Barbara Holloway: Desperate Measures Part 39

"Yes. It was him."

"Please point to that man, Ms. Marchand."

She barely raised her head and with a quick motion pointed to Alex. Her glance was so swift, it was hard to believe anything had time to register.

"Is the defendant the man you saw?"

She nodded, then said, "Yes."

"Did the same thing happen again?"

"Yes. A lot of times."

"Did you tell your parents?"

"No. Not right away."

"Why not, Ms. Marchand?"

"I was afraid there would be trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"I was afraid he'd get mad and do something."

"Who would get mad? Your father?"

"No. Him. I didn't want to make him mad."

"Who, Ms. Marchand? You have to tell the court who you were afraid of."

"Him. The freak. The man over there," she said, glancing again toward Alex.

"Do you mean the defendant, Alexander Feldman?"

"Yes."

"How did your father find out about the incidents?"

"I told him."

"When did the incidents start, Ms. Marchand?"

"I don't know. Last year sometime."

"And when did you tell your parents?"

"I don't know. School was almost out."

It was eerie to hear her unvarying monotone; her stillness was even eerier. She hardly moved a muscle.

"June? Was it in June?" Novak asked.

"Maybe. I don't know."

"What was your father's reaction? What did he do when you told him?"

"He was sad, and we went to the living room and prayed. He told me not to worry because he would take care of me. And he met me on the road every day after that and walked partway with me."

"Did you see Mr. Feldman behind the trees again after your father started meeting you on the road?"

"No."

Novak had a few more questions, but nothing was added to her story. He turned to Barbara. "Your witness."

"I have no questions for Ms. Marchand at this time," Barbara said. "I ask the court to advise the witness that I'll recall her as a hostile witness when the defense presents its case."

Judge Mac nodded and instructed Rachel to hold herself in readiness to be recalled at a future time. "Do you understand, Miss Rachel?" he asked kindly.

"Yes."

"Please look at me, Miss Rachel," he said then. Barbara had only vague memories of her own grandparents, but she was reminded of her grandfather. He had sounded just like that.

Rachel lifted her head and turned to face the judge. She looked more dead than alive, with no expression at all. Empty eyes, Dr. Minick had called that look. She looked empty.

For a moment the judge regarded her soberly, then he asked in a gentle voice, "Miss Rachel, when you told your father you had seen someone in the woods, who did you say it was?"

"Him," she said, without s.h.i.+fting her gaze.

"Did you name him that day?"

"No. I didn't know his name."

"What did you call him?"

"The devil freak."

"Have you ever spoken to Alexander Feldman?"

"No."

"Has he ever spoken to you?"

"No."

"You may step down now. You are excused."

There was not a sound in the courtroom as she stood up and in her sleepwalker manner left the stand and started for the rear of the room. Her aunt met her and took her by the arm, and they walked from the courtroom with Daniel Marchand close behind them.

Then the judge turned to Novak. "Counselor?"

"At this time the state rests, Your Honor."

"Ms. Holloway?"

"Defense moves that the case against Mr. Feldman be dropped and the charges dismissed without prejudice."

He tapped his gavel lightly on the bench. "The court will be in recess until Monday morning at nine. At that time the court will announce its decision about dismissal of the charges."

This time when the judge left the room, it erupted into more than just a buzz of talk. A reporter pushed his way through to Barbara's table, tape recorder in his hand, and two other media types hurried out. They would make the noon news with this development.

"What's the significance of the judge not deciding immediately, Ms. Holloway?"

"No comment," she said with a slight shrug. "You know as much as I do."

"Is the girl in the care of a doctor? Is she under guard?"

Barbara shuffled papers and turned her back on the reporter.

"Why didn't you ask her anything?"

A bailiff came and told the reporter to beat it. Barbara could hear Dolly's voice: "That girl was drugged out of her skull. Or hypnotized. Or both."

"Let's get the h.e.l.l out of here," Will said at her side. "Is Bailey on the way?"

"He'll be here by the time we get out," Frank said.

There was not a big crowd in the corridor, but the reporters were persistent, sensing a story in the fact that Barbara had not cross-examined the star witness.

Courtney Innes pressed forward, and held out his hand to Barbara. She did not s.h.i.+ft her briefcase and purse to shake his hand. "I have a plane to catch," he said smoothly. ''I'll be back when it's time to appeal. I imagine we'll be working together then. I look forward to it." He bowed, smiling, and turned to leave.

First, no doubt, he would find time to hobn.o.b with television and newsprint reporters, she thought.

In the van, with Bailey at the wheel, Barbara asked Sh.e.l.ley if she wanted to go to the rain dance. "We can get something to eat first, and then help bring clouds and rain."

"Me, too," Will said. "I'll bring my trumpet."

"You play the trumpet?" Barbara asked suspiciously.

"Me and Al Hirt used to be like that," he said, holding up the right fingers in the right configuration.

"Tomorrow Dolly and Arnold are coming out to the house for dinner," Dr. Minick said. "Sh.e.l.ley, they asked me to invite you. I believe Arnold has learned that your father is the boatbuilding McGinnis."

"Well, he's out of luck," she said sharply. "I don't know a thing about boats or how much money he makes."

"But you know him," Alex said. "That counts. Come on out. We'll play tic-tac-toe or something while the grown-ups talk about weighty matters."

"And I have work to catch up on," Will said, as if forestalling any possible invitation to join the dinner party.

"Tell me about it," Barbara said with a groan.

