Possession (47 page)

"Your husband was dead. Didn't he tell you Danny was dead?" She lifted her head and looked at Malloy. "If he did, I don't remember it. I was all alone. Everyone was gone, and I was lost. He said he would help me—us—get out, and I believed that he would. Don't you see? I—"

"You liked him then. You came to like him?" She tensed, as if she suspected a trap. "There was nobody else. It wasn't that I liked him or didn't like him. He was all there was. I thought I was going to die. Sometimes it seems as though I wanted to die."

"But he wouldn't let you die?"

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"No. He saved me."

Sam heard the same odd cadence in her voice, as if certain phrases she spoke were by rote, like a child mouthes poems. It made the hair stand up on his neck. Malloy had become quite gentle with Joanne. Moutscher sat on the window seat and stared at the floor, fidgeting with his socks. Only Nina seemed unmoved and placid.

"Do you know how long you were up there on the mountain?" Malloy asked.

"How many days?"

"A month. A couple of months. It's hard to measure time. It was most of the spring."

"Spring? What months? Do you know the months?"

"April. May." She seemed confused. "No, it wasn't spring. There were yellow trees; their leaves were changing, and it snowed some of the time. Didn't it snow?"

"I wasn't there, Joanne."

Joanne looked across the room at Sam and spoke to him for the first time since they'd come into the farmhouse. "Didn't it snow, Sam?"

Malloy shook his head in warning at Sam, but Sam ignored him. "It snowed, Joanne," Sam said softly. "It was autumn."

"Yes. It was autumn. It was October and November."

"What is the date today, Joanne?"

"Could I look at a calendar?"

"Just give us your best guess."

"It's almost Thanksgiving."

"That's right."

"Then it's November."

She was trembling, so faintly that Sam looked again and saw the lacy bow at her neck flutter. It was going on so long. Why didn't Malloy just come out and ask his heavy questions and be done with it? He pulled away from the leather chair and felt his shirt cling to his back, soaked in sweat.

"If it's November now, you must have been home for a long time. What year were you lost?"

"1977."

Moutscher choked and slapped the window seat with his hand.

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"After you were in the meadow, what happened?" Malloy plodded on, as if at any moment the pieces of his case would magically come together again. "Was Mr. Demich ... let me rephrase that: Did Mr. Demich continue to make you feel—'dizzy'? Were you afraid of him?"

"No."

"Did you like him?"

"He was sick. He needed somebody to look after him. Nobody ever had looked after him. He was like a little boy when he was sick, and I think he was frightened."

"So you began to like him?"

"I guess so."

"Did he attempt to rape you, or, let's say did he try to have sex with you?"

"No. I told you he didn't. I don't like that question, Mr. Malloy. His arm was all infected, and it was very hard for us. I thought he was going to die and leave me up there alone."

"But he didn't?"

"No. I had some penicillin which I gave to him, and he got better for a while. We had to hide."

"Hide from who?"

"People. People following us."

"What people?"

"I don't know."

"Sam Clinton?"

"I don't know."

"You were very frightened?"

"I was always frightened."

"Let's skip ahead. Let's think about when Mr. Clinton found you."

"Do we have to do that?"

"I think so. When did you see Sam Clinton? What was he doing?"

"Could I see my statement?"

"Try to remember, if you can."

"Sam was angry."

"And . .."

"He was holding a gun."

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"Did Duane Demich have a gun?"

"I wasn't looking at him."

"He might have held a gun?"

"He might. He told me that he wouldn't let anything happen to me."

"Did you have a gun?"

"No. I don't think I did."

"Do you know how to fire a gun?"

"Duane showed me how to. In case someone came, someone who was trying to hurt us."

"What happened then?"

"Sam shot Danny." Tears rolled down Joanne's cheeks, although she was seemingly unaware of them. "He shot him and he fell down, and I tried to help him."

"You said Sam shot Danny. Did you mean he shot Duane?"

"Yes. He shot Duane. I meant Duane."

"Do you know why he would do that?"

"No—I guess—no. I guess it was a mistake."

"Did you see another man up there? Did you see Max Ling?"

