The Dark Hour

by Erin Lanter

  “Well, it’s not worth dying for,” he muttered as he gripped the steering wheel tighter with both hands, heart beating with the intensity of a bass drum.

  Realizing he was only halfway to his destination, he stared straight ahead and forced every other thought out of his mind. If he was going to help Tessa, he’d have to make it to the police station alive.

  When he pulled into the parking lot, he felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from his chest. He gathered his jacket and briefcase from the passenger floorboard, covered his head, hugged the briefcase to his chest, then made a mad dash to the front doors.

  I really hope plan A works, he thought as a tall man held the door open for him. But if not, maybe they’ll consider my other one.

  If they did, he’d have his work cut out for him convincing Tessa it was a good idea.

  68

  Why did I waive my right to an attorney? Tessa thought, anguished.

  The reply entered her mind immediately: Because I didn’t do anything wrong and thought I could get them to understand that. That’s why.

  She’d truly believed that once she presented her own defense to the detectives, they’d agree that she had nothing to do with Camille’s shooting and let her go. Surely they’d see that just because she could have sneaked out of the house last night didn’t mean she actually did. Any reasonable person would see that, right?

  Except the detectives, who seemed to be waiting to pin this on her.

  Tessa shook her head in disbelief and wondered what Mama would have had to say about all this.

  Glancing around the room, Tessa noted there was no clock. Probably an attempt to disorient the suspect, she thought. In my case, it’s working.

  It seemed like forever since Detectives Jefferson and Dunn left, but there was no way to really know.

  She looked longingly at the empty water glass sitting on the table. It had only been half full when they gave it to her, and she desperately wanted more.

  It’s just as well, she told herself. They probably wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom, anyway.

  Tessa turned toward the door at the sound of the knob rattling. She hoped for good news, but the look on Detective Dunn’s face told her there wasn’t any. She licked her dry lips and looked over his shoulder. “Where’s Detective Jefferson?”

  “He’s working on something else,” Detective Dunn replied, then lowered himself into the chair he’d occupied earlier.

  As the detective silently observed her, Tessa shifted uncomfortably in her wobbly chair. She took a deep, shuddering breath, then asked, “Is it too late to ask for a lawyer?”

  “No,” he confirmed, then rose from his seat. “Do you have one in mind?”

  Tessa bit her bottom lip and shook her head. Her hands, which had been only trembling, shook harder. “I’ll need a public defender.”

  She tried to shake the hopelessness that settled over her. No one could protect her from what this nightmare threatened to bring.

  69

  Dr. Harold Raymond nodded briefly at the man holding the door for him then walked toward the desk sergeant as fast as his aging legs could carry him. His mission was so absorbing his thoughts that he barely noticed that the man who’d held the door for him was following close behind.

  When he reached the desk sergeant, he said urgently, “I need to talk to someone about a person who was arrested tonight.”

  “What’s the name?” the desk sergeant droned. The name plate said the bored man’s name was Sergeant Mitch Holland.

  “I’m Dr. Harold Raymond.”

  Sergeant Holland looked up. “Not your name. What’s the name of the person you want information about?”

  The psychologist cleared his throat. “Oh. Yes, of course,” he muttered. “Tessa James.”

  “I want to talk to someone about her, too,” said the voice behind him.

  Dr. Raymond looked away from the officer in front of him to notice the man who’d held the door for him was the same one speaking. He’d taken a step forward and was now standing beside him.

  “And who might you be?” the sergeant asked.

  “Andrew James. Tessa’s ex-husband.”

  He looked at Dr. Raymond. “And you?”

  “As I already mentioned, my name is Dr. Harold Raymond.”

  “A doctor?”

  “A psychologist, actually,” Harold clarified.

  The officer raised his eyebrows.

  Without acknowledging the man’s curiosity, Dr. Raymond thrust his jaw forward. “I would like to speak with the arresting officer, please,” he said, then, tapping the desk with a slender index finger, added, “Right now.”

  Sergeant Holland pointed to a row of chairs lined against the wall opposite his desk. “Please sit there. I’ll let the detective know you’d like to speak to him.”

  Dr. Raymond did as instructed and settled into a hard plastic chair.

  “You, too,” Sergeant Holland said to Drew.

  “So, you’re her psychologist?” Drew asked, following Dr. Raymond and taking the seat next to him.

  Dr. Raymond’s mouth drooped. “I’m afraid I cannot confirm nor deny that.”

  Drew nodded his understanding, then extended his hand. “I’m Andrew James.”

  “I’m sure this would be a pleasure under different circumstances,” Dr. Raymond said, returning the handshake.

  “How did you know Tessa was here?” Drew asked.

  The older man leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “I saw on the news tonight that she had been arrested.”

  Drew rubbed the five-o’clock shadow on his face. “She was at my house when they arrested her.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “She didn’t do it, you know. She wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

  “I know,” Dr. Raymond said softly.

  “Any idea if she has legal counsel?” Drew asked hopefully.

  The psychologist shook his head. “I know less than you do.”

  “You don’t have to answer me, but I’m going to ask anyway. Do you think, from a psychological standpoint, that Tessa is capable of what they’ve accused her of?”

