The Ditto List (47 page)

“No more of that.” Gardner's voice would have stopped a train. “Nothing about your husband. I mean it, Lucinda. Agreed?”

“Okay.”

“Now. I warn you, Lucinda, after the police question you they'll probably put you under arrest. You'll be entitled to bail, but it will probably amount to several thousand dollars, at least initially. Do you have that much money?”

“Not nearly. I got eight hundred dollars saved up. It's for Krystle to go to college. No one in my family's ever been to college. I want Krystle to be the first.”

She was talking only to herself, as though the past two hours had been erased. D.T. and Dick Gardner exchanged glances. Gardner spoke again, his tone as calming as a cordial. “I'm sure Krystle will do just fine at college, Lucinda, but in the meantime we have to find someone she can stay with until you're released on bail. Are your parents available?”

“No. They … no.”

“Brothers? Sisters? Other relatives?”

“My brother got killed on his motorcycle. My sister's born again. She ain't got time for no one but Jesus.”

“Mr. Jones says he'll take the baby until you're released. Is that okay with you?”

She looked at him as though he were a stranger. “You don't have to do that, Mr. Jones. I can take care of her. She won't be no trouble in jail.”

“They won't let you take a baby to jail, Mrs. Finders,” Gardner said. “It's either Mr. Jones or social services, until they let you out.”

“You already been too good to me, Mr. Jones.”

“Don't worry about it.”

Dick Gardner leaned over his client. “I have one more thing to ask, Mrs. Finders.”

“What?”

“When did you last have your period?”

Lucinda's eyes narrowed, then hardened from the suspicion that she was being mocked. “What? I …
what
did you say?”

“When did you menstruate last? What day?”

“I don't know. I don't keep track.” There was anger in her voice, a stubborn stiffness that hadn't been there all evening. D.T. hoped it meant she was swinging back toward normal, that she had shed the crust of Delbert's death.

“Well,” Gardner said, “when you do get your period again you give Mr. Jones here a call and he'll arrange for a doctor to see you, okay? It's very important. The very first day. Can you remember?”

“I guess so. But why? I know what to do with
that
.”

“We'll go into it later. Right now I'm going home and catch some sleep. Give me a call when you leave the hospital for the police station, D.T. I'll meet you there. If she's going to be held for observation, let me sleep till seven. One way or another I guess I'll see you later on. Mrs. Stone going to show up in court?”

D.T. shrugged and raised his hand to the lapel of his coat. The photographs still lay in their wool-blend grave. D.T. wanted to reach for them, to display them, to knock Dick Gardner out of his icy confidence, to do what he had been unable to do in a fair fight in the courtroom—end the Stone case on terms he could live with. But his hand held fast while Gardner waved and left the room.

Additional technicians streamed in and out of the small apartment, the tools of their trade encased in small black bags. All of them glanced curiously at Lucinda, all admired her looks, all were intrigued by her capacity, and all swept past her without a word of greeting or consolation. Minutes later two men wheeled in a metal gurney, disappeared into the kitchen, and reappeared with a body zippered into a black rubber bag and strapped to the gurney with canvas belts. The gurney's wheels giggled as they left the building. Beside him, Lucinda Finders said something softly to herself. D.T. draped her with his arm.

Time took place unoccupied by either of them, was filled only with the bureaucratic aftermath of violence. D.T. struggled with words, formed sentences and abandoned them, considered clichés, condolences, catchalls. Nothing seemed as appropriate as Delbert's death. Finally, the police matron arrived and they left for the hospital.

The matron took Lucinda and the baby in a black-and-white. D.T. followed in his Ford. At the hospital, Lucinda's dilemma became routine, banal. Lucinda went one way, the baby another, borne by a hefty nurse. The matron hesitated a moment, then followed after the aide who led Lucinda.

Useless, D.T. found the waiting area. Its magazines were older even than his own. One was devoted to cars. He read it closely, every phrase unfamiliar, every fact a revelation. By the time the matron and Lucinda returned he thought he had learned why he often stalled on his way to work.

D.T. asked Lucinda how she was.

