Married to a Stranger (16 page)

A bright white light appeared in the distance along with the noisy clatter of the approaching train. The shrill whistle sounded, warning that the train was an express and would not stop. Emma stiffened against the harsh scream of the whistle and stared at the white light growing larger as the train barreled down the tracks.

It’s not too late, she thought. You can rip this ticket up and go back home. What do you think, Aloysius? she thought, putting a protective hand on her stomach. You’d probably vote for me to return to your daddy. Kids always vote for that, she thought wistfully. Always rooting for reconciliation.

The clatter of the approaching train was deafening. Emma took a step back from the yellow line on the platform, which marked the safety cutoff point when trains were approaching. As she did, she noticed a swift movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked down the platform and saw one of the teenaged skateboarders, sailing down the handicapped ramp in his black watch cap and baggy sweats. The ticket agent’s going to be furious, she thought. She shook her head, smiling. The skateboarder, zooming toward her now, began to gesture wildly. He was yelling something at her, but she could not hear him over the clatter of the express.

“What?” she said, peering at him. She could see him speeding her way. She wasn’t taking any chances. She took another step back from the line and suddenly, from behind, felt a vicious thud. Hands shoved up her shoulder blades. She stumbled and screamed but was drowned out by the whistle. She saw the white light as she pitched forward into the path of the oncoming train.

O
H
G
OD, NO,
she thought desperately. My baby!

Suddenly Emma was jerked back, nearly strangled by the fastened neck of her cape. Her head snapped forward. Her arms flailed, and she fell, landing on one hip with a sharp crack. The train was screaming by and she saw the lights from inside the cars careening past.

The skateboarder, in a black watch cap pulled low and a baggy sweatshirt, one sneakered foot on the board, one on the ground, bent down and regarded her warily. “You okay?” he asked.

The boy had swept behind her and yanked her cape. His young reflexes had saved her. Emma, stunned to be alive and safe, tried to speak but couldn’t. She nodded.

A man in a Burberry trench coat who had just stepped out of the station house with a middle-aged woman in a black coat, rushed up to them. “What the hell did you do to this woman?”

“I didn’t do nothin’ to her,” the kid snarled.

The man in the trench coat crouched down and put an arm under Emma’s shoulders. “Here, let me help you. Are you all right?” he asked.

“You kids and your skateboards,” muttered the woman to the skateboarder. “You’ll kill someone someday.”

Emma was shuddering. She wanted to explain, but the fastened cape had pressed on her windpipe and only a squeak came out.

“You, young man, you stay right there. I want to talk to you,” said the older man in the trench coat, pointing at the skateboarder.

The skateboarder flipped them all the finger as he resumed his swift, illegal cruise, this time leaping off the edge of the platform and into the parking lot.

“Delinquent,” muttered the man. “Did he hurt you? Are you all right? What happened here?”

Emma grasped the sleeve of the man’s coat. The train had passed and the station was silent again. “It wasn’t him,” she managed to croak. “Someone…pushed me from behind. Tried to push me in front of the train.”

The man frowned at her. “Are you sure about that? They pushed you deliberately?”

“My baby,” Emma cried. “What about my baby?”

“My God, was there a child with you?” the man cried.

Emma shook her head. “I’m pregnant,” she said. Then she began to weep.

“Linda,” the man said to his wife, not taking his eyes off Emma. “Get out your cell. Call 911.”

J
OAN
A
TKINS
, alerted by the Clarenceville police, careened into the parking lot of the station. The local police were there in force, flashing red lights everywhere in the lot, black-and-whites parked at odd angles. An ambulance was there as well, the doors to the bay already open. The news media, ever alert to the police scanner, were also out in force, although they were being held outside the station itself by a uniformed policeman. Joan flashed her badge to part the crowd and hurried up the steps and into the station house.

There were at least ten cops in the tiny building. Two of them were talking to the station master in hushed tones. Another was escorting the man in the trench coat and his wife out onto the platform. The next train was almost due, and there were reporters on the platform, clamoring for information, pelting the couple with their questions. Joan saw Trey Marbery talking on his cell phone and signaled to him. Marbery nodded grimly.

