The Disappearance
Page 47
The police find Glenna’s diary, tucked away in a desk drawer in her lonely house. It’s all there, the whole story in detail, from the day she accidentally killed her daughter. The oldest story in the world, and still the saddest: two women fighting over sharing the same man. It didn’t work for Sara and Hagar, and it’s never worked since. Definitely not between a mother and a daughter.
Maria Gonzalez hadn’t lied, as she explains to Judge Ewing, the following day, before a packed and hushed courtroom. She hadn’t been guided all the way down the road, by either prosecution or defense. The prosecution didn’t want to know, and because Luke Garrison had been caught flat-footed by her surprise testimony, he hadn’t followed through as thoroughly as he normally would have.
She did see Joe Allison leave, like she had told the court earlier. But then she had heard quarreling, coming from the other side of the lawn, down by the gazebo. The voices of two women. She knew them instantly: Glenna, the mother, and Emma, the daughter. They were at it again, as they had been so many times in the past. The daughter giving back as good as she got. She was a wild child, Emma. Even by this age, fourteen, no one could tell her what to do.
She couldn’t hear what was being said, but she could hear the rage coming from both of their voices.
Then the yelling had stopped.
She had a sick son waiting for her. She had to go home.
If either side had asked her if anything happened after she saw Joe Allison that night, way back when they were first interviewing her, everything might have turned out differently. But no one did. And although she was reasonably sure Mrs. Lancaster had killed Emma, or at least harmed her, she couldn’t bring herself to voluntarily tell about it. She and her family owed their very existence to Mrs. Lancaster.
No one had asked. She wasn’t going to volunteer anything, not in America. She had learned that from day one of being here—never volunteer anything.
The duty officer gives Joe Allison his effects, he signs for them. He had been the victim of a frameup, as he had claimed all along, from the day he was arrested until now.
There is no apology, no admission from the sheriff or anyone else that they’d made a mistake, that they had almost convicted an innocent man. They deal with him in silence. The only thing Sheriff Williams says to him is, “You were on your way out of town when we arrested you. If I were you, I’d make like this hadn’t happened, and keep going.”
Luke meets with Joe, one last time. They’re in the small room in the jail, where they’ve always met. This time is different. Allison is dressed in civilian clothes, and he’s a free man. He can walk out the door anytime he wants—the same door Luke’s been walking out of these many months.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Allison says awkwardly, to a man he may never see again for the rest of his life. “I really owe you.”
“Yeah,” Luke says dully. “You do owe me. But what you paid me—it wasn’t nearly enough.”
Allison looks surprised, and concerned. “It was everything I had. That’s the truth, you know that. I don’t have a job, and I don’t know where or when I’m going to get one.” He forces a smile. “That job you referred to before? When you were telling me how Doug Lancaster could ruin my career—reading weather reports in Nome, Alaska? That sounds pretty good to me right now.”
“I’m not asking you for more money.”
Allison’s confused. “Then what?” He pauses. “You don’t seem very happy, Luke. You just won a huge case, against tremendous odds. No one thought you had a prayer of winning. You ought to be ecstatic. You’re the hottest lawyer around now. You ought to be celebrating.” He smiles. “Let me take you and your lady out to dinner, okay? Anyplace you want, whatever you want. It’s the least I can do for the man who saved my life.”
Luke stares at him. His stomach feels as agitated as it did after his shooting. “I don’t want to eat with you, Allison. I don’t want to drink with you. I don’t want to have anything to do with you, okay? If I never see you again, that’ll be fine with me,” he says sharply.
Allison is slow on the uptake. “Why are you angry with me? What did I do?”
The anger has been rising for months, ever since Luke discovered that his client was lying to him regularly in a case he’d agreed to take on even though it was supposed to be a stone-cold loser.
“Why am I angry with you? What did you do?”
He loses it. Without warning, even to himself, his hands are around Allison’s neck, he’s slamming the man up against the wall, gripping his neck like his hands are the talons of a bird of prey. “What did you do?” he screams. “You killed her!”
Allison is struggling, tearing at the hands that are choking him. “Leggo—” He tries to scream, to get someone to come in and save him, but Luke’s all over him, way too strong, his voice is a hoarse rasp, barely a whisper.
“So you didn’t commit the actual murder!” Luke cries out. He doesn’t care if anyone comes in now. He doesn’t care about anything at this very moment except to get it out, all of it. “But it’s because of you that she died! It’s because you committed statutory rape. It’s because you were sleeping with her mother, a married woman, a sad, unbalanced, lonely woman who was in love with you! That wasn’t Glenna Lancaster that knocked her daughter to the ground, that was you! It never would have happened if you hadn’t slept with a fourteen-year-old girl! You and the other men who took advantage of her!”
“She wanted to,” Allison manages to gurgle, from lips popping from the pressure on his neck. He’s clawing at Luke’s hands with his fingernails, but Luke’s grasp is too strong.
“She wanted to? She was a kid—it’s not her place to make those decisions. If she’d wanted to play Russian roulette, would you have let her? That poor girl had no chance, not the way you set it up!”
