The Crimson Trial

by Freya Atwood

  “Not your phone?”

  “No, obviously not.”

  I looked at him for a moment. Why would a mugger not grab an expensive smartphone? I shook my head, angry at myself for doubting him. The evidence was in front of me, he had been attacked. Challenging his story served no purpose. I put the car into drive and steered into the drive-thru line.

  “Should I be taking you to the hospital to get checked over? Is that the worst of your injuries?”

  “Yeah. He hit me in the stomach pretty good and then in the face a few times to get me on the ground. But I didn’t hit my head and there’s no ribs broken.”

  He winced as he touched the swollen side of his face.

  “When we get home you can put some ice on that, it’ll help with the swelling. I take it you’re happy to skip the rest of the day.”

  “Sure.” A one-word response but I thought I detected a lighter tone. He may not be a kid anymore but he was still young enough that the chance to put down his responsibilities perked him up. As much as I thought he enjoyed college, it was still work.

  I picked us up a couple of meals and a couple of extra burgers on the side, our usual, when we got McD’s. Taking the paper bag through the window, I turned to put it onto the back seat.

  “Bryan, move your school bag, honey.” I told him.

  He reached for the bag, lifting it one-handed with a grunt of effort and dropping it a few feet over. I put the food bag down in its place.

  “Your bag looks heavy today. Do you have library books to return or something?” I asked, looking at the bag which had angular bulges sticking out of its sides.

  “Um, yeah. A few. It’s fine though. They’re not due until tomorrow, I just thought I would take them back while I remembered to do it.”

  “We can stop at the college library on the way home, if you like?” I volunteered.

  “Nah, let’s not bother. No need.”

  We got home and took our food through to the kitchen. Bryan sucked his soda gingerly, occasionally wincing. We both sat at the kitchen counter, boxes and containers around us, not bothering with plates. It was all part of the fun of fast food. Before sitting down to eat, Bryan took his bag upstairs. He came back down after a minute, took a stool next to me and attacked his food.

  “I’m going to hire a cleaner to get rid of that…graffiti out in the hall.” I said around a mouthful of fries. “I’m not spending hours scrubbing it. I don’t have the time.”

  Bryan looked out through the open kitchen door to where the writing was still visible on the wall. “Have you heard from the detective yet?”

  “Too soon. Don’t expect any quick results. They’ll work their way through the usual suspects until they find someone without an alibi. It’ll take a while. Even assuming Detective Franco considers it a priority, which he doesn’t.”

  “Who do you think did it?”

  “You want the truth?”

  “I guess.”

  “I think it was your father.”

  Bryan paused with his burger to his mouth. Then put it down slowly. “He doesn’t know where we live.” He said flatly.

  “I think he does. Not accusing you of anything but I think he’s found us.” I replied.

  “Does he hate you that much?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  I looked at my son, adult to adult. The time was past for trying to protect or shelter him from the truth.

  “Because he’s a psycho. And, if he knows where we live, this is only the beginning.”

  Chapter 38

  Nic called while I was working in the den. Bryan had gone up to his room to do some college work, though he was probably sleeping. The late afternoon sun slanted in through the blinds to illuminate surfaces that I hadn’t dusted for weeks. I had changed into my sweats and sat on the couch, laptop resting on my crossed legs.

  “What have you got for me, Nic?”

  “Well, I got ahold of Helen Stark. She was still in pieces over Khan’s death. But I think she’d be willing to testify for us. I also found out something else. She hated Mrs. Khan. I mean despised her. She said Adil was getting really stressed about money because she was gambling. She, that’s the girlfriend, lent him money but it was a drop in the ocean. He was desperate. And she believed Khan was ready to leave his wife.”

  “Interesting. Had he been desperate enough to start dealing to pay his wife’s debts?” I wondered aloud.

  “Maybe. Or to run off with his girlfriend. Skip town entirely and start again.” Nic suggested.

  “Which would leave Mrs. Khan high and dry.”

  “She could clean him out in the divorce but that would be long and drawn out. If Mrs. Khan needed the money now…” Nic tailed off.

  “Sounds like a motive to me. Pity we’re not prosecutors. It’s our job to cast doubt on the prosecution’s case, not find the killer.” I reminded Nic.

  “Sure, it’s not. But I can’t think of a more surefire way of securing an acquittal than proving who actually did it.”

  I laughed. “You should have been a detective, Nic.”

  “Nah, police all have a god complex. Not for me.”

  “What about the cell phone?”

  “Got the phone records from the prosecution. They’re declaring it as evidence, as you know. I’m working through the numbers.”

  “Keep at it. Check Khan’s records as far back as we can get.” I instructed.

