The Book of Judges

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  “Maura! What is happening? Help me Maura! I was going to strangle her, like you asked me to.” He whimpered, a disgusting noise.

  “Step aside, Ma’am.”

  One officer moved past me, another one picked up my gun. He led me to Izzy where we stood side by side. She was beaten, badly. Her arms bruised like her head. A third officer untied her hands. “I’m going to peel the tape off now, do you think you can handle it?” His voice was gentle.

  Izzy nodded.

  “Brace yourself.” He ripped layer after layer of tape from Izzy’s mouth.

  Tears washed down her cheeks, but she stood firm.

  Behind me, the desk was moved aside with a loud scraping noise.

  “I did it all for my friend.” Ansel’s thin, whiny voice filled my ears.

  I turned. They had him in cuffs and were leading him from behind the desk.

  “Maura, can you find a quiet place where we can ask you some questions?”

  “Of course.”

  The officer put my gun in a bag. My pretty little gun. I squeezed my empty hand into a fist. I could live without it. It wasn’t like it was the only one.

  Two officers took Ansel away in a police car. An ambulance arrived for Izzy.

  Izzy and I stared at each other as they helped her lie down on the cot. Her big, blue eyes confused. Her face a mess of tears and bruises. I had no words for her, and she had none for me. But I knew as I stared at her, that I didn’t hate her.

  More police officers had arrived, and one of them took me to Ethan’s office to talk. The questions seemed simple: Who was I? When did I start getting calls? How did I know to call the cops? How did I know Ansel? How did I know Izzy? Why did I tell Ansel to strangle her? Why did I have a gun?

  I showed them my private investigator’s license. I showed them my conceal-carry permit. I told them about Ansel following me, and my fight with Izzy.

  I must have answered correctly, because, though they told me not to leave the city, they didn’t arrest me for anything.

  I went up to my office like a zombie, my head foggy, confused. I had never been so disconnected from a crime scene. I felt like I was floating above us all, not watching, not listening. Words going in and coming out automatically. My senses had been completely overwhelmed by that sickening, paralyzing desire to pull out my gun and shoot Izzy, and yet knowing that I didn’t hate her. Didn’t want her dead. Didn’t blame her for this mess.

  I had wanted her dead, but when faced with it I had…forgiven her?

  I leaned forward, my face on my hands and tried to pull myself together.

  I hadn’t killed her.

  I had asked him to strangle her.

  But she had wanted me to say it.

  But part of me had wanted him to do it.

  I slid to the floor on my knees and pressed my head to the carpet in the child’s pose from yoga.

  My door opened with a swish. “Maura, are you okay?” Ethan’s voice was tender and concerned.

  I pulled myself up and tried to smile, but it didn’t work. “I don’t think I am.”

  He crouched in front of me, knee-to-knee. “It’s going to be okay.” His voice was low and soft.

  I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. I hadn’t even noticed the tears before. I focused on his eyes, big, brown, warm, inviting. I rocked forward and let him envelope me in his strong arms.

  “It’s all okay now.” He held me close. He smelled like a fall day. “Shh.” He whispered careful nothings, just sounds of comfort.

  I tilted my head to his, and met his full, warm mouth with mine.

  His arms slipped away. “No, I can’t. Oh, Maura, I’m sorry.” He tipped my chin up with his thumb, shaking his head. “You didn’t mean that.”

  I backed away, my face hot with shame.

  He wiped my cheek with his hand. “You don’t want another woman’s husband. Not you. You’re just in shock.” He stood up and walked to the love seat.

  “You’re married?” I sat with a thump. “Oh, God. I didn’t know. Just, shoot me now, okay?”

  “I wouldn’t shoot you for that.” He laughed quietly. “But my friend, you are a hot mess. You can’t stay here by yourself—and not just tonight, every night. You need a home. Go set up a nice apartment somewhere with a kitchen and a dining room and a place to watch TV.”

  I dragged my hand through my hair. “And a shower?”

  “Probably wouldn’t hurt.”

