“He’s
not going to kill you now.”
Betty
lifted her chin and set her mouth in a thin line. “No. No, he ain’t. And I
can’t say I ain’t glad. I am. I’m glad someone shot him. But it weren’t me.”
Nick
finished his coffee and tossed the cup in the trash. “Is there anything else
you want to tell me?”
Betty
didn’t hesitate. She shook her head. “I want to see my kids.”
“Of
course.” Nick thought she seemed a lot stronger than other abuse victims he’d
seen. From what he’d heard Martin used to do to his wife and kids, Nick wasn’t
sorry Martin Herman was dead. Unfortunately, he still had to lock up his
killer. And he hoped it wasn’t Betty, but his gut was telling him otherwise.
Nick
left Betty and wandered back to the conference room that had been turned into
the headquarters for their case. He stared at the victims’ pictures, waiting
for something to hit him, anything. Nothing did.
Some
time later, the door opened and a red-haired police officer stepped in. Nick
didn’t even know what Curly Matthews’ real name was. He’d been Curly ever since
he’d come in from the academy. It was a soft name for the man, who was easily
six-five, with broad shoulders, a thick neck, and a barrel chest. “They found
it, Detective. A forty-four Mag registered to William Holmes.”
“Dolores
Holmes’ deceased husband.”
“Yes,
sir.”
Betty
Herman’s sister had a .44 Magnum.
“They’re
speaking to her in the interrogation room at the end of the hall.”
Nick
followed the officer out the door. It didn’t look good for Betty now, and that
meant it wasn’t good for Sam either, because last night’s alibi was no longer
going to help her.
Out
the corner of his eye, Nick watched the D.A.’s expression as they listened to
Betty Herman tell the story of killing her husband. Alice Carlson was doing an
imperfect job of masking her disgust for Martin Herman’s abuse.
Nick
couldn’t help but think of how Betty’s children would grow up without a father
and with their mother in prison. Betty had waived the right to have an attorney
present, but he wished at least Sam had been there. She probably wouldn’t
regret what Betty had done. He knew that in Sam’s mind anything was better than
growing up with an abusive father.
His
own anger stirred in reaction to Sam’s abuse, and he realized his mother was
right: he’d fallen hard for Sam Chase. And now she wasn’t speaking to him.
Betty
Herman pulled down the collar on her turtleneck and raised her face, showing
the blackish blue and purple bruising on her neck. “He did this to me tonight.
I hadn’t even unloaded the kids from the car and he grabbed me by the neck. Why
wasn’t I home earlier? he asked me.” The word “asked” sounded like “axed.”
Nick
nodded at Betty, trying to encourage her to get the story out. He watched the
tape recorder spin and waited for her to continue. He wanted to go home.
“He
grabbed me by the neck and started shaking.”
Alice
leaned forward and put her hand on the table, careful not to touch Betty. “What
happened then, Betty?”
“He
finally let me go. I fell to the ground. I swear, I couldn’t feel my legs or
nothing.” She made a fist. “He pulled me up and threw me toward the bathroom. I
hit my head too. He told me to run a bath. So I went and got the gun,” Betty
said, her voice almost a whisper.
“Please
speak up,” Nick said.
Both
women frowned at him.
“Tell
us exactly what you did, Betty,” Alice said.
“I
got up from the floor and went into the bathroom. I started the water and then
went into the bedroom. Dolores gave me the gun a few months ago, right before
Willy died. She was worried Martin would kill me. I had it hidden in a shoebox,
so I ran and got it out. My hands were shaking so bad. I didn’t even check to
see if it was loaded. I just went back into the living room.” She was holding
up an imaginary gun as she spoke. “He didn’t even look at me. ‘Get me a beer
and something to eat,’ he said. ‘I’m hungry.” ’
She
shook her head. “I said, ‘No.’ He jumped out of his chair before he saw I had
the gun. I just started pulling the trigger. I had my eyes closed. I just
pulled and pulled and pulled. I don’t know how many times. He wasn’t but ten
feet away, but I didn’t even think I’d hit him. Finally, the gun just stopped
firing. I opened my eyes and there he was, laying there.” She lifted a shaky
hand to her face. “His face was all—” She stopped.