  I let Nic go and worked on, rehearsing the questions for my witnesses, reviewing my objectives for each question and the answers I expected to get. Every question had to be optimal for throwing doubt on the prosecution’s case. Each witness had to be squeezed for the maximum possible impact. I worked on into the night as the house grew cold and dark around me.

  The sound of the front door closing woke me with a start. I had curled up on the sofa for a nap, pulling a throw over myself. Now I was stiff and cold. I sat up, the room dark around me. The headlights of Bryan’s car lit the room, then receded as he backed out of the driveway. I checked the time on my phone. After ten, where’s he going at this time of night? I went to the window, phone in hand and called him. There was no answer. My bare feet were like blocks of ice against the carpet and I went upstairs to retrieve a pair of cozy socks. I turned the light on in the hallway before ascending. When I reached the top and drew level with the window that looked out over the backyard, a movement caught my eye.

  At least I thought it was a movement. Something had made me turn. But it was hard to see anything in the dark, especially with the bright light indoors reflecting from the window. Forgetting my cold feet, I walked along to the guest room which occupied the back of the house. Walking into the dark room without switching on the light, I went to the window and looked down into the garden. A man stood at the end of the yard, just inside the fence.

  He was in shadow, I could only make out a man-shaped figure. He appeared to be hooded. My hands gripped the windowsill, my stomach clenched. The figure wasn’t moving. Just standing and staring. I could feel his eyes on me even though I couldn’t see his face. Is the back door locked? The thought sent a chill of fear through me. Without warning the man moved. He began to stride purposefully up the garden towards the house. I bolted from the room, taking the stairs three at a time and dashing for the kitchen.

  In the dark I ran into a stool at the kitchen counter. It jarred painfully against my hip and clattered to the floor. I reached the door and turned the lock, then secured it further with bolts at the top and bottom. As I did, something hit the door with force. I backed away with an involuntary scream. The door rattled in the frame as it was hit again. I kept backing away. Outside I thought I could hear footsteps walking along the paving at the back of the house.

  Then a silhouetted head appeared at the kitchen window. It was dark inside and outside. I couldn’t see more than the shape of a head covered by a hood. The face was lost in the deep shadows. A hand came up and rested against the window, pressing against the glass.r />
  “I have a gun in the house!” I shouted. “Get off my property or I’ll use it.”

  The figure just stared. Another hand was slowly raised to press against the window. Then both hands were lifted and slammed onto the glass. I ran, as the man hit the glass a second time. My phone was upstairs, sitting on the windowsill of the guest room. The glass shattered as I reached the top of the stairs. I hesitated, one direction for the handgun that was locked in a box under my bed, another for my phone to call for help.

  I went for the gun, diving to the floor of my bedroom and scrabbling under the bed for the sturdy metal box. It had a combination lock. I fumbled at it, breath coming in panicked gasps as I heard movement downstairs. Someone in the kitchen.

  “Tommy! I know that’s you, you son of a bitch! I won’t hesitate to shoot!” I called, my voice shrill with fear.

  I had always intended to take lessons but hadn’t gotten around to it. I had never fired the gun and, as I opened the box and took out the gun, I suddenly doubted I could hit anything. The light on the stairs went out. I heard footsteps against the hard floor of the hall. I froze, listening as the footsteps stopped. He must be at the foot of the stairs! I got to my feet, holding the gun out in front of me with both hands and slowly advanced towards the door.

  I stepped through the doorway and took a step towards the guest room when he rushed the stairs. I heard the sound of running steps coming towards me and ran. As I reached the open door to the guest room I turned. In the dark I thought I saw movement at the top of the stairs and fired two shots. Then I went in, slamming the door behind me. I picked up the bedside table next to the door and threw it aside. Then I grabbed the divan bed by its base and hauled it across the door.

  Thank God we got a bed with wheels! It was still almost too heavy for me to move alone but I managed it. I backed away, one hand blindly reaching behind me for the phone. The other trembled against the weight of the gun, trying to keep it trained against the door. The bed wouldn’t block it for long. A strong shove from the other side of the door would open the door enough to get through. I just hoped it slowed him down enough for me to shoot.

  But there was no sound from the other side. I gasped in relief as I felt the familiar shape of the phone. Not daring to take my eyes from the door, I brought the phone to my face and stabbed at the emergency call button with my thumb.

  “Police!” I yelled as a voice asked me what emergency service I needed. “A man has broken into my house!”

  I gave my address and name without taking a breath. I stood, back pressed against the wall, as far from the door as I could get until I heard the approaching sirens. There hadn’t been another sound from outside the door and I hadn’t dared look out of the window.

