided to assume that the voice was not addressing her. She continued to hobble toward the door of the reception area.

“I said ‘wait,’” the voice insisted. Emma stopped and looked up. She found herself face-to-face with a glowering man in a black leather vest, engineer’s boots, and wire-rimmed glasses.

“Mr. Devlin,” Emma said in a wary tone.

“Well, isn’t this a wonderful surprise. I’ll tell you what I just got finished telling him,” Lyle Devlin said, gesturing back toward Burke’s office door. “You have a lot of nerve, after what you did to my family, sending the police to hound me…”

“I didn’t…,” Emma protested.

“What’s going on out here?” Geraldine called out anxiously.

“I’m going to sue you, and everybody in this place,” Lyle Devlin inisted, pointing a finger at Emma’s chest. “You will be sorry,” he said. “You’ll pay dearly for this. The worst thing I ever did was to bring my daughter to this sorry excuse for a treatment facility and let you get your hands on her.”

“I’ll call security,” Emma said faintly.

Burke, alerted by Geraldine, opened the door of his office and looked out. When he saw Emma forced up against the doorframe by Devlin, he began to shout and rush toward the man. “Hey. I told you to get out of here.”

Devlin’s face was close to Emma’s. “Security’s not gonna help you, honey.” Before Burke could reach him, Devlin turned his back on Emma and stormed toward the exit. Burke arrived at Emma’s side in a moment, studying her worriedly.

“Emma, are you okay? Did he do anything to you? Come in and sit down.”

Emma shook her head. “I’m all right. What set him off?”

“The police came to question him about what happened to you. About his threats against you. Now he’s all bent out of shape.”

“He said he’s going to sue the center. I’m so sorry, Burke.”

Burke shook his head. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry you had to deal with that. Don’t worry about him. He’s blowing smoke. When it comes right down to it, he doesn’t want this whole thing to come out in the open. How did it go with Tasha Clayman?”

Emma said that the session had gone well, and she had promised to see her again the minute she got back from New York.

“You’re going to New York?” Burke asked. “Is that a good idea?”

“It’s just for a few days,” said Emma. “I need to get away from…all the publicity. I have a close friend there. I can hide out at her place.”

“You’re not driving, I hope.”

Emma shook her head. “I’ve got a cab waiting to take me to the train. Listen, I’m so sorry that the center got dragged into this. With…Devlin.”

“I’ll worry about Devlin,” he said. “You take care of yourself. Rest and recuperate. Don’t forget that we need you here. Any chance you’ll be back for your group on Thursday?”

Emma sighed. “I don’t know yet. I really didn’t want to come in when you called this afternoon. I thought there was no way I was ready to face patients. But it felt really good to be back here. I feel stronger right now than I have since…it happened. I promise I won’t stay away for long. By the way, speaking of my group, how is Kieran doing?” said Emma. “Has he been back since his sister bailed on your meeting?”

Burke shook his head disgustedly. “No. But what can you expect? That sister of his is a vain, stupid woman. She knows how close to the edge this kid is, but instead of trying to help, she went on a cruise. She doesn’t give a damn essentially.”

Emma sighed. “I’ll make a special effort to engage him in the group.”

Burke put his hands gently on her upper arms and kissed her cheek. “You be careful, Emma. You’re very important to…us.”

T
HE
C
LARENCEVILLE
train station was located adjacent to the sprawling Lambert University campus. The trip to New York City was only an hour by train, and the convenience of having the train right near the campus was an attraction for both students and faculty alike. The taxi let Emma off in front of the dull, forest green station house. She opened the door and went inside. There was one college-age kid in a parka lying on one of the benches that lined the white bead-board walls. His head was resting on his backpack, and he was sound asleep, snoring lightly. On the track side, Emma could see a couple of young teenagers, knitted caps pulled down to their eyebrows, sailing past the windows on the cement platform.

As Emma approached the ticket window, the man behind the window in a blue uniform was muttering, “Those kids! Excuse me, miss.”

He let himself out of the side door to the ticket office, opened the door on the train side, and began to holler. “Hey, you kids. Take those skateboards and get out of here.”

The teenagers laughed derisively, but began to roll slowly down toward the handicapped ramps flanking the stairs to the bridge over the tracks, which had attracted them to the station platform in the first place. “Get off those skateboards and carry ’em,” the ticket agent yelled. Emma could not see whether or not the kids had complied.

The ticket agent came back inside, shaking his head and scowling. “They’re like cockroaches. You think you got rid of them and ten minutes later, they’re back.” He climbed back up on his stool and peered at Emma. “Where you going?” he asked.

“New York. Penn Station.”

“Round-trip?”

Emma hesitated, then nodded. “Round-trip.”

The ticket agent glanced at the clock. “The next train through is an express. Doesn’t stop here. The next local is at five o’clock.”

“That’s fine,” she said. Emma paid for her ticket and thanked him. Then she went outside to wait. The platform was deserted on the northbound side. In an hour or so the commuter trains from Manhattan would be arriving on the southbound side, disgorging a phalanx of men and women in suits, talking on cell phones. But for the moment, Emma was the only traveler. There was no one else on either side. Sometimes she wondered how the railroads could keep running with so little patronage all day.

The day was growing dark, and the halogen lights on the platform were beginning to come on. Emma thought about sitting on one of the benches attached to the station house, but she was too anxious to just sit. She walked slowly down to the end of the platform, away from the station house. Standing there on the lonely platform, she began to wonder why she had even decided to go. Now that she was away from David, she missed him and began to think perhaps she had been too hasty in walking out. Obviously, their marriage had gotten off to a stressful beginning. They were coping as best they could, between the police, the reporters, her injuries. They’d both been under a lot of strain. Surely, if it weren’t for all that had happened, she would never have cared, or even given a thought, to that locked drawer.

If she left now, was she playing into the hands of all the doom mongers? A marriage took time and trust. It was as if she was fleeing at the first sign of trouble. She shivered, glad she had on the alpaca cape instead of the shawl she had worn to the funeral. Besides, a shawl was too difficult to manage while traveling. She had abandoned the rust knit suit and her long loose hair as well, twisting her shiny blond hair up into a knot, and choosing knit pants and a turtleneck for the trip.