The Letter

by Mary Crawford

  “Pretty well, actually. It’s such a complicated story. I understand why you are so dedicated to setting the record straight. I would be too. I am sitting on the edge of my seat. I can’t wait to hear the end.”

  “You don’t mind doing this for me?” Mallory confirms.

  “No, it’s fine. It’s very interesting. I want to bop Sheila’s parents upside the head, but it’s not the first time I’ve heard a story like that.”

  “It isn’t?” Mallory struggles to sit up.

  I encourage her to lie back down. “No, a lot of times we are called to situations where there’s obvious abuse, but the parents will encourage their kids to lie — right in front of us. It’s enough to make your blood boil, but there’s not much you can do. You treat the injuries and report to the authorities. Sometimes I wonder what happens to those kids. Then again, a lot of times I don’t have to wonder because I go back to the same places over and over again.”

  Mallory yawns. “Yeah, sometimes it seems like we repeatedly report on the same stories.”

  I brush her hair off her cheek and kiss it lightly. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep. I’ll try to finish up the recording and fix us some dinner. Do you think you could keep down some meatloaf and mashed potatoes?”

  “That sounds great. Anything but soup,” she says as a shiver goes up her spine.

  “Okay, your wish is my command.”

  As I quickly whip together some meatloaf and put potatoes on to boil for mashed potatoes, I send my mom a quick text to thank her for helping me learn to be competent in the kitchen. Of course, she sends me a response to ask if I’m feeling okay.

  I told her I was fine. I explained I’m just feeling thankful for supportive parents and the small lessons I’ve learned along the way.

  I slide back in the kitchen chair and put the headphones back on and listen to Sheila’s tale of utter abandonment and betrayal. I can’t imagine being in her shoes. When I reach the end of the recording, I take a few moments to do some research on chondrosarcoma. After reading the information on several medical sites, I realize Mallory’s push to get on top of this story and advocate for Marshall Todd isn’t all about him. Mallory is trying to get this resolved so Sheila can make peace with her past before she dies. Based on what I can tell from what Sheila has said about her type of cancer, I don’t believe she has very long to live.

  The timer goes off on the boiling potatoes and I press save on the transcript. There is so much more I wish I could do. Unfortunately, I can’t buy Sheila more time and I can’t speed up Mallory’s healing process. The only thing I can do is take care of her the best way I know how.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  MALLORY

  I SPIN IN FRONT OF the mirror in my sensible business suit and pumps. I look over my shoulder at Rocco. He is tucking in his uniform shirt. “How do I look?” I ask as I nervously bite my lip.

  Rocco sets down his belt and walks over to me. Cupping my face, he kisses me deeply. “You look stunning. For so many reasons, I wish I didn’t have to work today.”

  “Do you think I look like a serious reporter? I’m a little worried. There’s a lot of hair in the bottom of the shower. Maybe I should’ve cut it short last week.”

  “Honey, I look at you every day and I can’t tell you’ve lost any hair. A perfect stranger who’s never met you wouldn’t know. You look like one of those fancy reporters who cover the news on television. Marshall will be impressed.”

  The doorbell rings. I put some lipstick on quickly. “I bet that’s Tyler. I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  Rocco kisses me again. “Tyler is a good man. If you need anything, just ask. He has military experience. He can handle any crisis.”

  I lean against Rocco’s chest. “Stop worrying about me. I don’t expect to have any crises. I’m not having active chemotherapy right now. I’m feeling well. I’ve got a job to do.”

  “I know you are. Honestly, you’ve met my family. We are like professional worriers. It’s in the genes. I think I’d worry about you even if you were perfectly healthy.”

  “Yeah, you have a good point. Your mom came over the other day when I was cutting up bananas for fruit salad and she was worried I might hurt myself.”

  Rocco grins. “See? What did I tell you? I hope you have a great interview with Marshall.”