Her smile was wan. “Okay. They gave me these pills. To relax me. I don't think I better be too relaxed right now, though, do you, Mr. Jones? Not if I got to talk to the police.”

D.T. glanced at the matron. She bore an odd resemblance to Audie Murphy. “Are you taking her to the station?” he asked.

“That's my orders.” Even the voice was husky.

“Couldn't it wait till she gets some sleep?”

“You'll have to take it up with the people downtown. I got to bring her in.”

“What about the baby?”

“I do what they say downtown. They want me to take it, I go to social services. That's all I can do.” The matron shrugged. Complications. Trivia. “Let's get rolling.”

D.T. told Lucinda to stay where she was, then returned to the nurses' station and asked about the baby. He waited while someone was unintelligibly paged. A moment later a young woman in a white coat came up to him, her face narrow with concern. “Are you the police?”

“I'm a lawyer. D. T. Jones. I represent the mother.”

“I thought this was Dick Gardner's case.”

“It is. I called Dick in on it. Are you the pediatrician he mentioned?”

The woman nodded. Her blonde hair bounced. She seemed far too dainty to deal in anything as unsavory as illness. D.T. wondered if she and Gardner were lovers. “Is the mother in jail?” the doctor asked.

“Not yet. She's here in the hospital.”

“But she killed the father?”

“I … I'd better not say anything about it. How's Krystle?”

“Fine. There's minor destruction of hair, slight burns on the left cheek and arm, some bruising from the way she was handled. Must have been an ugly scene.”

“I'm sure it was. Are all your findings contained in the hospital record?”

“Of course.”

“How about pictures?”

“There's really nothing that would show up on a snapshot, I don't believe. In this case words will be more than sufficient. And I'll be happy to provide them.” She smiled the smile of an expert witness.

“Thanks for your help,” D.T. said. “Is Krystle discharged?”

“Yes. I hope not to social services.”

“We'll make other arrangements. I hope.”

“Good. Do you do divorce work, Mr. Jones?”

“Yes.”

“I think you represent a friend of mine. Rita Holloway? Something about a patient of hers?”

D.T. nodded. “Esther Preston. Right. Which reminds me, I've got to talk to them. We go to court on Friday.”

“Rita says you're the only lawyer in town who would help her.”

“Well, she hasn't been helped. At least not yet.”

“I'm sure you'll do fine.” Her smile would have won his heart if it hadn't been previously captured by the evening.

He backed away. “Well, I guess I'd better go. The matron will be sending out the dogs.”

“Good luck, Mr. Jones.”

“Thanks.”

“Krystle's one of the lucky ones, actually. Most of the time when the parents use the child as a weapon the child doesn't come out so good. Tell Mrs. Finders she can get her baby in Room 34. And tell Dick Gardner he owes me some scampi.”

D.T. went back to the waiting area. Lucinda was where he had left her, looking at him anxiously. “Where's Krystle? Is she all right?”

“She's fine. She's ready to go. You can get her in Room 34.”

“Now?”

“Now. I'll meet you back here.”

Lucinda and the matron went after Krystle. D.T. went back to the nurses' station. “Who treated Mrs. Finders?” he asked the woman at the desk.

She shuffled some papers. “Dr. Lind.”

“May I speak to him?”

“I'm sorry. He's in emergency right now. It may be some time.”

“Okay. I'll get in touch with him later. Please tell him this is a criminal matter, and he may be called upon to testify in Mrs. Finders' case. His records should be complete.”

“Our records are always complete, sir.”

“Sure they are.”

D.T. went back to the waiting area to call Dick Gardner. He told him they were about to leave for the station. Gardner grumbled fuzzily, but said he would be there as soon as he could. Moments later, Lucinda joined him, clutching Krystle as though she had recently dropped her. “They say she's just fine, Mr. Jones.”

The matron was out of earshot so he spoke quickly. “Now, when we get to the station Mr. Gardner will be there to advise you. I don't know how long it will be, or what'll happen afterward, but I think I should just take the baby when we get there. When you're released on bail and can take her back again, you just call and I can bring her to you. How does that sound?”

