Married to a Stranger (6 page)

David turned on the chief, his mouth hanging open in disbelief, as if it were the first time he had actually registered what was being said to him. “Are you crazy? I’m not going with you and leaving her there all alone in some strange hospital. Get out of my way.”

Audie looked at the distraught husband, assessing his reaction and trying to keep his own temper in check. “I can see you’re all tore up. But we’ve got our own problems here, Mr. Webster. We need to figure out what happened in that cabin. We got a murder here.”

“Who was murdered?” David cried.

“A hunter, passing by. Tried to help your wife and was killed for his trouble.”

“Oh my God.” David shook his head and ran his hand through this hair. “Oh my God. This is my fault. I should have been here. Look, I want to help you. I really do. But can’t it wait? My wife…” He gestured to the taillights of the disappearing ambulance.

“Like I said, we’ll get this over with, and then I’ll have somebody drive you on over to the hospital. Now, you go on and get into my car. The door is open.”

“Wait a minute. Do I have any choice? Are you arresting me?” David cried.

“Why would I do that?” Audie asked. “I just want to talk to you. Get some answers that might help us out. Sooner we get this done, the sooner you can join your wife over there at the hospital.”

David glowered and seemed about to protest again. Then, suddenly, he shook his head, turned away from the chief, and headed for the squad car.

Gene Revere sighed. “Well, we better get back to looking. We didn’t realize that was the husband. I guess we got a little carried away. That nut is still out there. This is how the Pine Barrens get a bad rep. Some Piney goes berserk.”

“Maybe,” Audie said. He was nearing retirement age, having been on the force since he returned from Vietnam. During his tour of duty he had been trained as a recon marine, where he had learned to recognize the danger that lurked below the surface. “Anybody actually see him stuck in that duck blind platform?”

Gene frowned. “No. We just saw this guy kinda staggering along with no business being out in the woods and we figured it was the killer. So we grabbed him.”

“Go on back out there to the duck blind,” said Audie. “You scour that area. Get some dogs out there if need be. I want every inch of ground between here and there looked at. Check by the river too. At the water’s edge. Along the banks.”

“The guy probably got away by now,” said Gene dejectedly.

“Maybe not,” said Audie. “It’ll probably be in a bag.”

“What will?”

“A ski mask with red circles around the eyes, one of them hooded sweatshirts, maybe some pants and sneakers too.”

“You think the killer changed out of those clothes before he got away?” Gene asked.

Audie glanced over at his patrol car. From the backseat, David Webster was staring at the open door of the cabin with haunted eyes. “Or maybe he changed out of them,” said Audie grimly, “and he’s still here.”

“S
WEETHEART
,”
said a soft voice.

Emma struggled to open her eyes. Every part of her hurt. Even her face and eyelids felt sore. It took all her will to blink and bring her visitor into focus. She saw short, platinum blond hair, and anxious eyes.

“Mom,” she whispered.

“Oh, darling, you’re awake,” said Kay. She bent over and kissed her daughter on the forehead.

Emma tried to nod. Her head ached. Her neck was stiff. “What time is it?”

Kay looked at her watch. “It’s about midnight. They had to give you a sedative.”

“David,” Emma breathed. And then her eyes opened wide and she struggled to sit up. “My baby.”

Kay patted her shoulder, pushing her gently back toward the pillow. “It’s all right. Everything’s all right. They did a sonogram. The baby is fine,” said Kay, blinking back tears.

“Thank God.” Emma sighed. For a moment she closed her eyes again, and the events of the awful night flooded into her mind. She knew she had lost a lot of blood. Now that she was awake, she remembered bags of blood being carried aloft by nurses, lights blinding her, people in masks and gowns, and urgent murmurs about clamps, debridement, and sutures. It had all seemed very far away at the time. As if she were watching herself from far away. But now she was back, groggy but awake. And her baby was still alive. Their baby. David. “Where’s David?”