  Chapter 39

  Detective Franco came into the room while I was trying to reach Bryan for the fiftieth time. There was still no answer. I was in the kitchen, still in my sweats and barefoot, hair piled on top of my head. The uniform cops who had come into the house with their weapons drawn had now spread out, looking for the intruder. I had been aware of other officers in the house but had ignored them, focused only on reaching my son.

  “Still not got rid of that, huh? Is that part of the decor now?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the writing on the wall.

  “What are you doing here?” I was texting Bryan, begging him to call me back.

  “This is my beat. Intruder breaking into a house? Yep, that’s right up my street. And when I heard which house…”

  I looked up at him as he slouched against the counter next to me. His dark hair was ruffled, as though he had just got out of bed. He looked to be wearing the same suit, which looked as though it had been slept in.

  “Why did that matter to you?”

  “Because of the blood on your wall. I was going to come back anyway. See, we tested it back at the lab and know what we found? Seems it came from a woman.” Franco looked me in the eye and his casual attitude seemed to be sloughed away. His eyes were intent. “We know it came from a woman because of the presence of certain hormones which tell us the donator of that blood was pregnant.”

  That shook me. I didn’t know what to say for a moment. Franco continued. “Now, either that means your stalker is a pregnant woman or…”

  “The blood was taken from a pregnant woman. Oh my god.”

  “Right. So, tell me. Do you think the person who entered your house was the same as the one who was in here yesterday?” Franco phrased it as a question but it wasn’t.

  “Of course. And it was a man. I saw him. Not his face, but it was definitely a man.”

  Franco nodded, looking around the room, still slouching. “And who is that again?”

  “I think it’s my ex-husband, Tommy DeLuca.”

  “Tommy DeLuca who was until about a month ago locked up in San Quentin on a murder rap, whose family has been talking up his innocence in the tabloids.”

  I put my face in my hands, feeling weary. “He’s far from innocent. He was borderline psychotic when I knew him. If he beat that conviction it was on a technicality.”

  “Well, he did beat it. He is out. I checked.”

  I sat up straight, it was an effort. “So, what are you going to do about it, Detective?”

  “Find him. Which means talking to you. And your son. He have a relationship with his father?”

  The tone was light, as though the questions were inconsequential. But it was all an act with this guy. His eyes gave him away. They missed nothing and he was constantly watching for reactions. I got up, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny when it came to talking about Bryan. There was too much I didn’t understand about my son. Too many secrets he was keeping. I began making coffee.

  “You want some?” I asked.

  “Sure. He have a relationship with his father?” Franco asked without missing a beat.

  “I…I don’t know. Until recently he didn’t know anything about his father. I hadn’t told him about my past, about my marriage.”

  “And how did he react when you told him his father was a convicted murderer?”

  I stared at the coffee pot, looking through it, thinking of Bryan. “I don’t know.”

  “Hmmm. Think I need to talk to him.”

  “I’ve been trying to reach him. He left the house just before Tommy broke in.”

  “Connection?”

  I rounded on him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Is there a connection between him leaving you on your own and his father…what? Attacking?”

  “No!”

  Franco shrugged. “Just asking. Mind if I look in his room?”

  “Yes. Get a warrant.” I didn’t like any suggestion that Bryan was in league with his father. It was too close to my own worst fears.

  “You’re being defensive.”

  “You’re being offensive.”

  “I am. But my heart’s in the right place.” Franco grinned insolently, like he was enjoying the back and forth. I wanted to throw something at him.

  “Are you deliberately goading me, Detective? Just because I’m good at my job? Is this revenge because you’re not as good at yours?”

  “You’re killing me. Mind if I smoke?”

  “Hell yes, I mind. Take it outside!”

  He shrugged again, taking out a cigarette and offering one to me. When I didn’t take it he put it on the counter and walked to the back door, unlocking it. Before he stepped outside he looked over his shoulder at me.

  “This guy has done more than trespass. I think he’s killed someone and it looks like you’re next. I want to get him. If this really is Tommy DeLuca, any help you and your boy can give me, I want. Understand?”

  There was steel in his voice, the bantering tone gone. I realized I was going to have to put my dislike aside. We both had the same goal. But if Bryan was involved somehow, I would protect him. Even if it means Tommy gets away? I nodded.

  “I’ll go up to his room. See if I can find anything that mi
ght tell me where he’s gone. Or why. I can give you the license plate of his car…” I hesitated. “If you can help find him…”

  Franco put his unlit cigarette to his lips. “Sure thing. And I already know the license plate. From when I was here last.”

  He stepped outside and I heard the click of a lighter. Limbs feeling like lead, I went up to Bryan’s room. The door was open. I couldn’t remember if it had been open when I last came upstairs. I looked into the room and leaned in to put on the light, almost flinching when it came on. I had half expected Tommy to have left something. Another message. But nothing looked out of place.