Emma was lying on a gurney while the EMTs busied themselves with her injuries. Her eyes were vacant and her face was dead white. When she looked up and saw Joan, a spark of recognition came to her eyes.

“Lieutenant Atkins,” she said.

Joan took Emma’s hand and squeezed it briefly, shaking her head. She looked so frail and broken that it was painful to see. “Emma. What happened?”

Emma’s eyes filled with tears again. “Sorry,” she said, waving a hand impatiently, as if trying to stave off a sneeze. “I’m just…so freaked out.”

The EMTs were working swiftly to staunch the blood flow from the reopened wound in her side. One of them, a pretty girl with dark curly hair who wore a name tag that read
BOBBY SHIELDS
was taking Emma’s blood pressure. Joan looked up at Trey Marbery, who had finished his phone call and was approaching the gurney.

“What do we know?” Joan asked her erstwhile partner.

Trey cleared his throat. “My men questioned the couple who called 911. They came upon the scene and thought that she had collided with a skateboarder, but the young lady tells us otherwise. Apparently, somebody pushed her from behind, and the skateboarder pulled her back. Kept her from falling in front of the train.”

Joan winced, imagining the close call. “Where’s the skateboarder now?”

“There’s a half-dozen guys out looking for him.”

“Good,” said Joan. She looked down at Emma. “Tell me about it. What were you doing here?”

Joan’s piercing eyes were focused on Emma’s face, and her calm, no-nonsense presence was comforting. “I was waiting for the New York train. Going to visit an old friend. Standing at the far end of the platform.” Emma licked her chapped lips. “I saw the express train coming, and then the skateboarder. He was coming at me, really fast. He was yelling to me. Gesturing. I guess…” Emma let out a sob and then tried to compose herself. “He was trying to warn me. I had no idea.”

“Okay,” said Joan. “Take it easy.”

Emma closed her eyes and then gave a shuddering sigh. She could hear Joan Atkins and the younger detective, the one with the café au lait skin, conferring out of her field of vision.

“Any other witnesses? Anyone at all?” Joan was asking.

“The platform was deserted. The skateboarder is our best bet.”

“What about the station master?” Joan asked. “Or the engineer? Somebody on the southbound side maybe?”

“Nothing. The station master was inside. We were able to contact the engineer by phone, but he was moving too fast to see anything. As for the southbound side, there wasn’t a soul there.”

Joan came back into Emma’s line of sight as she walked over to the window overlooking the parking lot. “What about those buildings there?” she said.

“That’s part of the Lambert campus,” said the male detective.

“Maybe somebody was looking out the window and saw something. Have you got a couple of patrolmen who could canvass those buildings?”

“I’ll get them on it right away,” said Marbery.

“Thanks, Detective.” Joan returned to Emma’s side. “Where’s your husband? The police have not been able to contact him.”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Did he know you were coming here to take the train?”

Emma remembered her accusations, and David pleading with her not to leave. Emma nodded.

“Anyone else know?” said Joan sharply.

“A few people.”

“Can we continue this at the hospital?” asked the EMT named Bobby. “We need to get her over there now.”

“Sure,” said Joan, stepping back, once again out of Emma’s line of sight.

Emma closed her eyes and felt the gurney rattling beneath her. Back to the hospital, she thought, and woolly-headed though she was from the painkiller they had given her, she felt unutterably depressed at the thought.

Suddenly, there was a commotion at the door to the station house. “Hold it just a second,” Emma heard Joan Atkins yelling.

Lieutenant Atkins appeared beside her stretcher, grasping the arm of a young man in a watch cap and a baggy sweatshirt.

“Don’t push me, lady,” the kid said. “I didn’t do nothing.”

“Emma,” said Joan, “is this the young man you were talking about?”

Emma took a look at the skateboarder’s angry features. “Yes,” she said, nodding. She spoke directly to the boy. “You saved me.”

“Whatever,” said the kid.

