Wright & Wrong

by W. Glenn Duncan Jr.

  He was right; I changed tack.

  “Fair enough. But where’s the harm, Ed? So the city knows the kid isn’t the bright and shining light of innocence they thought he was. Big deal.”

  “I’ll give you ‘big deal’, Rafferty. Now that you’ve opened your trap and the news is out in the open, it’s gonna be twice as hard for us to do what we need to do. I’ve got daily briefings with the mayor and I have to waste my time dealing with press conferences and reporters; all of which I wouldn’t have to be doing if I could be building our case nice and quietly. In the way that I remember specifically telling you I wanted it.”

  I drew breath, but he rolled on.

  “Second, the boy’s parents will no doubt be working their way through potential lawyers, if they haven’t already retained someone, which is guaranteed to slow me down even further once they get involved and start to gum up the works.”

  I tried again. Nope, not this time either.

  “And lastly. But by no means least, the heat that is coming down about that call from the neighbor is … is … well, fuck it, you wouldn’t understand any—”

  “Ed,” I said before he’d finished. “For what it’s worth, that wasn’t me. I don’t know where Monica got that from, but I’d be looking around your own department before you start kicking my ass about that one.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Now that Ed had got it off his chest, he sounded resigned, defeated even.

  “Cheer up, Ed. It’s a slam dunk. The kid did it. You’ve got the gun. No matter what gets thrown at you, you’re holding all the cards. I imagine you’ll have officers on hand ready to arrest the kid soon as he sets foot outside the hospital.”

  “Already done.”

  “What?”

  “Uh huh. You tipped our hand with that story, Rafferty. I just got back from the hospital where we arrested Bradley Wright. His mother didn’t seem too pleased about it, in case you were worried.”

  “He’s come out of the coma?” I asked.

  “Nope. Still completely out of it. You know, Rafferty, I thought I’d already seen it all, but this is the first time I’ve ever had to arrest someone who was unconscious. And supervise him being moved into a secure room. All while the hospital staff told me how much this might set back his recovery and his mother took turns calling me names, some of which I hadn’t heard before. So thanks for adding that to the list of things I can say that I’ve done. I owe you one.”

  “The DA’s going to prosecute? While he’s still out of it?”

  “Nope, that’s not an option. Still, she’s gonna convene a Grand Jury. The kid don’t need to be awake for that.”

  “So you’ve got everything in hand, Ed. Continue to be of stout heart my valiant crime-fighter! Thou will vanquish thy foe with one mighty sw—”

  “Sometimes I don’t know why I even speak to you. Most times, actually.” Ed disconnected the call, more gently than he started it, so I felt like I’d done some good for the morning.

  Time for a nap.

  Hilda was naked, and I was too, and the bedhead was knocking against the wall making a helluva noise when I finally woke up.

  The knocking was actually coming from the office door and I bet myself when it opened, I would be disappointed to find the reason not nearly as enticing as the dream.

  “Come in,” I gurgled.

  It sounded more like Cwwm unn. How can someone’s mouth taste that bad?

  The door swung inwards and Charlene Wright walked in with a young man I didn’t recognize.

  She dredged up a short smile from somewhere, headed for the nearest visitor chair, and didn’t even flinch at the layer of dust on it before sitting down and looking me square in the eye. Another attempted smile. She looked exhausted.

  The guy in the three-piece suit and tie pin remained standing behind Charlene and hit me with a one-two punch of designer dimples and a thousand bucks of teeth whitening.

  I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and tried to get my brain to engage first gear.

  Charlene began to open her mouth, and I wondered what she would lead with after our meeting in the hospital hallway. She didn’t get that far.

  “Mr Rafferty,” the suit said. “Paul Eindhoven, Attorney at Law. I believe you’ve met my client, Charlene Wright.”

  I nodded once. “In passing, counselor. It’s not like we’ve had fondue parties.”

