'Oh,' said Merci. 'One of the neighbors said he heard loud voices-a man and a woman-about three that afternoon.'
'Well, those would have been Archie's and mine. But it sure wasn't an argument. What it was, was me going off on my stupid sonofabitch soon-to-be-ex-husband. And Archie trying to calm me down. I've got a temper. I lost it then.'
'Why?'
'What do you mean, why?'
'Why then, with your sister's husband?'
Priscilla colored and Merci made a quick scribble then looked up hoping to aggravate the woman.
'Because we're friends?' she asked with a quiet acidity. 'Because I trust him and respect him? Because he's been like an older brother to me since I was fourteen?'
'Those are good reasons, Priscilla. I was just asking, trying to get the feel of the conversation.'
'I apologize. I feel like I could bite somebody's head off. May as well be yours.'
'Accepted,' said Merci. 'And I apologize for being blatantly suspicious about everything and everybody. It's my job, and I'm good it.'
'Yes,' said Priscilla. 'You are.'
'Who threw the rock?'
'Again?'
'Who threw the rock through the living room window?'
Priscilla eyed Merci with fresh suspicion and held the look for long beat. Merci expected her to color if she knew about the rock, she didn't, Merci wasn't sure: maybe a big surrendering sigh.
With no change in color, Priscilla smiled a thrifty little smile, 'What rock?'
'The rock on the living room floor. It was thrown through the window and the blinds.'
'No. There was no rock. I think I'd have noticed. I will say, however, that I'm capable of missing things. But no rock, Detective, that I saw.'
An uncomfortable moment then, while the two of them cooled down and Zamorra said nothing.
'Tell me about the future ex,' said Merci.
'Charles Brock of the Riverside office of Ritter-Dunne-Davis Financial. That's all you need to know. That's all I wish knew. Believe me. span›
Merci waited. Then, 'Sure. Thanks for everything. Really.'
Priscilla walked them to the door. Lee and Earla rose and came forward and shook their hands and thanked them.
Merci had a parting idea. 'You know, Priscilla, just a long shot, but did Charles Brock sell Archie and Gwen the OrganiVen stock?'
Priscilla sighed. 'Yeah. Charlie can sell anything to anybody. In fact, he sold some of it to himself.'
They stopped at UCI Medical Center and found the neuro ward. They waited for almost twenty minutes to speak with Dr. John Stebbins. Stebbins was short, young and tight-mouthed, looking at the detectives as if they were surgical complications.
'We can't do it,' he said. 'We can't determine the caliber of bullet in Mr. Wildcraft's head.'
'We can, Doctor,' said Merci. 'If you just show us the pictures.'
'You don't understand. The spiral CT will give us a very close measurement of the object, down to one millimeter. But the bullet has fragmented. And if you figure in the one millimeter margin times four fragments, a caliber measurement becomes meaningless. See?'
'When are you going to take it out?'
He laughed curtly and sighed. He looked up and over her head as he spoke, as if it was easier for him to believe she didn't really exist. 'The edema has been reduced somewhat. There is no infection at this time. Surgery now would be inadvisable. It's possible that we'll never remove the bullet from Mr. Wildcraft's brain.'
'And it's possible he'll die tomorrow,' said Merci.
'His condition is extremely critical.'
'I want to see him.'
'Absolutely not.'
'I'll push you aside and go in anyway.' He still wasn't looking at her. 'I will allow you exactly thirty seconds. Only one of you. Just one.'
'How about both of us, for fifteen?'
'This way.'
'You just did the right thing, Stebbins.'
CHAPTER NINE
A woman with dark eyes and hair looked down at him. Archie sensed that this must be Gwen, that she was in fact not lost and this was all just a very long bad dream.
He looked up at her. Her expression was pitying but the pity looked like something she had to work at. More than anything else, she looked angry.
'I'm Sergeant Merci Rayborn, Homicide,' she said. 'I'm investigating the murder of your wife. This is my partner, Paul Zamorra.'
When he realized it wasn't Gwen his heart wilted and he thought about going under again. Then Archie recognized them-minor players in ancient history. He wanted to say something but words exhausted him.
So he closed his eyes and ducked under, hovering in the cool, pellucid river.
We just wanted to introduce ourselves, Archie. That's all. You're going to get better. I promise.
How do you know that? he wondered.
He thought of Gwen and vaguely remembered a birthday party and a drive up Coast Highway and a rock through the window and a bright light in his eyes. Where had he last seen her? Was it in the bed? Wasn't she sleeping? Hadn't they made love? Or… the bathroom? Didn't they go into the bathroom for something? Gwen is dead, he remembered. My huge thing, gone. Why can't see your face? Please let me see her face.
And again he tried to picture Gwen but he could see nothing b the black immensity that had swallowed her.
I got shot in the head, didn't I?
No one answered, so he asked again.
No one answered this time either, and he realized he was thinking, not talking. He realized he was far away from everyone. But he also realized they were right there, just a few feet away from him. It was like existing in a world that was taking place in the same time and place as theirs, but not connected to it.
He tried to swim back up so he could talk, find out what had happened, maybe help Detective Rayborn. Up. Up.
But there was still water over him and he couldn't go the last few feet.
Then the voice that had gotten him through all this:
Breathe. Rest. Breathe, Archie. Rest
CHAPTER TEN
Archie is okay?'
'Archie is in the hospital.'
'He's not in the hospital?'
'He is in the hospital.'
'He's not in the hospital?'
'I just told you, Tim, he's in the hospital.'
