by Laura Snider
“Very original, Katie. That’s a junior high insult. But, then again, you aren’t all that different from a teenage bully, now are you? All brawn, no brains,” Forest said before spinning on a heel and marching away.
Katie grunted, clenching her fists into balls as she watched him disappear around a corner. She kept her mouth clamped shut and shook her head, fuming. She didn’t trust herself to respond.
“Katie.”
Katie looked up. George was peeking his head out the doorway to Genie’s Diner.
“Are you going to stand out there in the cold or are you going to get in here? It’s 2:44. You’re fifteen minutes late for our meeting.”
Great, Katie thought.
She groaned inwardly and trudged inside, following George to a booth in the back corner of the diner. She was in for another lecture. George thought his promotion to detective made him her supervisor. It didn’t. Or at least it wasn’t supposed to.
The décor in Genie’s Diner was true to its name. A diner through and through. Black-and-white-checkered tiling. Booths with red upholstery. Walls covered in shiny black records and outdated license plates from all fifty states.
“What can I get y’all,” Genie said, sidling up to the table.
Genie was middle-aged, with hair bleached so blonde it almost looked white. It sat piled atop her head, big and flashy, true to her Texas roots.
“I’ll have a coffee, black, and a cinnamon roll,” Katie said.
Genie nodded and her gaze shifted to George. “Same. Except no cinnamon roll and lots of cream and sugar.”
Katie rolled her eyes. George’s humor had always annoyed her. It was so dad-like in its unfunniness. But Katie had endured it, even found it endearing at times. That sentiment had died with his promotion. Especially since he had taken to treating her like a child.
“I’ll get those for y’all. Back in a flash,” Genie said.
The diner was nearly empty. The lull between the lunch and dinner crowd. True to her word, Genie had their orders in front of them within a few minutes.
“Just holler if you need anythin’,” Genie said with a wink before disappearing into the kitchen.
“So, Rachel Smithson’s case,” George said as he dumped an enormous amount of creamer into his coffee.
Katie nodded. “We’ve interviewed everyone. Evidence was dropped off at the county attorney’s office this morning.”
“Do you have any concerns?”
Katie chewed on her bottom lip. She did, she just wasn’t sure she was ready to share.
“I think we have everything tied up at this point,” George said. He took a sip of his coffee. It was so heavy with cream that it looked more like milk. “The case is solid. There isn’t much for the jury to think about.”
“I don’t know,” Katie said. “What about the officer that Isaac mentioned in his interview?”
“What about him?”
“He could be the father.”
George grunted noncommittally.
“Then there are all the rumors about the school counselor.”
“Listen, Katie,” George said, leaning forward. “I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but why does it matter? So what if a cop is the child’s father? Who cares if the school counselor paid Rachel a little too much attention? Neither of those people forced Rachel to drown her baby. They are completely irrelevant to our case.”
Katie scowled. She cared, that’s who. Yes, Rachel killed her baby and she deserved to spend the rest of her life in prison, but that didn’t mean her potential abusers should get off scot free. Because that’s what these men were, if the rumors proved true. Abusers. They were adults, men with power over Rachel. If they had taken advantage of that power, they should suffer the consequences.
“Okay, I can see that you don’t like my answer. But the truth is that it isn’t our problem. If those things happened—and that’s a big if—they happened in Waukee. Let the Waukee Police Department sort it out.”
He had a point there. “Okay. Fine. I’m still a little worried that Ashley’s going to surprise us with it at Rachel’s trial.”
George shrugged. “That’s not our problem either. The prosecutor will take care of it. You worry too much, you know that?”
For a moment, Katie thought she saw the glint of her old friend behind George’s tired eyes.
“Is there something else?” George asked. “Any other loose ends to tie up with Rachel’s case?”
Katie had concerns about Isaac, but she had nothing concrete to point to. He was controlling and odd during his interview, but that wasn’t a crime.
“All right.” George made a beckoning motion. “I know something is bouncing around in that brain of yours. Out with it.” A demand rather than a request.
