Part 20 (1/2)
”Who delivered your baby?” Slade asked.
She shook her head. ”They had on masks. Lorraine said it was better that way, then I couldn't get in no trouble.” She looked up at Slade. ”I can't give the money back. I ain't got it no more.”
”How much did they pay you?” he asked.
”Two thousand dollars.” There was awe in her voice.
”You don't have to give the money back,” he a.s.sured her. ”What were you doing down here today?”
”Sometimes I just come down here. I can't go to the cemetery. So I just come down here.”
THE WIND howled on the outskirts of town, rocking the pickup and blowing snow into deep drifts. After her son's confession and suicide, Lorraine Vogel had moved from Slade's old neighborhood to a rundown stretch of windblown, low-rent s.p.a.ce behind an old motel and gas station on the edge of town.
”This is where she lives?” Holly asked in surprise as she stared through the blowing snow. is where she lives?” Holly asked in surprise as she stared through the blowing snow.
According to the address in the phone book-and the rusted, dented mailbox-Lorraine lived in an ancient small trailer at the back, with old tires holding down the roof to keep it from blowing off.
Slade pulled behind the abandoned motel and they got out, fighting the wind and the airborne snow as they waded out to the trailer. He pounded on the rusted metal, the wind whistling through the tread-bare tires on the roof, the air thick with snow.
Lorraine Vogel opened the door, a gray sweater wrapped around her boney shoulders. She didn't seem surprised to see him.
”I'm Slade Rawlins-”
”I know who you are.” Her voice was hoa.r.s.e, her body was small and thin. She looked eighty but would have been closer to sixty by his estimation. He could see her in a Halloween monster mask at the foot of Holly's bed. As frightening as the other two monsters even for her age and frailty.
”I'm here about Gwen Monroe,” he said and realized she must have known that as well.
She nodded, unhappiness stamped in a lifetime of lines on her face. He wondered if the woman had ever known peace. He'd heard that Roy's father had taken off on her long before the boy was born, long before her real problems with Roy had begun.
She stepped aside to let them in. ”What other reason would you have for being here?” she asked, sounding a little drunk.
The trailer was dark and cold, a woodstove working futilely in one corner. Slade spotted an almost-empty bottle of cheap bourbon sitting on the kitchen counter with an empty gla.s.s next to it.
”This is Holly Barrows,” he said.
Lorraine gave her the once-over and dismissed her. If the name rang any bells, Lorraine's expression didn't give it away. But maybe the older woman had already recognized her.
Lorraine motioned to the couch, a lumpy, discolored blob slumped against the wall of the living room. He and Holly chose to stand as Lorraine took the chair in front of the woodstove, her thin form molded into the cus.h.i.+ons of the chair from the long hours she must spend in it in front of the fire.
”Gwen told us about the deal you got her for her baby,” Slade said, wasting no time.
Lorraine made no sign that she'd heard him. She seemed to be watching the fire through the cracks in the old cast-iron woodstove as if lost in thoughts of her own.
”I need to know about the other baby, the one Holly gave birth to,” he continued. ”Whoever else helped you deliver those babies, I think they're the same people who killed my mother. I believe they killed your son too. But you probably know more about that than I do.”
Still she didn't move, didn't respond, as if she'd lost interest years ago in her son's guilt or innocence or her own.
”Dammit, Lorraine, these people have Holly's baby. My baby.”
Her head turned slowly, her eyes narrowing as she looked at him. ”Your baby?” She seemed confused and he saw that she was drunker than he'd first thought.
”Please, help us, Mrs. Vogel,” Holly pleaded. ”I was told I had given birth to Gwen Monroe's stillborn-but you know I had a baby girl. What happened to her?” Holly's voice broke, and Slade could see her fighting tears. ”Please, we don't care about anything but getting our baby back.”
Lorraine was staring at Holly, her eyes rheumy and moist in the firelight. ”I never know where the babies go.”
”Who does?” Slade asked.
She wagged her head, her neck seeming too weak to hold it anymore.
”Lorraine, I don't want to have to call the police-”
Her look was pitying. ”As if anyone can keep history from repeating itself. I was there the night you and your sister were born. That's when he got the idea.”
”Wellington?” Slade guessed.
She nodded, and tears filled her eyes and splashed down her cheeks seemingly without her notice.
”I know you and my mother were part of a special project at Evergreen Inst.i.tute, Genesis,” Slade prodded. ”What is it?”
”Through Genesis he will live forever,” she said and smiled. ”You probably thought Allan was dead.”
Slade was trying to decide if Lorraine was drunk. Or nuts.
Holly knelt at the old woman's feet and took Lorraine's hands in her own. ”Tell me about my baby, please.”
Lorraine shook her head; it wobbled, then drooped to her chest.
”Slade, I think she's taken something!” Holly was on her feet, moving to the liquor bottle. He heard the rattle of an almost-empty pill bottle as he moved to Lorraine's side.
The older woman seemed to rally for a moment. He could hear Holly on the phone calling 911, but he doubted the paramedics would be able to get here in time.
”Lorraine, for G.o.d's sake tell me how I can find my baby,” he said, not sure she could even still hear him.
Her eyes glazed over, opaque as cataracts, her mouth opened, the words that fell out almost undistinguishable. But he heard enough to make him lurch back in shocked horror.
He stared at the woman, wanting to cry out his frustration. His rage. But it would have been a waste of words. Lorraine Vogel was gone.
”The paramedics are on their way,” Holly said. ”Rawlins, this prescription is today's date. I think she took almost the entire bottle.”
He felt for a pulse and shook his head.
”My G.o.d, no!” Holly cried. ”She was our last hope.”