He yanked back on my legs so violently that I thought I would break in two. I landed half in, half out, and on my side.
“Help!” I screamed. I had no idea if the doll people were even within earshot. “Somebody! Help!”
Chris picked me up by the waist and threw me on my back on the passenger-side seat. Then he flung his whole, heavy body on top of me. His fleshy hand clamped over my mouth. I kicked wildly. But with him on top of me and outweighing me by a good one hundred and fifty pounds, I had zero leverage.
“Shut up!” he breathed. His hand tightened on my throat. Panic shot through me. He was going to strangle me. I’d never see Arch again. Or Tom. I thrashed wildly. Chris’s hand slipped off my throat. The glove compartment banged open.
Marla’s bag of drugs fell onto the van floor. Oh God, help me, I prayed as I strained under Chris’s weight. I groped desperately. Keep calm, keep calm, keep calm. I reached into the bag, found nothing, scrabbled around frantically. Then my fingers closed over what I sought. I popped off the needle cover.
Chris had grabbed my throat again. He squeezed. With every ounce of strength I had left, I stabbed him with Marla’s hypodermic of Versed. I pushed down on the plunger, hard.
Stunned, Chris squealed with pain. His hold on me relaxed momentarily. He screamed again and hauled back to tear the needle from his body. I scrambled through the open door. By the time I was outside, Chris was stumbling dazedly down the parking lot, toward the LakeCenter and his car.
I watched him, open-mouthed, gasping for breath. Was he going to just… take off? Was he so big that a dose of a superpotent tranquilizer had no effect on him? He faltered, appeared to trip, and then staggered forward.
“The Babsies!” I screamed at the large group of beautifully dressed women who were sashaying across the lot toward the LakeCenter door. “That big blond man! He’s stolen them!” I pointed at Chris. He turned to stare open-mouthed at me, not comprehending. He was slowing down, no question. But he was only twenty feet from his car. “The Babsies!” I shrieked again at the women, gesticulating wildly. “That man knocked out the guard! He’s going to take the dolls!”
The women started to trot. Chris gaped at them. Then he turned and floundered toward his vehicle. The women picked up speed.
“No, no!” he cried as the first doll collector attacked him. “No!” I heard him shout when two more women jumped on him. Bellowing in astonishment, he staggered forward. Then, under the on-slaught of furious Babsie protectors, he fell to his knees.
I walked shakily back to the LakeCenter to call the sheriff’s department. Chris Corey wasn’t going anywhere.
29
Tom, as it turned out, had been up at his cabin. Empty since high creekwaters had flooded the first floor with two inches of water, unrented since Arch, Tom, and I had spent several weekends scraping off dried mud, the cabin now awaited a professional interior paint job. When Tom drove up and parked half a mile away, then used a little- known path through the woods to approach the place from the back, he had a hunch that the cabin held a squatter ? one of the very few people who knew about the flood damage and the time we’d spent cleaning the place up. Unfortunately, John Richard hadn’t figured that Tom would be able to take him so easily. By the time Tom arrested the Jerk again, Sergeant Beiner had appeared at the LakeCenter and arrested Chris Corey.
That night, Chris confessed to the murder. He had wanted to end the torment of working for Suz Craig. He remembered how John Richard had attacked me; he had waited for the right time ? the silly monthly anniversary. He had stolen the ID bracelet when John Richard was helping a woman with an induced delivery that had been scheduled ? and approved ? by ACHMO. Finally, he had written the bonus-denial letter. The drug screen on Suz’s body fluids indicated that she, too, had been the recipient of a high-potency tranquilizer: morphine. Once Chris had primed John Richard to beat Suz, all Chris had to do was go to Suz’s door pretending to be distraught and wanting to talk things out. He’d offered to treat her contusions, then he’d given her a shot much like the one I’d given him. He’d waited until the bruises from John Richard appeared. Then he’d killed her by whacking her with the carpet- covered, solid-metal scratching post. Finally, he’d laid her in the ditch, with the bracelet as the nail in John Richard’s coffin. And then he’d gone back to pretending to be a helpful, sympathetic guy, complete with a fake cast.