  “I don’t think I can ever look at you again, you know that, right?”

  “Nah, but I won’t say it would be different if neither of us were married. That kind of talk isn’t healthy for anyone. It isn’t different so no point thinking about if it was.”

  “I could have killed Izzy today.”

  “Not you.”

  “It felt like I could have. There she was, with no one to protect her, and I could have…it was up to me if she lived or died. I really think I could have.”

  “Impossible.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because you could have, but you didn’t.”

  I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes. “I’ve got to get out of this office.”

  “Yeah. You know this place has toxic mold, right? I don’t know if I had a chance to tell you that. The tests were positive.”

  “Lovely.” The absurdity of the situation was overwhelming. There was nothing for it but to just buck up. I sat cross-legged and stretched my back. I hadn’t killed her, and I didn’t need to kill myself sleeping in a den of toxic mold.

  “Whatever happened to that friend you were staying with?”

  “Her husband put his foot down. Said I had a perfectly good house to sleep in.” I shrugged. “He’s allergic to cats. And he’s always liked Rick better than me.”

  “Then he’s an idiot.”

  “Everyone always likes him better. He’s a schmoozer. A people pleaser.”

  “Being liked isn’t everything.”

  “True.”

  “Pack your bag. Go get a hotel room. A nice one please, and then get an apartment.” He stood and picked up Rhoda. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “Hotels don’t take cats.” I slipped on my rain coat. “I guess it’s time to go home.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “If that’s what you want, I support it. Home, right now, may not be comfortable, but it’s safe and all your stuff is there.”

  “Very good point.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The hour was pretty late when I made it back to the house. The sun had set, and it was raining again.

  I unlocked the front door to the place I had called home for so long... I hadn’t been inside this structure since I found Izzy here.

  It smelled like home, and that made me so very mad. I dropped the bag that held the few clothes I had been wearing since running away and stared down the hall towards the kitchen. All was dark and quiet.

  I would have said no one was home, but Rick’s car was in the driveway. Rhoda slipped from my arms and stalked into the kitchen, sleek black tail curving behind her.

  I placed my hand on the aged wood bannister and closed my eyes. At nineteen I had slid down the banister into his arms, both of us falling and laughing and then making love in the foyer of his home. Newlyweds, crazy in love, me, not thinking at all about the woman he had kicked out of the house for me. No sympathy for her. No apologies.

  Once a cheater, always a cheater, they say.

  They’re usually right.

  I kicked off my shoes and left them on the front door mat. He hated it when I did that. I almost took a step up but couldn’t. I wanted to leave the shoes there, an act of rebellion so many years later, but I hated it, too. I hated a sloppy house.

  I pushed them to the side, under the bench, next to his loafers.

  Whatever had happened to Diana, the woman he had been living with when we met?

  I sat on the bench and tried to remember.

  First, we had kissed spontaneously on a beach re
treat with the church college group. Rick had been flustered and apologized and hugged me too tightly. Said it was the moment, the beauty of the ocean, the joy of the Lord welling up inside of him.

  Then a few weeks later, a frantic call from Rick…I would understand, and he had to talk to someone. The pastor had found out he was living with Diana. Rick wanted to make it right, but she wouldn’t marry him. Didn’t believe in marriage. What should he do? Follow his calling or his heart?

  I said follow his calling, because I was heartless and wanted him to kiss me again.

  He did both of those things.

  And then, my birthday, and our whirlwind drive to Vegas where he married me, and we returned to Portland to the cautious acceptance of his boss and the disappointment of my parents.

  But what had happened to Diana?

  I didn’t know. After he chose his “calling”, he never mentioned her again.

  But she had picked the curtains for this house, I had a feeling. And the dishes. Or maybe he had, and she had had to live with them, too. Because everything in the house was his possession, even the women.

  I leaned my head back on the wall.

  Poor Izzy. Another young girl suckered by the well-dressed, smooth-talking, man in charge.

  Rhoda meowed from the stairs. I glanced up.

