by Lis Wiehl
“You’ve already told us that you have testified over 171 times,” she said. “I guess the meter’s ticking. Is this 172?”
After a pause, Jocelyn found her voice. “Approximately.”
Eli jumped to his feet. “Judge, I object to the sidebar remark about the meter ticking. It’s disrespectful.”
Titus said, “That’s sustained.”
But the damage had been done, and everyone in the room knew it. As a witness for Eli, Jocelyn had shown that memory could be influenced by many things. But once Mia had gotten her hands on her, Mia had also shown that money could influence testimony.
Maybe even buy it.
CHAPTER 22
When Mia came home from the law school and opened the front door, tendrils of eye-watering gray smoke swirled out, undulating under the porch light.
She burst into a run. Where were the kids? Why wasn’t the smoke alarm going off? Coughing, eyes stinging, she followed the source of the smoke into the kitchen, where she found Gabe standing on a chair underneath the smoke alarm. He was holding the battery.
“What happened?” A charred lump that looked like it had once been a white paper bag lay in the sink, floating in water gray with ash.
“I was making popcorn for a snack.” He jumped down from the chair. “I guess it cooked too long.” He looked so nonchalant that Mia wanted to scream.
Her heart began to slow down. “Where’s your sister?”
“In the family room.”
“How many times have I told you to wait by the microwave so you can hear if it’s stopped popping?”
Gabe looked at Mia blankly, as if this admonition was falling on the same deaf ears her original advice had. Smoke was still curling from the vents of the microwave oven.
“Never mind. Just turn on the fan and then open the front and side doors. Maybe we can get some airflow going.” On the way to the family room, she jabbed the thermostat button until it dropped to fifty-five. No point in trying to heat the outdoors.
The smoke was making her cough, but Brooke seemed oblivious. At the sight of Mia, her face lit up.
“Mommy, Mommy, look! I learned how to do a headstand.” Her pink pillow, the one with a cartoon princess on it, was against one wall of the family room. Brooke knelt and pressed the top of her head on it, her hands braced on the floor for balance. She kicked up her legs, got about halfway up, and then fell back.
Undeterred, she demanded, “Hold my legs!”
Mia thought of everything she had to do. The smoke that had to be shooed out somehow, the dinner yet to be made, the pile of unopened mail, the clothes that had to be washed if Brooke was going to have clean pants to wear to school.
And then she remembered yesterday, of how she had thought she’d lost both Gabe and Brooke.
“Okay, honey.”
She stepped forward, and when Brooke tried again, Mia grabbed her legs and lifted them into place up so that the little girl was doing a headstand.
“Wow! Look at you!”
A huge grin split Brooke’s reddening upside-down face. “I know! I’m an expert at this.”
“Great job!” Mia loosened her grip.
“No! You have to keep holding me up, Mommy!” And then Brooke fell silent, seemingly content to work on setting the world’s record for longest assisted headstand.
After what seemed like five minutes, Mia tried to twist her wrist to look at her watch, but Brooke listed sideways. Mia let go. As soon as her feet hit the ground, Brooke started to pout.
“I want to do it again. I need you to help me stay up, Mommy.”
“I can’t right now, honey. I have to make us dinner. And help your brother get the smoke out of the house.”
“But I need you to help me now!” It was the simple logic of kids. For that matter, it was the simple logic of most of the people in Mia’s life. Frank didn’t care what else she had on her plate, just that she take care of the shopping cart case. Even Charlie wanted her to start digging into Scott’s past until it yielded up all his secrets.
“It will have to wait until after dinner.” Which she had better make fast if she wanted to have Brooke bathed and in bed by a decent hour. Which meant checking the freezer and seeing what she had on hand that was heat-and-eat. Preferably nothing that needed to be microwaved.
Gabe was still in the kitchen, but now he was swinging the door open and closed. She wasn’t sure how much it was helping, but the smoke was lessening. Or maybe she was just getting used to it. After rummaging through the freezer, she came up with some frozen orange chicken, Asian mixed vegetables, and precooked brown rice. God bless Trader Joe’s.