Kay’s gaze traveled across the room where a man was rising from a chair. Emma followed her gaze and squinted. For a moment her heart lifted. Then she recognized her mother’s husband.

“How you doin’, slugger?” asked Rory, his expression hidden by the reflection off his tortoiseshell glasses.

Emma did not reply. Her lips were dry and cracked. She tried to moisten them with her tongue. Kay instantly reached for a washcloth and gently pressed it to Emma’s parched lips. When Kay took the washcloth away, Emma repeated, “David?”

Rory cleared his throat and put a proprietary arm on his wife’s shoulder. “David’s down at the police station,” Rory announced.

“He’s helping the police,” said Kay.

Emma tried to shift her position on the bed, but her entire left side, starting just below her armpit and reaching down her thigh, felt as if it were on fire. “Do they know who did this?” she whispered, glancing anxiously at the door.

Kay hesitated. “Not yet,” she said. “They still have a lot of questions. But you’re safe now, darling. No one’s going to hurt you. There’s a lieutenant from the state police outside who’s been waiting to talk to you. Do you think you’re up to it, darling?”

“I’ll try,” she said, her voice wobbly.

“I’ll go,” Rory said. Through the fog of her sedation, Emma knew there was something negative she was thinking about Rory, and then she remembered. The woman in the restaurant.

“What is it, honey? Did you remember something?” Kay asked, searching Emma’s face with her gentle eyes.

Emma closed her eyes and shook her head. She thought about her father—with his soothing voice, which she could no longer summon in her memory. A tear leaked out from under her eyelids and down her face and she wished that he were here with her. How comforting it would be to lean her head against his broad chest, feel his arm encircling her.

“Mrs. Webster?”

Mrs. Webster, Emma thought, visualizing David’s mother for a moment. And then she realized, she was Mrs. Webster. She looked up at the woman standing beside her bed, frowning down at her. The trim woman looked to be in her thirties and was wearing a white blouse and a fitted charcoal gray pantsuit. She was sharp featured with keen dark eyes and wore her chin-length brown hair in a simple, but fashionable layered cut.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I’m Lieutenant Joan Atkins of the state police. Chief Osmund requested the assistance of our bureau with his investigation.” Joan showed Emma her I.D. and her badge, and tried not to wince at the sight of the victim. She couldn’t help thinking about what Chief Osmund had told her when she arrived at the crime scene. “The victim’s lost a lot of blood,” Osmund said. “They had to stitch her up like a baseball.” Too true, Joan thought.

“Lieutenant Atkins is here to help you, honey,” said Kay.

Emma nodded. “Okay. Just don’t leave me, Mom.”

“Can I stay here with her while you question her?” Kay asked.

“Sure,” said Joan. “I understand that you’ve been through a horrible ordeal, Mrs. Webster.”

Kay stood at the head of Emma’s bed, smoothing her hair back off her forehead, and watching her daughter with a worried frown.

The lieutenant sat down in a chair beside Emma’s bed and studied her for a moment. Emma was stiff, her left side heavily bandaged, and the bandages were misted with blood. “I’m going to try to keep this brief, Emma. Can I call you, Emma?” she asked.

Emma nodded slightly.

“We want to apprehend the person responsible for this terrible crime. But we need your help. Okay?”

Emma licked her cracked lips and whispered, “Okay.”

Joan reached for the pad and pen in her black shoulder bag. She flipped the cover open on her pad. “Do you know who did this to you, Emma?” she asked.

Tears spilled down the sides of Emma’s face and she began to tremble. “No. I told the first policeman. No. He was wearing…”

“I know. A mask and a hood. But was there anything…familiar about him?”

“Familiar?” Emma asked. Her brain felt slow and woolly. “No.”

“Did you recognize him? His movements? His eyes beneath the mask?”

Emma tried to think back but felt only bewilderment. “No…It was so fast.”

“I understand you were married this morning,” said Joan gently.

