"What about Gerry McClanahan?" Jack took another drink from his plastic foam cup of station-house coffee. He'd be up all night. I would be too, unless the pills Carrie had given me packed a true wallop. I had had many painful things happen to me, but the broken nose ranked right up there in the top three. I had tomorrow to look forward to, when Jack said my face would be even more arresting. But at least I was clean and dry, and the soiled clothes were in the washer back at the house.
I was putting my money on Gerry having pegged Cliff as the stalker, but as it turned out I was half wrong.
Claude had just finished reading Gerry McClanahan's notes about the odd behavior of his neighbors. In fact, when Jack's call had come into the station, Claude and Alicia had been discussing what they could prove, and who would be charged with what. Tamsin's mental collapse had settled some of their questions.
As the surveillance log showed, Gerry had noticed Cliff going to the toolshed at what Gerry considered odd times. The writer had thought it was strange that Cliff always emerged empty-handed. Gerry had sneaked over to check out the shed once or twice when Cliff and Tamsin were both gone. He'd seen an animal cage, but didn't question its presence until the dead squirrel was found hanging from the tree. After reading the police report on the incident, Gerry had retrieved the squirrel corpse from the garbage where Jack had put it. Then he'd stolen the cage (I'd later seen it in Gerry's house after his death), which contained plenty of squirrel hairs. Gerry planned to get a lab to test the creature's DNA.
Claude didn't know if such a test was possible, or if it was, if the results would be admissible in court. But from Claude's voice I could tell he admired Gerry's tenacity and his willingness to put his money where his mouth was.
The page of Gerry's log I'd found had noted that Cliff went to the toolshed the night before we'd found the poor squirrel murdered.
Gerry had planned to return the cage so Cliff wouldn't get suspicious. But before he could act, he witnessed something even stranger. He'd seen Tamsin sabotaging her own back steps. The worm had turned.
Gerry had been completely gripped in the drama he saw unfolding before him. He'd acted like a writer instead of a cop, and when Cliff had noticed the missing cage and followed the faint traces of footsteps in the damp yard, he'd come across Gerry. Maybe Gerry had already been out in his backyard, filling out his log; maybe Cliff had knocked on Gerry's back door and demanded an explanation or created some excuse to get Gerry outside. And he'd killed him. Later, reasoning that two stabbings would throw the police off even more than one, he'd staged the clumsy attempt on himself. A hastily arranged mistake, that self-stabbing; Tamsin could not have had any doubt after that, no matter how much she had blinded herself to the truth.
"But she backed Cliff up," Jack said incredulously. "When he said he'd never seen the knife before, the one in Gerry's throat. Surely she recognized it? And Cliff had called me, to have me back in Shakespeare so maybe I'd get blamed for Gerry's death."
"The world would've been a better place if those two had never met," Claude said.
"Uh-huh, you got that right," Alicia said, trying to cover her yawn with her hand.
"As for you, Detective Stokes, we need to have a private conference. Cliff Eggers has told me he recognized you from Cleveland. I have reason to believe you've been far more aware and involved in this case than you saw fit to tell me. According to you, Tamsin's case was one you'd heard about while you were on the Cleveland force, not one you'd worked on."
Alicia suddenly looked wide awake.
"Well, Lily and I will be going home now," Jack said. He held out his hand, and I took it gratefully. He gave me a gentle pull to help me up. Having help was such a luxury. I hoped I never would grow to take it for granted. At least I could be sure that Jack and I would never become like Cliff and Tamsin. Our hard times and aggressive impulses had been flashed to the world. Everyone knew what we were capable of. We didn't have to prove ourselves in any secret way.
Claude clapped Jack on the shoulder, just when Jack was almost out of the room. Claude said, "By the way, a little bird told me you married this woman." He was not smiling and he did not look happy. Something pretty old-fashioned and definitely paternalistic had surfaced in Claude. "You better treat her right."
"I'll do my best," Jack said.
"He hasn't done too bad the first three months," I said.
Claude began smiling at us. Behind him, I saw Stokes was sitting in the old office chair with her mouth hanging open. "When are you planning on letting the rest of the world in on this?" Claude asked.
"It's seeping out gradually," I said. "We just wanted to get used to the fact ourselves, first."
"Was my wife the first to know?" Claude still sounded proud saying "my wife."
"Yes, my wife told your wife," Jack said, grinning like an idiot.
As the door began to close behind us, we heard Claude open a conversation with his detective. "You want to tell me who you're really working for, Stokes?" he began, and then the door thudded into place.
Though the next day was Monday, Jack and I lay in bed late. My face was swollen and bruised and I looked like hell. I still felt a bit weak from the stun gun, which the police had regarded with great respect. They'd charged Tamsin with use of a prohibited weapon, in addition to all the other charges. I wondered if Sneaky Pete would get into trouble, but I couldn't summon up enough energy to get really worked up about it.
"How could two people who are supposed to love each other get so crossed up?" Jack asked. "They could have just gotten a divorce, like other couples."
"They must have enjoyed their little war, somehow. Perfectly matching pathologies." I'd been thinking of getting up and changing our sheets, but it was so nice to have a reason to lie in bed, so pleasant to have Jack beside me. I was sure I would get used to that pleasure, in time; waking up beside Jack would become routine. I'd begin to notice the little things that irritate any spouse. But because of the tenor of my life, I appreciated the simple fact of love. So did Jack.
I couldn't help but feel convinced that if Tamsin and Cliff had deserved each other, so did Jack and I. Gazing up at my white ceiling in my clean bedroom, I pictured a panorama of centuries of mating: of men and women looking for the perfect match, and finding pairings that were at best convenient - at worst, the product of one twisted psyche calling to another equally perverse.
I had been a child of love. My parents were lucky in their marriage, and I had been the beneficiary of that luck. After I'd been forced into a different kind of mating, I'd changed irrevocably into someone my former self would hardly have recognized. It seemed to me that now I had a chance to change back. I wondered if that was really possible.
But I am not a woman who can sit and think theoretically for long stretches of time, and I am not a woman who can change philosophy easily. In fact, I floated away from that vista of pairings and sank back into myself on the bed with a distinct feeling of relief.
"Today," I said, "we're going to clean the gutters."
