Self-Defence

49

The next day I received a package from Englewood, New Jersey. Inside was a blue binder containing two hundred neatly typed photocopied pages. Taped to the front cover was a piece of white stationery with Winston Mullins, M.D. on the letterhead.

A handwritten note read:

This is Darnel's book. Hope you like it, W.M.

I read half. Clunky in places, but talent and grace shone through in others. The story line: a young man, half white, half black, makes his way through the academic and literary worlds, trying to define his identity through a series of jobs and sexual dalliances. Expletives, but no violence. The bride in question: art.

I put the binder down and called Lucy. No one home.

She probably hadn't the heart to disappoint Ken.

Or maybe she'd held her resolve and had gone away for some solitude.

Either way, I'd wait. We had our work laid out for us.

That evening, as I was playing guitar and waiting for Robin and Spike to come home, my service called in with an emergency message from Wendy Embrey.

Now what?

"Dr. Delaware?"

"Sure, put her on."

Click.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Wendy."

"How's Lucretia?"

"Fine, but-"

"You've seen her recently?"

"Yesterday."

"This may be nothing, but I just got off the phone with a woman I think you should talk to. I know there are two sides to every story, especially with this kind of thing, but after listening to what she said, I strongly advise you to call her."

"Who's the woman?"

She told me. "I reached her through her father- he's the head of the real estate company. I was trying to collect- not important. Anyway, I gave her your name, said you might call."

"Just in case I can't reach her, give me a summary of what she told you."

She did. "Which might explain a few things."

"Yes," I said, feeling cold. "It might."

I hung up and punched numbers frantically.

Then I scrawled a note to Robin and ran out to the Seville.

Lights shone from the second story of the house on Rockingham Avenue. Ken's Taurus was in the driveway, but no one answered the bell.

I ran around to the side gate. Locked. I climbed over.

He was out on the terrace, slumped in a chair, head down. Half a vodka bottle on the table, along with a glass full of melting ice.

When I got ten feet away, he looked up groggily. Then, as if a button had been pushed, he sat up mechanically.

"Doctor."

"Evening, Ken."

He looked at the bottle and pushed it away. "Little nightcap. Evening cap."

His voice wasn't slurred, but the words were coming out too carefully. His hair was mussed, his glen plaid button-down shirt wrinkled.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Just dropped by to see how Lucy's doing."

"Oh… she's not here."

"Where is she?"

"Dunno, out."

"Out driving?"

"Yeah, I guess." He sat up straighter, tried to finger-comb his hair.

"Any idea when she'll be back?"

"Nope, sorry. I'll be sure to tell her you stopped by. Everything okay?"

"Well," I said, sitting. "I'm not sure. That's why I'm here."

He moved his chair back. The wrought iron grated on the flagstone. He looked up at the second story.

"You're sure she's not here, Ken?"

"Of course." His faced changed, turning piggish.

Suddenly, his hand moved toward the bottle. Mine got there first and put it out of reach.

"Listen," he said, "I don't know what this is about, but I'm bushed, doc. All this crap we've been going through, a guy deserves some R and R, right?"

"We? You and Lucy?"

"Exactly. I don't know what your problem is, but maybe you'd better get out of here and come back when you have an appointment."

"Are you making her appointments now, Ken?"

"No, she- listen." He stood and smoothed his pants and smiled. "I know Lucy likes you, but this is my place, and I want some privacy. So…" Crooking a finger at the gate.

"Your place?" I said. "Thought it was the company's."

"That's right. Now-"

"I just spoke to your second ex-wife, Kelly. She told me you haven't worked for the company for over a year. She told me the company belongs to her father, and that since the divorce you've been persona non grata there. That's why the company's insurance doesn't cover you. That's why you've got an answering machine instead of a secretary. She also told me you stole computer records and that's how you get addresses of places to crash. Along with lots of other things."

"Oh, boy," he said, backing toward the doors to the house. "It's a divorce case. You believe her, you're as stupid as she is."

"I know," I said. "There are two sides to every story, but Kelly says there are court records that document your drinking and your violence. Not just to her. You beat up your first wife too. And she says it's also public record that you threatened your father-in-law and tried to run him down with your car. That you put your older girl, Jessica, in the hospital with a broken jaw."

"An accident. She-" He shook his head.

"Got in the way? Of what, your fist? Same way Kelly did when you ruptured her spleen? All accidents, Ken?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. They're all accident-prone; runs in the family."

"Ken, where's Lucy? Is she locked in her room because you convinced her she needed to be for her own safety?"

He slumped. Gave me a helpless look. Then he grabbed the glass and threw it at me. I ducked but there was no need, he was way off.

"Get the hell off my property!"

"Or what? You'll call the police? Lucy's up there and I'm going to get her."

He spread his arms and blocked the door. "Don't mess with me, asshole. You have no idea."

"Oh, yes, I do. That's the point, I know exactly what you're capable of. After your father-in-law fired you, you started flying down here. Not to get to know Lucy and Puck but to get rid of them. So you could have total access to the trust fund. Lucy's share of the interest is twelve thousand a year. At a conservative five percent return, that means a principal of almost a quarter million. Times four sibs is a million bucks. You contacted Puck first, learned about his heroin habit, and fed it. Learned from him about Lucy's sleep patterns and her daily routines. The way she came home, ate dinner, and nodded off watching PBS with a glass of apple juice. You started harassing her with hang-up calls. Stole a key to her apartment from Puck, checked it out, fooled with her underwear- that was the fun part."