Emma blinked at her, realizing that she had forgotten that. The wedding seemed like it took place a year ago. “Yes. Where is my husband?” Then her heart started to race. “Is he all right?”

“Yes, he’s fine,” said Joan. “Weddings can be very stressful, Emma. I know. I had one once.”

Emma looked automatically at the lieutenant’s neatly manicured hands. There was no wedding ring.

If Joan noticed the glance, she offered no explanation. “Did any disagreements arise between you and your husband before or after the wedding. Did you and your husband argue about anything…?”

Emma shook her head. “No. Not really. No…”

Joan gazed at her grimly. “Has David Webster ever threatened you or attacked you physically?”

Emma’s eyes widened. “David?”

“Any behavior he engaged in that might have made you suspicious of him?”

Emma struggled to sit up, to protest. “David did not hurt me. Anytime.”

Joan’s face remained expressionless. You didn’t rise to the rank of lieutenant on the state police, despite the unspoken prejudice that still existed against women on the job, by giving yourself away. When she was working, she kept her emotions on a short leash. Her opinions as well. But her years of experience, both on and off the job, had left her with the firm conviction that there could be few things more dangerous than an angry husband. “Emma, we need to determine whether this was a random attack or whether you were a specific target. Can you think of anyone else who might have had a reason to want to hurt you? Anyone who was angry at you? Any threats you’ve received?”

Emma sank back against the pillow, watching Joan’s lips move. She heard the words, but thinking was difficult. “No,” Emma said. And then she hesitated. “No. Not threatening.” Her mind was foggy. There was something. “What were we talking about…?”

“Threats. Enemies,” she said.

“I can’t…no enemies.”

“Can you review what happened in the cabin for me?”

Emma’s eyes filled with fear. “Why?”

“It might help,” Joan said. “Give us an idea of the size of the attacker. Age, build. Something more to go on.”

“NO, I can’t.” The idea of recalling the attack filled her with dread, and her head was aching. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to see it again. That creature without a face casting a shadow over her. Looming above her, the ax gleaming. Chasing her, swinging the ax at her. The hunter. Another bit of fog burned off of her brain. The man with the dog. And the rifle. He came in and interrupted…The man in the mask turned on him. “Oh no,” she mumbled. “Oh God! The man who tried to save me.”

“No, honey,” Kay crooned. “Don’t think about it.”

“Mrs. McLean, please,” said Joan. “It’s important that your daughter tell us everything she can remember.”

Emma saw the hunter in her mind’s eye, crumpled to the floor, the ax cleaving his skull, the blood everywhere. Emma groaned and tears sprang to her eyes. Her pounding headache tightened like a vise, and suddenly, out of nowhere, she began to retch. The spasmodic movement ignited the pain of all her wounds. She wailed as her empty stomach heaved.

“Oh, no! Her stitches,” Kay exclaimed. “Call the nurse. Quick!”

Kay reached for a basin beside the bed as Joan jumped to her feet and rushed to the door of the room, nearly colliding with Rory, who was barrelling in. “Rory, get some help. Get a doctor!” Kay cried. Rory wheeled and disappeared into the hallway.

A moment later a nurse appeared, as did a doctor in scrubs and a lab coat. The nurse rushed to Emma’s bedside while the doctor checked her chart and ordered a tranquilizer and painkiller to be injected into her IV line.

“What happened?” the doctor demanded.

“She was remembering the attack,” the lieutenant said grimly.

Kay watched her daughter helplessly, with clenched fists. “How could anyone do this to her?” she cried.

Joan felt her phone vibrating in her jacket pocket and turned away from Kay McLean, holding the phone to her ear. “Yes,” she said.