  Just before I’m ready to go through the security checkpoint at the prison, Tyler lays his hand on my shoulder. “I don’t want you to be disappointed. Sometimes it takes more than one visit to build a rapport with the prisoner. Especially one that’s been as isolated as Marshall. You might not get a lot out of today’s visit.”

  I swallow hard. “Thank you for the reminder. I tend to get too excited and stake everything on a single interview. I know I shouldn’t do that, but I’m really bad about getting my hopes up.”

  “I could be wrong, but that’s just been my experience.”

  “I hope it goes well. Since I haven’t been in the office, I’m not sure if Marshall even got any messages to inform him I was coming.”

  “If nothing else, it should be interesting,” Tyler remarks.

  The guard pats me down and makes me dump out my briefcase. When he sees my digital recorder, he takes out the batteries and puts them back in. He does a brief test recording and then plays it back. “Do you have a reason for this recorder?”

  “I have cancer and I have developed extreme nerve pain in my fingers. It is difficult for me to hold a pen or pencil and write quickly.” I explain. “I use a tape recorder to help me remember the details.”

  The corrections officer looks at Tyler. “Do you know this woman? Is she telling us the truth?”

  Tyler nods. “She is. She is a hundred percent above-board. I would stake my professional reputation on it.”

  The guard shrugs as he hands me back my belongings. “Okay ma’am, another officer will bring Inmate Todd to the visitor room.”

  Tyler steps forward. “Listen, Officer Davidson, Ms. Yoshida is fighting cancer, and she’s susceptible to illness. Can we use one of the conference rooms instead of the visitor room for her safety?”

  The officer consults a sign-in sheet. “I don’t see why not. No one is signed up to use it. Can you show her the way?”

  Tyler nods. “I’d be happy to.”

  Tyler places his hand on my forearm as we navigate the halls to a conference room.

  By the time we sit down in the sterile conference room, my teeth are chattering from nerves.

  “Are you okay?” Tyler asks with a look of concern.

  “I’m fine. The enormity of what I’m about to do just hit. What if he doesn’t believe me or wants no part of this?”

  “Trust me, if he really didn’t do this, he will grasp at any opportunity to be free, no matter how slim.”

  “That’s my other concern. What if we do all of this and nobody cares? I’ve written several stories where Innocent Projects have unearthed evidence pointing to a defendant’s innocence, but the courts have said it’s simply not enough because there isn’t DNA.”

  Tyler grimaces. “That’s true too. But you can't go back and fix what isn’t there. You have to work with the facts you’ve got.”

  The door opens and a young man enters. He is handcuffed and shackled. He is still handsome, but he lacks the confident air I saw in news coverage when he was younger.

  Tyler discreetly shows the guard his sheriff’s badge. “The shackles and cuffs are unnecessary. Please remove them.”

  The guard look startled. “Sir, there is a woman present and you are aware of this inmate’s charges —”

  I clear my throat. “I am aware of what Mr. Todd was convicted of and I am fully comfortable with you removing his restraints. In fact, I would prefer it.”

  At the guard’s hesitation, Tyler insists, “I can handle it if anything arises.”

  The guard shrugs, “I guess. It’s your funeral.”

  Marshall Todd simply sighs as he waits for the guard to re
move his cuffs and shackles.

  The guard looks at Marshall and grouses, “Don’t make me regret this move. It’s already been an insanely long day. I don’t want to do weeks of paperwork because I was nice.”

  “No, sir. I understand,” Marshall says as he practically stands at attention.

  The guard leaves and Marshall appears uncertain.

  I stand up and shake his hand. “Hi, I’m Mallory Yoshida. Thank you so much for meeting with me today. This is my friend Tyler. He’s here mainly because I am recovering from a round of chemotherapy and don’t feel up to driving. In this case, it’s also helpful that he is a Sheriff.”

  Marshall narrows his gaze. “Am I in trouble for something? I haven’t done anything, I swear. But then again, that didn’t seem to matter the last time.”

  “We know. Hopefully, we can do something to fix what happened,” I answer as I hand him a business card.