And then, as quickly as it came, his rage is spent, and he lets go. Joe Allison drops to the floor in a heap, gasping for breath.
Luke’s done all the physical violence he’s going to do. “There are two people dead and so many others whose lives are in ruins because of your childish selfishness, your preening narcissism.” He looks down at Allison, quivering on the floor. “I saved your life, yes. And you know what? I’m angry about that. I’m enraged. I’m enraged at myself. For being a part of this.”
He turns away. “We won. Technically, we won. But in the what’s-real-and-right sense, everybody lost. And I’m going to be scarred with that, for the rest of my life.”
Luke does have a celebratory dinner, of sorts, he and Riva with Ferdinand De La Guerra. A quiet dinner at Casa Donna, where the old money eats and he isn’t likely to run into anyone he knows.
“What are your plans?” the old judge asks. He knows Luke is in pain. He’s won big and lost big at the same time.
“I don’t have any. Not professionally. Being a father, that’ll suit me fine for a while.”
He got the worst of his anger out of his system. This is the profession he chose, and this is how things work out sometimes. He did his job—he defended his client to the best of his ability. Anything else was out of his control. You have to let these things go.
“You could stay here,” De La Guerra offers. “You could have a nice practice.”
“Sure. The establishment lawyers love me.”
“You did your job. Everyone respects that. Any one of them would’ve done the same thing.”
“Except not as well,” Riva says.
“Except not as well,” De La Guerra agrees.
Luke shakes his head. “I don’t want to do this. I don’t know what I want to do now. But I know I don’t want to do this, not right now. And I don’t have to.”
He’d sent Doug Lancaster’s check back. The next day, a new one came in its place. The accompanying note read “I offered a reward for finding out who killed my daughter. You found out. I stand by my word. You earned the money. I expect you to cash this. Doug Lancaster.” The check was for half a million dollars.
He doesn’t know if he’ll cash it; but he probably will. The man sincerely wants him to. And to be brutally honest, Doug Lancaster can afford it. Call it blood money, for the grief he caused Luke and everyone else.
They shake hands outside the restaurant. “I don’t know if I did the right thing or the wrong thing,” De La Guerra says. “But it was good to see you in harness again, Luke. You’re still as good as they come.”
“Thanks, old man.”
The judge turns to Riva. “You take care of him. He needs someone good taking care of him.”
“I’ll try,” she promises. “That’s all I can do.”
“I suspect you’ll do very well,” he smiles. “I think you’ll do just fine.”
The parking attendant pulls up in the Cadillac. One last awkward embrace between the old man and the younger one. “Vaya con Dios,” De La Guerra says. “And be careful.”
“And you.”
The old truck is packed. It’s parked outside the rental house. Tomorrow morning the people from Bekins will come to get the rental furniture, and they’ll drive away.
They stand on the balcony, looking at the lights of the city shining down below. “Are you glad you came back?” she asks. “After all is said and done, are you glad you did this?”
“Glad? I don’t know if that’s the right word.” He’s sipping champagne. Not because he won, that’s too hollow. Because it’s over. Because he and Riva are still alive. “But yes,” he reflects, “I think coming back was a good thing. Maybe ‘good’ is the wrong word. A necessary thing.”
“You conquered all your demons.”
“Some of them. The ones that needed it.”
“That’s what I meant.” She smiles. “I like it here. I could live here.”
He regards her half suspiciously. “You think so?”
“Yes.” She turns to him. “It’s still your city, Luke. If you want it to be.”
“I guess,” he says, reluctantly half agreeing. He puts his arm around her, pulls her close. “I guess it could be.”
She gives him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
“I won’t be long.”
She goes inside, turning the lights off behind her, leaving one burning in the kitchen to guide him. He leans against the railing, staring down at the city, the lights laid out like a constellation, a blanket of earthly stars.
He came home a loser in his own mind, and now he doesn’t feel that way about himself anymore. And maybe, at the end of the day, that’s enough.
This is his city again, if he wants it to be. He looks at the lights twinkling at his feet, and he feels some inner peace.
It’s been a long time coming.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
DAVID A. FREEDMAN, J.D., assisted me with the legal aspects of the story, and was especially helpful in the areas of trial law. Terry Lammers, J.D., and Kristofer Kallman, J.D., advised me regarding California law. Chris Carter provided expertise about surfing and the central coastal areas north of Santa Barbara. Terry Cannon, J.D., from the office of the Santa Barbara County District Attorney, helped in areas regarding prosecutorial procedures.
Al Silverman, my editor, who has retired, was, as usual, terrific in working closely with me to make this a better book. I will miss him. Bob Lescher, my agent, was very supportive and helpful, both professionally and personally. I’m also grateful to Elaine Koster and Lori Lipsky at Dutton for their unflagging enthusiasm for this book, and for my overall body of work.
About the Author
J. F. Freedman is the New York Times bestselling author of Against the Wind, The Disappearance, House of Smoke, and In My Dark Dreams, among other titles. He is also an award-winning film and television director, writer, and producer. He lives in California.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1998 by J. F. Freedman
Cover design by Angela Goddard
978-1-4804-2400-5
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