by Leigh Adams
There were dozens of pictures on the page: Flip and Sil at junior prom at Hillsboro Consolidated High School in Hillsboro, Oklahoma; Flip and Sil at senior prom; Flip and Sil on the beach; Flip and Sil in a convertible with the top down. Beneath those, there were pictures of Flip in uniform, sometimes by himself and sometimes with other people. There was that picture of the whole basic class on the day of their graduation that Frank had also found somewhere else. There was a formal photographic portrait in dress uniform.
She scrolled a little more and stopped: here was a photograph labeled “Flip and Kev,” and the “Kev” was very definitely Ozgo. Kate stared at the picture as if it could tell her something, but all it did was confirm what she already knew. Before the attack, Ozgo had been young and fresh faced and probably a little naïve. He’d certainly not been the kind of person you’d expect to end up being on trial for kidnapping and arson.
Outside the computer room’s small window, the sun was coming up, and Kate could hear sounds in the rest of the townhouse: water running and people moving around. She went back to flipping through the pages Frank had bookmarked for her. There was a feature on CNN about how soldiers’ families tried to help protect them by buying them extra body armor.
She was listlessly scanning through the piece when she saw a picture that looked familiar but wasn’t exactly. There were no people in it, just what looked at first sight like a fighter jet. Kate looked at the caption.
The X980 Barrier Drone is implicated in six separate friendly fire incidents and is believed by soldiers to be dangerous whenever it is used.
Kate stared at the picture for a little longer, then maximized the image.
She stared at the tip of the drone’s nose.
Painted there was the legend “X980,” but above it read, “Robotix.”
***
Breakfast was not a happy meal. Frank was calm enough, but Jack was furious. He was furious about the window. He was furious about her trip to Baltimore, even though he hadn’t been at the time. He was furious about everything.
Usually, Jack’s anger took the form of lengthy, oddly adult-sounding lectures. This morning, it took the form of stubborn silence. Kate couldn’t get him to tell her what he was working on, what he was doing with the track team, what he was reading, or even what video game he was playing in his spare time. Questions were met with monosyllables, when they were met with anything at all. All of Jack’s longer sentences were directed at Frank. Frank looked increasingly bemused.
Jack had marched out of the kitchen without a good-bye to anybody when the doorbell rang. Jack got it on his way out.
“Oh, you,” he said.
Kate got up to find out who the “you” was, but by then, Tom had come all the way back and was standing in the kitchen door.
“Not a good morning, I take it?” Tom said as he came in and sat down.
“Jack’s just being thirteen this morning,” Frank said mildly. “Tomorrow he’ll take another whack at being fifty-three. You want some coffee?”
“No,” Tom said, surprising Frank. “We’re in something of a hurry. I just came to pick up Kate.”
“You never pick me up,” Kate said.
“I’ve decided it’s more sensible than letting you wander around on your own,” Tom said. “And I’ve got news, which you may or may not have heard.”
“What news?” Kate asked. She was still standing. It made her feel a little silly. She sat down. She wanted more coffee, even if Tom didn’t.
She poured herself a cup.
“I thought you’d stopped talking to me,” she said.
Tom brushed this statement away.
“Have you been listening to the news?” Tom asked.
“If you mean the news about Flanagan dying,” Kate said, “yes, I did. It would have been hard to avoid it.”
“Did the news report that the body had been in the water more than twenty-four hours?”
That hit home. “Wait,” Kate said. “That would mean that it had to have happened on the night that we went over there.”
“Exactly.”
“My God,” Kate said. She went back over their meeting with Flanagan in her head. Then she bit the bullet and decided to tell Tom what she hadn’t told him, because she was afraid he’d be furious with her. “You know when you were in talking to Flanagan?” she asked.
“I do,” Tom said ruefully. “We had a bar brawl without the bar.”
“I got out of the car and went next door,” Kate said. “To the house on the right. There’s an old lady over there named Lucy Leeds.”
“You think she might have seen something? Later that night, maybe, after we left?”
“She’s got binoculars and not a whole lot else to do.”
***
It was a good thing Tom had decided to let Kate use his partner’s reserved seat, because the courthouse and everything near it had exploded into madness. Kate remembered the very first day of the trial. She’d thought that was insane, but this was much, much worse. For one thing, there were many more people. As eager as the public had been to see the opening of the trial, they had been nowhere near as interested as they now were at the close. There was so much pushing and shoving, the police had had to put up a cordon around the courthouse steps. Two police officers stood right in front of the ascent to the court’s front door and stopped every person trying to get through, asking for identification and destination.
The crowd was packed in so closely, Tom didn’t even try to navigate it. He parked his standard unmarked police car in one of the police spaces and took Kate around the back to where the professionals went in.
“Technically, I shouldn’t be doing this,” he said, “but it’s this or wait for an hour and maybe not get in even then.”
Kate didn’t argue. The crowd made her feel claustrophobic.
She let Tom guide her through the back entrance and then through the series of halls that came out, surprisingly, right in the front lobby. There was a security guard there, too, but as soon as she saw Tom, she smiled.