  “Word Soup? Is that some sort of weird tabloid magazine or something?” Marshall demands.

  “No, although the name kind of sounds that way. We are a new breed of newspaper. A lot of people don’t even get traditional newspapers anymore, so we are based on the web. But we are solid, traditional journalists. We take our jobs very seriously. I cover the crime beat. A few weeks back, we got a lead which indicated the DNA in your case didn’t match you. I did some research and found the lead to be viable.”

  “Yeah … absolutely… I tried to tell everybody, their cousin, and their dog that I never had sex with Sheila Taylor. But nobody believes a black guy.”

  “Turns out, nobody believes a teenage white girl either,” I remark.

  “What do you mean? I was there in the courtroom when Sheila told those jurors I raped her. I got no clue why she would lie. I thought we were friends. I was trying to tell her Tyrone was gamin’ her. I didn’t want her to humiliate herself. She was throwing herself at him like he was a god or something. Tyrone was a complete man whore, but she couldn’t catch a clue. Sheila was new to school, she didn’t know any better. She thought he was cute. When he threw her a little attention, she ate it up like it was her favorite kinda candy or something.”

  “I’ve spent some time getting to know Sheila Taylor. She regrets what she did.”

  “Little late for that now, isn’t it? All my college scholarships are gone. My mama’s life is destroyed. She had a stroke because I was sent here.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, son,” Tyler says. “The incident happened outside my jurisdiction, but I got my hands on the interrogation tapes. I know that's no consolation, but Sheila tried to tell the truth many times. People stopped listening to her. I don’t know if they just discredited her because she was fifteen and had been drinking or if they got tunnel vision and focused on you. I just don’t know. But it was a travesty of justice all around.”

  “Yet, I’m still here. So, what’s changed?” Marshall asks defiantly.

  “Circumstances have changed in Sheila Taylor’s life. She is asserting a little more power. She finally feels like she can come forward and tell the truth.”

  “Why couldn’t she do something before? It’s not like I was hard to find,” Marshall replies sarcastically.

  “There were some unique circumstances. Sheila was for all intents and purposes being held as an emotional hostage. Her parents threatened to have her committed to a mental health hospital if she didn’t cooperate with what they told her to say. She was concerned about her little sister, Stella.”

  Marshall pounds on the table in front of us. “I told my attorney there was something weird going on. I knew she wouldn’t have done that to me. Her dad was doing all this bogus stuff in the audience, but my attorney couldn’t be bothered to get up and object. It was so obvious too — like her dad was feeding her lines or something. Sheila looked scared to death. I’ve seen her face down bullies at school and she didn’t look that scared. One day, it looked like she was going to finally tell what really happened and set me free. Then her family created some weird ruckus in the audience. The judge had to call a recess.”

  “I read a little something about some odd happenings in the gallery in the court transcript. It didn’t seem that dramatic in writing,” I remark.

  “It was all-out chaos. They were even afraid I would escape. I was completely surrounded by bailiffs. After everyone got back from the recess, when they put Sheila back on the stand, it was like somebody had given her zombie pills. She could barely put together a sentence. Everyone acted like nothing had happened and everything was normal. That was the day I knew for sure it didn’t matter what happened in the trial, it was over. My fate had been decided. Obviously, the judge didn’t care what happened in his courtroom. Everybody seemed to just be going through the motions. After all, what’s one more black kid in the juvenile justice system? If one is guilty, we all must be, right?”

  “No, not right. Sheila Taylor knew you didn’t do anything to harm her. She never wanted you to go to jail, but she was in a no-win situation: either do what her parents required her to do or lose her little sister. She was hoping other evidence would exonerate you. She was horrified when it did not.”

  Skepticism is clear on Marshall’s face as he asks, “So, why is she coming forward now?”

  “First, Sheila’s little sister Stella is old enough to move out on her own and not be harmed by her father. That gives Sheila a sense of freedom she didn’t have before. Her dad is now missing his biggest weapon,” I explain.

