He jerked and dropped Sammie. She fled. Falon stumbled out the door ducking, swinging his arms, nearly fell down the shallow steps. He beat at his shoulder and chest as if something clung to him. Becky heard Sammie in the bedroom calling the police. Falon struggled up, pushed his unseen attacker away, and ran through the azaleas and up the hill. Becky fired once at his retreating back, but then he was too near the neighbor?s house. She ran chasing him up to the street but didn?t dare fire again among the many houses. His limping footsteps pounded into the shadows beneath the trees; she heard him stumble again then heard a car door slam, heard the engine start. Tires squealed, and the car careened away. Becky turned and ran, burst into the sitting room.
Sammie stood between the two beds pale and silent, the phone still in her hand. Becky, with four rounds still in the chamber, checked the suite for a second assailant, though she doubted Falon had a partner. She pulled on a robe over her gown and dropped the gun in her pocket, then sat on the bed holding Sammie, waiting for the police. If they didn?t find Falon and lock him up, if they didn?tkeep him in jail, he?d be back.
Not tonight, but soon.
Maybe her one sure shot had damaged his leg enough so he?d look for a doctor, someone who would treat him without reporting the shooting. She knew he?d keep coming back, harassing them until he had hurt them both or killed them.
Or until she killed Falon.
Could she have wounded him bad enough to make him stay away? When she looked at the threshold, there was blood on the carpet and on the steps. She was sorry she hadn?t killed him and put an end to it. If she had trained more, she might have been more effective in stopping him without harming Sammie. What training she?d had, Morgan had given her long ago. When the war was over and Morgan was home again, neither of them dreamed that her life and Sammie?s might depend on added training. The world seemed at peace then. They were caught up with being a family again, with being together and being happy. She started when a shadow moved through the bushes toward the French door. She rose, her hand in her pocket on the gun, and stood waiting.
?Police,? a man shouted. His back was to the light, he was only a silhouette, she couldn?t see a uniform. At the same moment she heard Anne call from the top of the stairs, then the figure on the terrace moved into clearer view where the sitting room light struck across his badge and sergeant?sstripes. A tall, thin man with sandy hair.
She told him she was armed, slowly drew the gun, opened the action, and laid it on the dresser.?Come in,? she said dryly.
?Sergeant Krangdon,? he said, entering, glancing at the gun. Anne was coming down the carpeted stairs beside a second officer. The two men searched the suite while two more officers searched for Falon outside, their lights moving among the bushes, circling the garden and the neighbors? gardens and then up the hill. The sergeant took samples of blood and photographed bloodstains, out to where Falon?s trail disappeared among the mulch and bushes. Anne didn?t stay downstairs long. Seeing that Becky and Sammie were safe, she went up again, as Sergeant Krangdon asked her to do, to avoid disturbing any evidence. Sammie stood huddled against Becky, cold with the aftermath of fear. But something else shone in Sammie?s eyes. She looked up at Becky with a deep and secret amazement. Becky looked back at her, shaken with what she?d seen.
Earlier, after Falon attacked Becky in the parking lot, Sammie had said,Misto couldn?t help you, Mama, the dark was too strong.
If the cat couldn?t help her then?if therewas a real ghost cat, Becky thought?why had he been powerful enough tonight to attack Falon? To make Falon pause so shecould get in that one telling shot?
Had the difference to do with Sammie? With the fact thatSammie was in danger?
When Sergeant Krangdon returned she watched him unload her gun and bag it for evidence. He didn?t seem concerned that he was leaving her with no protection from Falon. Quietly she answered his questions. Told him how Sammie had awakened screaming, and that she had grabbed the gun from her purse. She showed him where she had stood when she fired. She didn?t tell him who the man was, she didn?t say she knew him, and Sammie remained silent.
?If you could ID him,? Krangdon said, ?if you would file a complaint, you can take him to court, put a restraining order on him.?
?How can I? I don?t know him. I can?t identify a man I?ve never seen before.?
If Falon were caught, if he learned that she had identified him, and if he were then released, as he likely would be, he would come after them with even more vengeance. And what did the police have, to hold him? They had only her word against Falon?s. They couldn?t hold him long on that. She had heard of women attacked, brutally beaten, where the story proliferated, in gossip, even in the papers, that they had led the man on, had enticed him. Maybe the day would come when women were treated more fairly, but it hadn?t arrived yet and she wasn?t taking chances.
Most damning of all, Falon?s testimony had helped convict Morgan. If she identified Falon for the breakin, what would the police or the court say? That she?d filed the complaint to get back at Falon? That she had enticed Falon, had set him up?
She thought of calling Quaker Lowe, but maybe she didn?t want to know what he would advise. If she called Lowe now, in front of the police, they?d know there was more to the story, that this hadn?t been a random breakin. She was courteous to Krangdon, cooperative in every other way. When he?d finished the interview he assigned young Officer Bishopto stay on the premises so that Becky and Sammie might get some sleep. He suggested they get a carpenter to install a metal barrier over the French doors. ?An open grid,? he said, ?that can be locked but will let in air in hot weather. Make sure he installs it so the drapes can be pulled. And,?he said, ?you could put better locks on some of the solid doors, replace the thumb locks with dead bolts.?
When the thin-faced officer had left them, moving out into the yard, Anne came down again and sat on the bed, holding Sammie.?It?s all right. The police are here, it?s all right now.? But Sammie, like Becky, didn?t have much faith in the police, after Rome PD had abandoned Morgan, had done nothing to uncover the real facts of the Rome murder. When Anne had said good night, Becky turned out the lamp and crawled into bed with Sammie. Not until the next morning did she call Quaker Lowe.
When she told him about the breakin and that she had shot Falon, Lowe was quiet, noncommittal. Did he really understand why she had withheld Falon?s name? He said, ?A complaint against Falon might have been useful in getting the appeal. Did you think of that??
?I did. And it might also have gotten me or Sammie killed.? Had she been wrong in not identifying Falon? She didn?t want to cross Lowe, she couldn?t afford to turn him away. She didn?t want to lose the appeal. She ended the phone call feeling alone and uncertain, more frightened and upsetthan she would have thought, at losing Lowe?s sympathy.
18
LEE SAT ON the metal examining table, his shirt off, waiting for Dr. Floyd to come in and poke the cold stethoscope at him. He?d felt rotten this morning, he?d coughed so bad in the cotton mill that the foreman had fired him and sent him straight here to the infirmary. He wasn?t sorry, he should have known when he started that it was a dumb thing to do. But even now, sitting on the table staring at the orderly who stood in the doorway, what Lee was seeing in his mind wasn?t the cotton mill but Sammie Blake and Mae, their mirror images that had stayed with him ever since visiting day. He was fretting, wondering if Mae was still alive somewhere, when Dr. Floyd came in.
The doctor took one look at Lee and shook his head.?You?re pale as a dead flounder.? He pressed the stethoscope against Lee?s chest, listened, moved it again and again, listening. ?You should have known better. The slip from your counselor said you?d wear a mask. Why didn?t you? Even so, it was iffy. What did you think that lint would do to your lungs? You don?t have much room in those air sacs, at best.?