by Laura Snider
“Umm, yes. How did you know?”
“I never forget a voice,” Josh said with a wink.
“Right,” Katie said warily. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I can find my way to the hospital.”
“Nonsense,” Josh said. He pulled a pair of keys out of his pocket and clicked a button. The front lights of a nearby fire-engine red Ford F150 flashed. “My truck is right here.”
Katie’s eyes darted toward the back of the lot, where her beat-up Impala was parked. She could run to her car, but that would waste precious seconds. Besides, she was a little self-conscious considering the obvious expense of his vehicle compared to hers.
“Fine,” Katie said.
She headed for the passenger door, setting a quick pace. She wanted to get to Ashley as soon as possible, and she also wanted to prevent him from opening her door for her. He seemed like the type of man to find that kind of behavior chivalrous rather than degrading. But she was perfectly capable of opening a door. A man’s assistance was not required.
Josh hopped into the driver’s seat and buckled his seatbelt. He glanced at her to see that she was buckled in, then he took off, heading for the hospital. He had satellite radio, and it was set to a ’90s alternative station called Lithium. Nirvana, “All Apologies,” was playing. A song and station that Katie liked, but it didn’t fit with Josh’s frat boy persona. She wondered vaguely if there was more to him or if his choice in music was just a fluke, but then her mind turned sharply back to Ashley.
Katie’s stomach twisted into knots as her mind whirred, shuffling through the potential scenarios. Was an angry victim of one of Ashley’s clients hiding in the bushes? Had that person jumped out and stabbed her? Or maybe it had been a stalker. Or was it a drive-by shooting targeting the Waukee Police Department? Maybe Ashley was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.
In truth, Katie had no idea what had happened. She didn’t even know why Ashley was in Waukee. So many questions, all of which would have to wait. First, she had to make sure that Ashley recovered. That was most important. Then she would find the guilty party and make the person pay.
18
Rachel
The toilet in Rachel’s cell ran. A constant hissing sound that formed the background of her new life. To many, the sound would be grating. But to Rachel, it was the music of freedom. An untraditional use of the word, considering the bars surrounding her, but Rachel didn’t think in the same way as others. For her freedom was from those things that were not controlled. In jail, everything had a control. Life was regimented, and there was a sort of liberty in that. Not a freedom of the body, but of the mind.
She settled into the corner of her cell she had dubbed her reading corner. It consisted of two blankets and a lumpy pillow. All gifts from Kylie once the jailer had determined that Rachel wouldn’t use the blankets to hang herself. Rachel had finished her last book and moved on to a new one. Tuesday Mooney Talks to Ghosts. It involved an adventure. A great treasure hunt, and a main character who was an outcast, like Rachel.
The book was almost new. The spine was barely cracked before Rachel had gotten her hands on it. It had been thoroughly broken in now that Rachel had read and reread each and every chapter. She wanted to remember the adventure. To trap the feeling of weightlessness that came along with a good story. To bottle it up to use in the future in case the trial didn’t go as she expected.
A few minutes into her book, Rachel heard the telltale sounds of boots against pavement. Normally, that sound would instill fear, for men were usually the wearers of heavy, steel-toed boots like that. But men weren’t allowed in the women’s side of the jail.
“Lunch,” Kylie said as she rounded the corner.
Kylie was balancing a large tray in one hand while clutching something in the other. As she approached, Rachel realized Kylie had a stack of letters.
“I’ve got some mail for you, too,” Kylie said, opening Rachel’s cell door and handing her the tray.
Lunch wasn’t anything to brag about, but it was food. Today was a turkey sandwich. Several slices of meat and processed cheese stacked on white bread. It came with green beans. They were bright green and slimy, indicating they came straight from the can. The peach slices were covered in heavy syrup. Also from a can.
“Thank you,” Rachel said, and she meant it. Kylie had been so kind to her. Part of her wished that she could stay in this jail forever, although she knew that was impossible. The only two options were release or prison.
“And here are your letters.”
Kylie handed Rachel three envelopes. All of them had been sliced open, a clean cut with a letter opener. The jailers read through all mail before delivering it to make sure that inmates weren’t violating protective orders or trying to smuggle in contraband.
Rachel looked down at the letters, turning them over in her hands. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to read them, but she would. She always did. Some of them were awful, full of threats and accusations, but Kylie had told her that was how Ashley’s letters had been when she was in jail. Rachel had been shocked when Kylie told her the story about Ashley. That her attorney was jailed, wrongly accused of committing two murders. Ashley had occupied the very same cell as Rachel. It made her feel closer to the attorney. A shared bond that few others could understand.
“Kylie,” Rachel said, looking up at the jailer. “Have you seen Ashley?”
Usually, her attorney came in the mornings. Rachel had grown accustomed to the routine of Ashley’s visits. Trust had built, and Rachel was almost ready to open up to her. To tell her everything.
“No, but I’ll see if I can track her down.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said gratefully.
“I’ll be back for your tray in thirty minutes or so,” Kylie said, nodding toward Rachel’s lunch. “Hopefully I’ll have an Ashley update by then.”