“Why don’t you just concentrate on getting rid of the popcorn bag and cleaning out the sink?” she told Gabe. She put a frying pan on the stove, opened all three bags, and dumped them in.
There were days she looked at his dark hair and eyes and saw Scott so strongly she had to bite her lip to keep from crying. But today she also thought of those boys on the videotape. A poor choice, an impulsive mistake—what fourteen- or fifteen-year-old didn’t make them? What good would trying those boys as adults do? She could fill Gabe’s ear with threats about what would happen if he didn’t look both ways, wear his helmet, pay attention to the popcorn in the microwave. But half the time, it seemed to her, the words slithered out his other ear without his even being aware of them. It was hard to believe that bringing the hammer down on those two boys would actually make other kids stop and think.
But if it didn’t deter crime, then what was the purpose of the justice system, the institution Mia had dedicated her life to? Rehabilitation? In that case, only the juvenile justice system was really geared to try to straighten out wrongdoers, regarding kids as more malleable. Adult prisoners were largely forgotten, especially in these days of budget cuts.
Or was the system really about punishment? She thought of the Old Testament, with its eye for an eye. Or one of those countries where thieves were still punished by having a hand lopped off. Could she justify locking up two kids for years and years for a prank gone wrong? Even a prank that had left a woman in a hospital bed? No matter what happened to them, it wouldn’t reverse Tamsin’s injuries.
Gabe came back from throwing the burned bag in the trash. “Mom. I think your food’s burning.”
She had been so engrossed in thought that she had stopped stirring. “Oops!” She avoided Gabe’s eye as she turned off the burner, then divided up the food. Would Brooke eat much of it? Doubtful. To supplement, she put a bagel on her daughter’s plate. What did they have for fruit? Was there some canned pineapple in the cupboard?
The shelves were far less crowded than she remembered. Where were the chili and canned soup and even the SpaghettiOs only Brooke liked? Mia had to go grocery shopping, and soon. Did all fourteen-year-old boys eat as if they had a hollow leg they had to fill up first?
Dinner passed in a blur. She got Gabe to load the dishwasher while she assisted Brooke in two more headstands, then gave her a quick bath and helped her brush her teeth. Mia was so tired that when she lay down by Brooke to read her a story, she worried she might fall asleep before Brooke did.
She had finished one book and was about to start on another when Brooke looked at the photo of Scott that Mia had framed and put by the bed. Her round blue eyes swung back to Mia.
“Are you still mad at Daddy?”
CHAPTER 23
What?” Mia asked as a bubble expanded in her chest. “I’m not mad at Daddy.”
Did Brooke even understand that Scott was dead? Really dead? Sometimes it felt as if her daughter thought the whole thing was temporary.
Brooke didn’t answer.
“Do you think I’m mad at Daddy, honey?” It was getting harder to force out the words past the growing pressure. “Because I’m not.”
Brooke just looked at Mia for a long moment, then closed her eyes.
“Brooke?”
“Be quiet, Mommy. I’m sleeping.”
Are you still mad at Daddy?
She was mad at Scott. Mad at him for dying. Mad at him for drinking. For drinking and driving and dying. And now she was mad at him for cheating on her. For spending money he didn’t have—had never had—to buy his girlfriend a diamond ring. And if Charlie was right, Mia would probably soon be mad at Scott for whatever secret had led to his murder.
Before she went to bed, Mia made sure the house was locked up tight and the alarm set. Normally she only set the alarm when everyone was away from the house. But things were no longer normal, not even the new normal she had fallen into since returning to work. When she passed Gabe’s room she stuck her head in to say hello. He mumbled an answer, his eyes on his computer screen, but then he shook the hair out of his eyes and gave her a sweet smile.
In her room she took a deep breath before opening up the copies of the reports that Charlie had made for her. But she saw only print and the freehand illustration of the accident scene that he had shown her earlier. He hadn’t copied the photos. Mia was grateful for that.
