But when I called back, the phone went right to voice mail. Neal’s voice came on instructing any callers to leave their name and, as he put it, “the most pertinent information” and he would call them back.
I didn’t leave a message. Something was off. Why wasn’t Neal answering his phone?
“Is something wrong?” Beth asked. “Is it Ronnie?”
“No,” I said. “It’s my friend outside. He’s supposed to be out there waiting for me. In fact, we didn’t know what would happen when I came in here, so I had his number ready to call in case… you know…”
“In case I tried to murder you,” Beth said.
“Just being safe,” I said. “But now he’s not answering.”
“Maybe he got another call. Maybe he figured you were in here so long everything was okay.”
“Sure,” I said. “I’m just going to check, though.” I stood up and dialed his number again as I walked to the front door. Again it went straight to voice mail. “I’m just going to go out and see.”
“Do you think it’s safe?” Beth said.
“It should be fine,” I said. “Neal knows how to take—”
I had just placed my hand on the doorknob when a gunshot interrupted me.
I froze. Had it really been a gunshot?
Beth was right behind me. “Get away from the door.”
Her words jolted me into action. I pulled the door open and stepped out onto the porch. I sensed Beth behind me. She came up and placed her hand on my right arm.
“Come inside,” she said.
“Go call 911.”
“I will,” she said. “But you come in.”
“You call,” I said. “I have to check on my friend.”
I pulled away from her and started down the porch steps. In the wake of the gunshot, the night was quiet. Very quiet. I expected to hear commotion, to see people running outside to give help. But it must not have been that kind of neighborhood. Most of the blinds and doors remained shut tight. Across the street I saw one set of curtains move, but the figure behind the glass disappeared before I could get any kind of look at them.
I turned in the direction of Neal’s SUV. The streetlights had just come on, but their glow didn’t cover every inch of the street. Some areas remained in darkness and shadow. I saw the figure lying in the street next to Neal’s car. I ran forward so fast, I didn’t process who it was. But as I came closer, I saw. It was Neal. I recognized the grimy army coat, his tall frame with the long legs splayed.
I saw the blood dripping from his side, staining the pavement.
“Neal!”
When I reached him, he could barely lift his head. But he managed to smile at me, one corner of his mouth lifting. His skin was pale, almost translucent in the half-light. His eyes looked a little glassy. And scared. Even Neal could look scared.
“What happened?” I asked. “The police are coming.”
“Some guy…”
“Who? What guy?”
He started coughing.
“Just lay here,” I said. “Lay back.”
I eased Neal’s head down against the pavement. He was sweating. I didn’t have anything to cushion his head, so I left my hand under there, hoping it brought some comfort.
“A guy,” he said. “I saw him… He was scoping out the house…”
“He shot you?”
“Stabbed me. Fucking stabbed me. Can you believe that?”
“I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”
He started shaking his head. “No. Not that.” He coughed again. “This guy. He was going for the house. So I got out.” He closed his eyes, wincing. “He came over here and we got into it. He just stabbed me. I can’t believe he got the drop on me.”
I heard them in the distance. Sirens. “Do you hear that, Neal? The police are coming. Just relax.”
“He was an old guy,” he said. “That’s the shittiest thing. Some old fat guy…”
“Who fired the gun?” I asked.
“Me.” He rolled onto his side a little, and I saw the gun beneath his body. There was blood smeared on the grip. “I think I missed. But it’s okay.” He winced again. “I have a permit.”
I heard footsteps in the street behind me. It was Beth. She had a blanket and she spread it over Neal’s body.
“Thanks,” he said just before his eyes closed.
“An old fat guy?” I said.
“Old,” Neal said. “Fat. He was going to the house where you were… He looked like trouble… a real asshole…”
His voice trailed off. I saw the flashing lights of the police cars as they turned onto the street. I reached out for Neal and held his hand.
It felt even colder than the night air.
Chapter Fifty-one
When the paramedics arrived on Beth’s street, they went right to work on Neal. I didn’t watch closely, but I saw them slide an IV into his arm and pump a clear liquid into his body. They checked his vital signs and lifted him onto a stretcher and into the ambulance.
The police took over from there. They inundated Beth and me with questions about the stabbing. Who was Neal? What brought all this on? What was my relationship to the victim?
I told them everything I knew, which wasn’t very much. But I made sure they understood one thing.
“The man who did this,” I said. “His name is Gordon Baxter.”
I waited in another hospital, this one in Reston Point. I didn’t even know its name. Beth sat beside me. We had no idea what was going on with Neal. They had rushed him into surgery before we arrived in the emergency room waiting area, and since we weren’t immediate family members, no one would tell us anything. We made our way to the surgery floor, where the waiting room looked more comfortable. There was coffee brewed and a plate of crumbling pastries and cookies. Maybe I was feeling paranoid or maybe the recent events in my life had diminished my capacity for hope, but I started to think the nurses who hustled through the hallways and the elderly volunteer at the desk were looking at Beth and me with barely disguised pity. I prepared myself for the worst.
A detective from Reston Point took our initial statements and told us to expect a call in the future. I gave him the names of Richland and Post, and he wrote those down with the enthusiasm of someone composing a grocery list.
“Did someone call his family?” I asked.
“We made the notification,” the detective said and then left.
A TV played with the sound down, some news show in which two heads argued back and forth. In the harsh hospital light, I saw Beth’s face more clearly. I saw the deep lines and the wear. Her eyes lacked any real spark of life. They looked tired instead. But despite all that, I saw the resemblance to Mom. And to me. Beneath the layer of frazzled and harried fear, I saw my mother’s steel. This woman—my sister—looked like a survivor, someone who had the scars from battle, but was ready to go another few rounds. No problem.
My phone vibrated in my hand. It was a text from Janie Rader. She and some of her girlfriends were going out for Saturday night drinks—did I want to come? Oh, Janie, I thought. How I wish I could just go out for drinks with the girls. How I wish…
“I guess you still have a lot of questions,” Beth said.
I put the phone away. “A few more.”
“I’m sorry about your friend,” she said. “Is he your—?”
“No,” I said. “Neal is one of my students. He helped me find you. My mind was just muddled with all of this stuff, and I thought the police would take too long. I asked him, and he found you for me.”
Beth shook her head. Her shoulders drooped. “I get the feeling this is all my fault. None of this would have ever happened if you weren’t looking for me.”
“I think it goes back a lot further than me trying to find you,” I said.