“What’s your name, son?” asked Joan.

“Josh,” said the boy sullenly.

“Josh, that was a fine, brave thing you did.”

The boy shrugged, but his tense shoulders seemed to relax a little bit.

“Now, tell me, Josh. This is really important. Did you see the person who tried to push Dr. Webster onto the tracks?”

“She’s a doctor?” the kid said.

“Answer the question.”

“I saw him coming up behind her,” said Josh. “I could see he was getting ready to push her.”

“What did he look like?” Joan asked.

Josh shrugged. “I don’t know. He was wearing a ski mask. Red around the eyes.”

Emma gasped. She felt as if something heavy had just landed in the middle of her chest. Bobby, who was carefully attaching her ankles to the gurney, looked up at her worriedly. “Am I hurting you?” she asked.

Emma shook her head slightly. “No.”

“What else?” Joan asked.

“Regular clothes. Dark pants. A hoody.”

“A hooded sweatshirt?” Joan asked.

The boy nodded.

“Tall? Short?”

“Average. I don’t know. It all happened so fast. I only saw him for a few seconds.”

“Anything else?”

Josh shook his head.

“Okay, well, give your name and number to this officer here before you leave. We may need to talk to you again.”

“Thank you, Josh,” Emma whispered to the boy who was turning away.

Joan frowned at her. “You know this eliminates any possibility that the attack in the Pine Barrens was random.”

Emma did not reply, but she knew.

The pretty, dark-haired EMT said, “We really have to go, Lieutenant. Now.”

“Okay, we’re good for the moment. Are you ready to go?” Joan asked her.

Emma nodded.

“I’ll get some patrolmen to escort you out. They’ll stay with you at the hospital,” she said.

“Thank you,” said Emma in a small voice.

Joan spoke to the sergeant, who was the ranking officer in the station house, and then a pair of officers appeared at the head of the gurney, one on either side of her. Emma lay back against the pillow and allowed herself to be moved toward the door of the train station, bumping along.

She saw someone opening the door, and then she felt herself being lifted and tilted upward so that she could be taken down the stairs. She had expected the parking lot to be dark, but it was brightly lit. Wires crisscrossed the parking lot, and some photographers had set up lights. Reporters were yelling, but Emma avoided looking at any of them. The photographers’ lights were so bright in the darkness that they made the large lighted windows of the campus building opposite the narrow parking lot look dim. In a good number of the enormous windows, Emma could see people looking out curiously on the scene. She felt like a zoo animal. They were gaping at her, on her gurney, as it was lowered toward the spot where the ambulance idled. Pressed to the glass the gawkers were only visible in silhouette. In one of the windows Emma saw that there were three people looking out. One of them appeared to be propping up a large dark object that was as tall as he was, with a wide, curving base that narrowed to a long, straight neck. Emma frowned and then realized what she was looking at. A bass. The student was holding a bass fiddle.

As if to confirm Emma’s visual impression, the girl beside him lifted up a violin, placed it under her chin, and moved away from the window. Her fellow musicians also tore themselves away from the chaotic scene. They had music to practice. The building, which looked out over the station, was the music building.

The music building, she thought. The station house and the long platform were clearly visible from the Lambert University music building.

The gurney was lifted, its legs folded and pushed into the ambulance. The doors were slammed shut, and the siren began to wail.

“T
HIS WILL BE COLD,”
said the technician as she smeared the gel onto Emma’s belly and attached the wires that led to the monitor beside her bed. A tall, bespectacled resident in a white coat entered the cubicle in the emergency room where Emma had been taken.

“All ready for you, Doctor,” said the technician.

“Okay,” said the young man. “I’m Dr. Weiss. I’m from ob-gyn. I think everything is fine here, Mrs. Webster. No bleeding or cramping. But just to be on the safe side we’ll have a look.” He switched on the monitor and began to position the scanner on her abdomen.

An upside-down fan-shaped image appeared on the screen, covered by a mass of white blotches and streaks. The doctor looked at it, nodding, and then said, “Everything looks okay. Do you hear it?”