  Dr. Raymond carefully considered how to answer. He was strict in his professional ethics and wouldn’t budge when it came to client confidentiality. “It’s hard to say what someone is capable of. Put in a certain situation, any one of us is capable of acting out of character. However…” He didn’t go on, but the expression of doubt on his face spoke volumes.

  Smiling sadly, Drew said, “I don’t think so, either.”

  Clearing his throat, Dr. Raymond said, “So, you’re Tessa’s ex-husband?”

  “Yeah, her ex-husband,” Drew said, a sour note in his voice. “Not because I wanted to be done with her. Quite the opposite, actually. I just couldn’t keep living with her constantly pushing me away.”

  “I see.”

  “I guess all I ended up doing was pushing her away and reinforcing the notion that she really couldn’t trust me.” Drew stood and began pacing around the chairs, the noises in the background grinding on his already frayed nerves. Finally, he reclaimed his seat and looked at Dr. Raymond, who appeared to be lost in thought. “I dated the victim, you know. That’s part of the reason they suspect Tessa. I guess, in a way, this is all my fault.”

  Feigning surprise, Dr. Raymond widened his eyes. “I imagine this must be a difficult time for you. One woman you care about lying in a hospital bed, the other arrested for her attempted murder.”

  Drew grunted. “Camille – that’s her name – was nice enough, and she liked to have a good time, but she’s not my type. I could never really talk to her. But Tess… I’ve always been able to talk to her. All I ever wanted was for her to trust me, and now look what I’ve done.” He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “You’re too easy to talk to,” he said wryly.

  The pain on this man’s face made Dr. Raymond question whether or not, in this dire situation, he should loosen up
on his ethics. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to give the man a little hope. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t think Tessa is capable of hurting anyone. In fact, that’s why I’m here. I sensed something was wrong last time I talked to her, so I began compiling my notes and observations so I could present them as evidence, if needed. I often serve as an expert witness during trials, so this is right up my alley, I’m afraid.”

  “Thank you for that. Tessa’s had a rough go of it. Her mother was really, really sick. There was a time at the beginning of our marriage when her mom wouldn’t even let me in her house. She thought I was coming to steal her thoughts. I assured her I have plenty of my own and had no need for hers, and in time, she eventually loosened up. It really wore Tessa out, but when her mom died, Tessa was devastated. It just took the spunk out of her for a while. It was like she didn’t know what to do with herself without looking after her mom. She just, I don’t know, changed somehow.”

  Dr. Raymond nodded in agreement. “Tessa is a resilient woman. She’ll be okay,” he assured Drew, then noticed him stiffen when a barrel-chested man in a suit approached them.

  “Detective Jefferson,” Drew said, standing. His voice was laced with tension. The detective didn’t acknowledge him.

  “Dr. Raymond. Nice to see you again. What can I do for you?” he queried. The detective’s voice was pleasant when he spoke to the psychologist.

  “I need to speak with you about Tessa James,” he said, standing to meet the detective, who dwarfed him with his overall bulk.

  The corners of Detective Jefferson’s mouth dropped at the mention of Tessa’s name, a reaction that wasn’t lost on either of the men.

  Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me, he thought. Good thing I like a challenge. “Is there someplace we can go and talk?” It came out as more of a suggestion than a question.

  Jerking his head toward the hall leading to the interrogation rooms, Detective Jefferson lead the way. Dr. Raymond followed, shooting a backward glance at Drew.

  This wouldn’t be an easy sell, but, unfortunately, it looked like it was necessary.

  70

  Lois Simmons hugged her over-sized shoulder bag to her ample chest as she ducked her head and walked quickly down the hall away from the interview room and toward the door of the police station. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined she’d be giving her statement to a police detective after stumbling upon a shooting victim!

  That poor woman, Lois thought. What was she doing getting herself shot in someone else’s house? And right next door, too!

  At least that nice Detective Jefferson had been kind enough to let me come in tonight, instead of insisting that I come right away. I had orders to fill, and I needed to get my bearings after what I found!

  He wasn’t nearly as grumpy as he’d looked when he left Tessa’s house the other evening, and he’d been so understanding when I told him I had orders that couldn’t wait. He didn’t know cranky Mrs. Oliver, but he’d saved my hide by letting me complete her order. The nerve of that woman, demanding so much from me. I’ve only got two hands! Lois huffed, shaking her head. Some people just have no manners.

  Like my next-door neighbor, apparently. To think she just shot that lady and left her to die. What kind of person would do something like that? Lois wondered, a chill racing up her spine at the idea that she’d been living next to a would-be killer for the past year. Who knows what else she’s done?

  “And to think I was so worried about not getting her my pound cake,” Lois muttered, indignant that she’d put herself through so much just to make that lady a homemade treat. She shook her head.

  “I guess you just never know about some people,” she muttered as she approached the police station door.

  Just as she was about to push it open, she stepped quickly to the side to avoid running into an older gentleman. A younger man was hot on his heels.

  Lois spun to watch him walk away as his face registered in her mind.

