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

If she hadn't hated Frank so much, she might have been able to pity him as his voice broke with indecision. "Charity I can't do it! Don't ask me to. Even if you're ready to die, think of the position you'd put me in. They'd say I killed you. Think of me, Charity! They'd give me the chair."

The argument had gone on and for three nights Charity had wept, pleaded, hammered away. The last night, Allison, hypnotized, watched the shadows shifting on the drawn blind. Charity had played out her drama. She had won. Frank gave her the pills.

Allison had no longer felt the heat of the night. Chilled with horror, she had fought her own battle. Her throat had throbbed with a scream to that silent window. She couldn't let Charity do this! But a thin hand to her lips cut off that scream before it sounded. What right did she have to interfere? Charity knew what she wanted, and what she was doing. She wouldn't thank Allison for stopping her now.

Allison sat quietly. Soon the Patricks' light went out. Only then did she rise stiffly and plod to her bedroom, where no one could hear her poorly stifled sobs.

The white cat had followed her to the bedroom. One soft, easy leap settled him beside the tired, sorrowful old lady. Allison remembered the day Charity had brought him to her.

"Frank says he's allergic to cats, Miss Ryder. He won't have one in the house but he's such a darling!" The vibrant face had gone quiet as she crooned over the kitten. "Snowball'd be a good name, don't you think? If you kept him, I could see him often. I could help you groom him, and things. It wouldn't hurt so much if I knew you had him."
So Allison had kept Snowball, but Charity had never visited him in his new home. The accident, as Allison resolutely called it, came just days later. Through those harrowing days the kitten grew, and comforted Allison. And he was full grown by the time Charity left the hospital.

There's not much left for an old lady, she thought, wishing Snowball would come home. I had Charity and I had Snowball, and now I only have the cat.

A tear that a lifetime of discipline couldn't restrain slipped down the wrinkled, gray cheek.

Chief Barkley, tactfully clearing his throat again brought Allison back to the present. This policeman and his questions? Allison was weary, please no more decisions...

Barkley hoisted himself out of the deep leather chair. "Well Miss Ryder, I think you've told us what we need to know. One thing-could you write down the names and addresses of the other ladies that you said heard Mrs. Patrick say she suffered no pain? I won't trouble you now. I'll send a man over later today to pick them up.

Charity wins, Allison thought, but she felt no elation. Yes, Frank had killed Charity, killed her youth and innocence, and pummeled her spirit until she wanted to die. Yet, did Charity, or did Allison, have the right to sentence him?

Allison struggled out of her chair. Chief Barkley rushed to help her, but she waved him aside. "Thank you, young man, but I have to do things myself nowadays."

Yes, Allison, she mused, you have to do things by yourself. Once you make this decision, don't fool yourself that somebody else sent Frank to the electric chair. They still execute murderers in this state, you know, and rightly speaking, Frank did not murder Charity. For eighty-three years you've known right from wrong.

"Chief..." she started. Then her taut nerves jerked her like a marionette as the doorbell shrilled.

"I'll get it" the policeman offered.

It was another policeman, a close-shaven young man too big for his uniform, who bobbed his head respectfully to her, then turned towards the chief. "Morris says they're finished over there, any time you're ready to go back to the station."

Chief Barkley glanced in speculation at Allison. Her expression told him nothing.

"I'll be out to the car in a minute." He held the door for the younger man.

"Oh I just thought I'd mention that we don't have to worry about that big white cat the neighbors said was yowling this morning. We found him in the Patrick trash can. Somebody wrung his neck."

The chief nodded and turned back toward Allison where she stood by her overstuffed armchair, one hand gripping the back. Charity smiled at him from the piecrust table.

"You were about to say something...?"

Allison reached to pick up a white cat hair off the chair beside her. "Yes... I was going to say I'll get right on that list you wanted. You can send someone over in about half an hour. Good morning, Chief Barkley."

Head erect, shoulders straight, she shuffled across the room to close the door behind him.


Born and raised in the Ottawa region JOSHUA CAMPBELL has lived all over the beautiful land of Canada ranging from the beautiful forests of British-Columbia to the frozen northern tundra of the Yukon, to the hip city of Montreal.