  She was in Rick’s arms.

  His face was ashen, and wet with tears. His foot still strapped in the boot he had to wear because I had run over it.

  He had always been good at crying.

  “I’m so glad you are safe.” He held the cat close to his heart, stroking her ears. He must have been talking to Rhoda.

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  Rick moved slowly, one agonizing step down the maroon carpeted stairs at a time. He sat next to me, his thigh brushing mine.

  My heart responded. Damn it.

  “Yeah. She’s okay. She’s going to go home to her parents.”

  “Good.” I swallowed. “I’m glad.”

  “Home to Boise.”

  How to respond? I didn’t have words.

  He laid his hand on my knee. “I’m a really crappy human.”

  “I know.”

  “But I have always loved you.” He turned to me, cupped my cheeks in his big, rough hands, and kissed me, deeply.

  I melted into his embrace, knowing I would regret it when it was over, but too hungry for his touch to care, too starved for the feeling of being with him, safe from the world outside of us.

  We made love in the foyer, not like newlyweds, but like warriors who found themselves together, after the battle, scarred, scared, and desperate. When we were done, I wept while he held me and whispered those same nothings in my ear that Ethan had whispered.

  Sometime later…an hour? Half an hour? Rick wrapped me in his arms and scooped me into his lap. He ran his fingers through my hair. I couldn’t tell if it was real or a dream, or a nightmare.

  “Three things, Maura. You first.”

  I shook my head.

  “You can do it.” His heart beat against my cheek, where I lay on his chest. “One…”

  “I wouldn’t have dropped out of college.” I found myself playing his game, my responses a reflex to his voice.

  “Two?”

  “I wouldn’t have run over your foot the other night.” My voice came out in a whisper, like it knew I didn’t want to talk.

  “And three?”

  “I would have told my mom we were through.” I pressed my face against his chest, his body warming my lips through the thin layer of T-shirt.

  His embrace tightened around me. “One,” he began. “I wouldn’t have slept with Izzy. Not ever. I would have ignored her cues. I would have walked away when tempted. That’s the most important one. If I could go back, I wouldn’t do it again.” He paused, waiting for me to fawn over his acknowledgment.

  All I did was grip the T-shirt in my fingers. I never wanted to let it go.

  “Two, I would not have called the cops on you that night.” He kissed the top of my head. “And three, I would not have dared you to hit me, either. You throw a really solid punch and it hurt like hell.”

  I tugged on the back of his shirt and pushed his chest with my forehead, rocking him, and trying to hold back a laugh.

  “That was a mistake neither of us would ever make again.” I looked up at him, his hand to his nose.

  He pouted, as though his broken nose still bothered him.

  The laugh escaped. He squeezed me, then pushed me away to look at me, and then pulled me in for another kiss.

  I blocked his effort with the palm of my hand and stood up. “That’s why I regret that I didn’t call my parents. If I had told them we were through this would have never happened.” I shivered, my feet cold on the terracotta floor. “You wish you hadn’t slept with Izzy, but you did. And she thinks you want to leave me for her.”

  He remained seated and leaned back on his arms. “She’s gone. Or going. She’ll be back in Idaho before you know it, a distant, but terrible memory, I swear.”

  I stared at his handsome face, his messy salt and pepper hair. His full lips. He was beautiful. He made my skin crawl.

  “Four.” He started in again.

  “Four? We don’t do four. We do three regrets, then we move on. It’s your little magic formula. Three and then we move on. So, move on.”

  “Four, I would have made you love Jesus, somehow. Some way.”

  “All right. That’s enough.” I stopped where I was and squared up. “You love Jesus during office hours and love yourself the rest of the time. You and I both know that if you had gotten into medical school you’d be working at a hospital instead of a church.” I could have continued, would have, but he just stared at me, a hound dog look on his face. He was full of remorse or a great actor. I didn’t care which. “I’m moving back in. If you don’t like it, you can leave.” I stomped up the stairs like a child.

  “That’s my girl.” He didn’t shout, but I could still hear him.