“I hear it,” said Emma. The thump of her baby’s heart brought tears to her eyes. Dr. Weiss watched for another moment, and then switched off the machine. “The littlest patient is doing fine. How are you feeling?”

“Better now,” she said. “I’m okay. Can I go home?”

He looked doubtfully at her newly resutured and bandaged wounds. “I think you can, as long as you have someone to look after you,” he said.

Emma nodded. “Could you find out if it’s all right for me to leave?” she asked.

“Sure,” said Dr. Weiss. “Let me see if I can scare up the attending physician and have him sign for you to be released.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Emma said.

The doctor stood up as the technician unplugged the sonogram machine and began to roll it out of the cubicle. “By the way, there is somebody outside who wants to see you,” Dr. Weiss said. “Are you up to some company?”

“Who is it?” Emma said, but the doctor had already disappeared from the cubicle. Could it be David? she thought. And then she thought, no. Realistically, no. If David somehow found out she was here and tried to see her, the police who were guarding her would stop him and hustle him directly down to the police station. He was a suspect in their eyes. The prime suspect. And according to an update Emma had received from Lieutenant Atkins, the police had still not been able to find him, although they were definitely searching for him. Emma looked up as the doctor held the white curtain back, gesturing for the visitor to come in.

Stephanie, looking pretty in a navy blue knit suit and a jaunty scarf, gave the young doctor a beguiling smile as she edged past the curtain that the doctor was holding open. “God, Em, are you all right?” she asked, bending over and kissing Emma gently on the forehead. “I heard about it on the car radio as I was driving back from Trenton. I tried to call David, but there was no answer, so I rushed over here.”

Emma sighed. “Somebody tried to push me in front of the express train.”

Stephanie clutched her chest. “I know. Oh my God.” She sat down in the molded plastic chair, which had just been vacated by Dr. Weiss. “Do they think it was the same guy as in the Pine Barrens?”

Emma nodded. “Yes. He was wearing the ski mask and the hoody but yeah…it was the same guy. There’s no doubt now. Apparently it was not a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone wants me…gone.” She shuddered at actually saying the words aloud. “Detective Atkins thinks it’s my husband.”

Stephanie rubbed the back of Emma’s hand absently, avoiding her gaze.

“You’re awfully quiet,” said Emma.

“I’m…just trying to take this all in.”

“Is that what you think?” Emma asked.

“I don’t think anything,” Stephanie insisted.

“Yes, you do,” said Emma. “Tell me what you think. Let’s hear it.”

Stephanie’s expression was pained. “Look, I like David. He’s a nice guy. And you two seem pretty happy….”

“We just got married, for God’s sake. Why would he marry me and try to kill me on the same day?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he decided it was a mistake. You’re pregnant. You told me yourself that he proposed when you told him you were pregnant.”

“But why marry me and then kill me and his baby? That makes no sense.”

“Maybe he’s got a girlfriend. Men are cheaters,” said Stephanie. Emma knew that Stephanie was thinking of Ken, who had had several affairs while they were together. When Stephanie found out, she tossed his belongings out on the lawn and wouldn’t let him back into the house.

“Steph, come on, we’re not talking about cheating. We’re talking about murder here,” Emma protested. “This guy who came after me with the ax meant to kill me. He actually did kill someone.”

“Emma, I’m not trying to be mean, but you have to admit, you do have a lot of money. People kill for money all the time. It’s a fact. And only one person stands to profit by your death.”

“He doesn’t care about money,” Emma insisted.

“Everybody cares about money,” Stephanie said.

“I know what you say makes…sense in a certain way. It’s exactly what the police are thinking. But it’s so hard for me to imagine. I married this man less than a week ago. Promised to love and cherish till death. Now people want me to believe that the man I entrusted my life to is actually trying to cause my death. My own would-be killer. Can you understand how that feels?”

Stephanie did not reply.

“I can’t make myself believe it,” said Emma.

“But you hardly know him, Em. It was all so quick.”

“That doesn’t mean it was wrong. David loves me.”