Katie narrowed her eyes. “It’s Isaac Smithson.”
“Rachel’s father?”
Katie nodded. “There’s something about him that doesn’t sit right with me.”
“I don’t see any issues with Isaac. He seemed just fine to me.”
Katie’s inner temperature ticked up a couple degrees, her fury rising with each passing second. George was being dismissive again.
“I still think we should take a deeper look at his life,” Katie insisted.
George shrugged. “I don’t think it’s anything, but you are free to look into it if you want.”
Katie scoffed. She didn’t need his permission to do her job.
“I can see that you are getting angry again. You need to calm down, Katie.”
George’s tone was patronizing, stoking her anger. It didn’t help that her blood was already boiling from her run-in with Forest. If she sat there much longer, she was going to lose her temper.
“Whatever,” she said as she threw a five-dollar bill on the table. “This should cover my coffee and cinnamon roll.”
George’s eyes darted to the untouched pastry. “But you haven’t eaten any of it.”
“You eat it, then. You don’t seem to have a problem taking things that should be mine anyway.”
“Katie…wait.”
She met his gaze. For a moment, it felt as though they were once again on equal footing. The way they had been a year earlier, back when they were friends. But that sentiment died the moment he opened his mouth again.
“Come on, Katie. Don’t storm off like that. I was trying to let you follow your gut.”
A snort burst from Katie’s nose. “Yeah. See, there’s the problem. The fact that you think you are letting me do anything. Chief Carmichael is my boss, not you. So stop acting like it.”
“Okay, okay,” George said, raising his hands in surrender. His words were gentle, but they weren’t an apology. He was treating her like a lion that needed taming.
Katie rolled her eyes, spun on her heel, and marched out of the restaurant. She had better things to do than waste her time arguing with George. He might be too dumb to realize that Ashley had something up her sleeve, but Katie wasn’t. She needed to find out the identity of Rachel’s baby and unearth what Isaac Smithson had hidden in his past. Intuition told her that his secret would spell trouble for Rachel’s prosecution.
Because Isaac’s arrogance had left a tingling in Katie’s gut. A sense of wrongness like a loose thread on a favorite sweater. Tug just right and it would start unraveling. Keep pulling and the sweater would begin to come apart. The only way to keep the sweater intact was to take a pair of scissors and snip the thread off at its base. That was what Katie needed to do with Isaac Smithson. Find the thread and snip it off before Ashley could start pulling.
8
Ashley
72 days before trial
“Do we have discovery for the Smithson case yet?” Ashley said as she stepped out of the hallway and into the receptionist area of the public defender’s office.
Discovery was the name for evidence the prosecutor intended to use at trial, usually consisting of police reports, medical examiner reports, and video recordings. Ashley needed it to assess
the strength of the State’s case against Rachel. Four days had passed since Ashley’s initial visit with Rachel, and all she had were a few flimsy police reports, the Trial Information, and the Minutes of Testimony.
Elena clicked a couple buttons on her computer, leaning close to the monitor. “Nope. My notes say I requested it all on Monday.” She shrugged. “But we still have nothing.”
“Damn it,” Ashley said, running a hand over her face. Her eyelid twitched and her cheeks felt like they were sagging. Her body was so exhausted that even her skin was affected. It wasn’t a good look for her. She’d been working too hard.
“Also.” Elena held up an envelope. It was the same deep red color reserved for Valentine’s Day. “You have more mail from your admirer.”
“Just throw it away.” Ashley had tired of her fan club after that man had grabbed her arm outside the courthouse.
“One other thing…”
Ashley groaned. “What?”
“A reporter from The New York Times called this morning. She wanted to talk to you. Should I call her back?”
“No.”
“What do I say if she calls again?”
“Tell them that I decline to comment. Not now, not ever,” Ashley said through gritted teeth.
