That was as far as I went. Suddenly, the Cadillac's powerful engine surged from a simple idle to a full roar. In the beam of the flashlight I caught a glimpse of the car's interior. As she shifted the car out of reverse and into high, both Grace Highsmith's feet were planted on the pedals-one on the brake and one on the gas. There was only a split second to react. The other cop and I both dodged back while the Cadillac shot forward in a spray of gravel.
The first casualties of the speeding car were the handrails at the top of the stairs. The Caddy plowed through the one-inch pipes as if they were made out of so many straws. And then, in the best tradition of Evel Knievel, the vehicle sailed out into space. For several slow-motion moments it seemed to stay level, as though a ribbon of invisible pavement were still holding it up. Then, ever so slowly, it began to arc downward.
The other cop and I stood paralyzed with only the suddenly empty width of the Cadillac between us, then we turned as one and headed for the stairway. We arrived just in time to see Grace Highsmith's Cadillac plunge nose- first onto the steep roof, directly between the two dormers.
The blow sent a storm of glass shards and flying wood splashing out from the windows. For a moment, the car stood poised on its nose. It seemed for a second or two that the roof might actually hold, but then the whole house trembled. The air came alive with the screams of twisting nails, shattering glass, and breaking wood. Ever so slowly, with a cloud of debris mushrooming up around it, a hole opened up in the roof, and the car disappeared inside.
The house quivered again, almost as if it were made of Jell-O, then as the car crashed through from the second floor to the first-taking a bearing wall with it-the front of the house seemed to pucker and wrinkle as the upper rafters fell over into one another. It reminded me of the collapse of a house of cards.
The other cop and I stood transfixed. When the dust cleared, I think I expected the whole house to be flat, but it wasn't. It was crooked and out of focus, but the outer walls were still standing while smoke curled from the tilting fireplace.
I was still standing there dumbstruck when the other cop found his voice. 'I'll tell you what,' he said wonderingly, 'they don't build 'em like that anymore!'
His words and the sudden wailing of a car horn functioned like a pistol shot at the beginning of a race. We both headed for the stairs. I must have looked like a brown-caped superman with Grace Highsmith's blanket billowing out behind me as I started down. On the second step, I lost my balance when I tripped over a tangle of twisted pipe from a demolished section of handrail. If the guy pounding down the stairs behind me hadn't managed to grab me by one flailing arm, I might have broken my neck.
The only reality for me, right then, was the honking horn-the hauntingly god-awful wail of it. Anyone who has ever witnessed an auto accident and heard that terrible sound knows all too well what it means. Those old horn rings don't work unless something is pressing on them. In the aftermath of a serious accident, that something is usually someone's body-someone's broken body.
When we reached the bottom of the stairs, I looked around for a way to get into the house. Head-high debris spilled out the ground-floor windows and doors.
For a moment, we stood indecisively on what was left of the wraparound front porch and looked at one another. The cop, who had managed to remain focused on the armed standoff part of the problem, was still carrying his drawn gun. Mine was put away.
'Let's try the other side,' he suggested. 'I'll cover you.'
Until that moment, my only thoughts had been of Grace Highsmith and the infernal horn. Now, as we picked our way along the uneven, broken porch, I, too, remembered Bill Whitten. Was it hours earlier or only minutes when Grace Highsmith had referred to him as a vicious dog? What had made her decide to take the law into her own hands and attempt to put him out of his misery herself?
For some reason, the window over the kitchen sink was relatively clear. I climbed in.
'What if something blows up?' the other guy asked me, as I reached back and helped pull him in. For the first time, I caught a glimpse of his name tag-Officer Smith. Hell of a name for a hero.
'Good point,' I said. 'The living room's that way. There's a fire in the fireplace. We'd better try to put it out, especially if there's gasoline leaking from that Cadillac.'
There was no sense in thinking about it any further. We were already in the house. Backing down then would have been unthinkable, especially with the horn still honking.
'You look for the woman,' Officer Smith said. 'I'll handle the fire. Here's a flashlight.'
'Grace!' I shouted, pointing the frail beam off into the dark and dusty interior of the house. 'Grace Highsmith! Can you hear me?'
Tripping and stumbling, we fought our way through the darkened kitchen. We scrambled up and over a huge pile of unidentifiable crap that reached almost to a nonexistent ceiling. And just on the other side of the mountain of debris, nose-down into the floor of what had once been the front entry, sat the remains of Grace Highsmith's Cadillac. With Grace still belted inside.
'Grace?' I shouted again. I braced myself against the crumpled flank of the car and climbed the jumbled wreckage of shattered plaster, lath, shingle, and demolished furniture. 'Grace?'
I landed on something soft, a mattress or some kind of cushion, and aimed the flashlight in through the destroyed driver's-side window. I saw Grace Highsmith then, bloodied and broken. Her glasses were gone and so were her teeth. Until that very moment, I don't think I had realized that she wore false teeth.
The force of the crash had pushed the whole engine block back through the fire wall and into the passenger compartment. Grace sat there upright, crushed into a tiny corner of what had once been a spacious front seat. Small as she was, I knew that corner of the car was far too small to hold a human body; too small for that body to come out alive.
The horn was still screeching. Guided by some kind of higher power, I reached into the incredible tangle of metal and wire and pulled for all I was worth. It was a miracle. My first yank shut down that infernal noise.
In the eerie silence that followed, I became aware of the steady drip of leaking gas, but by then, Officer Smith had found water somewhere and was already dousing the remains of the flames which, amazingly, were still confined to the fireplace.
'Grace,' I said, 'can you hear me?'
She opened her eyes at once and squinted at me. 'Detective Beaumont,' she said, more lucidly than seemed possible. 'Thank you…for thut-ting off…that awful racket.'
Without teeth, she was hard to understand. 'Be quiet,' I said. 'Don't waste your strength.'
But this was Grace Highsmith I was talking to. Even on the point of death, why would she bother to listen to anyone else, most especially me?
'Did…I get…him?' she asked. Her voice was fainter now.
I looked around. There were other cops and other flashlights scrambling into the wreckage now. I could see no sign of Bill Whitten, but that didn't mean he was dead. I didn't want to tell Grace that, though.
'Yes,' I said. 'You got him.'
'Good.' When she smiled a toothless smile, an ugly streak of bloody spittle dribbled out of the corner of her mouth. I took out my handkerchief and did my best to wipe it away.
'Tell Latty…' Grace paused. For a moment, I didn't think she'd be able to go on.
'Tell her what?' I urged. 'Tell Latty what?'
'To take…'
She said something unintelligible then.
'Take what?'
'Duthty,' she repeated. 'Duthty, Duthty, Duthty.'
'Oh, you mean Dusty. The statue.'
Relieved, she nodded. 'And tell her that my foot…'
Again she stopped. I waited to see if she would speak again.
'What about your foot?'
'It mutht have thlipped.'
And that was it. She was gone. I reached for something to cover her with, but of course, the blanket had long since disappeared. All I had to offer was my own ragged jacket.
Some minutes later-I don't have any idea how many-I was still crouched there beside her with tears streaming down my face when Officer Smith came to get me.