"I saw him later. After Duane fell over the edge. He was bleeding."

"Who was bleeding?"

"Everybody was bleeding. Duane was bleeding, and the little man was bleeding, and Sam was bleeding."

"What was the matter with Sam?"

"His head was hurt in the back. Somebo—something hit him. Mr. Malloy, I would rather not talk about this now."

"We have to go through this before we go into court, Joanne. We could stop for a while if you need to."

"I feel sick."

"Do you want to stop for a while?"

"No, but that's all there is. There isn't anything else to tell."

Nina had sat so quietly that Sam had almost forgotten she was in the room. She rose and touched Malloy on the shoulder, and he moved over on the couch and Nina took

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his place. She set her attache case in front of her and smiled at Joanne.

"Joanne, I have a few questions. Is that all right with you?"

"I guess so."

"Nina," Sam spoke out loud, and they all jerked their heads around to stare at him. "She said she felt sick. Maybe, we should wait, and—"

"No. Sit down, Sam. Let me handle this."

Moutscher was looking at him. Puzzled maybe, not angry, not even annoyed as he would have expected. Sam sat down and looked away from the two women.

"Joanne, let's sum up a little. You've been talking to Mr. Malloy for a long time. O.K.?"

"Yes."

"A very bad thing happened to you, a shocking thing. You lost your husband very suddenly. Very violently."

"Yes."

"And you were all alone with Mr. Demich, and you were terribly frightened?"

"Wouldn't you have been?"

"Of course." But her voice was brusque. "Of course. And you were so confused and things got all mixed up and jumbled around and it's hard to remember."

"I guess so. Yes."

"But you remember when I was here before, when we talked in the kitchen?"

"Yes."

"You asked me how Sam was, didn't you? You asked me to say 'Hi' to him?

Why would you care about Sam Clinton—if he did all these things you're accusing him of?"

"He's a person."

"Yes. You care about people, do you?"

"I try to."

"You cared about Duane Demich. You took care of him when he got sick in the mountains."

"I had to. Because—because he was the one who could me." 357

"Who told you that?"

"Who?"

"Yes, who told you he would save you?"

"He told me."

"Did he talk to you a lot?"

"Some."

"Didn't he tell you what to think, and what to do, and—" Nina stood up and moved her face close to Joanne's. "Why were you going to smash his eyes?"

"Becauselcouldn'tlookawayfromthem!" Joanne clapped her hand over her mouth, to stop the words that were out of" her control.

Nina moved back, satisfied for the moment, and lowered her voice. "What color were his eyes?"

"Green."

"Always?"

"They were red in the fire."

Malloy's voice cut in, "Ms. Armitage, I don't see how the color of Demich's eyes has anything to do with—"

"My turn, Mr. Malloy." Malloy opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it, and remained silent.

"You called him—what was it?—'the red man.' Why was that?"

"At first he was."

"But later, later he wasn't?"

"No. He saved my life. I would have died if—"

Nina held up one hand wearily. "You've told us that before. Did he tell you to say that?"

". . . no. I don't know . . ."

"Did you love him?"

Joanne was as white as milk, her face so chalky that her white clothes had gone gray in contrast. She swayed visibly, caught in the force of each question. "No. No. That's not true. I was grateful."

"How grateful?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You do know what I mean. You listened to him, and listened to him, and you began to believe everything he told you. It got very easy, didn't it? It was easier than you

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thought it would be. It was even easy to have sex with him . . ."

"... no .. ."

"It was easy to fuck him, wasn't it?"

"Nina!" Sam's voice bounced off the walls and Moutscher jumped. Nina looked at Sam with an angry shake of her head.

Joanne's arms had risen slowly until they crossed over her midsection, covering, hiding. She stared into Nina's eyes, and seemed to have forgotten the men were in the room.

"Please don't say that."

"All right," Nina said. "All right, you don't have to answer that now. Joanne, do you have any children?"

"No."

"How long were you married to Danny?"

"Fourteen years."

"You didn't want children?"

"Oh . . . yes, we always wanted children, right from the start. Always."

"But you never had any children?"

