Steven Havill - Statute of Limitations

“As soon as my husband gets back here to manage the patient, we want to take a photo or ten of the head wound, sir,” Estelle said.

“Oh.” He frowned and closed his eyes. “Goddamn glad I didn’t get kicked somewhere else. Look, this is what I remember…at least at the moment. I think I know my own name. Bill something. Smith, maybe. I remember clear as a bell trying to find my house keys, and wishing I had fixed that light over the door.”

“I’ve found myself wishing that more than once, Padrino. ”

“Yeah, well, I remember that. And then, poof . The next image in my mind is of this angelic face close to mine, asking encouraging questions like did I hurt.” He reached out a hand to Linda, and she took it. “How are you doing, young lady?”

“Fine, I think.”

“You think?”

“It’s been a long, nasty day, Padrino. ”

“Yes, it has. One of the worst on record.”

“You don’t remember falling?” Estelle persisted.

“No.” Gastner released Linda’s hand and turned back to Estelle, shifting his head slightly to bring the correct portion of his glasses into position. “The thought that occurred to me here a bit ago was that I had had another stroke. While I was lying here, staring up at the ceiling and ruminating, that thought occurred to me.”

“We don’t think so.”

“I’m glad we don’t,” he said, amused. “Or maybe I should hope for that. It might be less bother. What, you think someone whopped me on the head, or what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hubby thinks so, though.”

“Yes, he does,” Estelle said.

“Then that’s what happened. He’s not wrong very often. Maybe it will all come back to me in a Technicolor flash, especially if they make me eat hospital food.” He looked over at the small wing table that held a glass of water. Looking at it with distaste, he said, “You want to go out for some dinner?”

“No, you don’t,” Estelle said. She rested both hands on his right forearm. “He said the head wound had distinctive patterns in the bruising, sir.”

“ He being Francis?”

“Yes.”

“Distinctive how?”

“Kind of a diagonal pattern of bruises. That’s why we need pictures.”

“Huh. Did someone get inside my house?”

“I don’t think so. The door was still locked.”

“And you have my keys?”

“Yes, sir. They were on the ground. Do you remember what time you arrived home?”

“Christ, now you’re stretching it, sweetheart.” He pressed a hand over his eyes. “I would guess right about nine. Something like that. How’s that for helpful.”

“It’s a start.”

“Well, then.” He shifted and let out a little groan. “It sure as hell hurts now, though. Down deep in my head, where the Novocaine doesn’t reach. You know, I haven’t had an argument with anybody in a good long time, at least not enough that they’d want to take something to my head in the middle of the night.”

Francis Guzman arrived with the nurse in tow, and he immediately circled an arm around Estelle’s waist. “You want to see his ugly head?”

“Sí.”

The physician nodded at Linda. “Where’s best for you, young lady?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just so I can get close.”

“I think,” Francis said to the nurse, “that if we just have him roll on his left side, that’ll be all we need. Linda, you can shoot from over here. Okay?”

In a moment, the nurse had removed the dressing from Gastner’s skull, and she stepped back to give the others room. Gastner remained grimly silent through the procedure, lying on his side like an old whale.

A patch the size of a grapefruit had been shaved on the back and crown of his broad skull. In the center was a nasty two-inch laceration, surrounded by a spectacular bruise. The black sutures had closed the wound, but Estelle could immediately see what her husband had been talking about. Small diagonal marks crossed the wound track, like railroad ties set slightly askew.

“You think you can catch that?” she said to Linda.

“She can do anything,” Gastner muttered. For a moment Linda worked in silence, trying different settings and different ways to bounce the flash, and then taking another set with available light, finishing off with digital.

“Okay,” she said. “That’s got it.”

“Pull up one on that show-and-tell screen,” Gastner said. “I want to see what you guys are gawking at.”

Francis and the nurse rebandaged the head wound and helped Gastner back to a comfortable position flat on his back. When he was resituated, he held the digital camera for a long time, turning it this way and that as he scrutinized the small review screen.

“Ouch,” he said finally. “Interesting.”

“What do you think, sir?”

“I think somebody didn’t want to discuss the weather with me, that’s for sure.” He turned and caught the nurse’s eye, and she nodded and left the room. “Kick that closed, will you?” he said, and Linda made sure the door was fully latched. Gastner beckoned Francis close. “This is what you’re talking about?” With a stubby finger he pointed at two marks that were particularly clear, even on the tiny screen.

“Right.”

“You know what this reminds me of?”

“What?”

“Sweetheart, remember when Bruce Corcoran got killed out at the bridge on Highway 56? Among other horrible things, poor old Bruce got whaled along the side of his face by a piece of rebar when a load shifted somehow. Remember that?”

“Not the details, no,” Estelle said.

“Well, I do. Rebar has those funny little raised whatchacallits…those little humpy bumps. Gives the concrete something to grip. Little raised ridges.”

“You think someone hit you with a piece of rebar?”

“That’s my best guess.” He shrugged and handed the camera to Linda. “I don’t think I was supposed to walk away from that. No argument, no confrontation. Just pow. A half-inch piece of steel rod across the pate. And I take a nose-dive into the bushes. The old fart trips on his own doorstep. The only thing not in the plan was a sharp-eyed doctor ready and waiting in the emergency room.” He reached out to Estelle again. “Good thing you happened by, sweetheart. Otherwise, come morning, I might have been a little bit stiff.”

He took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. “And I’m talking too much.”

“I need to talk to you about Mike Sisneros and this afternoon,” Estelle said. She glanced at her watch. “If it is still this afternoon, and not tomorrow.”

Francis touched her shoulder. “He really should rest for a bit, querida. ”

“Nah, what the hell,” Gastner said. “We can give it a few minutes.”

After the others had left and she was alone with the former sheriff, Estelle leaned her hip against the side of the bed and regarded Gastner intently. “I left the office, oh, maybe threeish or so. I didn’t pay attention,” he said.

“How long was Mike there?”

“He left a little bit before that. Not much.” He grimaced in frustration. “I wish I could remember specifics.”

“And Janet?”

“You know, she came and went sometime . How’s that. I just wasn’t paying attention. She came in right after we started…that would be around two. She suggested that maybe she should go get some pizza, but we were all stoked up from lunch. Mike told her not to bother.”

“Did they talk about going to Lordsburg?”

“Nope. Mike said that he had to ‘go get ready’ at one point.” Gastner fell silent, deep in thought. “I just don’t know. They might have been going together, or not…. I just don’t know. It wasn’t something that they talked about while I was in the room. Did they mention Lordsburg to Linda?”