“Yeah, well if he loves you so much, why isn’t he here?”

Emma’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know.”

Stephanie immediately looked guilty. “Oh, Em. All right, let’s say he didn’t do it. If he didn’t, then who would? You don’t have any enemies.”

Emma was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Obviously, I do.”

“Anyone I know?” Stephanie asked.

“I’m serious, Steph. There may be someone…I had a patient at the center who died. A young girl,” said Emma. “Her family, her father especially, blamed me. He even came to the center and threatened revenge after she…died. Security had to take him out.”

“Was it a suicide?” Stephanie asked.

“Eating disorder,” said Emma.

“I don’t get it,” Stephanie. “Why would the guy blame you? I mean, surely there were medical doctors involved in his daughter’s treatment. By the time you get to the end stage of an eating disorder…”

Emma hesitated. “While I was treating her, I began to suspect that he might be sexually abusing her.”

“Who? The father?”

Enma nodded.

“Are most anorexics sexually abused? Was that what made you think it?” Stephanie asked.

Emma shook her head. “No. Anorexia has many etiologies. And many consequences. I mean, one of them is certainly to stall or reverse sexual development, but that in itself doesn’t indicate sexual abuse. And, of course, this patient was depressed, but all anorexic patients are depressed. So, no. I wasn’t thinking that way. When I first met the parents I noticed that the girl’s mother was very…fleshy, very…provocative, in a way. I definitely did think the anorexia might be a reaction formation to her mother—to try to be as unlike her mother as possible. That would not be unusual in a teenager. But the more I talked to the patient, the more I began to think that her condition might be the result of her avoiding having to take on her mother’s role, so to speak.”

“What do you mean?” Stephanie asked.

“The role of a sexual partner,” said Emma grimly.

“Oh. Oh shit.”

“Exactly,” said Emma.

“So what did you do?”

“Well, I spoke to Burke, you know, my boss. He agreed with me that we needed to have a doctor at the hospital examine her, a gynecologist who specializes in sexual abuse cases. The physician agreed to do an exam on her. When the father found out about what we were planning, he was furious.”

“So she never had the exam?”

“No, she did have it. Her mother gave us permission. The doctor couldn’t find any physical evidence of penetration,” Emma admitted. “The father took her out of treatment.”

Stephanie frowned. “And then the girl died.”

“Several weeks later.”

“So, you think you were wrong about the father?”

“I may have been,” said Emma. “But there are different kinds of molestation. Without the physical evidence, there was nothing more I could do.”

“Did you tell all this to that woman detective?” Stephanie asked. “The one I met at the hospital when I was visiting you?”

Emma shook her head. “She knows about this guy. She went and questioned him. Now the guy is more furious than ever. He confronted me at the center today, after he got finished reading Burke the riot act. And what I started to tell you was that I noticed, as I was being carried out to the ambulance, that the music building, where Ly…the girl’s father works, is directly across from the train station. They’ve got those big, arched windows, and I could see the music students in there with their instruments.”

“What’s that got to do with what happened to you?” Stephanie asked.

“The train platform is visible from the music building. He could have seen me waiting there and come after me.”

Stephanie frowned, but then she nodded. “I guess…it’s possible.”

“But Lieutenant Atkins is fixated on David,” said Emma. “I know she is only concerned about my safety. But this is a blind spot with her. She was telling me that her own husband was…well, let’s just say she has a lot of negative feelings about marriage, it seems. So, in her eyes, it’s David or no one. She’s out looking for David right now.”

Stephanie frowned. “Was your patient named Ivy Devlin?”

Emma looked up sharply. “Why do you say that?”

“Oh come on, Em. I teach at the middle school. There aren’t many kids who die from anorexia. It was Ivy Devlin, wasn’t it? Her sister is in one of my classes,” said Stephanie.

Emma reddened. “Oh Lord, now I feel guilty. I shouldn’t have told you all this.”

“Why? You didn’t say who it was. Or tell me what she said to you. Besides, Ivy’s dead, and somebody’s trying to kill you now. Why should you feel guilty for trying to figure it out before they succeed?”