The first page of the accident report contained the sketch of the scene, as well as boxes and blank lines that the responding officer had filled out. Mia’s eyes skittered over them.
Weather condition: overcast
Road condition: damp
Restraints in use: no
Airbag deployment: both driver and passenger side
Accident classification: fatal
The second page held the meat of the report:
Summary of Accident:
V-1, driven by Scott Quinn, was n/b in the n/b lane of Vollhanger Road, when his vehicle veered to the right, drove off the unpaved shoulder, then struck a tree, causing major damage to the right front end of V-1. There were no other vehicles involved. Quinn was declared dead at the scene. POI was 1150 feet south of the north curb line of Hillcrest Drive, and 7 feet west of the west curb line of Vollhanger Road.
Responding Officer’s Statement:
On 4-09-2013 at approximately 11:17 p.m. I was dispatched to a single-car accident in the northbound lane of Vollhanger Road. I arrived at scene within 10 minutes of the original call to find a 2007 Buick LeSabre with extensive damage off to the north side of the road. It was occupied by a deceased male. I photographed the scene, then the Medical Examiner’s Office removed the body and took it to the Coroner.
I interviewed Alvin Turner, who stated that he was traveling north on Vollhanger Road when he observed a blue Buick LeSabre pass him at what appeared to be a high rate of speed. He honked his horn but was ignored. He said the driver appeared to be swerving. About 10 minutes later, he came across the Buick LeSabre, which had left the road and hit a tree. He stopped to assist the driver but found him deceased. He then called 911.
On 4-10-2013 at approximately 2:15 p.m. I interviewed Quinn’s wife, Mia Quinn. She stated that he was in excellent health. She also stated that he had stopped drinking three years earlier.
On 4-11-2013 I received the Toxicology Report from the County Laboratory. The report states that Scott Quinn had a blood alcohol content (BAC) of .06g/110ml.
Conclusion:
Investigation into this matter has concluded that this accident was caused by the actions of Scott Quinn who was on an unfamiliar road late at night and possibly also fatigued, traveling at least 10 miles above the posted speed limit, with a blood alcohol level of .06%. Primary collision factor: Unsafe speed. Associated collision factor would be driving while intoxicated.
How could Charlie read this report and think Scott had been murdered? When it was clear that he had been drunk and careless? With shaking hands, Mia turned to the report the death investigator had prepared.
External Examination Report:
The body is clad in black dress pants and black underwear, a sleeveless white undershirt, and a white-and-blue striped dress shirt.
In her mind’s eye, Mia clearly saw that shirt. It had been Scott’s favorite as well as hers. The stripes were three slightly different shades of blue on a white background. The cuffs and collar were lined in crisp navy-blue paisley, which Mia had always thought of as a little surprise, like an inside joke.
When she learned he was dead, she had wanted him to be dressed in that shirt before he was cremated. She had imagined its smooth cotton wrapping him tight, skimming over his muscled arms and torso. Before she had gone to the funeral home that morning to make the arrangements, she had searched the house high and low for it, even gone to the dry cleaner.
Only when Mia had given up and gone to the funeral home empty-handed had she realized he had died in that shirt. The manager of the funeral home had brought her Scott’s things in a stained brown paper bag and asked what she wanted him to do with them. When she opened it, there was the shirt, stiff and dark with blood, sliced next to the buttons and up the sides where the paramedics had cut it off him. Mia had let out a little cry and then pressed it against her lips for a moment, while the manager averted his eyes.
Eventually she folded up the shirt and put it back in the bag. She took Scott’s wallet and told the manager to throw away the bloody clothes.
The body is that of a well-developed, well-nourished white male, 72 inches, 181 pounds, appears the 36 years as reported. The body is cool.
But Scott was always so warm. She still missed the sheer comforting warmth of him at night.
