Уильям Макгиверн - Summitt

“Have they notified the insurance carrier?”

“County’s taking care of that. I’ve finished up here. I’ll check the caretaker now.”

Selby said, “It’s a shame we can’t make the next logical step, Miss Brett. I was trespassing, but I didn’t kick in any doors. I looked through the windows with a flashlight. I saw the stone fireplace Shana told me about, and the deer’s head hanging over it, and even the cot with ropes still hanging from the ends of it.”

Wilger’s car started up, the tires churning in the slick mud, losing traction with the crescendoing roar of the motor. As the sound whined in metallic blasts through the dripping trees, Shana screamed and stumbled toward them, her boots slipping on the muddy grass.

“No!” she shouted, “no!” and ran into Dorcas Brett’s arms. The noise of the motor was all around them as the car bucked and rocked on the slick road.

“Dammit, Shana,” Selby shouted. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

Dorcas Brett pulled the crying girl close to her and stared at Selby. “Will you stop yelling at her, for God’s sake! Why did you bring her here? Can’t you imagine how she’s feeling?” Her voice was rising, and her gray eyes looked nearly black. “Is this some exercise in dumb amateur therapy?”

An abrupt silence settled through the black woods; Wilger’s car was moving, the sound of the motor fading.

“God,” Dorcas Brett said, her arms falling to her sides. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—” she began, but stopped suddenly and moistened her lips. A faint line of blue, like a surreal touch of lipstick, was forming a fine, dark edge about her mouth.

“Take it easy,” Selby said to her.

With an arm around Shana, he walked with her out the muddy lane to their car.

“I’m all right, daddy.”

“What was that all about?”

“I don’t know. Give me a handkerchief, okay?”

“What frightened you back there?”

“It was the car, the noise. I wasn’t expecting anything, it startled me.”

“But you were staring at those garage doors. Why, Shana?”

“I told you, I wasn’t thinking about anything. I was daydreaming.”

“Did he take you into the garage that night?”

“No... just the house.”

Selby opened the door of the station wagon, and closed it when she slipped inside. “Turn on the radio,” he suggested. “Get some music.”

“What’s the matter with that lady, daddy? She looked like she was going to faint.”

“I’ll check. You okay now?”

“Sure, but you better see what’s wrong with her.”

“Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

The deputy DA was standing with her back to him. She turned and said, “That was very unprofessional. I had no right to come on that way—”

“You’d better stop talking for a while.”

“The book says not to verbalize your feelings.” She was speaking rapidly. “Remember the stats, not the people, don’t get involved on a personal—”

“That’s probably good advice,” Selby said, “but you’d better get your breath back now. Don’t say anything for a while.”

“I wanted you to understand—”

“Dammit, shut up!” Selby held her shoulders and studied her face. Her eyes were distended with stress. An edge of blue had widened about her mouth. Her hands were clenched across her chest.

“Put your hands down,” he told her. “Let them hang loose. Breathe deep and slow. Can you do that? Don’t say anything. Just nod.”

Lowering her hands, she swallowed with an effort and nodded. “I think I ought to—”

He tightened his grip on her shoulders. “Don’t talk, you’re overventilating, burning up oxygen faster than you’re replacing it. Keep it up and you’ll be out cold.”

Holding her wrists, he elevated them until her arms were fully extended and level with the ground. “Breathe as deeply as possible, until you can feel it down to your stomach.”

“I think I’m all right now.”

“No, you’re not. Something triggered a cyanosis jag. It’s like a muscular or emotional overdraft, tapping resources you don’t have. I’ve seen it happen to athletes twice your size. Is it Dorcas or Kelly or what?” he added to distract her.

“Dorcas is a family name.”

“And you’re called Kelly? Just nod.”

“Or Brett, it doesn’t matter.”

“Bodies have breaking points.” He studied the line of blue about her lips. “Like machines. We’re a complex of muscles and endocrines and feelings.”

“I had a year of pre-med before—”

“Never mind that. Listen to me.”

“It’s good of you but—”

“Yes, I’m trying to distract you, but I’m obviously doing a lousy job of it. Keep quiet. Everything runs in harmony until there’s an unexpected pressure against a vulnerable area. Then something breaks and we fall apart. You feeling better?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“You feel up to driving?”

“I told you. I understand what — happened to me.”

“How will that help you drive?”

“That isn’t what I meant.” She was still speaking rapidly, but color had returned to her face. “It’s called hydroxia, a carbon dioxide depletion. It happened to me once in college. I didn’t have breakfast this morning, only coffee, I was—” She paused and swallowed. “No, it was your daughter, her fear hit me in some way I wasn’t prepared for.” She glanced at her extended arms. “I’m all right now, thanks.”

He released her wrists and she drew a deep breath as if experimenting with its effects. The blue line had faded from around her lips. She adjusted her scarf, and said, “Did you ask your daughter what upset her?”

“She told me she was frightened by the sound of the car.”

As they walked out the lane he said, “If you don’t feel like driving I’ll stop in Buck Run and call a cab.”

“Thanks, but that’s not necessary.” She glanced at him. “If there’s anything else you think we should know, I’d like you to call us.”

She took a business card from her handbag, and offered it to him. “My extension is on it,” she said. “And my home phone.”

“All right,” he said.

“But you won’t call, will you?”

“Does it matter?”

“I’m not sure. If you were put off by my attack I’m sorry. It’s not part of my usual legal repertoire, but it’s something else, isn’t it?”

“Of course, Miss Brett.”

He pointed back to the charred and smouldering house. “That’s where some psychopath tortured and raped my daughter, but we can’t even sift the ashes now because nobody at your shop seems to give a goddamn about finding him.”

“You heard Sergeant Wilger, Mr. Selby, he’s on his way to talk to the caretaker right now.”

“I know. He’ll log another hundred hours, and then sit around waiting for a tip from somebody in a bar. Meantime, he can listen to the captain talk about buying ballet clothes for his cute little kid. You better get yourself some breakfast, Miss Brett.”

Hardly aware of what he was doing, Selby tore her card into pieces and scattered them over the muddy ground. “Sorry,” he said, and walked away from her to join his daughter.

When they pulled into the driveway at their farm, Shana had her door open almost before Selby turned off the motor.

“Barby’s got the homework assignments,” she said, “and I told her I’d call her this morning.”

“Can’t that wait a minute?”

“What is it, daddy?”

Silence had settled, a quiltlike country silence, broken only by the stir of leaves and faint cries of birds. The sunlight drifted down through the tops of brilliant red and yellow buttonwoods and maples.

“Are you sure you didn’t remember something back there that panicked you?”