She had no intention of speaking with any newspaper, no matter how prestigious, about Rachel’s case. But the call did remind her of Carley, the reporter from the Des Moines Register, who wanted to talk about something other than Rachel. She’d also helped Ashley with her stalker problem. Carley had given Ashley her card and asked her to call. Ashley decided that she would. To thank her. It was the least she could do.
Elena furrowed her brow, misunderstanding Ashley’s frustration. “Is there something I should be doing differently?”
Ashley shook her head. “No. Sorry. You’re great.” She needed to be more careful with her words. Elena was a worrier, and she took everything to heart. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
Ashley’s life felt like such a mess these days. There was the issue with Tom—who still wasn’t answering Ashley’s calls—and then there was the lack of discovery in Rachel’s case. She needed the evidence to start forming a defense. Without it, she was left twiddling her thumbs.
“Okay,” Elena said uncertainly.
“I just don’t know what to do.” Ashley began pacing, shoes sliding along the heavily worn carpet. “I can’t move forward with Rachel’s case until I have discovery. But nothing is happening. Charles, that stupid prosecutor, is sitting on the file. Wasting time. I just know it. All the while Rachel is stuck in jail.”
Ashley had made the request for the instillation of equipment so that Rachel could work toward her GED while incarcerated, but that wish was promptly denied. Budget cuts. Or so the sheriff’s office claimed.
“What about those thingies you sometimes have?”
“Thingies?” Ashley repeated.
Elena spoke both English and Spanish fluently. Ashley could understand some Spanish so long as it was spoken slowly, but it was Elena’s teenage-girl language that had Ashley confused. Teenagers, including nineteen-year-olds like Elena, seemed to invent words, and they expected proper adults—people over thirty—to understand. Ashley didn’t even have the energy to try.
“You know.” Elena’s eyes drifted toward the ceiling. “Where you ask the questions, and they have to answer.”
“Depositions?”
“Yeah. Those.”
Ashley chewed on her lip. It was early in the case to take depositions. She usually waited until she had the evidence and a chance to review it. But, then again, a speedy trial didn’t leave a lot of time. Depositions would allow her to subpoena the witnesses’ duces tecum, requiring them to appear for questioning and bring all their police reports, photographs, and recorded documents. It wasn’t conventional, but Ashley could use it as a way to get her hands on the evidence.
“Good idea,” Ashley said. “Draft a notice of depositions. I’ll need several hours for each witness, so squeeze them in wherever my calendar is free.”
“Do you want me to check with the prosecutor to see what dates work for him?”
Ashley shook her head. It was professional courtesy to find mutually agreed upon dates, but Charles wasn’t affording Ashley any courtesies. He had the evidence, she felt sure of it, and he wasn’t giving it to her. It wasn’t a problem for him. It was his right, at least as long as he didn’t hold evidence past a reasonable amount of time. But it was her right to notice depositions whenever she damn well pleased. Was it petty? Yeah, it was. But Ashley didn’t care.
“Consider it done,” Elena said with a nod. “I’ll send you the list of dates and times for approval once I’ve cross-checked them with your calendar. Then I’ll get the notice on file.”
“Thank you,” Ashley said with a smile.
She headed back toward her office. It was Friday afternoon and she had visited Rachel at the jail every day that week. The girl was slowly starting to open up, but the trust was still not where Ashley had hoped it would be at this juncture in the case. Trial would be here before they knew it. There were things that Rachel wasn’t telling her. Facts likely beneficial to Rachel’s defense. Ashley could see it in the way she fidgeted when asked questions about her baby or her life before the baby’s birth.
Ashley’s phone began to ring, startling her out of her thoughts. She reached into her bag, fumbling around. She never could find anything when she needed it. After searching several pockets, her hand closed around the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” Tom said. His voice sounded strained. Far away.
“It doesn’t sound like you are in your car. Are you on your way?”
Tom always came to Brine on the weekends. He arrived Friday afternoons, usually sometime before two. But it was 1:30 already and the drive was over an hour.
“Umm, no. I’m actually not going to be there until tomorrow.”