He just hadn’t figured on the tapes. Luella Downing had called him, as well as Brandon, on Saturday to tell him about the existence of Suz’s secret taping. He’d used the visit to John Richard’s office to look for them. ReeAnn ? his ally ? had told him she’d didn’t have them. In desperation, he’d tried to blow up ReeAnn ? he’d learned she was meeting her boyfriend for an outdoor lunch ? because he had a feeling she’d stolen the tapes from John Richard. But just in case she hadn’t, he’d paid Suz’s nosy teenage neighbor, Luke Tollifer, to watch Suz’s house, which is how he found out about my digging effort.
That evening the results came back from the crime lab: the skin and hair under Suz Craig’s fingernails belonged to John Richard Korman. John Richard was charged with first-degree assault and tampering with a witness. They’re talking about a plea bargain, but it looks as if he’ll face at least two years in prison.
After the police hauled Chris Corey away from the LakeCenter, Sergeant Beiner took the briefest of statements from me and seized the tapes I pulled from their hiding places in the doll boxes. Gail Rodine, looking on, glared. I’d never get a Babsie booking again as long as I lived. I somehow managed to finish the dinner for the doll people. Happily, the preparation was easy; I couldn’t have handled any additional grilling.
On Thursday morning, the day after Chris Corey was arrested, I saw Frances Markasian at Suz’s memorial service. Afterward, we talked. I wanted her to leave Arch out of any article she wrote about the case and Chris’s arrest. She felt terrible about being duped by Chris, and apologized for yelling at me about the tapes. Of course, I forgave her. Frances said she’d already talked to Brandon Yuille about an expose on Suz’s use of confidential medical files. Brandon had told Frances to tell me Ralph Shelton had agreed to cooperate; he would try to get Amy Bartholomew to help, too. I accepted Frances’s promise to keep Arch out of her wrap-up article on the case.
Unfortunately, Tina Corey’s mental illness did get leaked, and not just to the Mountain Journal. Both the Denver Post and Rocky Mountain News reported on her history of multiple-personality disorder. She went into a stress trance and ended up in the psychiatric ward of St. Joseph’s Hospital. No visitors allowed.
On Friday afternoon, Arch came home. Tom had called him and they’d talked for over two hours. My son was having a hard time, as was to be expected. Macguire picked Arch up at the Druckmans’, then drove him to the Coreys’ house, where they helped the Mountain Animal Protective League load up Tippy the cat and Tina’s other pets into a van, so the animals could be delivered to foster caretakers. But back at home, Arch was dejected. Even when Julian Teller called, saying he was coming for a visit, Arch did not appear cheered. Macguire offered to talk to him up in his room. After the two boys went up, Marla phoned and told us all to sit tight, she was bringing us takeout Vietnamese food for dinner.
Tom and I sat together on the couch. He pulled me close, and I felt the tension that had knotted my body for the last week begin to ebb. He said, “The only thing I can’t understand is why you just wouldn’t let Korman take the fall for this. I’m glad we’ve got the right guy, don’t get me wrong. But you’ve wanted revenge for so long. Don’t deny it now, I can read you better than you think, Miss G. Plus, this seemed like a perfect opportunity to get Korman sent down. And not just for a year or two.” I sat for a long time, thinking, enfolded in his arms. “I couldn’t sacrifice Arch. Just to get my revenge, I mean. Chris Corey wanted his revenge on Suz, and his sister got trampled in the process.”
“God,” he said, “I love you.”
“Mom?” Arch’s call came from the bottom of the stairs. “Mom?”
I stood up. “Yes, hon.” He wore a crumpled khaki shirt and baggy black shorts. I wondered if he’d had a shower in the time he’d been at the Druckmans’ house. Even his glasses were smeared.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
His chin trembled. “Will you… will you take me to see Dad?”
“Oh, please, honey.” I beckoned, and he ran toward me. I held him tight, as I always had, from when he was very small. I said, “Of course.”