The corneas are clear, irises brown, conjunctiva pale and have no petechial hemorrhages. The ears have normal shape (see injuries above and behind the left ear). The nasal septum is in the midline and the nostrils have some blood. The lips are unremarkable.
Unremarkable lips? Then they couldn’t be talking about Scott. His lips were anything but unremarkable. They betrayed every emotion, full when he was relaxed, pressed together in a tight white line when he was angry. Sometimes Mia still imagined she could feel them touching the back of her neck. When she was working in the kitchen or holding one of the kids on her lap, he had liked to come up behind her, lift her hair off her nape, and kiss her there.
The teeth are natural. Several loose teeth are found on the tongue in the mouth. The neck is symmetrical. The abdomen is flat. The lower extremities are symmetrical. The upper extremities are symmetrically formed and the right has deformity due to injury. The fingernails are short, evenly cut, and intact.
There are injuries to the right side of the chest, abdomen, pelvis, and ribs. There are blunt-force injuries to the left side of the head. The facial bones, including nasal, left cheekbone, left upper jaw, and left lower jaw, exhibit depressed fractures.
A chest tap yielded 100 ml of blood, indicating a torn aorta.
Probable cause of death:
Multiple blunt-force injuries due to vehicular accident.
Mia cupped the left side of her face while she moved her head to the right. In her mind’s eye she saw Scott’s unbelted body slamming into the passenger side door. It didn’t seem possible that the injuries to the left side of his face had happened in the accident.
So was Charlie right?
But if Scott had been beaten to death, they would never be able to match a suspect weapon to the depressed fractures the death investigator had noted on the left side of his skull.
Not when Scott was now fine gray ash.
CHAPTER 24
Scott Quinn had been pretty handy. At least for a while. He could take a business that was turning a profit and make it look poor on paper. That way you could keep your money and not have to share it with the various city, county, state, and federal governments that always had their hands in your pockets. For a price, Quinn would even keep a second set of books, a more accurate accounting that you could show the bank but not the tax man.
Then, far too late, the idiot had decided he should get a conscience. That certain things weren’t acceptable. Like he could pick and choose. Fraud and tax evasion were okay, but selling coke wasn’t?
Despite his skills, Quinn had quickly become a liability. One that Vin had had to eliminate.
Now he had been dead for months.
S
o why wouldn’t his wife let him stay dead?
CHAPTER 25
WEDNESDAY
Mia felt like she had just gone to sleep when her phone rang. She forced one eye open, then the other: 5:37. The caller ID on her phone read Frank D’Amato.
“Hello?” Mia tried to sound awake.
“Two things.” No preface, no apologies for waking her. “First, I just got a heads-up that KNWS has the footage of the cart being dropped as well as of it hitting Tamsin. They’re going to lead with it on the six o’clock morning news.”
Mia groaned. “Who gave it to them?” The last thing they needed was a media circus. Once it was out, the video was bound to go viral.
“Who knows? All I know is that people are going to be asking a lot of questions, and I want to have answers for them.”
“Do we have names yet of the kids who dropped it?” She resisted the urge to pull the covers over her head.
“That’s the second thing. We not only have the names of the kids, we’ve got the kids. They were taken into custody about an hour ago. Their names are Dylan Dunford and Jackson Buckle.”
The only paper she had handy was Scott’s accident report. Mia turned it over and scrawled their names on the back, getting Frank to spell them. “How old are they?”
“Fifteen. Both of them.”
As Frank had guessed, too young to be automatically tried as adults. Now Mia had a little less than forty-eight hours to decide what charge was best: for Tamsin, for her family, for the boys themselves, and for society.
“I’ll call Charlie.” Mia rapidly made a list of what needed to be done. “We’ll start with their schools, and then we’ll interview the neighbors and family members.” She wanted to begin with the most objective observers and work her way in to the boys’ families, who would probably offer her a less than unbiased view of them.
“You got lucky. I understand they live in the same apartment complex and go to the same school. In fact, it’s the same school Manny goes to.”
