Christine

No sweat, Arnie, I said—or tried to say—but he was gone.

It was the next day not the 20th, but Sunday, January 21st—that I started to come back a little. My left leg was in a cast up in its old familiar position again amid all the pulleys and weights. There was a man I had never seen before sitting to the left of my bed, reading a paperback John D. MacDonald story. He saw me looking at him and lowered his book.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, De

“Are you a doctor?” I asked. He sure wasn’t Dr Arroway, who had taken care of me last time; this guy was twenty years younger and at least fifty pounds leaner. He looked tough.

“State Police Inspector,” he said. “Richard Mercer is my name. Rick, if you like.” He held out his hand, and stretching awkwardly and carefully I touched it. I couldn’t really shake it. My head ached and I was thirsty.

“Look,” I said. “I don’t really mind talking to you, and I’ll answer all of your questions, but I’d like to see a doctor.” I swallowed. He looked at me, concerned, and I blurted out, “I need to know if I’m ever going to walk again.”

“If what that fellow Arroway says is the truth,” Mercer said, “You’ll be able to get around in four to six weeks. You didn’t break it again, De

“What about Arnie?” I asked. “Arnie Cu

His eyes flickered.

“What is it?” I asked. “What is it about Arnie?”

“De

“Please. Is Arnie… is he dead?”

Mercer sighed. “Yes, he’s dead. He and his mother had an accident on the Pe

I tried to talk and couldn’t. I motioned for the pitcher of water on the bedtable, thinking how dismal it was to be in a hospital room and know exactly where everything was. Mercer poured me a glass and put the straw with the elbow-bend in it. I drank, and it got a little bit better. My throat, that is. Nothing else seemed better at all.

“What do you mean, if it was an accident?”

Mercer said, “It was Friday evening, and the snow just wasn’t that heavy. The turnpike classification was two bare and wet, reduced visibility, use appropriate caution. We guess, from the force of impact, that they weren’t doing much more than forty-five. The car veered across the median and struck a semi. It was Mrs Cu

I closed my eyes. “Regina?”

“Also DOA. For whatever it’s worth, they probably didn’t—”

“—suffer,” I finished. “Bullshit. They suffered plenty.” I felt tears and choked them back. Mercer said nothing. “All three of them,” I muttered. “Oh Jesus Christ, all three.”

“The driver of the truck broke his arm. That was the worst of it for him. He said that there were three people in the car, De

“Three!”

“Yes. And he said they appeared to be struggling.” Mercer looked at me frankly. “We’re going on the theory that they picked up a bad-news hitchhiker who escaped after the accident and before the troopers arrived.”

But that was ridiculous, if you knew Regina Cu

It had been LeBay. He couldn’t be both places at once, that was the thing. And at the end, when he saw how things were going in Darnell’s Garage, he had abandoned Christine and had tried to go back to Arnie. What had happened then was anyone’s guess. But I thought then—and do now—that Arnie fought him… and earned at least a draw.

“Dead,” I said, and now the tears did come. I was too weak and low to stop them. I hadn’t been able to keep him from getting killed, after all. Not the last time, not when it really mattered. Others, maybe, but not Arnie.

“Tell me what happened,” Mercer said. He put his book on the bedtable and leaned forward. “Tell me everything you know, De

“What has Leigh said?” I asked. “And how is she?”

“She spent Friday night here under observation, Mercer told me. “She had a concussion and a scalp laceration that took a dozen stitches to close. No marks on her face. Lucky. She’s a very pretty girl.”

“She’s more than that,” I said. “She’s beautiful.”

“She won’t say anything,” Mercer said, and a reluctant grin—of admiration, I think—slanted his face to the left. “Not to me, not to her father. He is, shall we say, in a state of high pissoff about the whole thing. She says it’s your business what to tell and when to tell.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “Because, she says, you’re the one who ended it.”

I didn’t do such a great job,” I muttered. I was still trying to cope with the idea that Arnie could possibly be dead. It was impossible, wasn’t it? We had gone to Camp Wi

Arnie, I thought. Hey, man—it’s not true, is it? Jesus Christ, we still got too much to do. We never even double-dated at the drive-in yet.

“What happened?” Mercer asked again. “Tell me, De

“You’d never believe it,” I said thickly.

“You might be surprised what I’d believe,” he said. “And you might be surprised what we know. A fellow named Junkins was the chief investigator on this case. He was killed not so very far from here. He was a friend of mine. A good friend. A week before he died he told me that he thought something was going on in Libertyville that nobody would believe. Then he was killed. With me that makes it personal.”

I shifted positions cautiously. “He didn’t tell you any more?”

“He told me that he believed he had uncovered an old murder,” Mercer said, still not taking his eyes from mine. “But it didn’t much matter, he said, because the perpetrator was dead.”

“LeBay,” I muttered, and thought that if Junkins had known about that, it was no wonder Christine had killed him. Because if Junkins had known that, he had been much too close to the whole truth.

Mercer said, “LeBay was the name he mentioned. He leaned closer. “And I’ll tell you something else, De