In the Shadow of Revenge

by Patricia Hale

  “Under other circumstances, with all the evidence I’ve been shown, you’d be going nowhere, Ms. Minos,” Judge Fader said. “But because of your standing with this court and the District Attorney’s assurance, you are free on your own recognizance. Your bail is set at $50,000 and you’ll surrender your passport.”

  I looked at Nick. He nodded and left the room. I’d give him the money back as soon as I got out. Just as the door swung closed behind him, it opened again and Ben entered. My heart took a nosedive. He just stood there staring at me, a thousand questions on his face. I looked back at him feeling naked and ashamed. Before either of us had a chance to say anything, a guard wrapped his fingers around my elbow, led me past the judge’s bench and out the back door of the courtroom. We went into the antechamber and waited. A few minutes later, Tisby showed up with the paperwork that proved my bail had been paid and I was free to go. As we walked down the hallway toward the entrance to the courthouse, Michael fell into step beside me.

  “I probably don’t need to say this, but you’re on leave while this whole thing gets worked out. I’ll have McIntire pick up your cases.”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  “I believe you,” Michael said. “But the media are latching onto this like sharks on chum. Take a look.” He stepped aside.

  Tisby stood a few feet away, surrounded by reporters. I watched as they followed him down the steps and onto the sidewalk, thankful that his face was more recognizable than my own, at least for now.

  “Does this have anything to do with the rape case you were asking about the other day, the hypothetical one?” Michael asked. “And the friend who needed a PI?”

  “Have a seat,” I said and nodded to a bench beside us. I told Michael everything I knew about Dobbs past and present.

  “Did you give this information to DeLonge too?”

  I nodded.

  “Shouldn’t take long to clear you. Until then, you’re on vacation. Use the time to your advantage.”

  “You mean find out who set me up?”

  “You didn’t hear me say that.” Michael stood up and checked his watch. “This is the time of day when I start thinking about Dewars on the rocks and my wife’s rosemary lamb.” He turned toward me. “Keep in touch and be careful,” he said.

  I watched him walk down the courthouse’s marble steps. I was lucky to have him on my side. Michael was smart and respected. If he stood by me it would carry a lot of weight.

  “Hey,” Nick said, slipping onto the bench beside me.

  “Where’ve you been?”

  “Had to make a couple of quick transactions at the bank.”

  “I’ll give it right back to you.”

  “No rush. What did he have to say?” Nick asked, nodding toward Michael who was getting into a car across the street.

  “Told me to be careful, but find out who set me up.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Is that the only reason?” I suddenly felt way too vulnerable.

  He took my hand in both of his. “I can think of a few others,” he said.

  Chapter Thirty

  There was nothing I wanted more than to go home, have a drink and listen to Nick tell me that everything was going to be fine. Instead, he dropped me off at Maine Medical Center and went to pay Dobbs a visit. When I got to Hilary’s room, Amelia was sitting on the edge of her bed. Hilary’s eyes were red, but she seemed to be coping well enough with the news.

  “Where have you been?” Amelia asked.

  “At the police station.”

  Hilary reached for a tissue and blew her nose. “Have they arrested someone?”

  “Yeah, me.” I went around and sat on the other side of the bed.

  “What?”

  “I’ve been charged with your father’s murder. I’m out on bail.”

  “What the fuck? That’s ridiculous.”

  “Someone videoed me going into the garage. The tape ended with a close-up of Duane, dead.” I looked at Hilary. “Sorry.”

  She shrugged. “Why were you at the garage?”

  “Tell her,” Amelia said.

  “Tell me what?” Hilary looked from one of us to the other.

  I took a deep breath, stalling. I could tell her that Dobbs killed her father, but adding that he was also the man who’d raped her would be more than she could manage in her current situation, no matter how good her new shrink was. I went for a half-truth.

  “There’s a guy in town, J.D. Dobbs, we met him at Gritty’s. We think he’s connected to The Cave robbery and back to collect his share. That’s why I went to the garage.”

  “What the hell are you investigating the robbery for? That’s old news. It was over and done with years ago.”

  “I was looking for something that might link Dobbs and Duane together.”

  “What’s that got to do with me? I’ve been asking you to help me for years and now you’re working on an old case that involved my father?”

  I took her hand and held it in both of mine. “You were raped just days after the robbery. We think there might be a connection between the two crimes. Nick’s gone to talk to Dobbs now.”

  “Nick?”

  “Marquette,” I said. “Remember the cop when we were little? He’s a PI now. I hired him to help us.”

  Hilary sank onto the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me all this was going on?”

  I waved my hand around the room. “I didn’t want to screw this up for you. I want you to get better.”

  “I’m not sick,” Hilary said. “But I might be, now.” She got up and went into the hallway, taking a right toward the bathroom.

  “Why didn’t you tell her the whole thing?” Amelia asked.

  “She can’t handle it now. We’ll tell her, but not until after she deals with Duane’s death.”

