'This isn't just about abortion, don't get that idea! Not anymore. They're taking the unborn from all kinds of mothers, not just the junkies and the whores - eight days, eight weeks, eight months, it's all the same to the Centurions. The harvest goes on day and night. The slaughter. I've seen the corpses of infants on roofs, Ralph . . . under hedges . . . they're in the sewers . . . floating in the sewers and in the Kenduskeag down in the Barrens . . .'
His eyes, huge and green, as bright as trumpery emeralds, stared off into the distance.
'Ralph,' he whispered, 'sometimes the world is full of colors. I've seen them since he came and told me. But now all the colors are turning black.'
'Since who came and told you, Ed?'
'We'll talk about it later,' Ed replied, speaking out of the corner of his mouth like a con in a prison movie. Under other circumstances it would have been funny.
A big game-show host grin dawned on his face, banishing the madness as convincingly as sunrise banishes night. The change was almost tropical in its suddenness, and creepy as hell, but Ralph found something comforting about it, just the same. Perhaps they - he, McGovern, Lois, all the others on this little stretch of Harris Avenue who knew Ed - would not have to blame themselves too much for not seeing his madness sooner, after all. Because Ed was good; Ed really had his act down. That grin was an Academy Award winner. Even in a bizarre situation like this, it practically demanded that you respond to it.
'Hey, hi!' he told the two cops. The burly one had finished his conversation with McGovern, and both of them were advancing across the lawn. 'Drag up a rock, you guys!' Ed stepped around Ralph with his hand held out.
The burly plainclothes cop shook it, still smiling his small, benign smile. 'Edward Deepneau?' he asked.
'Right.' Ed shook hands with the uniformed cop, who looked a trifle bemused, and then returned his attention to the burly man.
'I'm Detective Sergeant John Leydecker,' the burly man said. 'This is Officer Chris Nell. Understand you had a little trouble here, sir.'
'Well, yes. I guess that's right. A little trouble. Or, if you want to call a spade a spade, I behaved like a horse's ass.' Ed's embarrassed little chuckle was alarmingly normal. Ralph thought of all the charming psychopaths he'd seen in the movies - George Sanders had always been particularly good at that sort of role - and wondered if it was possible for a smart research chemist to grow a small-city detective who looked as if he had never completely outgrown his Saturday Night Fever phase. Ralph was terribly afraid it might be.
'Helen and I got into an argument about a petition she'd signed,' Ed was saying, 'and one thing just led to another. Man, I just can't believe I hit her.'
He flapped his arms, as if to convey how flustered he was - not to mention confused and ashamed. Leydecker smiled in return. Ralph's mind returned to the confrontation last summer between Ed and the man in the blue pickup. Ed had called the heavyset man a murderer, had even stroked him one across the face, and still the guy had ended up looking at Ed almost with respect. It had been like a kind of hypnosis, and Ralph thought he was seeing the same force at work here.
'Things just kinda got out of hand a little, is that what you're telling me?' Leydecker asked sympathetically.
'That's about the size of it, yeah.' Ed had to be at least thirty-two, but his wide eyes and innocent expression made him look barely old enough to buy beer.
'Wait a minute,' Ralph blurted. 'You can't believe him, he's nuts. And dangerous. He just told me--'
'This is Mr Roberts, right?' Leydecker asked McGovern, ignoring Ralph completely.
'Yes,' McGovern said, and to Ralph he sounded insufferably pompous. 'That is Ralph Roberts.'
'Uh-huh.' Leydecker at last looked at Ralph. 'I'll want to speak to you in a couple of minutes, Mr Roberts, but for the time being I'd like you to stand over there beside your friend and keep quiet. Okay?'
'But--'
'Okay?'
Angrier than ever, Ralph stalked over to where McGovern was standing. This did not seem to upset Leydecker in the least. He turned to Officer Nell. 'You want to turn off the music, Chris, so we can hear ourselves think?'
'Yo.' The uniformed cop went to the boombox, inspected the various knobs and switches, then killed The Who halfway through the song about the blind pinball wizard.
'I guess I did have it cranked a little.' Ed looked sheepish. 'Wonder the neighbors didn't complain.'
'Oh, well, life goes on,' Leydecker said. He tilted his small, serene smile up toward the clouds drifting across the blue summer sky.