“Okay, I guess. I just wish I knew what was going to happen.”

“I know. I do, too.”

The matron beckoned and they trooped to the parking lot and climbed in their cars and drove through slumbering streets toward a meeting with the law.

It was four a.m. D.T.'s eyes felt raw and sanded, his mouth ulcerated, his head submerged. The street lights splayed into fuzzy suns as he approached them. He shook his head to remain alert, then flicked on the car radio. The song was by something called the Clash. His head began to ache.

The police station was strangely calm. The drunks and whores and junkies were evidently processed already, the evening's work complete, the next day's yet to begin, time to do the paperwork. Dick Gardner met them at the door, shepherded them through the foyer to a room empty but for a metal table and three metal folding chairs. When Lucinda was seated and the matron had departed, Gardner looked at D.T. “Everything okay?”

D.T. nodded. “They gave Lucinda some tranquilizers but she decided not to take one yet.”

“Good.” Gardner looked at his client. “You feel like talking to some cops?”

“I guess. If I have to.”

“Well, you have to do it sometime, and I'd just as soon you do it now. That way if you make a mistake there'll be a lot of explanations if we need them. But I may decide for you to keep quiet. We'll see how it goes.”

Lucinda shrugged. The baby in her arms gurgled once and returned to Nod. Lucinda looked down at her daughter, then offered her to D.T., the act somehow symbolic. “She's real good, Mr. Jones. She eats almost anything. Carrots and squash are her favorites. But she hates beets, so be careful.” Lucinda's laugh became a cry.

D.T. reached out and grasped the bundle. “I'll take good care of her, Lucinda. I'll be real careful. Don't worry. You'll be back together before you know it.”

“I know.” Lucinda looked at someone else. “We will, won't we, Mr. Gardner?”

“I don't know yet,” Gardner said. “Let's go find out. You better go out the back, D.T.”

Gardner turned and started to walk away. “Can I talk to you a minute, Dick?”

Gardner looked back. “Sure.” They moved toward a quiet end of the hallway outside the interrogation room. “What's the matter, she confess she stuck him for the insurance money?” Gardner's laugh was a muffled rasp.

“The Stone case,” D.T. said.

“Yeah? What about it?”

“Here. Hold the baby.”

D.T. transferred the child to Gardner and reached into his pocket and drew out the envelope he had carried for two days. “Someone delivered these to the office. Just an envelope. No letter; no nothing.”

“What the hell are they?”

“Here. I'll take the baby.”

D.T. exchanged the smut for the child. Gardner extracted the contents of the envelope and flipped quickly through the pictures. “Shit. The stupid bastard.” Gardner looked at D.T. fiercely. “This smacks of a setup, D.T.; you son of a bitch.”

D.T. shrugged. He felt drugged, nerveless. “I don't know anything about it, Dick. All I know is, your guy's gay. And you know Hoskins.”

“I know Hoskins and I know you, you prick.”

“Hey. Who had a private eye sleeping on my client's porch for six months? Don't play Marquis of Queensbury with
me
, goddamnit.”

Gardner sighed. “Okay, okay. When can we talk?”

“Eight-thirty? Jury room across from Hoskins' courtroom?”

Gardner nodded. “Your client know about these?”

“No.”

“How about that secretary of yours? Hell, he's one of them too, isn't he?”

“He doesn't know either.”

“I'll bet. Christ Almighty. There goes my great victory for the husbands of America. But hey. The fee's not contingent so what the hell. See you, D.T. You asshole.”

“See you, Dick.”

Before they parted, D.T. reached out and plucked the pictures from Dick Gardner's hand. After they parted, D.T. gave the baby to a patrolman to hold, then went to the nearest restroom and was sick into the foulest bowl imaginable, with a listing wino looking on. Then he reclaimed the baby and went looking for the palace he planned to put it in.

TWENTY-TWO

Well, D.T. Of all people. What are you
doing
here at this hour? Have you taken a paper route to make ends meet?” His amazement was such that he scarcely heard her. “What on earth are you
wearing
, Michele? You look like you're on your way to a black-tie breakfast.”

“It's my wedding dress, D.T.”