It was Chief Osmund. Joan had recognized the look on the face of the middle-aged Pine Barrens chief when she appeared at the crime scene earlier in the evening and announced herself. He had felt shortchanged to be getting a woman. He had felt as if the state police commander had not taken his request for help seriously. Joan Atkins was used to that response. She always tried to ignore it. “The husband clammed up,” Chief Osmund said. “His lawyer just got here. He called his brother in Seattle who’s an attorney, and the brother told Webster not to volunteer anything more, that he would contact some hotshot lawyer he knew and have him come down here immediately. The attorney just walked in the door.”

“I see,” said Joan.

“You with the victim?” Audie asked.

“Yes,” said Joan.

“We ain’t got enough to hold him,” Audie said. “We’re gonna have to cut him loose.”

“I understand,” said Joan. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Joan replaced the phone in her pocket as Emma’s retching finally subsided, and Emma fell back against the pillow, her complexion the color of clay.

“That’s enough,” Kay pleaded. “Please, leave her alone.”

“Mrs. McLean, I won’t be long. I understand your concern, but believe me, I am on your side.”

“Make it quick,” said the nurse to Joan. “She’s gonna be out again in just a few minutes.”

Joan nodded and returned to her seat by the bed.

“David.” Emma was moaning. She turned her head and looked at Joan with bleary eyes. “Where’s my husband?” she asked.

“He’ll be along soon,” Joan said soothingly. Too soon, she thought.

“When?” she whispered.

“Any minute now,” she said. Any minute now, and that meant that she did not have much time left before the husband went to work on the victim, trying to convince her he had nothing to do with this. “Emma. Earlier, you seemed to hesitate when I asked if you knew someone who might be angry at you or might have threatened you. Who were you thinking of?”

Joan watched Emma’s bleary eyes, calculating the small window of lucidity she had left for questions. Emma was losing the thread of consciousness.

“It’s important, Emma, that you tell us whatever you can think of. If you can remember anyone who may have threatened you…”

Emma nodded slightly and swallowed hard. “It’s not threats. I’ve been getting…messages. Anonymous.”

Joan raised an eyebrow. “What kind of messages?”

“Like…love notes. But…a little…not normal.”

“Do you still have them?” she asked. “How many have you received? For how long? Are you receiving them at home or at work?”

Emma closed her eyes, and Joan thought for a moment that she had fallen asleep. Then she said, “At work. Maybe…two months. Four of them. And a rose. I kept them.”

“I’ll need to see those messages,” said Joan. “Do you have any idea who sent them?”

Emma shook her head. “Dunno…could be a patient.”

A patient? Joan thought. For a moment, Joan’s certainty about the husband faltered. Kay McLean had told her that her daughter was a psychologist. She worked at some kind of crisis center. Joan had once worked a case where a female patient became obsessed with her doctor and slashed the roof of his convertible when the doctor got engaged. It could be a similar thing in this case. A guy who went crazy when his shrink betrayed him by getting married. She had to explore the possibility.

“Where can I find these notes?” Joan asked.

“Ask Burke. Dr. Heisler. He’s my boss,” Emma said. “He knows about them.”

“Thank you, Emma,” said Joan as she stood up to leave. “You just concentrate on getting better.”

The door to the room opened and a handsome but haggard-looking dark-haired man walked in.

“David!” Kay exclaimed.

Joan turned and eyed him. “Mr. Webster?” she said.

“Could I possibly see my wife now?” said David bitterly.

Emma’s eyes opened at the sound of his voice. “David.”

Joan stepped out of the man’s way. She saw a worried look in Kay McLean’s eyes. “I’m staying,” Kay said firmly, though no one had asked her to leave.

David Webster walked gingerly over to Emma’s bedside, looked down at her worriedly, and leaned over to kiss her. “Hey, baby,” he whispered.

“She just got a sedative. Let her sleep,” Kay warned her new son-in-law.

Emma looked up at David with eyes full of confusion. “David. Where were you? I was so afraid….”

David sank down in the chair beside her and lifted her hand, holding her fingers in his, and pressing his lips to them. “Shhh…Rest. I’m here. We’ll talk later. You’re safe now,” he murmured. “I won’t leave you.”