The Nanny Murders Part 20

She put her arm around my shoulders. "Maybe you should get checked out at the hospital. You might be in shock or something. I can watch Molly."

"No, I'm okay. Thanks."

Men shouted back and forth, and we looked across the street. The men in parkas stumbled out Charlie's door carrying the stretcher. They moved slowly, as if straining under its weight.

"What's that?" Karen asked. "His garbage?"

"Oh my G.o.d," I breathed. Karen looked bewildered. Across the street, Jake and his men stood at the curb among pedestrians, staring. Phillip Woods stepped over to the yellow ribbon edging his railing and watched. Victor's blinds lifted; he actually pressed his forehead against the windowpane, straining to see. The ambulance crew yelled for police to help them carry the stretcher down the steps. It was apparently very heavy, loaded with lumpy green bags of trash.

FORTY.

SUSAN ARRIVED AS THE PHONE RANG. I ANSWERED THE DOOR ANSWERED THE DOOR with the phone in my hand, greeting Susan's person and Nick's voice simultaneously, hearing fragments of their conversations through ears still ringing with silence. "I'll be there as soon as I can-" with the phone in my hand, greeting Susan's person and Nick's voice simultaneously, hearing fragments of their conversations through ears still ringing with silence. "I'll be there as soon as I can-"

"What's with the ambulance? Did someone else get shot?" "-developments I have to look into-" "We heard sirens on the way-" "-we have to talk when I get there-" "Coach Gene was so pale-he was ice cold and couldn't stop shaking-"

Susan stopped talking midsentence and gaped at me. Karen called down the steps, "Are you okay, Zoe?" Nick harmonized the question in baritone.

By their reactions, I understood that I'd done something inappropriate. Had I screamed EVERYBODY JUST SHUT UP or only thought it? I couldn't remember, wasn't sure, but I apologized, and they seemed appeased. My ears were ringing, head throbbing, and Nick began talking again.

"Zoe, I don't want you there alone after what's happened . . ." The words buzzed like mosquitoes. I wanted to slap them away.

As Emily ran off to join the other children, Susan rifled through my cabinets, searching for something edible to relieve her stress. She found a bag of Cheese Doodles, frowned at them, gobbled a few, and sucked cheese sc.u.m off her fingers. Red nails disappeared inside moist lips, slid out and returned to the open bag. As she stuffed her mouth, it occurred to me that Molly hadn't had dinner. Were the children hungry?

". . . somewhere for a few days," Nick buzzed on.

Out the kitchen window, another ambulance pulled away Only one remained now, being loaded with the last of the garbage bags. Police cars still blocked off the street, and a bunch of uniformed men hovered on Charlie's front porch.

"Dammit-they're calling me, but I'll be over as soon as I can. Who's there with you?"

"A couple of people." Gretchen had taken Hannah home a while ago, and Davinder had just left with Hari. "Susan, Karen-"

"Can I talk to somebody? Susan?"

I pressed my tongue against the spot where my lips had cracked, felt the thin, sharp pain. Susan chewed an oatmeal cookie. I handed her the phone without wondering why he wanted to talk to her. Upstairs a child-Nicholas?-was angry, yelling that something wasn't fair; Karen's gentle voice hushed him.

Susan's head bobbed up and down as she listened. Mouth full of cookie, she made sounds of agreement, one syllable each. When she hung up, she said that Nick wanted me to stay at his place for the weekend. "It's in Chester County. Go-it'll be good for you."

Good for me? Chester County? What was she talking about? Nick and I weren't a couple. Were we? We'd called it off, hadn't we? And what about his "deal" with Beverly Gardener? Still, I remembered his protective embrace, how naturally he'd gathered me up and cleaned me off. How safe it felt to be beside him as he'd taken us home. But Chester County? I'd had no idea where Nick lived. What kind of place was it? A condo? A farm? Was it clean? Child friendly?

"Zoe, you look-well, I love you dearly, but frankly I've seen murder victims who look better. Go with him. You need R and R." I was too tired to discuss it, but I wasn't going anywhere. I didn't have the energy, didn't want to bother, even if I were sure about me and Nick. And what about Molly? How would she feel, suddenly whisked away to Nick's? She needed normal structure and familiar settings-stability after the traumatic events of the night.

