Эд Макбейн - Snow White and Rose Red

“What did he say?”

“He said... well, do you want the exact words?”

“As nearly as you can recall them.”

“He said something like... well, let me see... he said, ‘Sarah, this gentleman is here to take you to the hospital.’ He meant me. I was the gentleman he was referring to.”

“Did she make any response to that?”

“She said, ‘Hospital? I’m not sick, why should I go to a hospital?’ Or something like that, I’m not sure of the exact words. What she was saying was that she was feeling fine, so why should we be taking her to the hospital? that’s what she was saying.”

“In those words?”

“No, sir, I told you I’m not sure of the exact words. But that’s what she meant.”

“Did she appear sick to you?”

“I’m not a doctor, sir.”

“Nonetheless, was she behaving in a manner that seemed strange or confused or disoriented or—”

“She seemed confused, yes, sir.”

“About why you wanted to take her to the hospital, do you mean?”

“Yes, sir. And also about why a police officer was there. She kept asking why a cop was there. I tried to calm her. I told her we had a doctor’s certificate saying she had to be taken to the hospital, and she wanted to know what certificate, what doctor, she was becoming agitated by then, sir.”

“What do you mean by ‘agitated’?”

“Well, she got out of bed—”

“What was she wearing?”

“A nightgown, sir. One of those baby-doll nightgowns with panties.”

“She was ready for bed, then?”

“Yes, sir. Well, she was in bed when we went into the room.”

“And she got out of bed, you say—”

“Yes, sir, and began pacing the room and asking over and over again why she had to go to a hospital when she wasn’t sick. I said something like, ‘Come along now, miss,’ or something like that, trying to calm her, and all of a sudden she took a swing at me.”

“Tried to hit you?”

“Yes, sir, threw a punch at me.”

“All you’d said was, ‘Come along now, miss—’ ”

“ ‘Come along quiet now,’ something like that.”

“And she swung at you.”

“Yes, sir. Came at me like a bat out of hell.”

“Did she, in fact, strike you?”

“No, sir. I took evasive action, sir.”

“Meaning?”

“I sidestepped the blow and grabbed her arm and twisted it up behind her back. Because she was getting violent, you see.”

“Is that when you put the handcuffs on her?”

“No, sir, not at that very moment.”

“When did you restrain her?”

“Well, sir, I was sort of holding her — I had one arm behind her back, you know, which I could have hurt her if I yanked up on it — and her mother came over to her and said we were only doing this for her own good, or something like that, and she spit in her mother’s face and said... Do you want her exact words, sir?”

“Please.”

“She said, ‘You fucking whore,’ and then she tried to pull away from me to get at her mother. I was holding her by the right wrist, you see, I had her right arm behind her, and she clawed the fingers of her left hand and tried to go for her mother’s face.”

“Is that when you put the handcuffs on her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You handcuffed her wrists behind her back?”

“Yes, sir. According to departmental regulations, sir.”

“And took her out of the room?”

“Removed her from the premises, yes, sir.”

“In her nightgown and panties?”

“That is what she was wearing, yes, sir.”

“Is that how she was delivered to the hospital? In nightgown and panties?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did anyone make any attempt to see that she was suitably clothed before she was taken from the house?”

“She had the handcuffs on, sir. It would have been extremely difficult to dress her in anything but what she had on. It would have meant removing the handcuffs and risking further attack.”

“Tell me, Officer Ruderman — when you entered the room, did you make any search for a razor blade?”

“I did not.”

“Are you sure you didn’t?”

“Not a formal search, sir. I may have looked around — they told me she’d tried to slit her wrists, sir — I may have looked around to see if there was a potential weapon on the premises, but I did not make a formal search, no, sir.”

“didn’t open any drawers or closets—”

“No, sir. Just looked around on the dresser and the end tables by the bed, that’s all, sir.”

“And saw no razor blade?”

“There was no razor blade there that I could see, no, sir.”

“Or any other cutting instrument?”

“No cutting instruments, no, sir.”

“No knives—”

“No, sir.”

“—or scissors—”

“Nothing like that, sir.”

“Did you detect any bloodstains in the room?”

“None that I could see, sir.”

“Did you look for bloodstains?”

“It crossed my mind that if she’d tried to slit her wrists, there might be bloodstains, yes, sir.”

“But you didn’t see any.”

“No, sir. It was not my prime consideration, sir, looking for bloodstains. But as I say, I did glance around to see if there were any, yes, sir.”

“And saw none.”

“Saw no bloodstains, that’s right.”

“No bloodstains on the sheets—”

“None.”

“—or on the pillowcases—”

“No, sir, none.”

“Or anywhere else in the room?”

“No place in the room.”

“What happened then?”

“I took her down to the unit and drove her to Good Samaritan.”

“Did the others accompany you?”

“They followed along in Mr. Ritter’s car.”

“Did Miss Whittaker say anything to you on the drive to the hospital? You were alone in the car, as I understand it...”

“Alone in the unit, yes, sir.”

“Did she say anything to you?”

“Yes, sir, she did.”

“What did she say?”

“She said her mother was after her money. She said her mother was doing this to get her money.”

The phone was ringing when I got home that night.

I let myself into the kitchen through the door that opened from the garage, and yanked the receiver from the wall behind the counter.

“Hello?” I said.

“Mr. Hope?”

A woman’s voice.

“Yes?”

“Or can I call you Matthew?”

“Who’s this, please?” I said.

“Terry,” she said.

For a moment the name didn’t ring a bell.

“We met earlier today,” she said. “In Lieutenant—”

“Oh yes. Yes.”

There was a long silence on the line.

“You didn’t call,” she said.

“Well, I—”

“So I’m calling you instead,” she said.

Another silence.

“Have you had dinner yet?” she asked.

“No, not yet.”

“Good. I fried some chicken, I’ll bring it right over. You’re not married or anything, are you? I forgot to ask you this morning.”

“No, I’m not married.”

“How about the anything?”

“Or anything,” I said.

“Does it bother you, my calling?” Terry said.

“Well, no, but—”

“That’s okay, I’m liberated,” she said. “This address in the phone book — it’s still good, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but—”

“See you in about a half hour,” she said. “I’ll bring all the trimmings, all you have to do is chill a bottle of white wine.”

“Terry—”

“See you,” she said, and hung up.

I looked at the phone receiver. I put it back on the cradle. I looked at the clock. It was twenty minutes past six. What I really wanted to look at was myself; maybe I had turned into a movie star overnight. There was no mirror in the kitchen. I walked through the living room and into the bedroom and then into the bathroom. I looked in the mirror. It was the same old me. I raised one eyebrow, the way I had practiced it interminably when I was sixteen years old. The left eyebrow. When I was sixteen, movie stars always raised the left eyebrow. And curled the lip a little. Even with the curled lip and the raised left eyebrow, it was still the same old me. I shrugged and went out into the small alcove I had furnished and equipped as an at-home office area. I turned on the answering machine.