The man stopped and folded his arms across his chest. “Go ahead, Gwendolyn. Tell them you’re a murderer.”
Then he charged the door.
The woman screamed again. “You bastard!” The man stumbled again, shoved back with force.
Falling into a pool of lamplight.
Sherrell Best, in his dark suit and tie, his hairless dome shiny as a ball bearing.
I was right in back of him now as the door started to slam shut. He whipped out his right foot and managed to wedge it between the door and the jamb. His ankle was trapped. He shouted in pain.
Threats and curses from Gwen Shea. No backup from Tom, so she was there alone.
Best tried to pull his ankle free but it was vise-gripped.
Gwen Shea kept screaming through the crack. Putting her weight against the door, trying to crush the ankle.
I shouted, “Cut it out, he’s stuck!”
Her eyes spread with panic as she focused on my face. She opened the door, kicked at Best’s leg as I pulled it free, and slammed it shut.
Best lay there, groaning. I pulled him up but when he stood on his right leg, he buckled and I had to support him.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said, trying to pull him toward the Olds.
He shook his head. “I’m staying here.”
“What if she calls the police?”
“She didn’t, did she? Because she knows she’s guilty. I can smell guilt.”
He folded his arms again.
“What if she has a gun?” I said. “This is exactly how bad things happen.”
“Then she’ll add to her sins.”
“That won’t solve your problem.”
“Will anything else solve my problem?”
“That’s not a very religious answer.”
He looked away.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s talk about this rationally. I’ve learned some things that may—”
He grabbed my sleeve. “What kinds of things?”
“If you leave and promise not to confront her again, I’ll tell you.”
He looked back at the house. Shook his right leg and winced. Stared at the speeding cars, then once more at the house. All lights off.
“I take that as a solemn oath,” he said.
“Tell me,” he said, sitting in the driver’s seat and massaging his ankle.
“Do you need to see a doctor for that?”
“No, no, it’s fine. Tell me what you’ve learned.”
“I need you to promise you won’t act on it.”
“I can’t promise that!”
“Then I can’t tell you.”
“You swore!”
“It’s for your own safety, Reverend.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I see that.”
His nostrils widened. For an instant he looked like anything but a man of God.
“All right. I made a fool out of myself. So did Elijah, coming down from the hills, raving at Ahab. So did Moses, talking to a bush, and Jesus, consorting with the low and the needy—”
“Reverend, the last thing I want to do is prolong your suffering. I want to find out the whole truth about Karen also.”
“Why?”
“For my patient,” I said, keeping it simple.
“That’s hard to believe.”
“So was walking on water.”
He started to touch his sore ankle, then stopped himself and brushed his fingers against the keys dangling from the ignition. “If you really know something, tell me, doctor. Trust me to do the right thing.”
“Not unless you promise not to act. Your getting involved the way you did tonight will only slow things down.”
“Slow things down? Does that mean there’s progress?”
“Some. I’m sorry, I know you’ve lived with this for a long time, but it’s going to have to be a while longer.”
“A while,” he said, flexing his foot. “Why did you come here tonight?”
“Because you’re probably right about the Sheas knowing something. But if you get in the way, we may never find out what. And I won’t tell you another word unless I’m sure you’ll cooperate.”
The pain in his eyes had nothing to do with his leg.
“All right. I promise not to do anything that gets in the way.”
“Nothing at all,” I said. “No contact with anyone associated with the case until I tell you it’s safe.”
“Fine, fine. What do you know?”