Chapter 12

It was two in the morning when Jerry Peterson pushed Edwin Petrike into the police station in a wheel chair. Juhler was waiting, and directed Jerry to take him to the interrogation room.

When Juhler followed and sat down, the first thing Petrike said was, "I want my fucking lawyer!"

"Okay," said Terrance, smiling. "I didn't really want to talk to you anyhow."

"Fuck you," said Petrike.

"I do, however need to interview you as a victim," said Juhler.

"I'm not pressing charges against that crazy bitch," said Petrike.

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about Ronny Helterbrand stealing your car."

"What?"

"Did you give him permission to take your car to Oklahoma?"

"Fuck no I didn't!"

"Then you are the victim of having your car stolen."

"Shit!" said Petrike.

"How did he get your car, Edwin? I mean how did he get the keys?"

Petrike looked around nervously. If he answered that question, it could cause him problems.

"I don't want to press charges against Ronny either," he finally said.

"So your car wasn't stolen?"

"No. I let him use it sometimes."

"And you were together last night, when the unfortunate incident happened? And that's when he had access to your keys?"

"Yeah. We were out drinking and we stopped to take a piss. And that woman attacked me and Ronny probably got scared and took off."

"Okay. That being the case, I'll tell the police to stop looking for him."

"Wait! I need my car back!"

"Not for a while. You can't drive it with your leg like that."

"Shit!"

It was ten-thirty when a policeman and a detective in plain clothes entered the IKEA store and inquired as to where they might be able to find John Bonneville. The manager was called and, after asking the men what they wanted with Mr. Bonneville, took them to the kitchen and appliances area. He did this nervously because he had been threatened with arrest if he failed to do so. He watched, stunned, as John Bonneville was arrested and handcuffed right in front of customers, for conspiracy to commit murder and attempted murder.

Claire was getting ready to go to lunch with Cindy when her phone rang. It was Quentin and he asked her to come to his office. She hurried, hoping whatever he wanted wouldn't take long. She'd told Cindy about the attack, and that the police had come to investigate it. She'd glossed over being interviewed, but said it had taken a long time, which was why she got home so late. Before Cindy could ask questions, they had arrived at Martin and had to go their separate ways. She knew Cindy wanted to know what being in the police station had been like. She hadn't informed her friend that she'd been interrogated, or that John's name had come up. She also hadn't told Cindy that she'd used martial arts to break one man's leg and maybe another man's arm.

When she got to Quentin's office she was startled to see Detective Juhler sitting there. He stood as she entered. A feeling of dread formed like a ball of barbed wire in her stomach. She hadn't told Quentin about what happened. Would this be the final straw that made him fire her?

"I'm sorry, Quentin," she moaned. "I didn't have time to come talk to you."

"You're not in trouble, Claire," said her boss. "Though I do wish I'd heard about this from you instead of Detective Juhler."

"I didn't mean to hurt them so badly," she said. "It was just instinct."

"That instinct saved your life," said Juhler. "I wanted to update you myself. It wasn't the man you got fired. We arrested your husband about an hour ago. He hired those men to kill you."

Quentin got to her in time to keep her from falling to the floor. He had to wrap an arm around her waist to hold her up. He moved her to a chair and helped her sit.

"I can't believe it," she gasped.

"We have a confession from one man, and he implicated the other two, as well as your husband."

"But how? Where did he find them? He doesn't hang around with people like that."

"As we understand it, your husband likes to bet on sports. His bookie introduced him to a man named Edwin Petrike, who engaged two of his friends to do the job. They were to be paid six thousand dollars upon completion of their mission."

"That son of a bitch!" exclaimed Claire.

"He's being arraigned right now," said Juhler. "I thought you'd want to know."

"Thank you," said Claire. "Will he be released?"

"Not if the District Attorney has anything to say about it," said Juhler. "She's going to ask that his bail be set at a hundred thousand dollars. Can your husband lay his hands on ten grand? That's what he'll have to have to post bail."

"He will not," said Claire firmly. "Not unless he has money socked away in an account I don't know about."

"It pains me to say this, but I feel compelled," said Juhler. "Should he make bail, you should stay away from him. I'm not worried that he might hurt you, but if you ended up doing to him what you did to the men he hired, that would be a headache for me and the DA."

