“Well, wasn’t that thoughtful,” Officer Neally says. Her voice is thick with sarcasm. “And after you happened to go outside to meet him, he just happened to decide to rob a store a few doors away from where you work. With your help.”
“I wasn’t helping him,” I say. “He had a knife — he held it to my throat!”
The cops exchange a look. I can’t quite read it but I can see there’s a message there between them. One thing is clear — they’re not all that interested in what I have to say. Something has already convinced them that I’m guilty. And every time I open my mouth, I’m somehow managing to make things worse.
“Please, can someone call my father?” I say. “I don’t want to say anything else until he gets me a lawyer.”
They go into an act then, like they tried to help me, but I just wouldn’t let them. Neally shakes her head and shrugs. Campbell throws his hands up. One of them mumbles something about innocent people not needing lawyers.
I don’t bite. I figure I’ve done myself enough harm already.
I’m left alone again. Tears come. I can’t stop them.
Chapter Eighteen
The lawyer arrives even before my dad gets there. I’ve just pulled myself together when the interview door opens suddenly and he comes in, smiling. He offers his free hand while the other clutches a leather briefcase.
“Miss Malton? My name is Karan Paralkar,” he says. “I’ll be representing you in this matter.”
This matter? It sounds small and unimportant, like the whole thing is nothing.
“You’re a lawyer?” I ask, even though the answer is obvious.
He smiles. “Don’t I look like one?” he asks. I wonder if answering a question with another question is something lawyers do automatically.
“Uh, sure, but my dad has a lawyer,” I say. “I was kind of expecting her.”
“Yes, Ms. Aballard,” he says. “Actually, she’s the one who referred your father to me. Her area is family law and you need someone who works in criminal law. That’s my field.”
“But, I’m not a criminal.”
“All the more reason for you to have a criminal lawyer in a situation like this,” he tells me. I must look puzzled or doubtful or something because he adds, “Just trust me, okay?”
“Okay,” I say. Then, all of a sudden, tears are coming again. I feel foolish, crying in front of a stranger, but I can’t stop.
“I know it must be overwhelming,” he says when I’ve managed to swallow back the sobs, “but you’ll get through it. Just try to relax and take it one thing at a time.”
His advice instantly reminds me of one of the beliefs they talk about at the centre, breaking it down, staying clean by getting through a day or an hour or even a minute at a time. Whatever you can handle without using.
I’m thinking about this, and the hope that was alive in that place, when Dad comes in. He looks scared as he crosses the room and scoops me up out of my seat and into a hug.
This time I don’t even try to keep from crying. I’m clinging to my father like his arms are the only safe place in the world and he’s patting my back and saying that it’s okay. The problem is, that’s not true and he knows it as well as I do. I can tell by the way his voice trembles and cracks.
Behind us, the lawyer has risen to his feet. He moves forward once I’ve forced myself to let go of Dad and step back.
“Karan Paralkar,” he says, shaking Dad’s hand. “I just got here a few minutes ago so I haven’t had much of a chance to talk to Lexie yet.”
“Just as well,” Dad says. “I’d like to hear what happened myself. Lexie wasn’t exactly clear when she called. Just said she’d been arrested for a robbery and shooting.”
“Lexie hasn’t actually been arrested,” Karan informs us, “though it’s easy to see why she thought she had. The truth is, she’s been free to leave anytime she wanted to this whole time.”
I’m on my feet in a flash. “I can go?”
“You can, but at this point there’s no sense in it. The police are going to proceed with charges, so we might as well wait and deal with it. It will be better than having them pull up to your house and haul you out in handcuffs.”
Just the thought of that happening makes my throat tighten. Dad looks away from me, and down at his hands.
“Mr. Paralkar —” I say, but he cuts me off, telling me to call him Karan.
“I swear, I had nothing to do with any of it, Karan,” I say.
“Okay,” he answers, like that’s not really important.
“I tried to explain it to them,” I tell him. “But they kept twisting everything I said, until it sounded like I was involved. I swear I wasn’t.”
“Lexie has never been in any kind of trouble,” Dad adds.
“That’s good. That will work in her favour,” Karan says. “And, Lexie, you’ll have a chance to tell me all about what happened, but right now, the first order of business is to find out what the charges are going to be. Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll be back.”
It’s hard, but I turn to face Dad once Karan is gone. His face starts to crumble and he takes a couple of deep breaths. “I don’t understand why you were with that … that druggie, when this all happened,” he says.
“He came to my work, Dad. I saw him there and I didn’t want him to come in and cause trouble, so I went outside to talk to him for a minute. Then he made me go with him to the store.”
“I didn’t want you having anything to do with him,” Dad says.
“I know. I know that, Dad. And you were right, but I never thought Devlin would do something like this.”
“You can’t trust an addict,” Dad says. “That’s what Andrea and I tried to tell you.”
“Could you leave her out of this?” I know that’s the wrong thing to say, even as the words come out of my mouth.