  She gasped. “That’s the man who’s been visiting Tessa all week!” He’s so handsome, she admitted to herself, though she was disappointed in the kind of company he was keeping. I hope he didn’t have anything to do with that poor young woman being shot.

  Her mind settling on her beautiful but reserved neighbor, she reminded herself how easy it is to be deceived by a pretty face.

  71

  Jacob Armistead stared at the ceiling fan whirring above his bed. Though it was almost completely dark, he’d been awake so long that his eyes had adjusted, and he could make out the outlines of his bedroom furniture.

  His plans were unraveling. Or they would be if he’d had a plan to begin with.

  He hadn’t been able to get Tessa James out of his mind all week. Why had she chosen that night and that street, of all the streets in the city, to take a walk?

  He’d been careless. He knew that. He’d taken advantage of the fact that he lived at the end of a quiet dead-end street in a house that was mostly hidden from view. That, coupled with his assumption that no one would be out on a stormy night, had caused him to slip. If he had just dragged the body instead of carrying it, he never would have been seen.

  For the past six days, he’d felt like he was being hunted every waking moment. Each time he turned around, he expected that grumpy detective to be standing there, dangling handcuffs in his face.

  It would have been easy to take care of the problem, but if anything happened to her after she reported what she’d seen, they’d nab him for sure.

  Then, to make matters worse, Samantha had surprised him by getting home this evening instead of tomorrow morning. He needed those extra ten hours.

  A grim smile tugged at his lips. Things might end up working out okay, after all.

  He’d been watching Tessa that night when the other woman came to visit. He didn’t think either of the women had seen him, but he needed to be sure. Both of them would have to be taken care of.

  That was when he’d had the inspired idea to use a more roundabout way to get rid of the James woman, and also make sure the other one couldn’t talk about the strange man lurking around. Thanks to his cousin, it hadn’t been hard to get the other lady’s cell phone number. Now Tessa James was in jail for shooting Camille Walker and the focus had been taken off him. The plan had been just about perfect, except for one thing.

  The Walker lady didn’t die.

  Though unlikely, it was possible that she’d be able to identify him if she ever recovered.

  Now he lay motionless, sweat saturating his pajamas. With shaking hands, he wiped the beads of sweat accumulating on his forehead. He assured himself he’d worn gloves and left no traces of his presence in that house. It wasn’t his first time cleaning up after himself, and he was becoming increasingly certain it wouldn’t be his last.

  The covers rustled beside him and Samantha slipped her hand onto his chest. The dampness of his pajamas roused her from her sleep. “Are you okay, J?” she asked groggily.

  “I’m fine,” he said as he sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. “It’s just a little fever. All these loose ends must be compromising my immune system.”

  Samantha didn’t hear his explanation. She was already snoring.

  As he got up to splash some cold water on his face, he decided that Camille Walker was another loose end he would have to take care of.

  Then he’d worry about the James woman.

  72

  Tessa’s heart pounded as she sat in the waiting area of the admitting office late Sunday night. While she appreciated Dr. Raymond’s willingness to go to bat for her, she didn’t want to believe a seventy-two-hour stay at the state psychiatric hospital was all he’d been able to work out.

  In the interrogation room at the police station, she’d thought anything would be better than a jail cell. Now, surrounded by other people waiting to be admitted, she thought a cell would be a better – and safer – option.

  To her left was a visibly agitated young man who looked a
bout twenty years old. His leg bounced up and down while he picked at his hand. He didn’t raise his head or look at anyone. Tessa’s initial impression was that he was so tightly wound that he could snap at any moment. He was accompanied by a man whose bulk rivaled that of an NFL football player.

  At her right was a petite young woman who seemed to shrink right into the hard plastic chair. She, too, kept her eyes averted from everyone. She was alone, probably admitting herself voluntarily.

  Several of the other chairs were occupied by people who looked like they were in the same position she was – waiting to be locked up, away from the rest of society, as a last resort. The difference was, they all had the blank stare of anticipation. Unlike Tessa, this probably wasn’t their first stay at a psych hospital.

  One by one, they were each called into a small room off the side of the waiting area. Soon, she was the only one left.

  “Tessa James,” an impersonal voice called from the direction of the room.

  Her palms grew sweaty. What’s going to happen back there? she wondered as her throat constricted. She looked at Detective Jefferson, who’d insisted he accompany her. He nodded slightly but didn’t return her glance.

  Standing slowly, she made her way to the unknown room, avoiding eye contact with hospital personnel. This is so humiliating, she thought. Is this how Mama felt when I had her admitted?

  The attendant, a broad, unsmiling woman in navy blue scrubs, pointed to the examination table in the center of the room. “Sit,” she commanded. There were no introductions, only instructions.

  Tessa did as she was told, stifling the urge to tell the woman she didn’t belong there. She was certain it wouldn’t be the first time the woman heard that.

  A man who’d been sitting quietly in the corner tossed her a hospital gown, told her to put it on, and left the room. The woman in scrubs scooted a privacy screen between her and Tessa and waited.

  “Exactly what kind of exam am I having?” Tessa asked, her mouth suddenly dry. She didn’t need more humiliation right now.