"Campbell, J - Called To Witness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Campbell J)

Barkley nodded. "I understand that Mrs. Patrick was a complete invalid for the past couple of years. Can you tell me anything about that?"

Allison sat a little more upright, legs crossed at the ankles and hands quiet at her lap. Absurdly, a seventy-year-old picture flashed into her memory: her class at Miss Van Renssaler's Academy for Young Ladies absorbing the principles of propriety. What did any of it matter now, she wondered, after all these years? It was people, and what they did to each other, that mattered. Charity, too, had attended a private school, and see what had happened to her.

"She went out driving by herself one night," she told Barkley, "and... had an accident. Her spinal cord was partially crushed, and she was paralyzed from the waist down."

Allison remembered that night all too well. The stifling heat had been emphasized by the heartless cheerfulness of crickets. About eleven o'clock Allison had prepared a glass of lemonade for herself, and moved towards the old wicker lounge on the screen porch. Not wanting the heat or bugs the light would bring, she sat in the dark, sipping the tart drink and resting.

At first the voices had been muffled, simply alto and baritone rhythms, then they had swelled until she caught a few of the phrases rising in passionate tones. Finally, there was no effort to hush their voices, and Charity's anguish had cried across the night to Allison, "She's going to have a baby and you expect me to be CALM? How could you betray me so, and with a creature like that?"

Frank's voice had resounded with mocking laughter. "Even you can't be that much of an innocent! Do you honestly believe your simple charms could be enough for a man like me? Sarah wasn't the first and you can be damned sure she won't be the last. Come on now, Charity, you're a sweet kid, and your family's been real helpful in getting me where I want to go, but you just can't tie a man down."

Allison cringed, remembering Charity's wounded cry. It had been followed by the slam of the screen door, then the footsteps pounding across the porch and down the steps. The car door slammed and the engine roared to life. Gravel spurted as Charity took off into the darkness.

The police chief cleared his throat. "Miss Ryder?"

Allison, while reliving that awful moment, realized she had a white-knuckled grip on the arm of the chair and returned to the present
"Yes?"

"I hope you'll excuse me for asking you so much about your friends and neighbors, but you see, well, it's all going to come out eventually, and I'm sure you'll be discreet. . . incapacitated as she was, she had no access to the supply of sleeping pills. They were kept in the upstairs bathroom and her husband gave them to her whenever she needed them. It may be that she hoarded the pills, hiding them from her husband somehow, until she had enough for a lethal dose. Or it could be that Mr. Patrick was careless and she received an accidental overdose. Or..." and he paused while Allison's eyes searched his. "Well you realize, we must consider the, uh... possibility that... perhaps the overdose wasn't accidental. Mr. Patrick wouldn't be the first man who felt tied down by a crippled wife and took the wrong way out."

"Captain Barkley," Allison said. "There was no reason in the world for Charity to kill herself. What does Frank say happened?"

"He insists that she must have taken them herself. According to him, she suffered a great deal of pain. He claims that she must have saved up the sleeping pills, which rules out any chance of an accident. This is why I wanted to talk to you. You were very close to Mrs. Patrick. Was she in much pain?"

Allison's fingers unconsciously pleated the plum-colored fabric of the dress over her lap. Her head went a little higher, and an imperious generation spoke through her.

"I've already told you, there was no reason in the world for Charity to kill herself. To my certain knowledge she was seldom, if ever, in pain. In fact I can give you the names of three or four ladies who would confirm that fact, who heard it from Charity 's own mouth. We'd often gather on the Patricks' front porch in the afternoon, so Charity could be a part of the group, and not a week ago we were discussing that case in the papers - you remember the man who shot his wife because she was dying of cancer? Charity was most upset. She was a dreadfully sympathetic child. She was torn between her distress at his immoral action and her sympathy with his concern for his wife's suffering. 'Perhaps I might judge differently,' she said, 'if I were in pain myself. I'm one of the fortunates, suffering only from the handicap. But even if I were in pain, I don't believe anyone except God has the right to take a life.' The other ladies will bear witness with me."

Yes, she said to herself, we were discussing the case. Maybe nobody else noticed it, it was so skillfully done, but Charity herself was the one who maneuvered the conversation to mercy killing. I didn't know then, Charity, but I can see now, what you were doing.

"Mrs. Patrick said herself she was in no pain? Ever?"

"At the time of the accident and several months afterward, yes, she did have pain. But not recently, I never heard her complain."

There now Allison, she realized, you did tell a lie; you can't wiggle out of that one. The same night as that conversation--remember--and Sunday night--and last night...

The scene had been the same all three nights, and the script had followed the same lines. Allison had been in her comfortable corner on the porch, Snowball's faint purrs pulsing against her caressing hand, the creaking wicker of the lounge cool against her bare arms. That first night it had rained earlier, breaking the heat, and the lilac leaves had whispered wetly to each other in the dark. Gentle dripping from the eaves seemed to deepen the quiet, rather than break it. Charity's blind had been pulled down only to the level of the raised window. The force of their intensity carried the muted voices across to her.

"Please! Frank! Please!"

Never had Allison heard such pleading in Charity's voice.

"I've told you, I just can't," he said. "If the pain's so bad let me get a shot for you, or something. But you don't know what you're talking about, wanting to kill yourself."

"What good am I to anybody like this? And the pain-I just can't stand it any more." Her voice had risen with a startling anguish.

Allison, listening in spite of herself, had tensed, wondering. Just that afternoon Charity had denied the pain, yet now... Hot tears had welled in Allison's eyes as she listened to the tortured voice.