“What, why?”
Tom was silent for a long moment. Ashley allowed the silence to drag on. She was not going to make the situation more comfortable for him. A burst of girlish laughter in the background cut through the tense quiet.
“Oh,” Ashley said, her tone darkening. “And who is that?”
Tom made a shushing noise, but the laughter continued, growing louder and more obnoxious until the person snorted. A pig-like sound that put an abrupt stop to the background noise, but only for a moment, before the girl started laughing even louder.
Ashley’s mind whirred, shifting back to her youth. When she was ten, she had known a girl who had snorted like that while laughing. The girl had lived with Ashley, her mother, and her older sister for a time. A foster child. Her name was Lydia. She was the same age as Ashley. A beautiful girl with big, doe-like eyes and a perfect little nose.
Ashley had been excited to have a sister her age. She and her older sister, Karen, had never quite got on. They were only half-sisters, as Karen loved to point out, especially since Karen’s father had every-other-weekend visitation and Ashley’s father was absent. The five-year age gap didn’t help either.
When the social worker brought Lydia, Ashley had been overjoyed. She’d met Lydia at the door and thrown her arms around her, hugging her tightly. But Lydia didn’t reciprocate. Her arms hung limply at her sides. But when Ashley stepped aside, Lydia ran to Ashley’s mother, wrapping her arms around her. As she did, she met Ashley’s gaze, and there was a glint in Lydia’s eyes that said she’s mine now. It had gone downhill from there.
Ashley shook her head, dispelling the unpleasant thoughts. A past that had been buried and forgotten long ago. “I asked you a question, Tom.” She placed her free hand on her hip. “Who is that?”
Tom didn’t answer. He was stalling. A flash of rage shot up Ashley’s spine. Whether that was due to the girl’s laughter, the unwelcome memories, or Tom’s unwillingness to answer, she didn’t know. The three things came together, clashing like cold and warm fronts just before they started
rotating, twisting into a tornado.
“I said,” Ashley growled through gritted teeth. “Who. Is. That?”
“Umm.” Tom made another shushing noise. The girl was still laughing. It had gone on for an insane amount of time.
“Ummm?” Ashley tapped her foot impatiently.
“Harper.”
“Harper, huh?” Ashley’s face grew hot. “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with this Harper, haven’t you? Is that why you aren’t coming today? You’re busy playing house with her?”
Ashley wasn’t quite sure why she’d said it. She had never been the jealous type. Jealousy was a sign of insecurity. Something that didn’t plague Ashley. At least not until now.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That. You’re being clingy.”
Clingy? Did he know the definition of that word?
“You know what,” Ashley said, her nostrils flaring. “Don’t bother coming this weekend. I don’t want to see your face.”
Then she hung up and jammed her phone into her bag to keep herself from throwing it. The last thing she needed was a shattered phone. Not because she wanted to talk to Tom, but because her clients needed a way to reach her. She didn’t want anything to do with Tom anymore. Or, perhaps she did, but she knew that she shouldn’t. Her hands still twitched, fingertips filled with fury. She needed to smash something.
The box of homemade candies still sat on Ashley’s desk. Her eyes landed on them. There had been a couple dozen. She’d eaten only a few throughout the week. There were still plenty left. She picked up the box and squeezed it between her hands. The cardboard collapsed. Then she twisted it and slammed it into her trash can.
Good riddance, she thought. But she didn’t mean it. She loved Tom. Or at least she thought she did. Sure, they hadn’t said those exact words to one another, but she thought he felt the same way. Apparently not.
She began to pace from one end of her tiny office to the other. Only three steps in each direction. Step, step, step, turn. Step, step, step, turn. She needed to talk to someone, but that was the problem with her guarded nature. It meant she only had a few people within her inner circle. To Ashley, those people consisted of her mother, Tom, and Katie. She couldn’t complain to Tom about Tom, obviously, and her mother had died close to two years earlier. That left Katie. She couldn’t call. They’d fight. But maybe she could text.