  I had to admit a night in my own bed felt wonderful. I also had to admit that it felt empty without Rick. The little sofa in my office made my back hurt, and my neck hurt, and my head hurt. But the empty Tempur-pedic bed in my own bedroom made my heart hurt.

  To make an uncomfortable situation worse, Rick was working from home now, and would be around all day.

  I hadn’t gotten up yet. The bed embraced me, and everything smelled so nice like my laundry detergent and the morning air that snuck in through the window I like to keep cracked in the night. But I had my laptop out and I was in the middle of a deep web search for clues to whatever it was Linda Smith was hiding.

  With a piece of tape over my web camera, I dug through the unsearchable websites with my Tor browser. I hunted specifically for unsolved crimes in Indiana from twenty years ago, especially featuring pretty, young ladies. Even with those limits there was a lot to look through. Most of it depressing, some of it fascinating, and none of it seemed to be relevant.

  There was a quiet knock on the bedroom door and Rick stepped in with a cup of coffee. I could smell his special hazelnut blend. It smelled like morning.

  “Good morning, baby.” He settled into his side of the bed and held the cup towards me, but didn’t make me take it.

  “Morning, Rick.” I set my laptop aside and accepted the cup of coffee.

  “How’s the hunt going?”

  “I don’t feel any closer than I did on day one. Adam didn’t have any enemies.”

  “Not even his ex?”

  “She’s the only one. But why would she kill him? I haven’t killed you.”

  “I apologized, and he didn’t. That might make a difference.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. It did not make a difference. Not in the slightest. “We’ve talked. She’s not a killer.”

  “But doesn’t the wronged female have the strongest motive?”

  “They broke up a year ago. Why wait this long to kill him? Seems like a wronged lover would kill
in a fit of passion while the anger was fresh. Plus, in all the murders I’ve ever worked, none were a wronged spouse. And in all of the wronged spouse cases I’ve ever worked—”

  “Which is most of them.”

  “Yes, it is. The bulk of the work I’ve done has been catching cheaters. And none of the wronged spouses have ever resorted to murder.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.”

  “True, but how does the mutilation fit in? If she had castrated him, I could see it. But thumbs and toes? Unless they had some kind of fetish I’m not familiar with…” I rolled my eyes. “I just can’t make that motive fit the crime. Not that she’s off the list entirely, she’s just not my priority.” I sipped the coffee. Strong. Hot. Perfect. Like Rick, and exactly not like Rick at the same time.

  “Want to bounce ideas off me? I’m a good sounding board you know. I have a PhD in it.”

  “What is Linda Smith hiding?”

  “Her age.” He laughed.

  “I’ll bite. How old is she?”

  “She’s passing for fifty, but I know for a fact she is sixty-eight.”

  “Really!” This was a surprise and could influence my search. If she was sixty-eight she wasn’t a ‘young lady’ twenty-five years ago. “How do you know?”

  “She left her wallet in my office once. I had to check her ID to find out who it belonged to. Linda Smith, birthday sixty-eight years ago.”

  “Generic name indicates an alter ego. Altered appearance indicates hiding identity. And now a new age. This is good.” I grabbed my laptop and resumed my search.

  “She didn’t do it, though.” Rick leaned back, arms behind his head.

  “Probably not, but her reason for hiring me doesn’t hold up. It’s already fall, and she wants all homeless kids off the street by Thanksgiving. Never going to happen. Too many kids and too few beds. Nothing that could be said about Adam could interfere with a goal that’s impossible to meet. That means she wants this covered up for some other reason. Until I know that reason, I can’t say for sure she’s not involved.”

  “She’s a good lady.”

  “By good, do you mean nice to look at and flirts with you a lot? Because that does not preclude being a murderer.” I changed my search terms to include Linda’s actual age. I wanted to ignore Rick and get my answers, but I knew from experience that he was right. He was a well-trained sounding board. And if he knew the person I was researching, all the better, because he was observant and had a tremendous memory.