They separated at Frank's house, taking the various cars and the van away, leaving her with her father and Bailey.

"Got a minute?" she asked. "You, too, Bailey."

Then, inside the house, at the dinette table she said, "I have a very uneasy feeling about Alex, about his safety. I was going through papers last night, sorting hate mail, stuff like that, and some of it's vicious. Depending on the newscast, what they make of the judge not deciding immediately about dismissing the charges, I'm afraid some of those nuts might try to get at Alex. Especially if they think he might get off on a technicality."

Frank recalled the conversation he had overheard at The Station many months earlier, when one of the men present had said if Alex so much as looked at his sister, he'd kill the son of a b.i.t.c.h. "It's going to be a long weekend," he said. "It will take two people."

"Alan and Cousin Herbert," Bailey said promptly. "He's doing a little job in Salem, but I can have him down here in the morning, and Alan can take it tonight."

Frank, thinking of his vegetable garden, which had gone unharvested during the past week, decided to pick a few things and take a run out to Opal Creek, make like a grocery deliveryman. "I'll wait for Alan out there," he said.

When the noon news came on, Barbara, Sh.e.l.ley, and Maria watched in Barbara's office. "G.o.dd.a.m.n it," she said fervently. The talking heads were going on about the possibility of Holloway's pulling a technicality, getting Alexander Feldman off through a loophole. "She's wily," one of them said, "and it looks as if the judge is considering dismissing the charges...."

"All we needed," Barbara muttered, turning the television off when the newsreader went on to the latest happening at the campus. Sh.e.l.ley looked terrified, and Barbara added, "Don't worry. We're sending Alan and Herbert out to keep the barbarians on their side of the gate."

Eugene liked parties. There was the annual First Night New Year's Eve celebration downtown, the annual Eugene Celebration bash, an annual bed race, a march or demonstration or bike race or b.u.t.te-to-b.u.t.te run, or something every other weekend, it seemed. And now there was a rain dance. Impromptu, unplanned as of a week earlier, it brought in thousands of people ready to party, chant, beat drums, sample vendors' wares, listen to bands hastily a.s.sembled, and dance.

The first rain dance was on the mall proper, hordes of people stamping, sweating, and dancing to the beat of drums. After that Will started to play the trumpet, "When the Saints Go Marching In.'' He marched, and drummers fell in behind him; Sh.e.l.ley had acquired bongos, and Barbara had a garbage can lid and stick; there was a saxophone and a clarinet.... They marched and sang, and then they danced some more. It was a Eugene party, a happening. Tree huggers, anarchists, Take Back the Night women, students, gay pride members, a Scout troop, jugglers, the Slug Queen, Gray Panthers, the balloon man-a Eugene party.

In Dr. Minick's kitchen Frank and Graham Minick were reminiscing about things they missed. Frank had let Minick and Alex talk him into staying for dinner, and now it was memory-lane time.

"Fried pies," Frank said. "You ever have a fried pie?"

Dr. Minick nodded. "My mother made them with dried fruit. Prunes, apricots, peaches, and apples all mixed and cooked with brown sugar."

"G.o.d, I haven't given fried pies a thought in fifty years," Frank said. "That's how my mother made them, too." He turned to Alex. "You make a circle of dough, fill half of it with the fruit, and fold it over, crimp the edges, and fry it in lard. G.o.d, they were good! My mother always burned them just a little bit. Better that way."

"And b.u.t.ter," Dr. Minick said. "Everything dripped with b.u.t.ter. Biscuits, corn bread, pancakes, strawberry shortcake, all dripping with sweet b.u.t.ter. We used to dip our b.u.t.tery fingers in the sugar bowl and lick it off."

Frank nodded. "So why aren't we dead?"

His cell phone rang, and he had to find his jacket in the living room to answer. "Holloway," he said.

"Mr. Holloway, Alan Macagno. The woods next to Minick's place are burning, and there's a truck down here at the road, with a few guys hanging out. You'd better get 911 on the line, and then get out of there."

Frank hit the automatic dial for 911, and at the same time snapped, "There's a fire in the forest next to your place. We have to get out of here. Now."

Alex dashed to his studio, and Minick ran to the front door and pulled it open. Smoky air rushed in. He ran to his room. Keeping the phone line open, Frank looked around the kitchen, made sure the stove was turned off, then hurried to the front door. He could see the glow of fire through the trees; still some distance away, it would fan out as it went, he well knew.

"Come on, Alex, Graham! We have to get out of here!"

Alex came out with his blue computer and a bag, and Minick followed close behind him with his laptop and a briefcase with papers sticking out the top. Frank grabbed his own briefcase, and they all ran from the house.

"Get the van turned around and heading out. I'll follow you," he called. He could see flames now, and the crackling and hissing of fire filled the air. Sparks were flying, and where they landed new fires were ignited, grew, raced onward.

He started his Buick, cursing. The van backed into the rhododendrons, made the turn, and started down the driveway; he drove into the bushes to turn, and followed. Fire was coming in closer to the driveway; a laurel bush exploded into flames twenty feet away and the air became hotter, and fouler, thick with smoke and ash, flying embers. The smoke was so thick, he could no longer see the van, just the glow of taillights, and then the moving lights stopped and he nearly ran into the van. The fire would jump the road, be on both sides any minute, he thought desperately, and he pulled his door open and got out to run to the van, which had come to a stop twenty feet short of the old road. Alex was at the wheel.