Wonderful, Ralph thought. This guy is a regular Will Rogers. Ed, however, was nodding as if the detective had produced not just a single pearl of wisdom but a whole string of them.
Leydecker rummaged in his pocket and came out with a little tube of toothpicks. He offered them to Ed, who declined, then shook one out and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. 'So,' he said. 'Little family argument. Is that what I'm hearing?'
Ed nodded eagerly. He was still smiling his sincere, slightly puzzled smile. 'More of a discussion, actually. A political--'
'Uh-huh, uh-huh,' Leydecker said, nodding and smiling, 'but before you go any further, Mr Deepneau--'
'Ed. Please.'
'Before we go any further, Mr Deepneau, I just kind of want to tell you that anything you say could be used against you - you know, in a court of law. Also that you have a right to an attorney.'
Ed's friendly but puzzled smile - Gosh, what did I do? Can you help me figure it out? - faltered for a moment. The narrow, appraising look replaced it. Ralph glanced at McGovern, and the relief he saw in Bill's eyes mirrored what he was feeling himself. Leydecker was maybe not such a hick after all.
'What in God's name would I want an attorney for?' Ed asked. He made a half-turn and tried the puzzled smile out on Chris Nell, who was still standing beside the boombox on the porch.
'I don't know, and maybe you don't,' Leydecker said, still smiling. 'I'm just telling you that you can have one. And that if you can't afford one, the City of Derry will provide you with one.'
'But I don't--'
Leydecker was nodding and smiling. 'That's okay, sure, whatever. But those are your rights. Do you understand your rights as I've explained them to you, Mr Deepneau?'
Ed stood stock-still for a moment, his eyes suddenly wide and blank again. To Ralph he looked like a human computer trying to process a huge and complicated wad of input. Then the fact that the snow-job wasn't working seemed to get through to him. His shoulders sagged. The blankness was replaced by a look of unhappiness too real to doubt . . . but Ralph doubted it, anyway. He had to doubt it; he had seen the madness on Ed's face before Leydecker and Nell arrived. So had Bill McGovern. Yet doubt was not quite the same as disbelief, and Ralph had an idea that on some level Ed honestly regretted beating Helen up.
Yes, he thought, just as on some level he honestly believes that these Centurions of his are driving truckloads of fetuses out to the Newport landfill. And that the forces of good and evil are gathering in Derry to play out some drama that's going on in his mind. Call it Omen V: In the Court of the Crimson King.
Still, he could not help feeling a reluctant sympathy for Ed Deepneau, who had visited Carolyn faithfully three times a week during her final confinement at Derry Home, who always brought flowers, and always kissed her on the cheek when he left. He had continued giving her that kiss even when the smell of death had begun to surround her, and Carolyn had never failed to clasp his hand and give him a smile of gratitude. Thank you for remembering that I'm still a human being, that smile had said. And thank you for treating me like one. That was the Ed Ralph had thought of as his friend, and he thought - or maybe only hoped - that that Ed was still in there.
'I'm in trouble here, aren't I?' he asked Leydecker softly.
'Well, let's see,' Leydecker said, still smiling. 'You knocked out two of your wife's teeth. Looks like you fractured her cheekbone. I'd bet you my grandfather's watch she's got a concussion. Plus sele
cted short subjects - cuts, bruises, and this funny bare patch over her right temple. What'd you try to do? Snatch her bald-headed?'
Ed was silent, his green eyes fixed on Leydecker's face.
'She's going to spend the night in the hospital under observation because some asshole pounded the hell out of her, and everybody seems in agreement that the asshole was you, Mr Deepneau. I look at the blood on your hands and the blood on your glasses, and I got to say I also think it was probably you. So what do you think? You look like a bright guy. Do you think you're in trouble?'
'I'm very sorry I hit her,' Ed said. 'I didn't mean to.'
'Uh-huh, and if I had a quarter for every time I've heard that, I'd never have to buy another drink out of my paycheck. I'm arresting you on a charge of second-degree assault, Mr Deepneau, also known as domestic assault. This charge falls under Maine's Domestic Violence law. I'd like you to confirm once more that I've informed you of your rights.'
