I said, “Need to tend to that wound, Alex.”
“Be okay. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Yeah, it was. Out here in the sunlight I could see the torn flesh, the bone-deep bite marks on his left forearm. None of the bites had severed an artery, but enough blood flowed to make a red glove of the hand and fingers.
I told him I’d be right back and ran into the barn. I had to yank open three of the storage cartons before I found the kind of clothing I was looking for—silk blouses, clean. When I came back outside with three of the blouses, Chavez was leaning against the Nissan’s rear fender, his left arm cradled in against his chest, his weapon holstered and his cell phone against his ear. Making a 911 call, telling the dispatcher what had just happened and asking for an EMT unit.
“Better sit down in the U-Haul,” I said when he finished, “let me wrap up that arm.”
“Carson?”
“Not going anywhere.” She still sat in that same motionless, blank-faced pose, her hands resting on the steering wheel; as far as I could tell she hadn’t moved an inch. Automated mannequin with all the juice drained out of her batteries.
I opened the driver’s door on the U-Haul, got Chavez sitting sideways on the seat, then tore one of the blouses into strips and tied the largest into a tourniquet around his upper arm. With the second blouse I swabbed the wound as best I could, fastened it in place with the rest of the strips. Finished up by making a sling out of the third blouse, tying the sleeves around his neck. Stanch the blood flow, keep the wound clean and the arm stationary until the EMTs arrived.
He endured it all with nothing more than a couple of grimaces. Tough guy, Alex Chavez. And a good man in every sense of the term—like Jake Runyon, the kind of man you could trust and depend on.
I went around and climbed onto the seat beside him. There wasn’t anything else to do now except wait for the rest of it to be over.
28
JAKE RUNYON AND BRYN DARBY
“Jake, what will happen to Gwen Whalen?”
“If the public defender she draws is any good, he’ll plead diminished capacity and she’ll end up in a psychiatric facility.”
“I don’t suppose she’ll ever lead a normal life again.”
“There’s always a chance. But she’s been emotionally unstable all her life, and killing her sister put her over the line. I doubt she’ll ever come back, no matter how much therapy she gets.”
“That’s awful. I’ve never seen the woman and I feel so sorry for her.”
“So do I.”
“Francine did so much damage to so many people … I won’t pretend I’m not glad she’s dead.”
“No need to. You’re entitled.”
“If only she’d showed her vicious side to Robert the way she did to Bobby and her sister. We might all have been spared.”
“Too calculating and manipulative to allow that to happen before they were married. But she wouldn’t’ve been able to control herself indefinitely. She’d’ve gone off on him sooner or later.”
“Well, he must know by now what she was underneath that sweet facade. But will he admit it?”
“He’d be a fool not to. Overwhelming evidence now.”
“Yes, but he’s such a cold, inflexible son of a bitch … I can’t believe I didn’t see his true nature before I married him. But he could be so sweet and charming when it suited him.…”
“Camouflage, like the kind Francine wore.”
“He’ll try to take away what little time I have with Bobby, out of spite. I know he will.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“How can I stop him? I told you how he manipulated the judge at the custody hearing; he’ll do the same thing again—”
“His influence in the legal community isn’t as strong as you think. Dragovich knows a family law attorney with a much better rep who owes him a favor.”
“I can’t afford another expensive attorney. I’ll have to mortgage the house, take on a lot more design work, to pay my legal bills as it is.…”
“We’ve been over that. Money’s not an issue—we’ll work it out.”
“Jake—”
“No, listen to me. Dragovich spoke to the family law guy, Jeb Murphy, and outlined your situation to him. Murphy will stop Robert from denying you visitation. And he thinks there’s a good chance he can get the original custody decision reversed.”
“… Oh, Lord, could he really do that?”
“If he’s as good as Dragovich says he is. Bobby doesn’t want to keep on living with his father—too many ugly memories associated with the abuse and Francine’s death. He wants to live with you. He told me so, and running away, coming here the way he did, proves it. He’s old enough for his wishes to carry weight with any reasonable judge.”