Nick
nodded. He could picture the face.
Betty’s
eyes widened. “It was gone. His face was gone.”
“What
did you do then?” Nick asked.
Betty
looked at Alice, who nodded. “I put the gun back and called you.”
“Did
you wipe the gun off? Try to erase your fingerprints?” he asked.
Betty
shook her head adamantly. “No. I just put it away. I didn’t want the kids to
see it.”
Nick
wondered if it had occurred to her to prevent her kids from seeing their father
missing his face.
Betty
grabbed Alice’s hand. Alice started, but didn’t pull away. “He was going to
kill me. Maybe not tonight, but one day. He was going to kill me. Right?”
“It’s
going to be all right,” Alice said.
“So
I was right to shoot him? Don’t you think so? He would’ve killed me. I had to
kill him first. I put those twigs on him. I was hoping it might look like one
of those other killings I heard about. But mainly I just had to do it before he
killed me.”
Alice
nodded and so did Nick. Unless the battered-woman defense came through for her,
Betty Herman would be put away for a long time. She might not see justice, but
maybe Martin Herman finally had.
Dumb
Randy was back and Whitney had been trying to get a chance to ask him if he’d
seen anybody strange talking to Molly’s mom. Randy was out on the street all
the time. Her mom didn’t say so, but Whitney was pretty sure it was because he
was so loud. He loved anything with a motor and he made really loud engine
sounds and inside you could hear him everywhere. He was in a special school
that only met part of the day, and the rest of the time he was outside.
Especially
when her mom’s soap pop was on. That’s what her mother called it. Her soap.
That wasn’t the name of it, and Whitney didn’t understand why it was called
soap because she’d never seen anyone with any soap on it, but her mom told her
to never mind.
The
soap had a long twisty, turny name that Whitney could never remember. She’d
watched parts of it sometimes when her mother wasn’t paying attention and
didn’t see her. But mostly she wasn’t allowed. It must have been sad, though,
because even in the parts where people were laughing and kissing, her mom still
cried. And they kissed a lot. That’s mostly why Whitney liked to watch it—for
the kissing.
The
soap was very important, her mother said. She even talked about it with her
friends on the phone while she made dinner. Whitney always heard her talk about
tons of people she’d never met, like they were her mom’s friends and stuff.
Whitney
hoped maybe the people on TV were her long-lost cousins. She hoped so, because
they were all so pretty, and right now all she had was dumb Randy. The ladies
on the TV were blond and tall and had really pretty clothes.
Once,
Whitney had hidden under the coffee table and watched, and she’d seen them all
go to a fancy party. They were in the most beautiful dresses. Whitney almost
said something to her mom, but her mom was crying again because some man was
saying something about finding a little boy.
The
woman on the soap had this blue dress with a million tiny beads, and Whitney
decided that was the one she wanted. Maybe she’d get married in it. Her mom
said people got married in white the first time, but after that they could wear
whatever they wanted, so Whitney would wear that.
Whitney
walked down the outside steps, and around the corner, looking for Randy.
Usually, she could find him a hundred miles away. But he was awfully quiet now.
She saw him sitting on a tire down by Justin Rapozo’s house. Whitney thought
Justin was cute. He always flirted with her and made her blush. He said she was
cute when she blushed. Justin was a mechanical genius. At least, that’s what he
said he was.
Whitney
wasn’t sure what that was, but he spent a lot of time working on cars and
bikes. Right now, he was under the hood of the old blue car. He had three old
cars in his driveway—a blue one, a silver one, and a red one. They were always
there and he was always working on them. Maybe the genius part meant that he
could work on them for a really really long time.
He
and his brother lived in the house with their dad. Justin was really friendly,
but his brother, Drew, was kind of mean. They both rode motorcycles, and Justin
had promised to let her ride with him when she was older. But if Whitney was
standing too close to the edge of the street, Drew would zoom by her and make
the engine real loud right beside her, so she jumped. He laughed when she
jumped.