Kylie turned and left. Rachel picked up her sandwich and turned to the letters. The first was from some religious leader. A Thomas something or other. She scanned the letter. It was nearly identical to the other letters from men in similar positions. Dire warnings that her soul was in danger of damnation. Advice to repent. Followed by an invitation to visit her in jail to help invite the Lord back into her heart.
Rachel tossed the letter aside. She knew other religious men. Men who claimed to have the Lord on their side. They weren’t always good people. Rachel knew from experience. Her father was religious. And Rachel would not willingly invite his “Lord” into her heart. Never. She’d rather risk hell and damnation.
The second letter was from a man who called himself “Jack Daniels.” Was it a pseudonym or did the man’s parents actually hate him enough to name him after liquor? Or perhaps it was the opposite. Maybe they couldn’t think of anything they loved more than liquor, so they named him after it. Either scenario was nearly as sad as Rachel’s past. Nearly, but not quite.
Jack’s letter was riddled with incorrect punctuation and misspellings to the point of distraction, but Rachel was able to understand the sentiment behind the misspelled words and garbled grammar. Jack thought Rachel was a baby killer and he wanted her to face the electric chair. His wish was not a possibility. Ashley had already told Rachel the potential punishments. The death penalty was not an option in Iowa.
Rachel tossed Jack’s letter on top of the religious letter, turning to the last one. She opened it quickly, unfolding its contents. She gasped. The penmanship. She recognized it. Slanting cursive so perfect it could be a Microsoft Word font. It belonged to her father. The letter wasn’t signed, but the writing was unmistakable. It said, “A life for a life.” That was it.
She dropped it, fingers tingling as though the letter had been soaked in poison. That paper had only recently been in his hands. Touched by him. His hot breath bearing down on it as he scratched his words, his threats, into it. Fear encircled her heart, gripping hold and squeezing. But then it was gone as quickly as it had come. For she had realized that this was the worst he could d
o to her. Write letters. All his power was gone. She’d stolen it from him. The thought made her want to cackle like a movie villain.
Footsteps in the hallway tore Rachel’s attention from her thoughts. It hadn’t been thirty minutes already, had it? The steps came quicker than usual, as though Kylie was moving at a near run. The jailer rounded the corner, a stricken expression on her face.
“What’s wrong?” Rachel said, rising to her feet and coming to the bars.
“It’s Ashley,” Kylie said, eyes wide and wild. “She’s in the hospital.”
19
Katie
63 days before trial
It was a difficult night. Katie had stayed in the hospital waiting room, hoping for any news. Praying to every God from every conceivable religion, begging for Ashley’s condition to turn out to be something minor. In her heart, she knew otherwise. Hospitals didn’t admit patients overnight for minor issues. They didn’t have the space or the staff.
She couldn’t sleep and her mind continued whirring, her thoughts darkening with every passing moment. Hope seemed more and more fleeting with each click of the second hand. The doctors hadn’t told her a thing, even though she identified herself as a police officer as well as a friend. The secrecy worried Katie more than anything. It meant that Ashley wasn’t awake.
To keep her mind from spiraling, Katie decided to turn to the PDF document that Josh had emailed her a few days earlier. Josh and the volume of calls to the Smithson residence was the whole reason she had driven to Waukee, which was probably the same for Ashley. Maybe something was hidden in those pages that had motivated someone to harm Ashley.
Katie pulled out her phone and clicked on the email icon, scrolling back a few days. She clicked on the email from Josh and opened the file. Tiny words populated the miniature screen. She zoomed in and brought the device closer to her face. It was going to be difficult to read, but she had to make do. There was no other option.
It started with the most recent calls to service at the Smithson residence and went backward in time, with the oldest calls on the very last page. Katie began reading the most recent call, which occurred the day before Rachel checked into the hotel to have her baby.
1534 hours: A call came to the emergency line. An individual who identified herself as Ava Townsand stated that she was walking her dog past 1210 Destiny Drive, Waukee, Iowa, when she heard a woman screaming.
1535 hours: The first car on scene arrived, Badge Number 145, Joshua Martin. 145 notified dispatch that he could hear audible sobbing coming from inside the house. 145 was told to wait for backup before attempting to make contact.
1536 hours: Backup arrived, badge numbers 100 and 87. They accompanied 145 to the front door.
1537 hours: 145 knocked on the door. Crying could still be heard from outside the residence.
1539 hours: Isaac Smithson answered the door. The crying grew exponentially louder when the door opened. Isaac refused the officers entry and identified the crying as a hysterical teenager. The Smithsons have a daughter, Rachel, who is a senior at the local high school.
1540 hours: 145 requested to speak with Rachel or Lyndsay Smithson. Isaac refused to retrieve either. 145 shouted Rachel’s and Lyndsay’s names over Isaac’s shoulder. Nobody answered and the crying stopped.
1541: All officers left the residence. They did not have enough information to obtain a warrant.
End of interaction
Katie lowered her phone, stunned at the contents of this first call. It said so much and so little all at once. She had spent plenty of time with both Rachel and Lyndsay during interviews. Their personalities could only be described as demure. They were not the type of women to draw attention to themselves. Certainly not by screaming loud enough to alert a passerby without cause.
