Jill released the brake, grasped the handle of the wheelchair and started to push it toward the water. Toby was trying to move his paralyzed lips, trying to scream, but no sound came out, and the effect was terrifying. She could not bear to look into his eyes. She did not want to know.
She shoved the wheelchair to the very edge of the pool.
And it stuck. It was held back by the cement lip. She pushed harder, but it would not go over. It was as though Toby were holding the chair back by sheer willpower. Jill could see him straining to rise out of the chair, fighting for his life. He was going to get loose, free himself, reach out for her throat with his bony fingers…She could hear his voice screaming, I don’t want to die…I don’t want to die, and she did not know whether it was her imagination or whether it was real, but in a rush of panic, she found a sudden strength and shoved as hard as she could against the back of the wheelchair. It lurched forward, upward into the air, and hung there, motionless, for what seemed an eternity, then rolled into the pool, hitting with a loud splash. The wheelchair seemed to float on top of the water for a long time, then slowly began to sink. The eddies of the water turned the chair around, so that the last thing Jill saw was Toby’s eyes damning her to hell as the water closed over them.
She stood there forever, shivering in the warm noonday sun, letting the strength flow back into her mind and body. When she was finally able to move again, she walked down the steps of the swimming pool to wet her bathing suit.
Then she went into the house to telephone the police.
35
Toby Temple’s death made newspaper headlines all over the world. If Toby had become a folk hero, then Jill had become a heroine. Hundreds of thousands of words were printed about them, their photographs appeared in all the media. Their great love story was told and retold, the tragic ending giving it an even greater poignancy. Letters and telegrams of condolence streamed in from heads of state, housewives, politicians, millionaires, secretaries. The world had suffered a personal loss; Toby had shared the gift of his laughter with his fans, and they would always be grateful. The air waves were filled with praise for him, and each network paid tribute to him.
There would never be another Toby Temple.
The inquest was held at the Criminal Court Building on Grand Avenue in downtown Los Angeles, in a small, compact courtroom. An inquest examiner was in charge of the hearings, guiding the panel of six jurors.
The room was packed to overflowing. When Jill arrived, the photographers and reporters and fans mobbed her. She was dressed in a simple black tailored wool suit. She wore no makeup and she had never looked more beautiful. In the few days that had lapsed since Toby’s death, Jill had miraculously bloomed into her old self again. For the first time in months, she was able to sleep soundly and dreamlessly. She had a voracious appetite and her headaches had disappeared. The demon that had been draining her life away was gone.
Jill had talked to David every day. He had wanted to come to the inquest, but Jill insisted that he stay away. They would have enough time together later.
“The rest of our lives,” David had told her.
There were six witnesses at the inquest. Nurse Gallagher, Nurse Gordon and Nurse Johnson testified about the general routine of their patient and his condition. Nurse Gallagher was giving her testimony.
“What time were you supposed to go off duty on the morning in question?” the inquest examiner asked.
“At ten.”
“What time did you actually leave?”
Hesitation. “Nine-thirty.”
“Was it your custom, Mrs. Gallagher, to leave your patient before your shift was up?”
“No, sir. That was the first time.”
“Would you explain how you happened to leave early on that particular day?”
“It was Mrs. Temple’s suggestion. She wanted to be alone with her husband.”
“Thank you. That’s all.”
Nurse Gallagher stepped down from the stand. Of course Toby Temple’s death was an accident, she thought. It’s a pity that they had to put a wonderful woman like Jill Temple through this ordeal. Nurse Gallagher looked over at Jill and felt a quick stab of guilt. She remembered the night that she had gone into Mrs. Temple’s bedroom and found her asleep in a chair. Nurse Gallagher had quietly turned out the lights and closed the door so that Mrs. Temple would not be disturbed. In the dark hallway, Nurse Gallagher had brushed against a vase on a pedestal and it had fallen and broken. She had meant to tell Mrs. Temple, but the vase had looked very expensive, and so, when Mrs. Temple had not mentioned it, Nurse Gallagher decided to say nothing about it.
The physiotherapist was on the witness stand.
“You usually gave Mr. Temple a treatment every day?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did this treatment take place in the swimming pool?”
“Yes, sir. The pool was heated to a hundred degrees, and—”
“Did you give Mr. Temple a treatment on the date in question?”
“No, sir.”
“Would you tell us why?”
“She sent me away.”
“By ‘she,’ you mean Mrs. Temple?”
“Right.”
“Did she give you any reason?”
“She said Dr. Kaplan didn’t want him to have no more treatments.”
“And so you left without seeing Mr. Temple?”
“That’s correst. Yeah.”
Dr. Kaplan was on the stand.
“Mrs. Temple telephoned you after the accident, Dr. Kaplan. Did you examine the deceased as soon as you arrived at the scene?”
“Yes. The police had pulled the body out of the swimming pool. It was still strapped into the wheelchair. The police surgeon and I examined the body and determined that it was too late for any attempt at resuscitation. Both lungs were filled with water. We could detect no vital signs.”