“Still, I was wrong to even discuss it.”

Stephanie ignored Emma’s fretting. “Alida, that’s the sister. She’s undergone a real transformation lately. She used to be really shy and modest. Not anymore,” said Stephanie. “Not long after Ivy died, she started coming to school in full glittery makeup, bare midriff. Very junior sexpot.”

“Uh-oh,” said Emma.

“Why uh-oh?” said Stephanie.

“Nothing, never mind,” said Emma. Although undeniably it worried her. Predators were known to repeat their behavior within the family. Sometimes children, long ignored, welcomed any sort of attention. Tried to please their abuser.

“Yeah, but lots of girls dress like that in seventh grade. It’s the opposite of anorexia. She’s flaunting her sexuality,” said Stephanie.

“I know. It’s the transformation and the timing of it that sets off alarm bells.”

“Why?”

Emma shook her head. “I shouldn’t be trying to analyze anyone at a distance. I could be completely wrong. Besides, I’m not an expert in this field. I had to do a lot of extra research and consult with colleagues just to get up to speed.”

“You think he might be messing with her now? The father.”

“Steph, I really cannot talk about this.”

Stephanie looked at her thoughtfully. “He can’t be allowed to just get away with this. As one of her teachers, I could intervene. I could talk to Alida. She might confide in me,” said Stephanie.

“Please, Stephanie, don’t get involved in this. I mean it. I should never have opened my mouth. I was really out of line.”

“But the kid could still be suffering,” Stephanie cried.

“Look, let me be blunt,” said Emma. “Alida might tell her parents if you started asking questions. I will tell you this. I think Lyle Devlin could be dangerous. Promise me you won’t…”

“Don’t worry,” said Stephanie.

Dr. Weiss pulled back the curtain at the front of the cubicle and looked inside. He was holding a clipboard with a form on it. He grinned at Stephanie before he spoke to Emma. “I have your release form here. If you want to sign it, you can be on your way.”

“Great,” said Emma, reaching for the clipboard.

“Is there someone who can pick you up and stay with you?”

Before Emma could reply, Stephanie said, “She’s coming to my house.”

Emma looked at her friend gratefully. “Thanks, Steph.”

“She’ll have to leave in a wheelchair,” said Dr. Weiss. “The orderly is bringing one right now. Do you have a license to drive one of them?” he asked Stephanie in a teasing tone.

“Actually, I’m not old enough,” Stephanie purred.

Dr. Weiss reluctantly turned his attention back to Emma. “You need to speak to your attending physician before you go.”

“Thanks,” said Emma.

Once Dr. Weiss was gone, Stephanie helped Emma off the bed and into her dress, which was bloodstained and dirty. “We’ll wash this when we get home,” said Steph. “You can wear something of mine. We’re about the same size.”

“Thanks, Steph,” said Emma. She tried to reach up to brush her hair, but her side was stinging.

“Let me,” said Stephanie, brushing out Emma’s heavy, honey-colored hair and then, over Emma’s protests, dabbing some blusher on her pale cheeks.

“Here,” said Stephanie, rummaging in Emma’s purse. “Put on some lipstick. You look like a ghost.”

Emma did as she was told and then looked into her compact mirror at the results. Her hair glistened. Her skin glowed with a little color on her cheeks and lips. She did not look like a woman who had barely escaped being pushed into the path of a train, she thought.

The attending physician came in and gave Emma instructions on the care of her wounds. “All right,” said Stephanie, after he left. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Emma nodded. She was grateful to have such a caring friend, but her heart ached to think that her husband seemed to have abandoned her and was nowhere to be found. Maybe the police had caught up with him and were interrogating him right now. With a sigh, Emma gathered up her purse and the blue-green cape and started toward the door.

“Wait a minute,” said Stephanie. “Into the chair.”

Emma obediently eased herself into the wheelchair and allowed Stephanie to push her out the door. The young police officer who was stationed outside the cubicle in the ER jumped to his feet at the sight of them.