He cursed.

"A few days later, you let yourself in and put something in the juice- something with short-term effects. She mentioned feeling drugged a couple of times. After she went under, you came back, turned on the oven, and stuck her head in. Then you played hero. Waiting long enough for the sedative to wear off, calling the paramedics and driving her to the hospital. Adding the note and the rat shit a few days later just in case her anxiety level wasn't high enough. The plan was to get her out of there and under your control, and Milo and I played into it perfectly. Though if we hadn't, I imagine you would have found a way to volunteer. Instant family, huh?"

He pressed himself against the doors. Planting his feet. Fists clenching and unclenching, sweating alcohol and his gingery cologne.

"You couldn't kill her outright," I said, "because two young sibs dying that close together, all that money at stake, might have tipped someone off. Like Milo. The key was to get close to Lucy so you could choose the time and make it look like an accident- poor sleepwalking girl takes a tumble down the stairs. Puck made it easy for you with his addiction. He never went to New Mexico. By the time you made that call imitating his voice, he was dead. You didn't even have to be a good mimic. Embrey didn't know what he sounded like. And when you called your father to tell him Lucy had tried to commit suicide, you spoke to his assistant. But Lucy couldn't stop worrying about Puck, so you went with her and discovered the body- Mr. Hero again. Puck never stood you up. He showed for that appointment, though I'll bet it wasn't dinner, it was a dope gift. Unusually strong stuff. He was probably shooting up before you closed the door, dead a few seconds later. How'm I doing so far?"

"Okay," he said, fighting to sound cool. "I think you're a little confused, but come on in, we'll talk about it."

"Two sibs down, one to go? Did Jo really fall off that mountain or was that your maiden voyage in family planning?"

He shook his head as if I were being silly. Then, twisting the handle, he hurled himself through the door and tried to slam it on me. I pushed. His weight worked in his favor but his middle was exposed through the door crack, and I shot my fist forward and knocked the wind out of him. My follow-up didn't land solidly because he'd stumbled and fallen back. Forcing the door open, I dove on top of him, pinning him.

A woman behind me said, "Get up, you idiot, or I'll kill you."

Stunned, I obeyed. Ken came up swinging and I warded off his clumsy drunken blows.

"Turn around."

A slender form, orange-lit by a chandelier dimmed low. Holding an automatic a lot bigger than the one Graydon-Jones had brought to the pit. Looking comfortable with it as she came closer.

"Stand still, asshole," said Nova.

Ken took a blind swing at my head. I pushed his hand away, and he fought to regain his balance.

Nova said, "Cut it out. Don't waste your energy."

He said, "Goddamn asshole."

"Later. Clean yourself up. Look at you, you're a mess."

He wiped his lip.

"Fix your shirt."

He stuffed it into his waistband.

She had clear authority. The kind that imprints early? The scars… young for a face lift. But not for patching old injuries?

"Clean yourself up," she said. "Take an upper, then come back and give me a hand."

He complied.

"Big sis?" I said. "Hi, Jo."

Silence. That same smug smile I'd seen at Sanctum.

"One pair against the other," I said. "What are we talking about here? Going for the gold in sibling rivalry?"

She chuckled. "You have no idea."

"Must have been tough," I said. "Daddy leaving your mother for their mother. Then she got so depressed, she escaped to Europe and left you behind. With him, of all people. You and Ken end up locked in a dinky little cabin while the other two get to stay in the big house."

"Free psychoanalysis," she said. "Sit down on that couch- on your hands, keep your butt on your hands."

"Such gratitude. I saved your life."

"Gee, thanks." She laughed. "What have you done for me today?"

Meaning it.

A part of him- genetically. Raising selfishness to an art form.

I thought of the way she'd tended her father. Absorbing his sexual comments. Changing his diapers.

Jocasta. Turning his Oedipal joke against him, secretly.

Lowell so estranged from his own child that he didn't recognize her.

The scars remnants of the fall down the mountain. New face…

Nova. New person.

"Anyone with you when you fell off that cliff?"

No answer.

"Wouldn't have been Ken, would it? He tends to damage women. How can you be sure he didn't push you?"

A toilet flushed. Ken came out of the guest bedroom with his hair slicked like a country kid's on Sunday.

Nova said, "I'll take care of him. You get her."

"She's out like a light. I'll have to carry her."

"So?"

He touched his lower back and grimaced.

"Do it."

He left and climbed the stairs.

I said, "He's really the walking wounded, isn't he?"

"He's a dear." The gun hadn't moved, and she was just out of reach.

"Dangerous business being a member of your family. Then again, that'll work to your advantage. Only two slices of the pie, if you and he don't kill each other first."

She smiled.

I said, "Yeah, you're probably right. You and Kenny will find a nice quiet place, get all cozy, and give in to what you've been wanting to do for such a long time. What you wanted to do to Daddy. Changing diapers' a poor substitute for the real thing, isn't it, cutie?"

She was tough and she knew what I was doing, but her eyes wavered for just a fraction of a second. Her grip on the gun must have loosened, too. Because when I chopped down hard at her wrist, she cried out and the weapon fell to the carpet.

She was a strong woman, full of rage, but there are few women who can handle even a small man physically. That's part of rape and battering and a lot of the tension between the sexes.

This time, it worked out for the best.