"And I was just beginning to like you," said Claire.

Quentin laughed, and then said, "Do you want the rest of the day off? I understand Detective Juhler kept you up pretty late last night."

Juhler grumbled, "At least she got to go home and sleep. I've been up since eight o'clock yesterday morning." Then he smiled. "Not that I'm complaining. We on the Millvale PD live to protect and serve."

"Thank you," said Claire, addressing Juhler. She turned to her boss. "And thank you, but I think I'd rather work. It will help to distract me."

"Your choice," said Quentin.

"I'm going to go to lunch. Is that okay?"

"Of course," said Quentin.

"One more thing," said Juhler. "If you are approached by the press, please don't talk about the case. Anything you tell them could be used by his lawyer to try to derail the prosecution."

"Okay," said Claire. "I don't want to talk to them anyway."

"In that case, I'm going home," said Juhler."It's my turn to get a little shut eye. I'll be in touch later, though. There are a few things we still need from you. We need to do a lineup, for example, so you can identify the men who attacked you."

"Did you catch the ones who drove off?"

"We have one. We're looking for the other."

"If I see him first can I break something on him too?"

Juhler smiled. "Be my guest," he said. "We'll just call it a citizen's arrest."

Claire called Cindy to say she needed a few more minutes before they could leave for lunch. Then she called Cuddles and gave her the down and dirty of the situation.

"I'll move all but two hundred and fifty dollars out of the joint account," said Angela. "That way he can't make bail."

"Good," said Claire.

"I want to hear all the details, but I have to take a deposition in ten minutes. We need to get together later."

"Okay."

"I'll call you and we'll set something up."

"Okay."

When they finally got to the restaurant, lunch wasn't nearly long enough for Cindy to absorb the horrifying tale her friend spun for her.

She had to ask for a box so she could take her food back to work with her, because she hadn't eaten a single bite of it.

The rest of the day was anticlimactic for Claire. After all the excitement she'd endured over the last twenty or so hours, auditing Rick Sanders's files made her want to scream.

Still, she applied herself and for three hours she was able to keep from thinking about John. At least most of the time.

After work she was ambivalent about doing anything. She thought about going home, but that house held nothing for her in terms of either memories or the appeal of living there. She didn't want to stay at Cindy's because she knew that when Danny got home, she'd have to go over the whole thing again with him. She just didn't want to do that right then. She didn't feel like running either.

But she did want to see Chad.

In the end, she put on jeans and, because it was unseasonably cool, a sweater she borrowed from Cindy.

"I'm going for a walk," she said.

"Claire?" Cindy's voice held something Claire couldn't identify.

"Yes."

"This guy you were running with. Have you run with him a lot?"

"Yes."

"Did you run with him before the accident?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me about him?"

"I don't know. It's complicated."

"I want to ask you, but I don't want you to get mad," said Cindy.

"Ask me what?"

"Is he the guy you fantasized about when you were using your dildo?"

A range of emotions swept through Claire. There was guilt. There was relief that, finally, she could talk to someone about him. There was anxiety that Cindy would think badly of her if she did talk to her about him. There was the hope that now she could do other things than just run with him ... that she could introduce him to her friends. There was confusion about why she wanted to introduce him to her friends.

"It's none of my business," said Cindy, interpreting the long silence that dragged by as Claire thought of all those things as reluctance to answer. She was right. There was reluctance to answer. But the urge to move things out into the open was stronger.

"It's okay," she said. "And yes, he is that man."

"Wow," sighed Cindy.

"You probably think I'm a slut," muttered Claire.

"Are you crazy? I think it's romantic!"

"Really?" Hope flared in Claire's chest.

"Of course I do. I mean think about it. John was a jerk. The old you was too timid to do something about that. All you could do was fantasize about a happier life, with a better man. And then you got hit by a car and lost your memory and suddenly you weren't so timid anymore. And you did do something about your life! What's he like? What have you done together? Is he good in bed?"

"Slow down, girl," said Claire. "First off, there has been no bed. All we do is run. He wants there to be a bed, but I've told him we can't even go on a date until the divorce is final."

"That's Old Claire," said Cindy. "You don't have to be Old Claire anymore."

"Whoever I am, I still believe that a woman shouldn't cheat on her husband," said Claire.