  “I don’t think she’s too broken up about it. It wasn’t like he was ever a father to her.”

  “I know,” I said, remembering the picture of her he’d had stuffed under the mattress at the garage. “But she must have a few good memories and losing your dad is a big deal, no matter how much of an asshole he might have been.” My own father crossed my mind. I still thought of him, still remembered that he smelled like cigarettes and Old Spice and how he’d ruffle my hair and call me Princess.

  Hilary came back into the room. “I gotta get out of here,” she said.

  “I’m sure they’ll let you out for the funeral.”

  “I don’t mean like that. I mean for good. I can’t stay in here with all that’s going on. I’ll go crazy.”

  “Which is exactly why this is the best place for you.”

  “Fuck you,” she said and picked up the Kleenex box and hurled it at the wall. “That’s easy for you to say, you can go anywhere you want.”

  “Not quite. I had to surrender my passport and wipe out my savings account just to walk out of the Portland Police Department.”

  She put her hands over her face and started to cry, a rare occurrence for Hilary. Amelia and I both got up and wrapped our arms around her.

  “Don’t worry. We’re going to get him, one way or another. I promise you.”

  “It’s not that. My father probably got what he deserved. It’s just that now I’m the only one left. As much as he sucked, at least I had someone else with the same last name.”

  “There’s still Rita,” Amelia said.

  “Holy fuck,” Hilary said with a half laugh. “That’s worse than being alone.”

  “You’ve got us,” I said, “and that’s pretty much all any of us have ever had.”

  I left Amelia with Hilary and called Nick from outside the hospital. His phone went straight to voicemail, so I started home. My apartment is a twenty-minute walk from Maine Medical Center and
I forced myself to notice the beautiful summer day rather than focus on the image of Duane’s throat lingering in my head. Not to mention the fact that I was facing twenty-five to life for it. As much as Duane had been a pitiful excuse for a father, he’d given Hilary a blood connection to another human being and in a way that had grounded her. She belonged somewhere. Now she was free floating and that’s what had her scared. Had me scared too.

  I picked up my pace on the sidewalk anxious to get home. Thoughts of loss and being left behind swirled in my head. Those tenuous threads that keep us on our feet, perhaps swaying in Hilary’s case, but on our feet nonetheless, could break without warning. Wainwright was a perfect example; at some point we all get left behind by someone. A fact I didn’t cope with well. I thought I’d hear from Ben after seeing him in the courtroom, but he’d made no effort to find me. On one hand I was grateful for not having to face the embarrassment of an explanation. On the other hand I was hurt that he wasn’t concerned enough to call and that he’d closed the door so completely. I hurried over the asphalt, knowing relief was a mile away, in the box in my closet.

  When I got to my apartment Stitch met me at the door crying. With shaky hands, I washed his face, kissed him and filled his bowl. With Stitch happily crunching kibble, I opened a bottle of wine, poured a glass and went into the bedroom. I looked at the box in its place on the closet shelf, knowing relief was right inside. The straight edge would let the anxiety seep out and I’d feel my strength return. I started to reach for the box, but hesitated, hearing Hilary. “You’re as fucked up as I am,” she’d said. And she was right. How was my ritual any different from her alcohol? And she was doing something about her addiction while I continued to seek mine out.

  I took the box from the top of my closet and set it on the shelf beneath the mirror in the bathroom. I lit the candles and took off my shirt. Ever since Nick had noticed my palm, I’d been selecting more secretive places to cut. I picked up the razor and ran the steel in a thin line beneath one breast. Blood trickled in teardrops down my stomach. I dipped my fingers into the wax and tapped them on the mirror then closed my eyes and started the mantra.

  “Cecily?” Nick’s voice came from behind.

  I opened my eyes and whirled around. He was standing in the doorway, his eyes following the trail of blood on my stomach.

  “Cecily.”

  I couldn’t speak and I didn’t need to. The scene told him everything. In front of him was not the lawyer or the woman he thought I was, but the frightened little girl riddled with guilt that he’d tried to rescue years ago.

  “Get out,” I said, pulling the wax off my fingertips. I wiped at the streaks of blood on my stomach and then at the tears running down my cheeks, smearing blood all over my skin. “Get out, Nick,” I said again.

  But he didn’t. He stepped closer and pulled me against him, kissing my neck. I pushed him away and saw bloodstains on the front of his shirt. He pulled me back and held me tighter. Pressing my head to his shoulder, he rocked me side to side.

  “Get out,” I said, crying into his shirt, but he didn’t answer. He held on for what seemed like forever, swaying in silence until my breathing went from gasping to calm and I settled into his arms.

  I heard the shower humming in the background and steam filled the bathroom. He undressed me and then himself and we stepped together into the stream of hot water. He moved a soapy cloth over every inch of my body, taking extra care around the freshly cut skin beneath my breasts and on the inside of my arm. Finally he turned my palms face up and washed my hands. Then he kissed the red, raised scars, swollen from eighteen years of pain, and looked into my eyes.

