22
ITOOK TWO long running steps and wedged myself between two parked cars, as the car on the sidewalk, an old brown Camaro, sent newspaper stands outside the bank flying as it steered toward me. Next I heard a sickening thunk-similar to the sound a football makes when it’s kicked-and watched Miss Ralston hurtling through the air. She had frozen in place, and now was knocked halfway down the block by the impact. The car never slowed down. There were no plates on it. It jumped back over the curb and onto the street and went squealing out of sight before any of us on the sidewalk had moved again.
A woman who had just missed getting hit as she walked out of the bank started screaming at the top of her lungs. I was shaking, unable to make myself come out from my haven. It took a moment to grasp what had actually happened, and once I did I felt sickened by it.
Eventually I made myself go down the sidewalk to the place where she’d landed. I didn’t have much hope for what I’d find there. It was just as well. She was absolutely motionless, lying face-up with her eyes open, and would have seemed unscathed if it weren’t for the fact that her head was in one of those unnatural positions that can only be achieved with a broken neck, and that her skull was completely cracked open where she had landed on it, spilling its contents out onto the sidewalk. I stumbled over to the gutter and retched.
In moments, I saw emergency-room people coming from the hospital across the street, and Guy St. Germain was running down the sidewalk from the bank. I turned and caught another glimpse of Miss Ralston, and almost passed out.
Next thing I knew, Guy had taken hold of my shoulders and was shaking me gently, shouting, “What happened to her? What happened to her?”
I started crying. “A car-oh, God, have mercy on me, it’s my fault. Sweet Jesus, it’s all my fault-it was me they wanted to kill. It was me. They wanted to kill me.” I was losing it rapidly.
He was taken aback, then put his arms around me and held me, saying, “No, no, chиre-hush.” I felt dizzy and sick; once again, I almost passed out, but fought it off. As if it were happening miles away from me, I felt my own crying become sobs. Guy turned me away from where Miss Ralston lay and held me to his shoulder while they found something to cover her. I concentrated on the weave of the fabric in Guy’s suit and calmed down.
Someone came out of a nearby cafй and gave me a glass of water. It was one of those little kindnesses that make a person feel human again. I washed the taste of being sick out of my mouth, pulled out a Kleenex and blew my nose. I was getting there.
In no time at all, police pulled up, sirens howling. One of the officers gently took me from Guy and sat me down in a patrol car. I asked him to contact Pete Baird. He turned his head to one side and took a longer look at me. “You the lady who was with Frank Harriman yesterday?”
I nodded through a stream of tears.
“Sister, you better think about getting out of town for a few days.”
I had thought about it. I thought about Gila Bend. I thought about running away to some place not even connected to all of this, just long enough to feel sane again. But how could I feel in control of my own life if all I did was run? I had to face this head on; even if I got scared or cried or whatever-I had to deal with it.
I thought about Miss Ralston, and how sarcastic and mean all my thoughts of her had been, when she was just a busybody who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. If she hadn’t knocked me down, she wouldn’t be dead. If I hadn’t been walking around in a suspicious manner, she wouldn’t have come over to talk to me. If only I hadn’t looked up and seen the BLP on the building-if, if, if, if.
I thought of something O’Connor once told me. He had read an article somewhere that made an impression on him, and as was his wont, he repeated its salient points for my benefit.
“Irene, “ he said, “do you know what the two saddest words in the English language are?”
“Boo and hoo?” I had guessed.
“No, wise-ass. The two saddest words in the English language are ‘if only.’”
I used to hate it when he’d get into going on and on with all of his quotes and proverbs and old saws, but somehow they always came back to me in times of trouble. And so I left off with the ifs.
By the time Pete got there, I was much calmer; still a little shaky, but calmer.
He sighed. “Hell. I was hoping these jokers would need a little while to regroup. You know, give you a day off.” He turned to one of the uniformed men and asked him to go over and double check on the guard for Frank’s room, and to ask the hospital about tightening security around Kenny as well.
“Have you heard back from the sheriff in Gila Bend yet?” I asked.
“Yeah. They said they had been trying to dig up something for O’Connor since early last week. They think they might have something.”
“I’m thinking of going there.”
“By yourself?”
“My traveling companions aren’t faring too well these days.”
“Don’t start thinking like that, Irene. It’ll make you crazy.”
“That’s what I was just telling myself.”
“Let me run this by Bredloe. Maybe I can work it out so that I can go along. I don’t like the idea of you going somewhere connected with Mr. O’Connor on your own.”
“What time is it?” I asked.
“About three o’clock.”
“Criminy. They’re going to think I quit again. I’ve got to get back to the paper.”
“Let one of these guys make sure you get to work okay,” he said, motioning to one of the patrolmen.
The officer walked over and introduced himself as Mike Sorenson. It seemed silly to get in a car for a two-block ride, but I didn’t feel like walking over near the sidewalk where Miss Ralston’s body was still lying.
“You’re Frank Harriman’s friend, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “You know him?”
“Oh, sure. Great guy, Frank. I saw him earlier-he didn’t look so hot, but they said he’ll be one hundred percent before too long. I don’t know, seeing him there just made me boil-really got to me. We all want to nail these bastards. Frank’s a good cop. And he says you’re okay. No offense, but I don’t usually get along so hot with reporters. But if Frank says you’re okay, then you’re okay.”
“Thanks. I wondered if-if people might blame me for what happened to him.”
“Naw, are you crazy? We know who’s who in this mess. Hell, lady, you’re damned lucky to be alive, and you know it.”
“You’re right.”
We pulled up at the newspaper and he got out and walked me in. I could hear the presses rolling. Snap out of it, I told myself, you’re lucky to be alive. I thanked Officer Sorenson, waved hello to Geoff, then made my way upstairs.
I talked to Lydia-she had been worried. Someone was already covering the hit-and-run.
I went over my progress on the funding story with John Walters and then I asked if we could go into his office. He looked up at me with a raised eyebrow, then motioned me inside the little glass cubicle he called home and shut the door on the nosiest people in the world.
I told him that I wanted to go to Gila Bend, and that I’d probably be taking a cop along with me, both for protection and for entrйe to any business I might need to do with the Gila Bend cops. I told him that there really wasn’t any way for me to do this story on the sly from the cops, and if that bothered him, he ought to can me or get somebody else to cover it.
He started laughing. Not the reaction I expected.
“You are so damned ethical, Irene. I love it. You haven’t been here forty-eight hours and you’ve got the news editor in his office, giving him ultimatums so you can work with a clean conscience. Brother.”