Fear itself

Gloria was not alone.

“I think I found the envenoming point,” said Reilly, the forensic technician kneeling beside the tub, when Buchanan and Linda appeared in the doorway. With gloved fingers he tilted Gloria’s shorn head up and to the side to show them a small, ragged-edged hole in her neck.

“Not how I pictured a snakebite,” said Buchanan, peering over his shoulder.

“Coral snakes have short mouths and stubby fangs-they have to chew their way in.”

“How about the facial lacerations?”

“Razor-probably some kind of box cutter or utility knife, with the blade extended a few millimeters.”

Coral snakes…chew their way…razor blade. Think about something else. “Why are her eyes drooping like that?” asked Linda.

“That’s one of the symptoms of a neurotoxin, which would fit with the coral ID. Corals are Elapidae- neurotoxic venom, borderline lethal.” Then, to Buchanan: “Did they find it yet?”

“No, they’re sending for a dog.” He turned to Linda, still in the doorway. “First man up the stairs saw this skinny striped snake coming out of the bedroom. Red, black, and yellow. They think either it got into the walls, or else it’s up in the attic.”

“I’m rooting for the attic,” Linda said weakly.

“Don’t worry,” said Reilly. “Like I said, coral venom is only borderline lethal, plus there’s often a delayed reaction, plus Animal Control’s supposed to be on their way over with the specific antivenin.”

“When did you become such an expert on venomous snakes, Reilly?” Buchanan asked him.

“Since Herro got the printout from Poison Control about fifteen minutes ago.” Reilly nodded toward the fax stuffed into his kit. “You think there’s a chance in hell I’d be up here otherwise?”

“Could I see that?” Linda asked.

“Here you go.”

…reaction to envenomatim may be delayed from four to twelve hours…. Clinical manifestations…bilateral ptosis, diplopia, anisocoria, myalgia, dyspnea, respiratory paralysis. Death from acute respiratory failure.

Linda handed the sheet back to Reilly. “Translation?” Still all business.

“Ptosis-that’s the drooping eyelids. Diplopia is double vision, anisocoria is the different sized pupils, myalgia is muscle pain, dyspnea is air hunger. Respiratory paralysis is actually paralysis of the diaphragm. Basically, she suffocated to death. He must have held it right up to her jugular, see…?”Again he tilted Gloria’s head up.

“Don’t do that,” snapped Linda, who was still about a million miles away emotionally, but approaching earth at light speed.

“What’s your problem? I guarantee you she doesn’t care.”

“She was my college roommate,” Linda said softly, as Buchanan put his arm around her shoulder again and steered her back into the bedroom.

“I feel like I’m missing something here, Abruzzi. What’s the connection with Childs-what was he doing here?”

By now, Linda should have been ready for the question. She’d had plenty of time to prepare her answer on the ride down: Gloria was afraid of snakes. I was researching the case; I told her about phobia.com. She must have gone on-line. Childs got her address somehow.

Yeah, that’d work, she’d told herself, that’d play. But that was before she’d seen Jim’s mangled, eyeless corpse in those ridiculous red bikini briefs; seen Gloria exposed, naked and vulnerable for once. Roomed with her for two years, never once saw her naked or vulnerable.

Suddenly Linda felt immensely tired. “It’s a long story,” she told Buchanan. “Is there someplace I can sit down?”

2

“I left you. That’s what he told you?” Rosie took a slug out of the bottle, then offered it around.

Cappy shook his head. Simon refused it, too-thanks to the crosstops, his mind still felt razor sharp, and he wanted to keep it that way. “‘Like Moses among the bulrushes,’ were his exact words. I always pictured us in reed baskets on the doorstep.”

“What else did he tell you?” She raised the bottle for another slug-seeing the ghost of Marcus Childs had sobered her up something awful. Simon reached for the bottle, intending to take it away from her before she managed to overcome her unaccustomed state of coherence, but the look she gave him as she clutched it to her chest reminded him so sharply of Missy that he couldn’t go through with it.

“That you called us the brats, that you said the brats would cramp your style.”

“Nothing about your father, though?”

“He never talked about my father at all. What was he like?” Simon asked eagerly.

“Danny? Sweetest man you’d ever want to meet. A real prince. In fact, that’s how we girls referred to him down on the line.”

“The ‘line’?”

“The assembly line-I started working in the Emeryville plant in 1942. When Danny got out of the Navy in forty-six, your grandfather put him in charge of converting the plant from wartime production. Everybody thought we’d all get fired when the vets came back, but somehow he kept on every girl who wanted to keep working, and hired back the vets, too. The crown prince, we called him. And it was kind of like a fairy tale. He gave me a ride home one night-don’t ever let anybody tell you there’s no such thing as love at first sight.

“But when your grandfather found out about it, he hit the roof. Said I was beneath Danny-said it to my face. Said I was Okie trash, a gold digger. He gave your father an ultimatum: me or his inheritance. Love or money.”

“And he chose love.” Simon had meant to sound derisive, but somehow it didn’t come out that way.

“We chose love,” said Rosie. “We moved to Vallejo. One of Danny’s old crew got him a job working in the shipyard. You were born six months later. We were poor but happy. I know that’s a cliche, poor-but-happy, but it was true. And even when Missy was born-it was a shock, everybody said put her in a home, but we loved her so dearly-we all did. You did-you were always so sweet to her. Sure, money was a problem, but then the Korean War started up and they converted the shipyard to submarine maintenance. Danny called me one afternoon, said he’d just been promoted to foreman. He was going to have a few beers with the guys to celebrate.”

Rosie raised the bottle to her lips and glared at Simon as she took another stiff belt, as if daring him to try to take it away from her again. “A few beers with the guys,” she repeated. “On the way home, his car went off the road, ended up in San Pablo Bay. The wreck didn’t kill him-they said he’d drowned. I got the call while I was nursing Missy. My milk went dry that night and never let down again.”

“And that’s when you dumped us off with Grandfather?”

“No, that’s when I went to your grandfather to ask him for help. I was penniless, you were still his grandchildren-where else could I turn? And guess what? — he gave me an ultimatum. He was big on ultimatums, your grandfather. He was also big on buying people. He hadn’t been able to buy his son, but he could buy his grandchildren. He told me he’d give me fifty thousand dollars and see to it that my children would be raised in the lap of luxury, and that Missy would get the best care available. In return, I had to sign a legal document relinquishing my parental rights and agreeing to drop out of your lives forever.”

“That’s twenty-five grand per kid. Not bad money in those days.”

“Try to put yourself in my shoes, Simon. I was in my mid-twenties, two kids, one with Down syndrome. The only work I’d ever done was on the assembly line at the Childs plant, and nobody was hiring women for that kind of work in 1951. And even if I’d found work, what kind of life would it have been for you and Missy? At best, latchkey kids; at worst you’d have ended up in a foster home and Missy in an institution.”