"Go. Molly'll be fine." Had Susan read my mind? Or had I said my thoughts out loud again? I didn't know. Did it matter? Did I care? I rubbed my temples and leaned back against the kitchen counter. My legs didn't seem able to support me.

Upstairs, overtired children were slamming doors, running, jumping, an extension of gymnastics cla.s.s. Molly's soprano giggles flittered down the steps. For the moment, incredibly, she was fine.

Susan stared raptly out the window, biting into another cookie. "What about that? Trash bags full of nannies, just like the one I told you about. It's their bodies. Gotta be. That's why the ambulances. Otherwise, why not take trash bags away in, like, a trash truck?"

Her teeth tore off another cookie chunk. I was tired, floating. I closed my eyes and savored the burn. Outside, in the street, the ambulance doors closed, and I felt the pulse of flashing lights as the vehicle drove away.

FORTY-ONE.

"WELL, THAT'S THAT." SUSAN FOLDED HER ARMS ACROSS HER chest. chest.

"What's what?"

"No more serial killer. No need for a trial, either, since the dude's dead. Just the coroner's hearing to determine the facts." A crumb stuck to the corner of her mouth. "It's a shame, in a way. I might have got him off, if I'd had a chance." She chuckled and suddenly stopped. "Oh, what am I saying? I'm such an a.s.s, trying to make light of it. I'm still shaking, see? Look at my hands. I can't imagine how you must feel. You were right next to him."

"I'm okay." She looked me squarely in the eye and licked away the crumb.

"No. You are not. But hey, thank G.o.d they stopped him before he hurt anyone else."

I looked toward the stairs. "I should go check and see how Molly is."

"She's fine. Let her be with the other kids. There are moms around if she needs one. Who else's here?"

"Karen." I didn't remember who else. "Maybe just her." "Karen's enough. Relax. You look ghastly." "So do you."

"Do I? d.a.m.n. Time for a dose of medicine." She took a bottle of Scotch from my liquor cabinet. "Here." She poured. "Drink." "Susan."

"Drink." It was an order.

I drank. She made a toast in what sounded like Italian and gulped.

"Look. At least we know they got him. We don't have to worry about a loose psycho anymore. Maybe Bonita will come back to work."

I looked at Susan as the Scotch slid down my throat, golden and warm. She held up her gla.s.s again.

"Here's to the sharpshooters. And our luck that they shot straight."

I nodded. "That thought occurred to me."

"s.h.i.t. If somebody'd sneezed, if a guy's finger trembled, you'd have splattered the walls instead of Charlie. Believe me, the cops haven't heard the end of this. I intend to-"

Something beeped.

"d.a.m.n." Susan reached for her bulky embroidered bag and took out a phone. I swallowed more Scotch while she spoke efficiently, rapidly, with few syllables, and stuffed the phone back into her handbag.

"Well, that was interesting." She wrestled with a date book and a cosmetics case, jammed them together, and zipped the bag, fraying the edges of a manila envelope. "That was Ed. I guess he saw me at the shooting, so he thinks I'm an insider again."

"What did he want?"

"To keep me informed." She gazed out the window. "Guess what they've found in Charlie's bas.e.m.e.nt?"

I closed my eyes and drained my gla.s.s. "Don't tell me," I said. "I don't want to know."

But Susan had already started to tell me. With a trembling hand, I reached for the Scotch and poured myself another shot.

FORTY-TWO.

"CUTTING TOOLS. ALL KINDS ALL KINDS. SAWS, AXES, CHISELS, KNIVES- SAWS, AXES, CHISELS, KNIVES-" "What a surprise, Susan. Charlie was a handyman. He worked with tools."

"He had everything he'd need to dispose of the bodies. Even a big worktable. But that's not all." Her eyes widened. "Here's the corker. He had their stuff. Claudia's handbag, Tamara's locket. Shoes. Earrings. Keys. Mementos. Something from each victim."

I pictured Charlie's bad legs hobbling down shadowy stairs to visit some gruesome shrine and shivered. Susan shoved a lock of hair behind her ear and frowned.