  “You can’t...” I said. “I’m not...”

  “Sshh.” He put a finger over my lips. “Don’t tell me what you are or what you aren’t. Let me find out for myself.”

  “You already know and now you...”

  “And now I know more. Do you see me going anywhere?”

  “How can you stay?”

  He tilted my head up and kissed my eyes and my nose and then my mouth. “How can I not?” he asked.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  In the morning, I woke to the smell of coffee and bacon coming from the kitchen. I lay in bed for a couple of minutes and thought about last night. We hadn’t talked about the scene he’d walked in on, but from the tenderness of his touch throughout the night he conveyed his understanding. He’d been on the force long enough to know what abandonment does to a child. Add witnessing sexual trauma and you have countless issues that take root and stem into adulthood. I had a feeling that my screwed-up coping skills hadn’t frightened him away, more like pulled him in.

  I walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. He set a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon and a cup of coffee in front of me. I grabbed his hand and held it to my cheek. He stroked my head with the other, then lowered his face to mine and kissed me.

  “Did you talk to Dobbs yesterday?” I asked.

  “I talked to DeLonge. It’s not good.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

  “I thought it might be bad timing.”

  I started spooning sugar into my coffee so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes.

  “How long has that been going on?” he asked.

  My cheeks burned. “I guess it started around the first time we met.”

  Now it was his turn with the sugar bowl.

  “I know it’s fucked up,” I added.

  “Why do you do it?”

  “Fear, guilt, punishment.”

  “I think I understand the fear and the guilt, but punishment for what?”

  “I should have helped her that day in the railcar. I could have done something.”

  Nick stirred his coffee and tapped the spoon against the edge of his cup. “You were nine years old. It’s been eighteen years. It’s time to forgive yourself.”

  I shook my head. “Look at her life. Drugs, alcohol, rehab. I can’t.” I covered my face. A few tears slipped through my fingers and landed on my lap. As quickly as I’d let it go, I pulled my shit together and looked at Nick. “That’s why I do it.”

  He raised his eyebrows in question.

  “I’d rather bleed than cry.”

  I stood up, feeling both embarrassed and relieved and wiped my face on a paper towel, then I brought the coffee pot to the table and filled both our cups. When I started to turn away, he grabbed my hand and held it to his lips.

  “I wasn’t able to be there for you then,” he said. “But I’m here now.”

  I leaned down and kissed him. “Better late than never.”

  I returned the pot to the brewer and came back to the table, sighing as I sat down. “Can we change the subject?”

  He nodded. “For now.”

  “Tell me what you got from DeLonge.”

  “Dobbs has an alibi.”

  “What?”

  “The ME placed Wainwright’s time of death at about 3:00 a.m. Dobbs was in bed with the cashier from 7-Eleven at that time. At least that’s what he told the sergeant.”

  “DeLonge questioned Dobbs?”

  “I guess he’s taking your set-up theory seriously.”

  “Did you confirm it with the cashier?”

  “I was coming to get you last night so we could go together. We’ll go as soon as you’re ready. One other thing, and I’m only asking this because I don’t remember. Where were you at 3:00 a.m. two nights ago?”

  “In bed, alone. You’d left a few hours earlier, remember?”

  He reached over and squeezed my hand. “How could I forget?”

  “Seriously Nick, that’s not good. Dobbs has an alibi and I don’t
.”

  “Let’s not panic until we talk to the cashier. Dobbs might be lying.”

  Breakfast landed in a lump in my stomach, and while Nick cleaned the kitchen, I showered without looking at the raised red skin he had so carefully cleansed last night. When I got out of the shower I went straight to the box in the closet and took out the razor. I stood over the trash with the straight edge in my open palm. For years, it had purged the pain inside and Hilary had been the only one who knew. She’d never belittled me for it or made me feel guilty. We both had our vices. But now it felt different. Under Nick’s eyes I’d felt ashamed, realizing that my source of strength was more of a show of weakness. It was one thing for Hilary to see my flaws, she accepted them and let them lie, but Nick would expect change. All I had to do was tip my hand and the blade would slip out of my life for good. From the kitchen I heard the rattle of plates and the jingle of silverware as Nick put things in order. I listened to him and tried to tell myself that I’d found another source of relief and that the steel was no longer necessary. Finally, I put the razor back in the box. Just because it was there didn’t mean I had to use it.

  We pulled into the parking lot at the 7-Eleven. “I’ll go in,” I said. “She might be more comfortable with me since I’ve already talked to her once before.”

  “What?”

  I wasn’t proud of my last visit with Brittany and hadn’t wanted Nick to know about it too late for that. “I asked her not to report her black eye,” I said, looking at the front door of 7-Eleven and avoiding his face.

  “You what?”

  “I was afraid we’d lose him.”

  “Cecily, you’re crossing line after line. That’s...” He hesitated, looking for the word.

  “Unethical?”