by Gable, Kate
We don’t talk about the case much after that. We don't have too much in common, but there are certain people that come along that just bring out the best in you. We talk about books, movies, doing something else.
"Was this always your dream? Is this what you wanted to do?"
"I wanted to be an actress, if you can believe it. That's why I came out to LA. Went to UCLA, went to auditions, graduated, and figured that I should probably be able to pay for an apartment. In order to do that, I went to law school. It appealed to me on many levels. There was a lot of public speaking, telling stories, convincing people of this or that. The only problem was that I can't exactly play a different character than I am. I have certain facts. I can change my look somewhat, but that's it. I'm kind of stuck being this district attorney."
"Why? Do you want to be somebody else?" I ask.
"Well, you know how it is. Sometimes you get sick of wearing one face to the world and want to try something new."
"What are you saying?" I ask. "Are you thinking about making a career change?"
"I don't know. I'm getting tired of the job. The pay isn't that great. The hours are insane. There’re not nearly enough assistant district attorneys. I mean, who wants to work for the government nowadays when you can make so much more in private practice? I had some offers from some firms. The hours are long, but the pay is better, and I still have all those loans to pay off from law school."
"There’re still no guarantees,” I say.
"No, definitely not, and obviously the pay isn't what it used to be. I mean, you're lucky to get, what, seventy, 80 grand for twelve-hour days? But there is one place. You have to bring in the clients and they are a personal injury firm. They take on big fish, mainly corporations that have done wrong, PG&E for one. Remember when there was that explosion in Northern California? The whole cul-de-sac went up in flames, a bunch of houses burned down. Five people died. Ten more were very, very injured with burns over 95% of their bodies? This firm has got that client and others. They need people to do grunt work, make calls, interview, beginner associate stuff. They've been calling me and inviting me over. They've been trying to entice me with profit sharing opportunities, that kind of thing."
"And so, what do you think?" I ask.
"I don't know. Maybe it's just this case it's getting to me, but sometimes I wonder what if I worked somewhere that was just a little bit less intense? What would that be like?"
"I'm not sure that that case is less intense."
"Yeah, but most personal injury lawsuits get settled. You know, you push it hard enough, the company settles, whatever amount. Neither side is fully satisfied, but no one has the expense of court. Of course, if I never go to court, I wonder if I'd miss it. Right now, it's just this pressure to get results. You can't ever lose a case. I mean, that's why 90% of the cases don't even go to trial because people think they're going to lose.”
"Yeah. It's pretty stacked in the district attorney's favor."
"I wouldn't say it's stacked. I would probably say that the DA has the upper hand in terms of deciding when to go to trial. A lot of cases are just not taken to trial because you really only have one shot at it. Double jeopardy and all. You can’t try someone for the same crime twice, so you try to go when you really think you have a case. I think I might have taken this one to trial too early. I mean, we kind of assumed that the body won't be found, but what if it could be? What then? What if we lose this case and this guy goes free?"
We stare at our glasses, avoiding eye contact for a little bit. I commiserate with her, and she commiserates with me.
"I think you're quite good at your job," I say. "I've seen you in court. People believe in you. Don't be discouraged if you lose one case. There’re so many others that you have won and that you have done well with."
"Yeah. Thanks. I appreciate that," Catherine says, reaching over and giving me a little squeeze of the hand.
"But at the same time, you need to do what's best for you. We'll miss you, but I want you to be happy, you know? If you think private practice or this personal injury firm is a good option, give them a chance. At least hear them out, weigh your options, but don't get distracted right now. Finish this case, finish this trial, and then look at the whole situation with fresh eyes."
"Thanks. I will.” Catherine nods.
Chapter 30
Just as I get to my car, I realize that I have forgotten my wallet on the bar. I left it there after I paid for my drinks. After double-checking my purse and finding it empty, I rush back. I come back in, grab it, and as I head back out the door, I spot Thomas Abrams in all his glory, leaning on the side of a tall bar table, smiling that coy smile of his and I'm sure laying the charm on thick with a pretty girl across from him.
I see him out of the corner of my eye and sneak out, but he waves to me, calling my name. I ignore him, but he reaches for me, touching my forearm to get my attention.
"Hey," I say, flipping around.
"Kaitlin, this is Anise," he says.
The woman across from me extends her hand. She has delicate long fingers, maroon nail polish, and big wide cat eyes. Her hair falls down her back.
In every sense of the word, she is beautiful. By the way she moves her body and sits up, I suspect that she's not a cop. She may be involved in law enforcement on some level, but definitely has not been to the police academy. It's kind of a sixth sense of mine, you see your own out there in the wild.
"Nice to meet you, Anise. I'm actually on my way out,” I tell Thomas.
"Oh, come on, join us for a drink," Thomas says. "Kaitlin is an old friend of mine."
"No, thanks."
I don't know if Anise can feel it but there is definite tension, at least coming from my end.
He shrugs his shoulders and then says, "Suit yourself," and orders them another round.