“Wouldn’t brave the howling mob?” she said. “You always were a wuss, Tom.”
“I didn’t have the time,” Tom said. “You heard about Flanagan?”
“Everybody’s heard about it. And everybody’s been talking about it, you can bet on that. The news is full of it. And the gossip is full of it.”
“What I want to know is whether we’re even going to have court today,” Tom said. “I know he wasn’t the prosecutor, and we’ve got everybody we need to close up, but he was the lead detective, and this has to throw a wrench into the proceedings somehow.”
“Maybe they’ll ask for a postponement,” the guard said. “I’ll tell you one thing, the judge is not happy, because we were told to be strict about collecting cell phones and things today. Which brings me to—”
Tom took out his cell phone, then turned to Kate. Kate took out hers and handed it over. The policewoman put both cell phones in a single manila envelope and put Tom’s name on it. Then she dropped it into a box of similar envelopes.
“I guess we ought to go in there and see what’s happening,” he said. “Have as good a day as this one will let you, Sharon.”
“Don’t worry about it. No matter what else this day is, it’s going to be a great excuse for a little extra wine after dinner.”
Tom steered Kate in through the doors of the courtroom that had played host for two weeks to the trial of Kevin Ozgo.
“This is going to get really awful,” Kate said. “Media armageddon.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tom said. “These days, media armageddon is standard operating procedure.”
Kate looked around her. Richard Hamilton was in his usual seat, and so was Chan. Closing arguments were about to begin, which meant all the witnesses had already been called and heard. Chan sat ramrod straight, her back not touching the back of the bench in any way. She looked like she’d been turned to stone.
In front of Chan, just past the w
ooden barrier, Ozgo was not sitting but half collapsed, a puddle of sheer terror. His body was shaking, just as it had been on that first day, but now the shaking was subdued, more like pond ripples than full tremors. His face, on the other hand, was immobile. His eyes were blank and dead.
“I wish there was a way to talk to him,” Kate said. “If anybody knows something about all this, it should be him. But nobody except his lawyers can get to him.”
Tom looked bemused. “Of course other people can get to him,” he said. “He can talk to anybody he wants to. There’s the presumption of innocence.”
Kate frowned. “But the police take him back to jail. He didn’t get bail, so—”
“He got bail,” Tom said patiently. “He just couldn’t make it. He didn’t have the money and he didn’t have the collateral to put up for a bondsman. But he doesn’t go back to jail every time the court breaks for lunch or calls a recess. There’s a couple of rooms in the back where defendants without bail are held when they’re not in court.”
“And he can talk to anybody he wants to?” Kate looked back at Ozgo.
“Well, his lawyer might have something to say about it,” Tom said, “if Ozgo wanted to listen to him. And if I was Ozgo’s lawyer, I’d try to make sure he was kept out of contact at all times. There have to be three dozen reporters all trying to find a way in, and talking to reporters is one thing Ozgo shouldn’t do.”
Kate frowned. “But if you went to him and asked him to see you and he said yes, you could talk to him?”
Tom gave her a quizzical look. “I don’t know what’s on your mind, but Ozgo is not going to talk to you. From what I’ve heard, he barely talks to his own lawyer, and I know he’s refused to see Chan at least three times now.”
“Where is the room where they take him? Can you just walk to it from here?”
“It’s in the building, if that’s what you mean.”
“I meant do you have to have official permission or that kind of thing?”
“You have to send in a request with the officer. The officer will probably ask the lawyers if they’re around to be asked. I’m serious, Kate. What is it you’re trying to do?”
“It has to make sense,” Kate said. “If Ozgo kidnapped Chan, then it makes sense because all Richard Hamilton is doing is trying to make sure that the person who hurt his daughter is punished. But if Ozgo didn’t kidnap Chan, then there has to be some reason somebody would want to frame him for it. To frame him, in particular. And today could be the last day of the trial.”
“It probably will be the last day of the trial.”
“If it’s the last day of the trial,” Kate said, “this might be the last chance we’ll have to talk to him face to face, if that’s possible at all. And it has to be me who talks to him, because you know he won’t trust you. So if you have a way to get me in there, I think you should do it first chance you get.”
***
First they all rose. Then the judge came in. Then the judge sat down. Then they all sat down. Finally, there were what sounded like a thousand cries of, “Your honor, may I approach the bench?”
“Evans looks like he’s about to croak,” Tom said.
“But why?” Kate said. “You said it yourself. Flanagan wasn’t the prosecutor. He’s a policeman. And he’s already given his testimony. So why should his dying make any difference?”
“If I was Brayde, I’d ask for a mistrial,” Tom said. “The most important witness suddenly dead? And not able to testify at any subsequent trial? I don’t think he’d get it, but if I were him, I’d ask.”
The lawyers—a whole passel of them now, with the prosecution’s associate counsel crammed in together—were arguing furiously, but the words came through only as fuzzy mumbles. Kate looked over at Ozgo and the Hamiltons. Ozgo had no expression on his face. Richard Hamilton looked bored. Chan was honestly interested, training her eyes on the lawyers at the bench and frowning.
