William Bernhardt - Primary Justice

Christina screamed. Tidwell slapped his hand across her mouth to stifle the noise. The clothes in her arms fell to the floor. “Shut your mouth or I’ll cut it off,” he growled into her ear.

Christina obeyed. The loud screaming was replaced by a soft whimper. Her wide eyes looked desperately at Ben.

Ben took a step forward, still brandishing the lamp. “Let her go,” he said. His head felt light and dizzy.

“I don’t think so,” Tidwell said. Again he flashed the sickening smile. “Drop the lamp.”

“Not a chance.”

Tidwell tightened his choke hold on Christina’s throat.

“Drop the lamp or I kill her.”

Ben’s eyes locked with Tidwell’s. “How do I know you won’t kill her anyway?”

Tidwell’s eyes and nostrils flared. “Drop the lamp or I’ll kill the fucking bitch!” He shook Christina’s body back and forth, still pressing the knife close against her face. Ben saw a thin line of red emerge on her cheek.

Christina began to cry. She tried to stifle the noise, but the sobs still came out, in short, choking gasps. Tears were streaming from her eyes.

Slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on Tidwell, Ben lowered the lamp and set it on the floor in front of him. He couldn’t have held it up much longer anyway.

“Bad mistake,” Tidwell said, chuckling. He yanked Christina’s body backwards and placed the knife horizontally across her neck.

Outside the door, Ben heard the clatter of heavy footsteps. The unidentified feet ran down the hallway corridor and stopped outside the front door.

Tidwell’s head jerked to the side. “Drop it!” he shouted through the door. He twisted Christina’s body around so that it stood between him and the doorway. “I’ll kill her!”

Christina’s eyes closed tightly.

“I’ll kill them both!” Tidwell screamed. His face was jerking spasmodically, looking outside the door, then at Ben, then outside again. “Drop it or I’ll kill them both!”

Ben heard the sound of two soft clumps on the carpet in the corridor outside.

“Now we’re comin’ out!” Tidwell shouted, his face pressed close behind Christina’s. “Me and the bitch! And you’re gonna let us, or I’ll cut her fucking throat!” Shoving his knees against the back of her legs, he forced her through the doorway.

As Tidwell inched his way into the doorway, the inner wall began to block his view of Ben. Tidwell was concentrating on the people outside. As soon as Ben was certain Tidwell couldn’t see him any longer, he picked up the lamp, this time holding the base end away from him. In two steps, Ben was across the room and turning the corner to face the doorway.

Tidwell saw Ben in the corner of his eye as soon as Ben stepped into the doorway. Tidwell whirled and pulled the knife away from Christina toward Ben. He was too late. Ben swung the lamp like a baseball bat. The base of the lamp smashed into Tidwell’s head, and he fell in a crumpled heap onto the floor.

The two uniformed policemen standing in the outer corridor rushed forward and took hold of Christina. They gently lowered her to the floor.

Ben brushed the matted hair away from Christina’s sweaty, tear-streaked face. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She looked up at him and, after several seconds, nodded her head faintly.

Ben stepped over Tidwell’s body and rushed across the apartment to Catherine’s dark bedroom. He flipped on the lights. Catherine lay naked and motionless on the bed, the sheets twisted around her feet, her face staring up at the ceiling.

“Catherine?” He moved to the side of the bed closest to her. He saw two empty pill bottles lying on the bed, the same two bottles he had seen half-full on her bedstand the night before. He touched the side of her neck. No pulse. She was stone cold.

Ben was faintly aware of the sound of footsteps in the living room. One of the policemen had Tidwell on his feet and was pushing him into the bedroom. Tidwell’s arms were handcuffed behind his back. Blood was trickling from his nose and his left ear.

Tidwell saw the milky-white figure frozen on the bed. He made a soft, choking noise. “Don’t stand there leering,” he said, gasping for air, “… at my daughter.”

“Daughter?” Ben stared at the bloody man silhouetted in the doorway. “I thought she was your lover.”

Tidwell stared back at Ben, then averted his eyes. In that instant, Ben realized he had been right.

Ben’s eyes began to swell, and he found it difficult to breathe. He gazed at the pale porcelain figure, now transfixed, like a statue. He noticed she had something clutched in her right hand. He pulled her fingers apart slightly. It was his red handkerchief.

Ben heard the pounding of footsteps outside, and realized that reinforcements, probably led by Mike, were finally making their appearance. In two quick steps, he walked toward Tidwell, took aim, and swung his fist directly into Tidwell’s face.

PART FOUR

The Fixed Moment

41

BEN SAT ON THE sofa in a living room that looked like a page out of Architectural Digest . At one end, a beautiful brick fireplace with an antique wooden mantel served as a Victorian focal point for the entire room. At the other end, an ornate wooden entertainment center held all the necessities of twentieth-century life. Behind the sofa were a black grand piano, several tables bearing ceramic knick-knacks, and family photographs.

The woman sitting on the sofa facing Ben had in fact just turned sixty, although she looked at least ten years younger. Her fresh, ruddy complexion and her perfectly styled hair, dark brown with scattered, dustlike particles of gray, evinced the care and attention she had exercised to preserve herself.

“I don’t think I understand,” the woman said carefully. “So Emily is Catherine’s daughter by …” Her voice faded, and her face suggested an unpleasant expression.

“That’s right, Mother,” Ben said, nodding. “The moment I saw Catherine, I knew she had to be Emily’s mother. They have the same eyes, the same complexion. The same quiet beauty.” He paused reflectively. “And, of course, the poetry was the clincher. I think Catherine named Emily for Emily Dickinson. “He rubbed his arm in the spot where it was still sore. “Even after I realized the killer was Tidwell, though, I never guessed the rest.”

Ben’s mother rubbed her hands against one another. “It takes something like this to make a person realize just how lucky she is. That sort of behavior never happens in Nichols Hills.”

Ben smiled.

Mrs. Kincaid lifted a demitasse from her saucer and sipped her tea. “I don’t know how you ever figured it out.”

“The light finally dawned when Sanguine mentioned his franchise property in Phoenix. Tidwell had mentioned Phoenix before, and Fort Worth and some other cities, and indicated that he was in charge of securing real estate for the franchisees. Adams was just a puppet vice president; Tidwell found the properties and told him where to go. Tidwell was the only one who could have arranged for Adams to arrive at a vacant lot at just the right time to find Emily. It was all part of his sick master plan.

“I realized that Tidwell had left Sanguine’s office as soon as I told him I had found Catherine, the only witness who could possibly testify against him. He’d been gone fifteen minutes and hadn’t returned. It wasn’t difficult to imagine where he’d gone.” Ben pressed his forefingers against his temples. “If only I’d realized sooner.”

“Benjamin, you have to stop blaming yourself for everything. Everything is not your fault.”

Ben gazed out the immense bay window.

“Benjamin, I think I know why you feel that way. … I want you to know—”