While I hesitate, Thomas puts his arm around her shoulder and gives her a big smooch on the side of her cheek, casual, comfortable.
He wants me to know that he has moved on. I turn to walk away. I hate that I keep falling for his crap. I know who he is, of course, and yet, in social situations, he still gets the better of me.
It’s like some kind of power that he has over me.
What else am I supposed to do in this situation? Throw a drink in his face? Then I'd look like the crazy one. I don't let this ruin my evening, but I feel shaken up.
There's a darkness to him that I have seen on more than a few occasions when he slammed my head into a wall and when he punched me in my stomach.
I kept our so-called relationship private, away from the department because he had more friends and I was worried what it was going to do to my career.
Now it seems to be even worse. Sydney and Catherine are the only ones who know about our relationship, and I have no idea if anyone else suspects a thing.
Since no one knows about the fact that we had dated and then things got very physical on his end, I feel like it's me who has done something wrong. I didn’t.
The secret haunts me. I should've come forward. I should have told Human Resources that we were together.
Then after he hurt me, I should have pressed charges, but I didn’t. I protected him, all in an effort to protect myself.
But the truth is that I have no idea how it would have turned out. They could have taken my side; they could have sanctioned him. There could have been an investigation.
Now, it’s all too late. If I were to bring it up, it's like, well, it happened in the past, and you’ve worked with him all this time, why didn't you say anything?
But the truth is that in the moment, it's difficult to say anything. You're locked into this feeling of horror and hatred for yourself. I just wanted it to end. It happened a few times and that's a few times too many.
As a woman, I feel like a fool, but as a cop I feel like an idiot. How many times have I gone to domestic violence house calls and told those women to press charges, to put their partners in jail?
I did
n't let it get that bad, and luckily, he didn't push it any further. Now, he's playing games, toying with me, knowing full well that we're the only people who know the truth, and he can just be this charming, fun Thomas Abrams that he always is. He's just being friendly, right?
When I get back to the car and press the button to open it, someone touches the back of my shoulder.
"What are you doing here?” I flip my head back and see that it's Thomas, same smile, cock of the head. I can't tell if he's being friendly or toying with me more.
"So, what do you think of Anise?" he asks, holding his arms across his chest.
"I don't know, what am I supposed to think about her?"
"She's pretty cute, huh?"
"She looks like she's twenty years too young for you," I say, challenging him.
He narrows his eyes.
"She's twenty-two. I wouldn't say that's too young."
"Why, because she's not seventeen?"
He leans forward, letting his arms fall to his sides. I'm annoying him. I like that. In private, I could always get the best of him.
"I'm going to go home," I say, reaching for the door, but Thomas puts his hand over it.
A gust of cold air brushes against my spine, and I brace myself, trying to keep the fear at bay.
"You have a problem with this?" I ask, plastering a nonchalant expression on my face and regretting the fact that I don't have my weapon on me.
I'm not supposed to, of course. This was just a friendly place to get a drink, but it would be helpful for protection if absolutely necessary.
"No, you can go, of course. I'm just saying hi," Thomas says, letting go of the car door and taking a few steps away from me.
I don't wait for him to change his mind. I get in the car and just as he leans over and knocks on the window to say something else, I start the engine and drive away.
* * *
On the drive back home, I feel sick to my stomach. I remember the way he stood and I looked at him through the windshield with his arms apart like he had something else to say to me and I wasn't willing to listen.
I'm not. He's playing games. He wanted me to see him with Anise, the model/actress who doesn't know anything about him and thinks that he's just a charming, friendly, older guy with a steady job who could offer her something positive.
She’s wrong.
The reason he keeps coming around is that he wants control over me, and I hate to say it, but he has some. He's able to instill fear in me.
When is this ever going to change? Not unless I leave the LAPD or he does and neither is going to happen anytime soon.
As soon as I get upstairs to my apartment and walk across the threshold, I let out a sigh of relief. I'm safe now.
I know I have a long drive to Big Bear ahead of me, but for a few moments, everything is fine. I don't bother turning on the lights, I just make my way through the dark living room to the kitchen.
Right by the couch, I walk into something unexpected, more like trip over it.
It's a big box. Instead of falling forward, the top of my body collides with another one stacked on top. I land on the floor in a state of panic, and when I scramble to my feet and turn on the light and flip on the lamp on the dining table, I can't believe my eyes.
There are boxes all over the living room floor. Each one is labeled in neat handwriting with words like clothes, kitchen, miscellaneous, books.
"What the heck is this?" I say, looking around.
It's like somebody moved into my apartment overnight. I look at the boxes closer and the handwriting looks familiar. On the dining table, I find a piece of paper with the same handwriting with a letter from Luke.
You said you wanted me to move in.
Well, here I am.
What do you think?
I smile.
We were just joking about it and suddenly, he’s here.
I turn on my phone to FaceTime him.
He answers even though he’s driving. It's pitch black in the car. I see pine trees swishing by him through the side window.
“So, you just moved in?" I ask. "Just like that?"