  He frowned, shook his head, then reignited his zinger of a smile and continued.

  “Well, undoubtedly you know her son, Bradley Wright. The Columbus High School student who was struck by the bus last week.”

  It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer.

  “What you may not be aware of is that Bradley has now been placed under arrest by the DPD, on suspicion of murder in connection with the shooting that took place at Columbus High.”

  If this guy kept talking in statements, I might never get a chance to speak. Sounded fine to me. Then he went and ruined it.

  “Charlene needs your help and wants to engage your services— ”

  “Okaaay.” I had no idea where this was going. Judging by the look on Charlene’s face, she knew the direction we were headed, and was eagerly anticipating a successful arrival at our destination.

  “… for the purposes of investigation and protection.”

  Decided to speed things so we could get this over with and I could get back to my nap.

  “Paul,” I said. “I know lawyers get paid by the minute but we’re on my time here. Cut to the chase.”

  Charlene looked like she was ready to jump in, but Paul grabbed another smile and tilted his head. “Well, since that outrageous and slanderous story in the paper this morning, the mood surrounding Bradley’s plight has changed. Charlene was close to being physically assaulted by a crowd as she left the hospital this morning, and when she returned to her hous—”

  “No dice.”

  “—to her house …” Charlene’s eyes widened about the same time that Paul’s brain caught up with what I was saying. “What? Mr Rafferty, you need to understan—”

  “Paul. I already understand plenty. I get why both she and the boy need protection. Why do you think the cops have him squirreled away in the hospital? And I do protection work. Sometimes. In this case however, I won’t. Not after what Bradley did.”

  “How did you know …?“ Charlene started, and then changed tack. “I thought you were on Bradley’s side.”

  Paul talked right over the top of her. “That’s what you need to investigate.”

  There it was. Not sure why I didn’t see it coming earlier.

  “Not a chance in hell,” I said, working hard to keep my voice level as I put the pieces together. I turned my attention to Charlene. “Forget your son. He’s gone.”

  “You don’t understand,” Paul tried. “Charlene needs you to find out—”

  “The cops are all over it, Paul. There’s nothing to investigate.”

  “Yes, Mr Rafferty, there is.” Charlene shored herself up and weighed in, and although she kept her voice level, I could see the mother lioness stalking underneath the surface. “Bradley didn’t do what the newspapers say he did. When the police arrested him this morning, they told me to get a lawyer. I did that. Then I thought I could do something even better. You’re an investigator, right? You can prove Bradley is innocent.”

  I sighed. This story was old enough to be a classic. Every parent wants to think their children incapable of such horror but, as Cowboy says, “wanting sumpin don’t make it so.”

  “Charlene.” I took a breath. “What I didn’t tell you the other day, is that I saw him on the day of the shooting. I watched your son walk around the schoolyard of Columbus High, with the other shooters, while carrying the gun that killed four people. If he ever wakes up, he’s toast.”

  Paul narrowed his eyes. Charlene shuddered, clenched her jaw and took a breath. “You must have seen wrong. Bradley would never—”

  “Whoah. You walk in to my office,
ask me for help and then call me a liar?”

  “I’m not calling you anything,” she said, without breaking eye contact. “I know what you must think, Mr Rafferty.”

  I was about to correct her of that misguided notion but she headed me off before I could get started.

  “Let me guess, you figure Bradley is a bad kid who did this terrible thing and, as his mother, I simply don’t want to believe it. In fact, I’m probably to blame. I’m either a religious fundamentalist or devil worshipper. I used to beat Bradley, burn him with cigarettes, lock him in closets. That explains, of course, why he was moody and withdrawn his whole life. He was obviously a time bomb waiting to explode, but I didn’t see any of the signs. Perhaps I missed them, perhaps I didn’t care, all I know is that Bradley wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’m as shocked as anyone.” She paused for breath, held my eyes. “Do I have that more or less right?”

