Stranglehold. Part 12

She was not going back to him.

It was her and Robert now.

Eleven.

Duggan

It was late, almost four in the morning. h.e.l.l of a time to wake folks up if he was wrong. But he wasn't wrong. The way she described it, there was only one place he'd go after that.

"Officer Welch will take your statement, Mrs. Danse, and then we'll let you go get some sleep."

She nodded.

The woman was one big bruise. He wondered what she'd told her son about that. When they'd picked her up at her friend's house and driven her over to the clinic she was worse. He'd taken one good look at her and insisted she get medical attention right away. You didn't mess with blows to the head.

The photos they'd taken were impressive.

If she decided to go after him the photos alone could probably put the b.a.s.t.a.r.d away for a little while.

Privately he thought that would be the best possible thing for Arthur Danse.

He got out of the chair. His back hurt. Everything hurt. The station needed better chairs for guys like him. He was old and it was late.

"I'm going to see if I can't have a talk with Arthur," he said. "Make sure he knows what we know until that restraining order comes along. Okay?"

She removed the ice pack from her face and nodded again. "Thanks."

Tiny little voice. He'd heard its like before. Usually, right after the anger pa.s.sed. As the realization of what they'd been through, and maybe what they'd escaped, settled in.

Officer Welch-who was Martha Welch, thank you very much, and for his money, a credit to both her s.e.x and the badge-stopped him at the doorway on his way out.

"No backup, Ralph?"

"Nah. I know this guy from way back."

"You sure?"

"He's a punk. He beats up women. And maybe cats and dogs."

"Cats and dogs?"

"I told you. We go way back."

The streets at that hour were deserted. The snow had long since given way to snowplows and strong noon midday sun. Still he drove carefully and within the speed limit, aware of his own exhaustion.

With anybody other than Arthur Danse he'd have been tempted to wait until tomorrow. Or maybe hand it over to somebody else. Somebody fresher.

But with Danse, he wanted the news to come from him.

Danse in Duggan's estimation was your basic bad seed. Born bad, raised bad and grown bad. He got slicker as he got older and n.o.body had any doubt at all about the quality of his intelligence but in people's personalities as well as in bureaucracies, s.h.i.t always seemed to float to the top.

He wasn't surprised by what had happened tonight. He'd been waiting for something like this to come crawling out of Arthur for a long while.

Too bad it had to hurt the lady.

She was a nurse, she said. Seemed like a decent type. Not from hereabouts.

It always amazed him at what people could overlook in people. Sometimes, he guessed, it was all for the good. You take his daughter, Ginny.

Ginny could look at her own daughter-his granddaughter Stephanie-and all she seemed to see was this happy, simple, loving little girl who was, sadly, very much alone among her peers. Duggan saw what most everybody else saw. Down's syndrome. It made him want to bleed for them both, for all the pain they'd go through all their lives.

But Ginny had found a way to look at Steph that seemed to omit the prognosis for their future and concentrate on what was right in front of her eyes-that happy, loving little girl. She overlooked all the rest of it.

In her case it was probably for the best.

In Lydia, Danse's case it might have turned out lethal.

She was lucky to have gotten out of there.

He was going to try to help her stay out.

He pulled up onto the narrow dirt strip of road that led to Ruth and Harry's place. He was certain that was where Danse would go.

Whatever else you had to say about him, Artie sure seemed to love his dear old mama.

And sure enough, his headlights swept the big black Lincoln right out front.

He pulled up and cut the motor and stepped outside into the starless night. The wind blew chilly up here. He zipped his jacket higher.

The house was dark, silent.

He ascended the steps to the porch and saw a light go on inside and curtains fluttering in the living room window.

He didn't have to knock.

Ruth was right at the door.

"Morning, Ruth."

"Morning, Ralph."

The nightgown and robe looked like they must have been purchased sometime in the 1950's and worn every night ever since.

The grim, almost lipless cut of her mouth told him she knew what he was here for. He said it anyway.

"I need to talk with Arthur, Ruth."

"He's not here."

"That's his car. Right over there, Ruth."

She shrugged. "He went for a drive with Harry."

"With Harry? At four in the morning?"

"That's right."

"Happen to know where they went?"

"Nope."

He looked at her.

It wouldn't do to call Ruth a liar.

Though he'd bet his badge that Harry's car was parked right around back of the house.

"Mind if I come on inside, Ruth? We could do a little talking, you and me. It's awful cold out here."

"I don't mind. That's if you're carrying a warrant, I don't. Otherwise it's like you said. It's four o'clock in the morning. You got me out of bed. We can talk tomorrow. Far as I'm concerned we can talk anytime."

Dammit, count on the smart old b.i.t.c.h to know her rights.

"Ruth, I want to ask you, do you realize what went on over at Arthur's place tonight?"

"Arthur said they quarreled. Decided to spend the night here. That's all."

He shook his head. He could see Ruth knew exactly what had happened. She wasn't nearly the liar her son was. She was just closing ranks, that's all. It was to be expected.

"A whole lot more than a quarrel, Ruth. Arthur beat his wife up pretty bad."

"Her story."

"What?"

"I said that's her story."

"Yes, it is. And she has a hospital record and photos to back it up."

"She going to file charges?"

"I don't know that yet one way or another. But I'm not about to discourage her."

He gave it a moment. The woman never blinked, never wavered.

"Just make sure that Arthur's aware that he's going to be served a restraining order in the morning. He's not to go near his wife or his son under any circ.u.mstances till we get this all straightened out. And I'm personally telling you that he'd better be here or over at the restaurant so we can serve it to him nice and easy. No business trips. No hiding. Anywhere. Do you understand what I'm saying, Ruth?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good. You have a nice day now. Sorry to have woke you."

He heard her close the door quietly as he stepped down off the porch. He went back to the car and drove a little ways down the dirt road until he thought he was well out of earshot and then stopped and cut his lights.

He jogged back along the road to the house.

The lights downstairs were off again but there was another one burning in one of the upstairs bedrooms. He suspected a conference was in session. He jogged around the row of hedges to the rear of the house. The cold wind made it hard to breathe.

Harry's gray Ford was parked in back. So was his pickup. So they'd definitely been expecting him.

The b.a.s.t.a.r.d was right inside but Duggan couldn't get to him. Not yet. And knowing these people, they weren't going to make it easy for him.

One day, though. He'd get to him.

Get to him good.

Twelve.

Mending No Fences

"I know a guy," Cindy was saying. "He handled Jeannie Tartelle's divorce back in September. Now that guy, her husband-there was a character. You know he used to let their six-year-old son waltz around the house with Daddy's pistols? Said it was fine as long as he didn't know where they kept the bullets. Anyhow, she liked this guy, her lawyer, said he was good. And I definitely know he got her the settlement she was after. He's also kind of good-looking if you like them sort of bookish."

"I couldn't care less what he looks like. As long as he knows what he's doing."

"Hold on. I'll call her."