Katie turned to the second call from a few weeks earlier.
1400 hours: Call from Waukee Public Schools to the non-emergency line. The school therapist, Michael Frank, reported that Rachel Smithson, a student at the school, had appeared for an appointment with visible bruising up and down her arms. She would not disclose the cause of the bruising, but based on his previous interactions with the family, he was concerned that it involved child abuse.
1430 hours: Car 145, Joshua Martin, responded to the school. Mr. Frank reported that Rachel had grown suspicious of his questioning and left school. He reported that she left on foot only a few moments earlier and was likely headed home.
1435 hours: 145 caught up to Rachel just outside her house, 1210 Destiny Drive, Waukee, Iowa. Rachel wore a large coat even though the weather was mild. 145 requested that she remove her coat and she complied. Rachel had on a long-sleeve, oversized sweater. 145 reported that she appeared to carry a significant amount of weight in her stomach and nowhere else.
1436 hours: Rachel displayed her arms, and they were covered in bruises, some yellow with age and some that looked fresh. 145 took photographs, which are included.
Katie scrolled to the next page to see the pictures. She gasped, placing a hand over her mouth. Deep, angry bruises ran all the way up Rachel’s arms. They were a dark purplish-red, like blood pooling below the surface of her skin.
“What is it?” a familiar voice asked.
Katie turned and met Josh’s gaze. Just the person she wanted to see. Judging by the first two calls to service, badge 145, or Josh Martin, had been heavily involved with the Smithson family, but not in the way she had previously suspected. The first call to service involved three officers. It was not Josh’s word against Isaac’s.
“I thought you had left,” Katie said, setting her phone aside.
A pageant-ready grin spread across his face, reaching all the way up to crinkle the corners of his eyes. “Yeah. I changed my mind and picked up some coffee instead.” He held a Venti-sized Starbucks cup toward her. “It’s regular coffee. Black. I didn’t know how you take it.”
“That’s perfect,” Katie said, accepting it in grateful hands.
She removed the lid, watching the tendrils of heat dancing in the air before inhaling deeply. It smelled like heaven.
“How’s it going?” Josh said, sinking into the chair next to hers.
He had changed out of his police uniform and into street clothes. A black Pink Floyd T-shirt and jeans. Notably, non-frat-boyish. But he smelled of Axe body spray, which was the opposite. A draw.
“The same,” Katie said with a sigh.
The medical staff hadn’t come out to the waiting room for hours. Katie wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad omen.
“What were you looking at?” Josh said, gesturing to her phone. “A message from your boyfriend?”
Katie narrowed her eyes. It was a brazen way to determine her relationship status.
His tone turned teasing. “Because you shouldn’t agree to go on dates with hunky Waukee police officers when you have a boyfriend.”
Katie rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t keep from smiling. He was trying to lighten the mood. It was working, albeit only slightly.
“It wasn’t a date, remember? It was a meeting. One we didn’t even have.”
Josh nodded toward her coffee and then at his. “We do have coffee, though. We could make it a coffee date. Rescheduled for right now.”
“Coffee meeting.”
“Tomato tomahto,” he said, waving a hand. “You call it what you want, and I’ll call it whatever I want.”
“I don’t think it works that way.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Is this an interrogation?” Katie asked. His questions were jumping in a way that seemed intentionally confusing. It was a common tactic to throw an interviewee off their planned narrative.
“Interview,” Josh said, his smile broadening.
“What was the question?”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
Katie narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t ask me that. You asked me what I was looking at and then you made a statement claiming that I was reading a message fro
m my boyfriend.”
“So…” Josh gestured for her to continue. When she didn’t respond, he looked pointedly at her left hand. “I see no ring, so marriage or engagement is out. I suppose you could be into girls, but perhaps you play for both teams?”
“I play for no teams.”
An expression of exaggerated shock twisted Josh’s handsome features. “We’re going to have to change that, now aren’t we? I mean, it’s good to know, honestly, because at least it means you aren’t tied up.” He pursed his lips, making a show of thinking. “Can you at least tell me which team you are leaning toward?” He leaned forward, fluttering his long, dark eyelashes.
Katie tried to force her lips from betraying her by curving into a smile. They were not behaving, and the result was a sort of twitch at both corners of her mouth. She had to look away and clear her throat before she could refocus.
“The calls to service,” she said.
“What? That’s not the sort of team I was talking about.”
“That’s what I was looking at on my phone.”
Josh’s smile dropped and his expression grew serious. “How far did you get?”
“Only the first few.” She paused, studying his expression. “You knew Rachel was pregnant, didn’t you?”
Josh was silent for a long moment. Then he slowly nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I didn’t know. I suspected. That second call pretty much spells it out. There just wasn’t anything I could do about it. Child Services didn’t want to get involved because Rachel was eighteen, an adult, and the baby wasn’t born yet. Their involvement would only come after the child was born alive. Besides, there wasn’t any indication that Rachel wouldn’t take care of the baby.” Josh sighed. “Honestly, Rachel wasn’t my concern.”
“Your concern was Isaac.”
