Beth didn’t know what to think, what she’d do if she opened the gates and let the suspicion take root. Let it become serious.
The lazy rhythm of the ball zipping from one glove to the other momentarily ceased-a break in the order of the universe-and then continued. Somebody had dropped one.
It had been years, another world, and she’d caught only a fleeting glimpse of her attacker. But people’s looks could change over time, especially when they gained or lost a lot of weight. Link was about the right age. And the rape had occurred at night. She’d seen her rapist only by moonlight.
But it was true-at least she sometimes told (admitted to?) herself-that with more weight, and with a full and darker beard, Link might fit Vincent Salas’s description.
Beth tried, as she too often did these days, to recall the glimpses she’d had of her attacker so long ago, reimagining over and over the bulk of his body, the quick movement of an arm and hand to snare her wrist and pin it to the ground, the line of his bearded cheek as he raised his head to glance around, the quick white glint of an eye in moonlight.
Crazy!
Beth bent her thoughts in other directions. She should be immensely pleased that Link and Eddie got along so well. Link was a wonderful, loving, and attentive father. And husband.
He’d gotten Eddie interested in something beyond baseball and fishing-coin collecting. Link had become something of a serious coin collector, well beyond the stage of wheat pennies and coins with silver content. He’d even begun attending conventions, and after each such gathering of serious collectors, he would return with coins he’d bought (as an investment), and some old coin or other for Eddie. Eddie had a growing collection of his own.
Coins. Eddie and Link would sit for hours arranging and talking about their collections, what Link seemed to see as the romance of rare coins. Beth saw rare coins merely as something else to foster even stronger bonding between Eddie and Link. A bonding and a closeness that threatened to block out Beth.
Is that what I’m worried about? That I’ll be odd woman out?
She actually laughed out loud, half amused and half ashamed of herself.
“Something funny?” Link yelled from where he stood in front of the wire fence in case the ball got past him.
“Me,” Beth said. She smiled. “Nothing you two guys’d be interested in.”
She closed her eyes, sipped more lemonade, and listened to the ball slapping into the oiled leather gloves, back and forth, two-way catch.
Exclusively.
58
New York, the present
Verna Pound had spent all her money in a deli. She’d had only enough for junk food displayed in the racks, and she tried to stretch it as far as possible. The dark-skinned woman behind the counter-maybe Indian or Middle Eastern-didn’t even bother with the extra three cents Verna owed her for the day-old cupcakes and apple turnover. She wanted Verna out of the deli as soon as possible. Not after making a big scene. Just out. Verna’s presence was bad for business.
On the way out, Verna used her body to conceal that she was stealing a plastic bottle of water. The dark- skinned woman might have said something behind her, but Verna didn’t stop to find out. There was a certain cost to doing business in some Manhattan neighborhoods. Besides, water shouldn’t be something a person had to steal.
Back out on the sidewalk, lugging the white plastic bag of what for her would be one of her better meals all week, she made her way toward Ben’s for Men’s. It was a low-tomedium-priced men’s clothing store with an entrance that was a dog-legged tunnel of display windows full of suits, coats, and various other men’s apparel. The shop was closed until tomorrow, so the windows were dark, but the deep and concealing shadowed tunnel was accessible. The recessed entranceway was one of the few places in the neighborhood where Verna could feel almost completely safe and relax.
Even though it was dusk and still fairly early, Verna was exhausted. But then, that was her usual state. She waited until no one seemed to be looking, then shuffled into the show-window tunnel, going in as far as she could but at the same time being careful not to touch the shop’s glass door. There would almost certainly be an alarm system.
Verna lowered her aching body and sat with her back against the brick surface beneath the display windows. She let out a long sigh, wondering if other people ever got this tired. The way she lived must be whittling away at her life, making her old though she was still in her thirties.
Someday…
No, Verna cautioned herself. Someday was today, and tomorrow didn’t look any brighter. Hope could be cruel. In her circumstances, it was better not to let hope through the door. If hope wanted to hang around outside and taunt her, let it. She knew that you couldn’t trust hope.
Hungry as well as tired, she wolfed down one of the chocolate cupcakes and gulped some water.
One of the shadows toward the front of the entranceway moved, startling her. It might have been simply someone walking past, back-lit by the faint glow from the street.
But she knew that wasn’t true. She was beyond the crook in the zigzag glass panels.
The shadow moved again, and a man appeared.
From where Verna was sprawled propped against the bricks beneath the glass and a display of blazers, he appeared tall. He was wearing dark clothing, probably black. A light jacket, even though the evening was warm. He was carrying a gym bag.
He obviously expected to find her there. Must have followed her and watched her enter beneath the Ben’s sign. Then he’d waited for the right moment to come to her. It was almost completely dark now, time for the monsters to come out and play.
Verna didn’t move but kept her eyes trained on the man. She didn’t think she knew him. He wasn’t one of the neighborhood street people.
Or did she know him? He did look vaguely familiar.
He stooped beside her and placed the gym bag nearby. He smiled at her, then unzipped the bag and reached inside. She saw no fingernails and realized he was wearing flesh-colored rubber gloves.
When his hand came out of the bag, it was holding a knife with a kind of blade she’d never seen before. It was short and curved, and looked sharp and wicked.
Verna knew that if she tried to scream she’d be dead or unconscious within seconds. She was too tired to scream, anyway. Too tired to resist.
“You know who I am?” the man asked, placing her plastic water bottle aside carefully so it was a safe distance away and wouldn’t spill.
“I read the papers,” Verna said, “even if they’re a few days old. I know who you are.”
He reached into the bag again. “I’m going to put some tape over your mouth,” he said. “It’s a precaution. Try not to be afraid.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’m not going to scream.”
Very quickly, using both hands yet somehow not nicking her with the knife, he applied the tape. When she raised a hand to peel it off, he grabbed her wrist, then taped both wrists together. He ran a long strand of tape around her waist and arms so she couldn’t raise her hands high enough to touch her lips. Her right leg moved reflexively to kick him, but he merely intercepted the feeble effort and pressed her knee to the tiles.
“You’re going to scream,” he told her. “But this way it won’t be out loud.” He mashed her knee hard against the concrete, sapping the strength out of her leg. Then he grinned. “By the way, it’s okay to be afraid now.”
Verna bowed her head and closed her eyes. This man didn’t know she was beyond certain kinds of fear. Over the past few years she’d learned to endure. That was her strength, to let whatever was going to happen simply roll over her and happen. Afterward she would assess the damage. Whatever was left of her soul and body, she would