“Did it ever once occur to you that Andrea might have your best interests at heart?” he says angrily.
No. It never did. Quite the opposite, in fact. But I don’t say so. Why make it worse than it already is?
“Sorry,” I say, instead. “I’m just so scared.”
“Fine. But don’t take it out on Andrea. She does her best by you girls.”
I’m saved from having to hear more of that just then. Karan comes back into the room and slides into a seat opposite me. He looks grim.
“I’m afraid you’re not going home tonight,” he says. “I’ve asked for a bail hearing as soon as possible, so, with any luck, we’ll be able to get you out within a day or two. In the meantime, you’re being remanded to Burnaby Youth Custody Services.”
He pauses and lets that news sink in. I can’t speak. Dad looks like he has questions but can’t get them out.
“What happens in these cases generally depends on the seriousness of the charge,” Karan explains. He’s speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I’m afraid this one is about as bad as it gets.”
He pauses, glances from me to my dad and back. A cold feeling is crawling over me and I know what his next words will be before he says them.
“The shooting victim didn’t make it. She died less than an hour after they got her to the hospital, so what we’re now dealing with is homicide.”
Chapter Nineteen
The next thing I know, I’m in the sheriff’s van. As we get close to Burnaby, the shock of my situation begins to wear off. My thoughts clear and come into focus. Now, the only thing I can think about is the little girl. Her face, smiling, coming through the doorway of the store. I wonder what she was there to buy. Chewing gum? A treat of some sort? Or perhaps she was sent on an errand for her mother. Maybe milk was needed, or eggs, or some other everyday item.
She woke up this morning like any other day, and went through the day doing normal thi
ngs. She might have made a few phone calls, watched a little television. Maybe she laughed, or cried, or had an argument with a parent or sister or someone. She didn’t feel anything different in the air around her, anything that would tell her it was the final day of her life.
When she walked to the store, she had no idea that she was taking the last steps she would ever take.
She didn’t do anything wrong. All she did was open a door and walk inside a store. She walked in at the exact second in time that would mean the end of her life. One minute either way might have been safe. If she’d met with a friend on the street and talked for a moment, that might have saved her. Or, maybe she did bump into a friend, or stopped to tie her shoe, or met some other small delay, and it was just long enough to prevent her from entering that brief bit of time earlier that could have saved her life.
She walked in without any thought that she was stepping into the precise spot that she had to be standing in for the bullet to steal her life. Two inches to the left or right might have made all the difference in the world.
Who knows how many things came together for her to be right there, right at that exact second in time? And then a bullet met her and the light was gone out of her eyes forever.
A voice breaks through my thoughts. It’s the sheriff, wanting to know where I go to school. I stare at him, not quite able to understand the question at first. It somehow seems like the strangest thing in the world he could have said to me, just because it’s so normal.
“Killarney,” I tell him once it sinks in.
“Uh, huh? What grade are you in?”
I want to scream at him, to tell him not to ask stupid questions about things that don’t matter. Instead, I say, “I don’t want to be rude, but I really don’t feel like talking right now.”
“Perfectly understandable,” he says.
There’s a woman in the passenger seat. She’s wearing a uniform like his so I figure she’s some kind of deputy. She turns to me now and asks if I’m nervous.
“Sure she is,” the sheriff answers for me. “It’s her first time.”
“At least Burnaby isn’t too far for your family to visit,” says the woman. “And Burnaby Youth Custody Services Centre is a nice facility. Besides, you’ll be surprised how fast you’ll get used to it.”
I shove down the urge to yell that I will not get used to it, that I didn’t do anything, and I shouldn’t be going there at all.
I don’t know what I’m expecting when we get there, but the sprawling buildings we pull up to aren’t it. Inside, I’m surprised at the rich, earthy colours as we make our way through the halls.
The intake makes my head spin. They check me for contraband and then give me some T-shirts and sweat-clothes. I also get a hygiene pack with travel-size toiletries. A counsellor goes over a bunch of rules and stuff, but I barely hear her. When she’s done she gives me a booklet and tells me it’s all in there if I forget anything.
There are six other girls in the unit I’m in and I might as well admit that I’m scared to death when I first meet them. Luckily, we each have our own room, which includes a sink and toilet. Showers are private, too, in separate rooms on the unit.
As relieved as I am by those things, everything feels strange and I can’t calm the queasiness in my stomach. I tell myself over and over that I won’t be there long, that Karan will have me out by the next day.
It doesn’t quite work out that way. I end up being there for over a week. At least it’s a relief to discover that the staff are not what I expected. They’re firm, but they treat us pretty decent, and I feel safest sticking close to them when I can.
Of the other girls on the unit, three seem okay, but one named Jade acts like she has something to prove. The other two ignore me, which is fine with me. I keep to myself as much as I can and walk through the days like a zombie. At mealtimes I can hardly force myself to eat. The night is the worst. I lay awake for hours feeling more alone than I’ve ever felt before.