"It doesn't make sense," I said.

"What?"

"Charlie. I just can't believe it. He didn't seem like a murderer." "He was stark raving nuts, Zoe. He cut up women's bodies in his bas.e.m.e.nt."

"But if he was a killer, why didn't he kill me the way he killed the nannies? Why would he insist that he was protecting me? And why did he start shooting? Who did he think the killer was?"

"Whoa." Susan put her hand on my arm. "Slow down. Don't upset yourself more by trying to get inside a maniac's mind. Stop applying reason to behavior based on insanity."

She was right. I wasn't thinking clearly "Meantime"-she glanced at her watch-"I'm starving. We missed dinner, and the kids have to eat. I ordered pizzas." "You did?"

"They said half an hour. If they don't get here soon, somebody's head's gonna roll."

"Somebody's already did." I didn't intend to joke. "Really funny, Zoe. Bag it."

"Now, there's an advertising concept. For extra-heavy-duty trash bags?" I wasn't smiling. I could see television commercials showing cleanup crews carrying green plastic bags from the guillotine, Jeffrey Dahmer stuffing them into his fridge, Ted Bundy storing them in his car.

I ripped skin off my lip with my teeth, tasted blood. Saltier, not as sweet as Charlie's. Tamara's head rolled across a shelf in Charlie's bas.e.m.e.nt, scowling.

Susan looked me over. "You really look awful."

"You already said that."

"Well, you do. You worry me."

"I'm okay. Are you?"

"No, not even close. So how can you be?" "Well, I am. Or I will be."

She picked at a cuticle. Her hands were trembling. "I wish Tim were here. Or Nick."

I squinted, wondering why. What good could Tim or Nick or anyone do? Bags of body parts, weapons, and the personal effects of each missing nanny had been found in Charlie's bas.e.m.e.nt. Charlie'd been protecting me, but apparently it had been from himself, his own secret depravity. It was difficult to believe that old Charlie had been capable of such despicable acts, but the evidence was clear. Nothing could change that. Just as nothing could remove the warmth of his wet brains from my skin, or his surprised dying face from my memory.

From upstairs, a small voice called, "Where are you, Mommy?"

""Down here, Molly." I felt wobbly.

"Can we have those whistles? Mommy?" Oh G.o.d. I hoped they wouldn't start blowing those d.a.m.ned necklaces. "Not now." I started to stand.

Susan put her hand up to stop me. "Karen'll take care of Molly. Sit."

Against my will, I sat. Actually, I sank. My legs were liquid, and I was groggy. The room tipped slightly, probably from Scotch on a shocked and empty stomach. Susan hefted her hip onto the table and leaned over me.

"Zoe," she scolded. "You know what? Go to Nick's. Get out of here for a while. You need a rest."

"So? So do you."

"But my lips aren't bleeding."

My lips were bleeding? I tasted them. They were.

"You're biting them nonstop."

"I'll stop."

"Go with Nick. Get pampered." "I don't think so." "Why not?"

"Why not? You know why not. I can't just leave-"

"Don't give me that c.r.a.p, Zoe. Of course you can. Molly can stay with us-"

"Oh no. Uh-uh. I'm not leaving Molly, no way."

Upstairs, Molly shrieked triumphantly. "Never mind, Mommy!"

"Okay, Mollybear," I called.

Susan wouldn't stop. "Fine. Then take her along. But go. It's only a G.o.ddam weekend. Get out of this house and off this street for a couple of days. Don't think, don't cook, don't worry about work or patients or Charlie or anyone but yourself and your little girl. Do it. Go. Lord knows I would if I could."

"I don't know."

"Go. Spend some time with the guy. Zoe, Nick cares about you-I could see it today. He was right there for you. I mean, the man washed somebody's brains out of your hair."

Susan's phone rang again. She fumbled it out of her bag and spoke with a raw voice. "It's okay, Lisa honey. I told you before, we're fine, don't worry. Did you eat? And do your homework? Well, you have to do it, even so. Turn off the television. I don't know-as soon as I can." The frown line etched its way back between her eyebrows, and she turned away, whispering, explaining.