"... no.. ."

"Did you wonder why?"

"We were trying to find out why . . . when . . ."

"You're pregnant now, aren't you?"

Joanne didn't answer, but her arms drew up tighter around her waist.

"You are pregnant now. I'm a woman. I've been pregnant, and I can see that you are. Why don't you just say it?"

Damn her, damn her, damn me. Sam had asked Nina not to do this. A man could not have done it.

"It seems a bitter thing, doesn't it—to have to go through this pregnancy alone when you both waited so long for it? But then, maybe it's a blessing. Maybe it gives you something to occupy your mind. Did Danny know about the baby?"

Joanne was rigid, a deer caught in the crosshairs, unable to move out of the line of fire. Transfixed. "Did Danny know you were pregnant?"

"Of course not—no . . ."

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"You say 'of course not.' Why?"

"It—it was too soon to tell."

"Oh. Really? How soon was it?"

Malloy and Moutscher looked uncomfortable, more than uncomfortable, aware that they had been led along in something even they had no stomach for. They relaxed slightly when Nina moved physically away from Joanne, striding now in the stance Sam had admired so many years before, moving across the quiet room easily. She seemed to have forgotten that Joanne hadn't answered her question. More likely, she knew she'd made her point. But Sam knew she'd come back to it—bore in until. . .

"Let's go back again to the tree, Joanne. You were high up, holding on for dear life, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Let's go through it again."

"Please—I'm so tired."

"You can do it. Mr. Malloy, could I borrow your copy of Mrs. Lindstrom's statement? Thank you. 'I looked toward the area where they had gone and saw a very large animal in the brush. I heard a scream. I think it was my husband. Mr. Demich was wrestling with the bear . . .' I wonder how you could have seen that. From that tree, down along the trail, one naturally comes to a wall of rock. You must have amazing vision, Joanne. Can you see around—or through—rock?"

"... no ..."

Nina reached into her attache case and drew forth an eight-by-ten sheet, turned it carefully against her thigh. "Do you remember anything, Joanne?

What did the red man look like?"

"Oh . .. please. I can't—"

Sam saw what Nina was about to do. It had not occurred to him that she could be so cruel, so willing to destroy. He started to move, but it was too late. Nina turned over the glossy sheet in her hand and thrust the morgue shot of Demich—in full color, eyes open, his long body white against the swollen purple arm—in front of Joanne.

"Is this him? Is this your hero?"

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Joanne screamed, a terrible high-pitched monotone sound that had nothing human behind it. The scream went on interminably. Moutscher jumped between Nina and Joanne, and Malloy grabbed for the photograph and tore it away. And then Joanne slid from her chair as if she had no bones at all and crawled across the carpet, making gibbery noises that struck Sam as far worse than the screaming. She crawled to Sam, inching along the floor until she could grasp his knees and hide behind them. He lifted her and carried her to the couch. She clung to him, burrowing against him, her face tight against his chest. He looked over her head and saw Nina holding half of a torn picture.

She was still smiling.

"Over there is your rapist and your killer, counselor. You notice that Joanne didn't run to either of you or to me? She went straight to Sam because she's always known he wouldn't hurt her, no matter what she tried to do to him."

"Lady," Malloy said slowly. "You'd eat your own young to win. I'm amazed that you denied yourself the pleasure of doing this in a courtroom."

"That wasn't necessary."

"Neither was this. You made your point a long time ago." Malloy looked down at Joanne. "Is she O.K.?"

Sam shook his head. "Call Doc Massie. He's in the book." The other men welcomed an excuse to leave the room. Nina stood next to Sam as if she expected him to say something to her, but there was nothing to say; all his energy was focused on Joanne. Nina shrugged and left them alone.

Sam held Joanne closely and rocked her. He could hear voices in the kitchen, muffled conversation with no meaning. Nina's mocking laugh rose and stopped half-born when Moutscher and Malloy didn't respond. He wondered for a moment what she could possibly find to laugh about, and then realized that she had won and so had he. That he was now a free man seemed a hollow conquest. The means had soiled the end, and the devastation seemed irreparable.