  “A little heavy-handed with the living-room psychoanalysis,” I said. “Otherwise, you’re on the money.”

  “That’s not how things were,” she said. “I know you expect me to say that, but it’s the truth.” I took a breath, she continued. “Bradley wasn’t perfect. Neither was I, as a parent.” She sniffed and slid a Kleenex out of her sleeve. “No-one is. But not being perfect doesn’t mean you suddenly snap and start killing people.”

  “Who knows what it is that makes people do stupid and crazy things,” I said. “I’ve been doing this for a helluva lot of years and I’ve still got no idea why anyone would do something like this.”

  Charlene glared at me but remained silent. She’d said her piece.

  Paul said, “Don’t you want to find out?”

  “Nope.”

  Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Part of me did want to know what the hell went on at the schoolyard that day, and the moths in my wallet could do with something to eat before the ASPCA came around to take me away for moth abuse, but it was another Monday and I’d be damned if I didn’t finish this one better than last week, so none of the other stuff mattered right then.

  Paul took another swing at it. “This is what you do, Mr Rafferty. Bradley is innocent and the evidence is out there. It just needs someone like you to find it.”

  I stared at him. “Not gonna happen.”

  “So there’s nothing we can do,” Paul said, “to convince you to take the case?”

  “First of all, it’s not a case, it’s a last-ditch rearguard action with no possibility of success,” I said. “And second, even if there was a chance to find some mysterious evidence, I can’t think of what you could possibly offer to make it worth my while. Unless you happen to be carrying the deed to a 45-foot sailboat with my name on it in that fancy briefcase of yours.”

  Paul shook his head. “Wha—”

  “Forget it. No, there’s nothing you can do.”

  Paul eyed me for a few more seconds, reached down and picked up his briefcase. “Charlene.” She stood and followed him to the door, watching me all the way with a face like thunder.

  Their footsteps echoed in the stairway as I sat and thought about the morning so far. Yeah, things had been rough with Ed, but we’d work things out. Besides, I’m not sure what I’d do if Ed wasn’t having a crack at me from time to time. Good to know that he helped keep me sharp.

  And I was glad to see the back of Bradley and the whole Columbus High mess. I’d watch from the sidelines as the victims got justice and Bradley what he deserved, along with the rest of the city.

  Not sure what my next case would be or where it would come from. It’d be handy if it was sooner rather than later, in light of my current fiscal situation, but I couldn’t do anything about that at the moment.

  So I went and had lunch.

  Chapter 11

  It was three days later while I was sitting in the office, coffeed and smoked out, already done with the paper, and almost at the point where I was considering doing something about the cobwebs and the dust, when they came and tried again.

  A curt knock, and I didn’t even get a chance to answer before the door swung open and Paul Eindhoven ushered Charlene Wright through to assume the same position as seventy-two hours earlier.

  “Paul. Charlene,” I said. “Did you get lost on the way out? I should have mentioned that you turn left at the bottom of the stairs to get to the street. I hope you haven’t spent the last few days in the furnace room.”

  Paul was still in the act of placing his briefcase on the floor when that percolated through his brain, and he gave me a tight-lipped glare. He nodded at Charlene.

  “Mr Rafferty,” she said. “We … I … I’m here to ask you to reconsider taking on my case. Bradley’s case.”

  “And why exactly do you think this conversation will be any different from the one we had on Friday?”

  “I … I don’t know.” She flicked a glance at Paul. “Paul thought … I thought ….”

  Paul decided she wasn’t doing it right. “We’re hoping to appeal to your better nature.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Loud.

  Charlene gave a start and Paul returned to his glaring approach while I ran myself down. “Boy howdy, you really didn’t do your homework on me, Paul. Thanks. I needed that. One of the funniest things I’ve heard in a long time.”

  “Hmmph. Nevertheless,” he said, “Bradley needs your help. He—”

  “He needs a good neurosurgeon, not a P.I.”