Her
mom said boys did lots of stuff just to be jerks, and she said Whitney would
just have to get used to it. She said there was no good way to tell the jerks
from the other guys, but Whitney didn’t think that was true. She knew who the
jerks were at school. There were a lot of jerky boys at school.
That
mean Tommy Reicher stabbed her in the arm with his pencil. That really hurt.
She had tried not to cry, but it hurt too much, and then they laughed at her.
She
sat down next to Randy and tried to think of something clever to say to Justin.
Nothing came out.
Randy
started making shrieking noises, and Justin signed him to be quiet. Justin had
learned some sign in order to talk to Randy. One of the first things you had to
learn with Randy was how to say be quiet or you’re too loud. She’d learned shut
up, too, but her mom got real mad when she used that one. And Randy always
told. Sometimes he told even when she didn’t say it.
Whitney
watched Justin work, but he barely did anything. Once, he lifted his head and
slammed it against the hood, and that made her giggle. He gave her a dirty look
and said, “Thanks.”
But
then he went back to working again.
And
Randy was busy using a rusty metal box like a car and driving it along the edge
of where Justin was working.
Whitney
needed someone new to play with. She wished Mr. Gerry would come back again.
He’d brought her more candy since the first time, but he hadn’t been back in a
few days. He said he was going to teach her some fun games when he had time,
but he was always in a hurry when he came.
She
thought he must have a very important job that kept him running around. But he
called her his Cherry Princess. He said he had a daughter a lot like her, but
she lived far away now. Whitney wondered if his daughter knew how much he
missed her. Maybe her dad missed her that much, too. Maybe she didn’t need a
husband. Maybe her dad would come and fly her away like Peter Pan. Or maybe Mr.
Gerry would take her home and she could be his daughter.
She
thought about that for a minute. She might miss her mom some, but she wouldn’t
miss dumb Randy.
Randy
came over and ran the metal box over her shoe. It left a dark track on her
foot.
She
got up and pushed him back. “Look what you did to my shoe, stupid,” she yelled.
Randy
looked at her and smiled. “Line,” he signed.
“Yeah,
you made a line. That was bad.”
“Line
like the motorcycle,” he signed.
She
frowned.
“What’s
he saying?” Justin asked.
“Line
like what motorcycle?” she asked back, saying it out loud as well as signing.
Randy
pointed to the end of the street.
Whitney
shook her head. “He’s not making any sense. Something about a line the
motorcycle made.”
Justin
shrugged. “Probably just Drew burning rubber.”
Randy
went back to driving his metal box.
Justin
started pounding on something under the hood.
Whitney
covered her ears, but he didn’t stop.
Randy
didn’t mind, of course, but the noise was driving Whitney crazy, so she got up
and walked away, looking for something interesting to do.
Sam
wandered the house, thankful it was almost restored to normal. A day had
passed, and things had finally quieted down—or so she hoped. It was early
still, just past eight, and the boys were asleep, finally getting a full
night’s rest. She’d tried to sleep too, but to no avail. Instead, she got up
and opened the shades, thankful to see the press had gotten bored and gone
home. She’d avoided the newspapers. She didn’t see any reason to put herself
through more grief.
Her
concentration had to be on the case. And since she wasn’t working it, she
needed to struggle harder for every bit of information. Nick said he would help
her—if she let him. But she couldn’t get past the sick feeling that he’d
tricked her. She’d opened herself up to him, and he’d used that for his job.
She’d fallen for another jerk. When would she learn?
She
made her way outside and watered the plants. She was still dressed in her
running clothes, and the sweat, now cooled against her back, felt refreshing in
the morning breeze.
She
heard a car pull up and started to head toward the house when she heard the
familiar voice. When she turned, she saw Aaron lowering himself on a small
mechanical platform from the side of his van.
Aaron
lived in the city. “What are you doing way out here?”
He
rolled his chair up her path, and she watched as he pushed himself up the one
step and continued on. He had incredible arm strength, and she always admired
how he negotiated obstacles. Nothing ever seemed to stop him.