I keep from feeling sorry for myself, or giving in to despair, with thoughts of the little girl and her family. I now know that her name was Suzie Quian. It’s all over the news, but I can’t stand to watch it. I don’t want to see her picture — probably a school photo, smiling out at me from a TV screen, and I sure don’t want to see her family or the grief on their faces.
It’s strange how guilty I feel. I’m haunted by the thought of that little girl, Suzie, lying cold and still forever. The image of her face at the moment she came into the store is imprinted on my brain. I expect it will always be there.
Much of the time it feels like a bad dream, something I’ll wake up from with that huge sense of relief you get when you realize a nightmare isn’t real. I keep telling myself over and over that it was Devlin, that I wasn’t involved. I need to, with the media reporting that the police are closing in on the shooter and a female accomplice has already been arrested.
It takes less than a day for the girls on the unit to put it together — the timing of the killing and my arrival there at Burnaby. They ask me if I was the one who was with the guy who shot Suzie Quian. I turn away from the question, which is all the answer they need.
They push for a while but when I refuse to talk about it they finally let it drop. Even so, on the fourth day I’m there, Jade tells me that I don’t deserve to live.
Chapter Twenty
Nine numbing days pass before I find myself being transported to the courthouse for a bail hearing. My dad is there, along with Andrea, whose phony face is putting on a big show of being supportive. As if. She’d probably like nothing better than to have me out of the way.
“We’re here for you, Lexie,” she says when they get to speak to me for a few minutes before court. “No matter what you’ve done, we’re still family.”
“What do you mean, ‘no matter what I’ve done,’” I say, barely keeping myself under control. She’s lucky my hands are cuffed or I might not be able to keep from grabbing her by her scrawny neck.
“Now, Lexie, Andrea didn’t mean that the way you’re taking it,” Dad says, on her side as usual. Why he can never see through that two-faced creature is beyond me.
Now isn’t the time to get into it, though. I don’t suppose the judge will be impressed if I create a big commotion just outside the courtroom.
I hardly understand anything that’s being said when they start talking about me. Karan gives me a quick nod and smile when it’s over and, thankfully, I find out I’m allowed to go home until we go to trial.
At the house I go straight to my room. It feels like the best place in the world. Weariness rolls over me like a wave and I sink onto the mushroom-coloured duvet that covers my bed. Pressing my cheek into my pillow is the last thing I remember until Barb comes to get me for dinner.
She looks frightened as she tells me it’s time to eat. I wonder what they’ve told her to make her so nervous.
“Do you know why I was away?” I ask.
Barb looks at the floor.
“Did Dad tell you where I was?” I persist.
“He said you had to go somewhere for a while. That’s all.”
I study her face for a few seconds. She looks like she might cry.
“Barbie,” I say gently, “I think someone else told you something about where I was. If you tell me what you heard, I promise I’ll tell you if it’s true or not.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “The kids at summer group said bad things,” she says.
“What kind of bad things?” I try to hide the anger I feel.
“They said you shot a girl with a gun.”
“Do you think that’s true?” I’m wondering, as we talk, why no one in the house noticed that my sister was carrying around this huge burden. It’s not like Barb is hard to read — when something troubles her, we all know it.
“I t
old them they were liar, liar, pants on fire, but they said that’s why you were gone. They said you were in jail for shooting that girl with a gun.”
Now she’s sobbing and I cross the room and put my arms around her. “It isn’t true, Barbie. You were right — you’re smarter than them because you knew the truth, no matter what they said.”
“You didn’t shoot a girl with a gun?”
“No, honey. Of course not. I was there when it happened, but I didn’t do it.”
“Did you see the girl getting shot?” Her eyes widen behind the tears.
“Yes.” The image trails through my head in slow motion. The door opening, the young girl — Suzie — coming in, Devlin turning, startled by the sound and movement. I flinch as the sound of the shot blasts through my memory.
“But you didn’t do it?”
“I promise you, I didn’t.”
“Then why did you have to go away?”
“It’s hard to explain that part,” I say slowly. We’ve always told Barb that she could tell the police if she ever needed help. I don’t want to ruin that by saying the wrong thing.
“Some people made a mistake and thought I was part of it, that I did something wrong too,” I continue. Barb is watching me closely. “But later on I’m going to get a chance to tell what really happened.”
“Then everyone will know you didn’t do it?”
“Yes, then they’ll know,” I say. I give her another hug and meet her smile with one of my own. Sometimes I envy how simple things are for her.
Everyone else is at the table when we get there and I slide into place next to Lynne. She doesn’t look at me.
“Hey, Lynne,” I say. I try to make my voice cheerful even though I’m hurt that she seems to be ignoring me.
“Hi.” Her answer is flat and cold.
“Who made dinner?” I ask, knowing it was Lynne. It’s a chicken-vegetable stir fry and basmati rice, Dad’s favourite. She makes it a lot.
“Lynne,” Barb says. “I helped! I rinsed the snow peas and bean sprouts for her, right Lynne?”
Accomplice Page 7