'Yes.' Ed spoke in a small, unhappy voice. The smile - puzzled or otherwise - was gone. 'Yes, you did.'
'We're going to take you down to the police station and book you,' Leydecker said. 'Following that, you can make a telephone call and arrange bail. Chris, put him in the car, would you?'
Nell approached Ed. 'Are you going to be a problem, Mr Deepneau?'
'No,' Ed said in that same small voice, and Ralph saw a tear slip from Ed's right eye. He wiped it away absently with the heel of his hand. 'No problem.'
'Great!' Nell said heartily, and walked with him to the cruiser.
Ed glanced at Ralph as he crossed the sidewalk. 'I'm sorry, old boy,' he said, then got into the back of the car. Before Officer Nell closed the door, Ralph saw there was no handle on the inside of it.
2
'Okay,' Leydecker said, turning to Ralph and holding out his hand. 'I'm sorry if I seemed a little brusque, Mr Roberts, but sometimes these guys can be volatile. I especially worry about the ones who look sober, because you can never tell what they'll do. John Leydecker.'
'I had Johnny as a student when I was teaching at the Community College,' McGovern said. Now that Ed Deepneau was safely tucked away in the back of the cruiser, he sounded almost giddy with relief. 'Good student. Did an excellent term paper on the Children's Crusade.'
'It's a pleasure to meet you,' Ralph said, shaking Leydecker's hand. 'And don't worry. No offense taken.'
'You were insane to come up here and confront him, you know,' Leydecker said cheerfully.
'I was pissed off. I'm still pissed off.'
'I can understand that. And you got away with it - that's the important thing.'
'No. Helen's the important thing. Helen and the baby.'
'I can ride with that. Tell me what you and Mr Deepneau talked about before we got up here, Mr Roberts . . . or can I call you Ralph?'
'Ralph, please.' He ran through his conversation with Ed, trying to keep it brief. McGovern, who had heard some of it but not all of it, listened in round-eyed silence. Every time Ralph looked at him, he found himself wishing Bill had worn his Panama. He looked older without it. Almost ancient.
'Well, that certainly sounds pretty weird, doesn't it?' Leydecker remarked when Ralph had finished.
'What will happen? Will he go to jail? He shouldn't go to jail; he should be committed.'
'Probably should be,' Leydecker agreed, 'but there's a lot of distance between should be and will be. He won't go to jail, and he isn't going to be carted off to Sunnyvale Sanitarium, either - that sort of thing only happens in old movies. The best we can hope for is some court-ordered therapy.'
'But didn't Helen tell you--'
'The lady didn't tell us anything, and we didn't try to question her in the store. She was in a lot of pain, both physical and emotional.'
'Yes, of course she was,' Ralph said. 'Stupid of me.'
'She might corroborate your stuff later on . . . but she might not. Domestic abuse victims have a way of turning into clams, you know. Luckily, it doesn't really matter one way or the other under the new law. We got him nailed to the wall. You and the lady in the little store down the street can testify to Mrs Deepneau's condition, and to who she said put her in that condition. I can testify to the fact that the victim's husband had blood on his hands. Best of all, he said the magic words: "Man, I just can't believe I hit her." I'd like you to come in - probably tomorrow morning, if that works for you - so I can take a complete statement from you, Ralph, but that's just filling in the blanks. Basically, this one's a done deal.'
Leydecker took the toothpick out of his mouth, broke it, tossed it in the gutter, and produced his tube again. 'Pick?'
'No thanks,' Ralph said, smiling faintly.
'Don't blame you. Lousy habit, but I'm trying to quit smoking, which is an even worse one. The thing about guys like Deepneau is that they're too goddam smart for their own good. They go over the high side, hurt someone . . . and then they pull back. If you get there soon enough after the blow-up - like you did, Ralph - you can almost see them standing there with their heads cocked, listening to the music and trying to get back on the beat.'
'That's just how it was,' Ralph said. 'Exactly how it was.'
'It's a trick the bright ones manage for quite awhile - they appear remorseful, appalled by their own actions, determined to make amends. They're persuasive, they're charming, and it's often all but impossible to see that underneath the sugar coating they're as nutty as Christmas fruitcakes. Even extreme cases like Ted Bundy sometimes manage to look normal for years. The good news is that there aren't many guys like Ted Bundy out there, in spite of all the psycho-killer books and movies.'