  “—he did not do what the media are accusing him of, and he needs a good investigator to uncover the truth and clear his name.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why does he need that? I’ve got good odds on him not coming out of the coma, so what’s the point?”

  “The truth, Mr Rafferty.”

  “Oh. The truth. Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? Of course I’ll do it.”

  Charlene beamed and I felt like an ass. “Really?”

  “No.”

  Hope, confusion and fear swirled on Charlene’s face. She sniffed and fished a Kleenex out from the sleeve of her blouse. That was the third time I’d seen her do that, which made me wonder why women use their clothing as a storage space, when they also carry big-ass purses. Surely there’d be room for a Kleenex or two.

  So much for my pettifogging, Charlene had shored herself up again and was talking.

  “Paul and I talked after our last meeting and he thought it might change your mind if you spent a little bit of time getting to know me. See who I am, and just maybe find out more about Bradley. I didn’t think it would make a difference and it looks like I was right. In all the times we’ve met, you haven’t asked a single question about my son.” She took a breath. “I told you this would be a waste of time, Paul. Mr Rafferty probably doesn’t care for anyone except himself. We should just go.”

  Paul didn’t move, but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

  I wasn’t about to be guilt-tripped into a case, never mind that this was a non-case. I saw the kid with a gun. Point A. Other kids were dead and injured. Point B. I didn’t need any help drawing the line of shortest distance between those two.

  But, just to be thorough—because it seemed like the professional thing to do—I took a breath and thought about the options in front of me.

  I could rant and rave again about all the dead kids and tell them both to get their asses out of my office and not show up here again. That approach had bonus points for being quick.

  I could lie; sympathize with them, and say I was too busy to take on new cases. They’d see through that one pretty quick, I figured.

  Running a distant third—and I mean dust-cloud-over-the-horizon-distant—was pulling out a fresh legal pad and getting them to cough up a retainer. I couldn’t see what good that would do for anyone.

  Although it had bonus points for being the fiscally responsible option.

  I bypassed all of those and led with the truth.

  I did, however, make a mental note to start culling such ridiculou
s behavior before it got me into trouble.

  “Charlene. Despite what you think, I’m not unfeeling to your situation. I can guess that it’s a difficult time.” She forgave the understatement and nodded. “But the fact is your son, with his gun-toting friends, killed or injured thirty-six innocent people. That’s a bunch of other families who feel as bad as you do right now.”

  Her breath hitched and she extracted another Kleenex.

  “Add to that the thousands of other people hurting because of what the boys did. Have you been past the school? The road is almost closed because of the flowers and tributes and vigil—”

  “Stop it,” Paul said. “Just stop. Really? Taunting? I’d have thought—”

  “Grow up, Paul. I’m only highlighting the repercussions of what her son and his friends did. Even though it’s patently obvious to everyone but you two.”

  “But Bradley didn’t—” Charlene said.

  “Yes, he did. I watched him—”

  “Listen to me, Mr Rafferty! Bradley didn’t know those other kids.”

  That denial was new information, but that didn’t mean it carried more weight. “And you know that for an absolute fact, do you?” I said. “You know everything that your son did? Saw every move that he made?” She didn’t break eye contact. Neither did I. “If that’s the case, then you would have been standing there, watching him running around the school with a fucking gun. Like I had to!”

  I’m not sure when I’d got to my feet, only knew that I was standing about the same time I noticed my palm stinging from slapping it on the desk.

  Paul had taken a half step to get between me and Charlene. She stood before he could get all the way there, head held high. “Leave it, Paul. I don’t know why we bothered to come back. He’s not going to change his mind.”

  “Took you long enough.”

  Charlene made it to the door before Paul moved again. She looked back at me. “Well, we … I’m not ready to give up. Bradley needs someone willing to fight for him. And if you won’t, I’ll find someone who will.”

  Round two of the pissed-off-non-client-exit-sequence.

  This time though, Charlene hit me with a look of pity, not anger.