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The Gate House :: Demille Nelson
Страница: 478 из 490”
His eyelids fluttered again, and I knew he’d heard me.
I kept staring at him. His eyes were wide open now, and they followed my movements, and I had the thought that he might live.
Susan came into the room, and she looked at me, then at him, but she didn’t say anything.
I could hear the sound of police sirens outside, and I said to her, “Go and unbolt the door for them. Quickly.”
“John, you have to do it, or I’ll do it.”
“Go. I’ll take care of it.”
She looked again at me, then at Anthony, then turned and left.
I stared at Anthony, who was showing too many signs of life… and it was too late now with the police outside to fire the shotgun.
I noticed that his blood had coagulated over his wound, and it was seeping, rather than flowing freely. Stop the bleeding … Start the bleeding.
I knelt on his chest, and his eyes opened wide in terror. I stuck my index finger into his wound, pushing down as far as I could into his warm chest cavity, and when I withdrew my finger, his blood gushed up and began flowing again.
I kept my full weight on his chest, which heaved convulsively, then stopped.
I stood, went into the bathroom, washed my hands, and threw the shotgun back on the bed.
When I went downstairs, Susan was standing at the open door. In the forecourt were two police cars and uniformed officers were moving quickly toward the house.
I put my arm around her shoulder and said, “It’s finished.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
T he police searched and secured the premises and determined that there were no other perpetrators present.
The EMS people, who carried a stretcher upstairs, didn’t carry it downstairs, and a uniformed officer told me, “He’s dead.” The medical examiner, when he arrived, would make that official.
The police had tagged the weapons as evidence, and the crime scene investigators were on the way to begin the slow, arduous process of turning the scene of a violent personal assault into a neat scientific project.
While this was going on, a homicide detective by the name of Steve Jones had requisitioned our home office to conduct an interview with me while Susan was taken by EMS vehicle to the sexual assault unit at North Shore University Hospital.
I wasn’t happy that I hadn’t been allowed to accompany Susan to the hospital, but Detective Jones explained that this was standard operating procedure, to wit: In cases involving serious felonies, witnesses are separated.
His eyelids fluttered again, and I knew he’d heard me.
I kept staring at him. His eyes were wide open now, and they followed my movements, and I had the thought that he might live.
Susan came into the room, and she looked at me, then at him, but she didn’t say anything.
I could hear the sound of police sirens outside, and I said to her, “Go and unbolt the door for them. Quickly.”
“John, you have to do it, or I’ll do it.”
“Go. I’ll take care of it.”
She looked again at me, then at Anthony, then turned and left.
I stared at Anthony, who was showing too many signs of life… and it was too late now with the police outside to fire the shotgun.
I noticed that his blood had coagulated over his wound, and it was seeping, rather than flowing freely. Stop the bleeding … Start the bleeding.
I knelt on his chest, and his eyes opened wide in terror. I stuck my index finger into his wound, pushing down as far as I could into his warm chest cavity, and when I withdrew my finger, his blood gushed up and began flowing again.
I kept my full weight on his chest, which heaved convulsively, then stopped.
I stood, went into the bathroom, washed my hands, and threw the shotgun back on the bed.
When I went downstairs, Susan was standing at the open door. In the forecourt were two police cars and uniformed officers were moving quickly toward the house.
I put my arm around her shoulder and said, “It’s finished.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
T he police searched and secured the premises and determined that there were no other perpetrators present.
The EMS people, who carried a stretcher upstairs, didn’t carry it downstairs, and a uniformed officer told me, “He’s dead.” The medical examiner, when he arrived, would make that official.
The police had tagged the weapons as evidence, and the crime scene investigators were on the way to begin the slow, arduous process of turning the scene of a violent personal assault into a neat scientific project.
While this was going on, a homicide detective by the name of Steve Jones had requisitioned our home office to conduct an interview with me while Susan was taken by EMS vehicle to the sexual assault unit at North Shore University Hospital.
I wasn’t happy that I hadn’t been allowed to accompany Susan to the hospital, but Detective Jones explained that this was standard operating procedure, to wit: In cases involving serious felonies, witnesses are separated.