Finally, the judge sat back, looking exasperated.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I don’t disagree that this is a serious matter. I do disagree that this is a serious matter for this court at this time. We’re at the end of a complicated trial. We’re ready to hear closing arguments. It’s in the best interests of the defendant and of the rest of us if we get this done.”
“I completely agree,” Evans said. He sounded triumphant.
Brayde was scowling. “Your honor—”
“Mr. Brayde,” the judge said, “I’m willing to go this far. We’ll take half an hour of recess. You can regroup as much as you feel you need to. You’ll all be back here at twenty minutes to ten. And then we’ll go on. Is that understood?”
“Your honor!” Brayde said.
The judge gave him a look, and Brayde receded.
Then they all rose again, and Ozgo was led out.
Kate watched him go.
“Are they taking him to that place you told me about?”
“I want to know what you think you’re doing.”
“We only have half an hour,” Kate pleaded.
Tom hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he stood up abruptly and started making his way out of the courtroom.
Kate had to hurry to keep up. She had no idea where she was, although she had noticed that every one of the wall sconces were topped with molded plaster fleurs-de-lis.
When they got to the table with the police officer sitting at it, Kate was out of breath. The officer smiled at Tom and said, “You know better, Tom. Defense counsel left explicit instructions that no police personnel were to be allowed in to see the defendant during trial.”
“I don’t want to be let in to see the defendant,” Tom said. “She does.” He cocked his head at Kate.
The officer raised an eyebrow.
“I think he might be willing to see me,” Kate said. “I’m worried about him, and I thought I’d check it out.”
“And you’re somebody he knows?”
Kate skirted that one. “He may not remember me, but I’m sure he’ll remember Flip. Flip was his best friend in basic.”
“Flip,” the officer said.
Kate felt as if she could hardly manage to suck in air. “Just tell him that Sil is here. Flip’s girlfriend Sil is here and she just wants . . . I just want to know how he’s holding up and if he needs anything. Just that.”
“Your name is Sil?” the officer said.
“Short for Silvia.”
“I got that part,” the officer said.
“And Flip’s a nickname, too. His real name is Robert. Robert Edward Jr. But everybody always calls him Flip.”
“Just a minute,” the officer said.
She got up, left the table, and went through the door at the back of it. The door closed behind her with an audible click.
Tom gave Kate a long, distrustful stare and a disbelieving eyebrow raise.
The door opened and the police officer came out, looking more than a little surprised.
“I’ll admit, I didn’t expect that,” she said. “He perked right up. You do understand, if you’re a reporter, we can arrest you for—”
Kate didn’t want to know what she could be arrested for, although she was sure it included a long list of things that would sound terrifying if she heard it.
“I’m not a reporter,” she promised, hurrying around the table to the door and going through as the police officer held it open to her.
“Five minutes,” the officer said. “Then I’ll give you a warning.”
Kate rushed into the room and let the door shut behind her. Ozgo stood by the window, staring out. He looked even frailer and more vulnerable up close than he had in the courtroom. The room was tiny and boxy and not very comfortable. There was another table with three chairs, all with arms. There were four bare white walls. There was a single bottle of water on the table, open, with its cap nowhere to be seen.
Kate stood where she was. Nothing happened. She gave a little cough.
Ozgo heaved an enormous sigh and turned around
to face her. Kate hadn’t thought beyond getting into the room, but she had thought she’d be able to work something up when she finally got there.
She didn’t have a chance.
At first, Ozgo only frowned at her, seeming confused, but almost immediately after, he stepped back, as far as he could go, all the way to the window. The window had mesh in it, so he couldn’t fall out or escape. But he pressed back against it anyway.
“You’re not Sil,” he whispered. Then he opened his mouth and began to scream. “You’re going to kill me! You’re going to kill me!”
He repeated that over and over, as loud as he could make it, until four uniformed police officers burst through the door.
***
To say that all hell broke loose was putting it mildly, but to Kate, as it happened, it seemed to be a long string of unrelated explosions, none of them connected to any other.
Ozgo went on screaming for what felt like forever. “You think I killed Rafael!” he said. The words came out in a high-pitched shriek. Kate had heard him speak once or twice on the news, and this was nothing like that. “You’re going to kill me! You came here to kill me!”
If Kate had been thinking straight, she would have responded differently. Instead, she plunged her hand into her bag and came up with her soothing rock, the same one that had been thrown through the living room window, and tossed it to him.
Kate had no idea what she was doing. Ozgo didn’t catch the rock or reach out to it like to a lifeline. He just screamed louder and jumped away. The rock hit the windowpane and the glass cracked. The sound was like a bullet going off in the tiny room, and Ozgo was out of control.
The police, who had burst in when Ozgo first started screaming, must have thought she was trying to kill him, too. One of them tackled her and brought her crashing down to the floor. Kate hit the wood with the entire right half of her body. She only managed to avoid hitting her head on that same floor by a hair.
At first, her shoulder and side were numb, but the pain came on quickly, and it was made worse by the fact that the police officer who had tackled her was now rolling her over on her stomach and pulling her arms back.
