A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [158]
Lisa was looking at Gordon. She seemed exhausted, utterly exhausted, by the talk of violence, of breaking into someone’s home. She feels bad for me, he thought, and then, seeing the horror in her eyes, understood. No. She’s just now realizing who I am, what I did, how freakish I am compared to these normal people.
“Well, I know what I’d do,” Rena Stanley said.
“What? Hide in a closet and call 911?” Becca Brock scoffed.
“No, shoot them!”
Everyone laughed, except for Lisa, who looked around her table as if she had no idea who anyone was.
Jennifer returned and said something that Gordon missed over the melee of voices. “I said, ‘Are you all done?’ ”
“Here he is!” Mr. Harrington called with a big grin. “My favorite son-in-law!”
Dennis stayed in the dining-room doorway. “Gordon, I need you out here for a minute.”
There was silence as Gordon stood. The bitterness in his brother’s voice had not gone unnoticed. Lisa started to get up, then sat back stiffly as if weighted there.
“Probably Jimmy,” Mrs. Harrington said quickly. “He told me he couldn’t wait to show Uncle Gordon his new video game. What’s it called again, dear? He told us.”
“Duke Nukem!” Mr. Harrington laughed. “God, I wish that were my name.”
Halfway down the hall, Dennis nudged Gordon, then veered suddenly into his study. “There’s four cops in the foyer. They’ve got a warrant, but I wouldn’t let them go in. I told them I’d bring you out.”
“A warrant. Why? For what?” The two men, their little dog, the girl, he couldn’t even think of her name. No, it was Mrs. Jukas—they did, they thought he had beaten her.
“So they can arrest you.”
“For what?”
“Mrs. Jukas’s murder. She died this afternoon.”
“Oh, my God! No! You’ve got to believe me, Dennis. I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t. All I ever did was try to help her. I swear to you.”
“Come on.” Dennis put his hand on Gordon’s arm to lead him from the study.
“No!” Gordon pushed him away.
“Don’t do this to me!” Dennis’s coarse, close whisper hit his face like acid, stripping the flesh. “Don’t you dare. Not in front of everyone. Not with my children downstairs! Do you understand? You better go out there. Right now. Don’t just stand there looking at me. Jesus Christ, do you hear what I’m saying?”
“I didn’t do anything! I swear I didn’t. Please believe me! Please, Dennis! Tell me you believe me and I’ll go. I swear, I’ll go right out.”
Dennis grabbed the front of his shirt. “What was it, another accident? She got in your way and you just beat her into a fucking coma?”
He walked the rest of the way over the black and white marble tiles, alone. Dennis followed slowly. Of the four men, only two were uniformed. The two in short-sleeved shirts and chinos might have been dinner guests down the hall. Detective Kaminski stepped forward. “Gordon Loomis?”
“Yes, sir.”
This arrest was made quickly, without anger or loathing. The deaths of pretty Janine Walters and baby Kevin had happened too long ago for them to despise him. His victim this time was an irritable old woman who had already lived her long life. The policemen seemed ill at ease, embarrassed to be here, even Kaminski as he cuffed him. The other detective was telling Dennis they had come in unmarked cars, as if that might make him feel better. “Here. Just till we get to the car.” He grabbed Jimmy’s blue windbreaker from the settee and wrapped it over Gordon’s bound wrists.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Loomis.” Detective Kaminski opened the front door.
Dennis sighed and shook his head.
“Soon’s he’s in, I’ll run the jacket back up,” the second detective called back.
“That’s all right. Don’t bother,” Dennis said, but he meant, Keep it. Throw it away, I don’t care.
It was after midnight and he had just dozed off in the cell when the guard unlocked the door. His brother was downstairs. The chief said he could go down, but just for a few minutes.
“All night I’ve been calling Miridici, at home, his office, but he doesn’t even have an answering service, just a fucking machine. I must’ve left fifty messages so far.”
Miridici had represented Gordon during the parole process.