Ralph sighed deeply. 'What a mess.'
'Yeah. But look on the bright side: we're gonna be able to keep him away from her, at least for a while. He'll be out by suppertime on twenty-five dollars bail, but--'
'Twenty-five dollars?' McGovern asked. He sounded simultaneously shocked and cynical. 'That's all?'
'Yup,' Leydecker said. 'I gave Deepneau the second-degree assault stuff because it do sound fearsome, but in the state of Maine, lumping up your wife is only a misdemeanor.'
'Still, there's a nifty new wrinkle in the law,' Chris Nell said, joining them. 'If Deepneau wants bail, he has to agree that he'll have absolutely no contact with his wife until the case is settled in court - he can't come to the house, approach her on the street, or even call her on the phone. If he doesn't agree, he sits in jail.'
'Suppose he agrees and then comes back, anyway?' Ralph asked.
'Then we slam-dunk him,' Nell said, 'because that one is a felony . . . or can be, if the district attorney wants to play hardball. In any case, violators of the Domestic Violence bail agreement usually spend a lot more than just the afternoon in jail.'
'And hopefully the spouse he breaks the agreement to visit will still be alive when he comes to trial,' McGovern said.
'Yeah,' Leydecker said heavily. 'Sometimes that's a problem.'
3
Ralph went home and sat staring not at the TV but through it for an hour or so. He got up during a commercial to see if there was a cold Coke in the refrigerator, staggered on his feet, and had to put a hand on the wall to steady himself. He was trembling all over and felt unpleasantly close to vomiting. He understood that this was nothing but delayed reaction, but the weakness and nausea still frightened him.
He sat down again, took a minute's worth of deep breaths with his head down and his eyes closed, then got up and walked slowly into the bathroom. He filled the tub with warm water and soaked until he heard Night Court, the first of the afternoon sitcoms, starting up on the TV in the living room. By then the water in the tub had become almost chilly, and Ralph was glad to get out. He dried off, dressed in fresh clothes, and decided that a light supper was at least in the realm of possibility. He called downstairs, thinking McGovern might like to join him for a bite to eat, but there was no answer.
Ralph put on water in which to boil a couple of eggs and called Derry Home Hospital from the phon
e by the stove. His call was shunted to a woman in Patient Services who checked her computer and told him yes, he was correct, Helen Deepneau had been admitted to the hospital. Her condition was listed as fair. No, she had no idea who was taking care of Mrs Deepneau's baby; all she knew was that she did not have a Natalie Deepneau on her admissions list. No, Ralph could not visit Mrs Deepneau that evening, but not because her doctor had established a no-visitors policy; Mrs Deepneau had left that order herself.
Why would she do that? Ralph started to ask, then didn't bother. The woman in Patient Services would probably tell him she was sorry, she didn't have that information in her computer, but Ralph decided he had it in his computer, the one between his giant economy-size ears. Helen didn't want visitors because she was ashamed. None of what had happened was her fault, but Ralph doubted if that changed the way she felt. She had been seen by half of Harris Avenue staggering around like a badly beaten boxer after the ref has stopped the fight, she had been taken to the hospital in an ambulance, and her husband - the father of her daughter - was responsible. Ralph hoped they would give her something that would help her sleep through the night; he had an idea things might look a little better to her in the morning. God knew they couldn't look much worse.
Hell, I wish someone would give me something to help me sleep through the night, he thought.
Then go see Dr Litchfield, you idiot, another part of his mind responded immediately.
The woman in Patient Services was asking Ralph if she could do anything else for him. Ralph said no and was starting to thank her when the line clicked in his ear.
'Nice,' Ralph said. 'Very nice.' He hung up himself, got a tablespoon, and gently lowered his eggs into the water. Ten minutes later, as he was sitting down with the boiled eggs sliding around on a plate and looking like the world's biggest pearls, the phone rang. He put his supper on the table and grabbed it off the wall. 'Hello?'
Silence, broken only by breathing.
'Hello?' Ralph repeated.
There was one more breath, this one almost loud enough to be an aspirated sob, and then another click in his ear. Ralph hung up the telephone and stood looking at it for a moment, his frown putting three ascending wave-lines on his brow.