  “Okay, I might buy that. I would do virtually anything to save my kid brother. What else?”

  “With your permission, I’d like to play a snippet of an interview I recently had with Sheila Taylor. Okay with you?”

  Marshall looks a little uncertain. “Yeah, I guess so. It’ll be really weird. The last time I heard her voice, she was telling the jury I raped her. Even all these years later, I can’t believe those words came out of her mouth. I never even said a bad word about her — even when everybody was making fun of the new kid or they were calling her a Ball Bunny for sleeping with Tyrone when she didn’t know him. I still can’t believe she did me bad.”

  “Maybe this will help you understand,” I reply.

  The tape recorder is a little staticky as I ask Sheila, “If you had a chance to talk to Marshall Todd today what would you say?”

  Sheila clears her throat. “Well, I know there aren’t enough apologies on the planet for what I did. I guess I would volunteer to take his place in jail. That’s actually where I belong. Even though I was coerced into not telling the truth, I did lie. That means I’m guilty of perjury. So, I’m guilty of a crime and Marshall Todd is not. How is that for irony? But here is the other thing; I am paying the ultimate penalty for my crime. I am serving the death penalty for falsely testifying against Marshall Todd. I’m at peace with that. I guess it’s what I deserve. I’ll never come to peace with what I cost Marshall Todd.”

  Marshall grimaces at the obvious pain in her voice.

  “If he ever gets a chance to listen to this, I want him to know I wish I could go back to that day he first tried to help me when Axel hurt me so bad I could barely see. I wish I would’ve swallowed my pride and accepted his gift of friendship and told him what really happened. I’m sorry I threw that back in your face. I’m sorry I didn’t stand up to my parents and scream to the world that you were only trying to be a friend and that you never touched me inappropriately — let alone raped me. I was weak, and I did not know my own strength.”

  Marshall scrubs a hand down his face and blows out a breath.

  “It is so ironic. I did not find out how strong I was until I fought a losing battle with cancer. Chances are when you hear this tape, I might be dead. The only thing I can do to help you now is to tell anybody and everybody what actually happened and the role my parents, the police, and my own attorney played in your conviction. I made some dumb choices when I was a kid. I had no business drinking or having sex with Tyrone — or anyone else. But without a shadow of a doubt, I know
you didn’t do anything to hurt me. I hope someone listens to me this time. I’m sorry Marshall Todd, you deserved better from me.”

  I click off the tape recorder. I look around the room and all three of us are wiping away tears. Tyler gets up and grabs a box of Kleenex from a table sitting nearby. He puts it in the center of the table and gives us a moment to collect ourselves.

  “What is Sheila talking about? Is she really dying?”

  I nod. “Unfortunately, yes. I met her during my chemotherapy treatments. I have breast cancer, but my breast cancer is at a very early stage compared to Sheila’s bone cancer. Hers has spread to her pelvis and her lungs. Honestly, she is only doing chemotherapy to make her little sister happy. The doctors have given her a very poor prognosis. It is likely she will die within a few months.”

  “Why is she worrying about me if she’s got all that to deal with?” Marshall asks.

  “She knows what happened to you was a miscarriage of justice and she had a large part to play in that. If she can play a role in undoing the wrong, she’d like to — before she dies.”

  “So, here’s the stupid thing,” Marshall says, choking on his words. “I was totally into Sheila Taylor. She wasn’t like the air headed girls who usually tried to date me for status. Sheila didn’t even seem to care about my status — in fact, it seemed to annoy her more than anything else. If I got written up in the paper or featured on television, everyone else would be falling all over themselves to get my attention. Not Sheila — she would be royally ticked off. I had a math class with her and she wouldn’t even look at me if I’d been featured in the paper or the pep rally mentioned me. It was kind of funny. I started trying to be more low-key just so I wouldn’t make her mad. I thought I was making some progress but then the whole incident happened, and my life went to hell.”