"Yeah," Luke says with a shrug and a warm smile. There are shadows all over his face, but they don't disguise the kindness in his eyes and the softness of his lips.
"This is crazy.” I laugh, pointing the phone away from me at all of the boxes. "My lease is running out."
"You said you wanted me to move in, I thought I'd give it a shot."
"Yeah, I know. It's a nice surprise."
"Is it?" he asks. "Are you sure?"
I nod.
"Actually, yes. After the evening I've had, especially, I can't wait to have you back here."
"Good."
"And have you pay half the rent, of course," I add.
"Of course.” Luke laughs, taking a sip of his 72-ounce drink. I hear the ice rattling inside, it's iced tea, no doubt.
"You better take it easy with that, it's cold up there."
"I see the snow all around. I think I'm going to get out. I got a notification to put the chains on the tires."
“Now? Man, that’s going to be a pain,” I commiserate.
"Yep.” Luke smiles. "No big deal, part of the job, right?"
"I'm not sure that a lot of FBI agents would agree with you."
"Ah, I like the snow. Breaks up all that summer.” He laughs.
I don't exactly agree with him, but on some occasions, snow can be a quite welcoming sight.
"Sorry I couldn't wait for you so we could go together but I got called in. They found something."
"What?" I ask.
"No, nothing big, but some results from the lab and I need to see the crime scene."
"Yes, of course.” I nod. "It has been a very long day."
"Are you going to drive up tonight?"
"No, I can't. Early tomorrow morning," I say. "I need to get some sleep. Let me know if you find anything else.”
I avoid using the word Violet or body. He knows what I mean. The thing about having a missing member of the family in your life is that you want there to be news. You want to be able to find the truth about what happened, but you also don't really want to find the body.
For as long as she's missing, I don't have an answer. I can still hope that she's okay. Maybe she ran away, maybe she's been taken by someone, but at least she's not dead.
On the other hand, the more time that passes, the more realistic it is that death is the answer. If I were an investigator looking at this case with fresh eyes, I would personally think there's very little hope of finding Violet alive, especially now that Natalie has been found dead.
But what can I do?
How could I not pray and hope of finding her alive? Happy, fine?
How could I not want that for her?
I spend the night in a restless sleep, waking up every few hours and regretting the fact that I haven't driven up to Big Bear already.
Finally, around five a.m., I take a quick shower, pack a small bag with boots and a winter coat, and head up the mountain.
Chapter 31
The roads are empty, and the drive is nothing but enjoyable. I stop by Starbucks in Highland right before I head up the hill, a tall cup of hot tea to keep me warm. I ask the barista to put it in my travel mug so it stays hot in case I have to put chains on the car.
Much to my surprise, I don't. A lot of the snow has been cleared out and it has stopped falling. I drive all the way home to my mom's house with no obstacles whatsoever. I get there right at eight and use my key to get in and decide to make myself some breakfast, an omelet of eggs, cheese, and spinach to warm me up on this cold, thirty-degree day. The weather should settle into the fifties, but that’s at midday. Now, the sun has just started to peek over the lake.
Mom comes out in her bathrobe, her oily hair plastered to her head, no makeup, eyebrows unprimed and unpolished. I rarely see her like this, and after a brief hello, she escapes to the shower to make herself over. Forty minutes later, she
emerges as the mother that I know well. Her hair is poofed up, there's a little bit of makeup on, a little bit of eyeliner brings out her wide set eyes, and the bags beneath her eyes have been covered up with concealer. The eyebrows have been filled in.
The only thing she hasn't done is lipstick, which she only applies when she leaves the house. Still dressed in the bathrobe, she heads to the kitchen and makes herself a pot of coffee. We talk about the weather here and there and about the case that I'm working on in LA.
I tell her about the missing couple and the boat that they were trying to sell, and the mystery surrounding that. She listens carefully, but she seems far away. We're avoiding the topic of conversation that we really should be addressing. But it's just too hard to jump into it.
She knows all about what I’ve found so far about Violet, besides the videos that she made, those I have kept to myself for now. Of course, she doesn't have any more answers than I do. Snow begins to fall outside, unexpected little flurries. They tumble around the pine trees and instead of the sunlight that was streaming in before, now gray rays of light darken the small living room.
"Luke is moving in," I say, trying to share a little bit of good news.
"He is? That's nice."
"Yeah, we're really getting along well. I love spending time with him."
"Do you like spending time with him or do you love him?" Mom asks, narrowing her eyes.
The word love has always made me a little bit uncomfortable, especially in the context of my mother. But there's no point in hiding the truth.
"Yes, I love him," I say.
“So, you think this is it?"
"I don't know. I don't have a crystal ball, but yeah, this is a very serious relationship. I want to be with him and he wants to be with me."
"Good. I've always wanted that for you, Kaitlin. I know that you've always pushed people away. You’ve always found the company of many men more comfortable than just one."
"Okay, the way you say it like that just makes me sound ..."
"Yeah, bad, right?" she asks. ”Well, it isn’t great."
