Sidetracked-Kobo

by Brandilyn Collins

  Her dad hired a lawyer. Devlon Brooks, supposedly the best of the best. He looked older than her father, maybe in his fifties. Graying hair and a smooth face. Unlike Detective Standish he dressed in nice suits and ties. He met with Laura numerous times in the glass-walled visiting rooms within straight eye-shot of the people working the desk. The first time they met her lawyer told Laura the “straight-out truth.” She’d be in the hall until her trial—maybe six months away. He needed that long to prepare.

  At that, Laura went cold.

  They had a lot against her, Devlon said. (He insisted she call him by his first name.) The shoes hidden in her closet had her mom’s blood on them. Rushed DNA analysis had proven that. And the blood on the tops was spatter, like Detective Standish had told her. The only way that could happen? Those shoes had to be at the scene when her mom was being beaten. They also had the murder weapon—the hammer—with her mom’s blood on it, plus Laura’s fingerprints. That, too, had been found in Laura’s closet. Plus there was the ten minutes of extra time she couldn’t account for. Not that she could prove, anyway. And then there was the inheritance, half of her mother’s estate. That provided the motive.

  “I didn’t know anything about that inheritance,” Laura said.

  Devlon nodded.

  “And of course my fingerprints are on the hammer. I’d used it just the week before.”

  “We’ll make sure you get to say that in court.”

  “I didn’t kill my mother. I didn’t wear those shoes and hide them. I didn’t hit her with a hammer. I didn’t do any of that stuff.”

  “Who would have done this, Laura?”

  She had no idea. Certainly not her dad. Besides, she’d learned Detective Standish had cleared him within hours of the murder. He’d been in his office at work. “Whoever it was made it look like I did it.” Why would anyone want to do that?

  Her father visited as often as he was allowed. At first they talked about nothing but her case. After awhile Laura started asking him about the neighborhood, his work. Had he talked to any of her friends? Kylie and a few others had called a couple of times, he told her. They knew she was innocent.

  At least there was that. Something to cling to.

  She asked him to tell them to write her. She could receive letters. How she wanted to hear firsthand from her friends. He said he would.

  Laura lived for her father’s visits. They were all she had. Until he began to change.

  At first she told herself he just had a lot on his mind. Maybe problems at work. Or he was especially missing her mother. But his next visit was no better. And during the one after that he could hardly talk to her. Which ticked her off. She’d lost her mother too. And she was the one living in this pit.

  “What’s the matter with you?” She kicked the metal leg of her chair.

  Her dad gave her a long, dark look. “There’s a lot of evidence against you, Laura.”

  Like she didn’t know that.

  “That’s what Devlon’s for. To prove I didn’t do it.”

  His gaze shifted to the floor. He sat there a long time, fear and dread and … something else flicking across his face. “Did you?”

  He said it so quietly, still focused on the floor, that at first she wasn’t sure she’d heard him. “What?”

  Slowly he raised his head to look her in the eye. “Did you kill your mother?”

  The words shot ice through her stomach. Laura couldn’t move. Couldn’t talk. She concentrated on her breathing. In … out. In … out. If she was breathing she must be alive.

  “I can’t believe you’re asking me that.” Her words came out raspy.

  Her father looked away.

  They had nothing more to say to each other. After five minutes of silence, of looking around the glass walls like they were strangers, Laura got up to go back to her room.

  Chapter 10

  Laura first heard about her father’s girlfriend in a letter from Kylie.

  She’d been in the hall four and a half months. Her trial was five weeks away. She was counting the days. Once the trial was over, she could finally go home. It would be a home without her mother, and that would be bad enough. But at least she wouldn’t be here, treated like some cold-blooded criminal. Even the other girls in the hall whispered about her. “She killed her own mother.”

  Laura wanted to slap them, punch in their faces. But she’d seen the extra punishment people got for fighting—no time out of their rooms, for instance. Besides, if she hit anyone, it would only prove their point. She was violent. A girl who was capable of bashing in her mother’s skull with a hammer would be capable of anything.

  Hey, Laura, the letter started. Hope you are doing okay in there.

  Kylie told her about classes at school, which had just started. Who was now dating, who had broken up. How there was a new girl, really pretty, and all the guys were falling all over her. Kylie thought she was stuck up, herself. Then came the paragraph that made Laura’s heart stop.

  So who’s your dad’s girlfriend? Me and Evy went over to your house one Saturday to see him. Just to say hi and say we were thinking about him. She was there. He acted embarrassed that we saw her. Maybe because it hasn’t been that long since your mom’s death. At least that’s what I was thinking. Evy said the same thing on the way home. Like—really? Isn’t that kind of random? Anyway, he stepped out on the porch and talked to us. She stayed inside . . .

  Laura read the paragraph three times. A girlfriend? Visiting at her house? Less than five months after her mother died?

  She felt sick.

  Last thing she wanted was to go home and see her dad with some other woman. How unfair was that to her mom? How could he do this? No wonder he’d been acting so weird during their visits. The last two weeks he hadn’t come at all.

  A week after Laura received the letter he finally showed up. Laura had thought about little else for the last seven days. She took no time getting to the point. “I hear you have a girlfriend.”

  He pulled his head back, then tilted it. As if to say I knew your friends would tell on me.

  “Who is she? And why are you with her?”

  Her dad raised a hand. “I just … It’s hard to explain it to you, Laura. I’ve just been so lonely.”

  Like she hadn’t?

  “You can’t be with someone else, Dad! That’s just so … rude.”

  He shook his head.

  “Mom would never do this, if it was the other way around.”

  Her dad flinched. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just did.”

  “Who is she?”

  He laced and unlaced his fingers. “Her name’s Tina.”

  “Tina what?”

  “Fulder.”

  “Fulder? What kind of name is that?”

  No answer.

  Laura folded her arms. “What does she do?” Probably some ditz in that mortgage company he worked in.

  “She’s a policewoman.”

  “She’s a cop?”

  He nodded.

  Laura’s limbs stiffened. She shot to her feet and paced the room. Kicked her chair. Out the corner of her eye she saw Tats, the big guy behind the desk with decorated biceps, eyeing her through the glass walls. Fine. He could look all he wanted.

  “How could you do this?” She leaned over her father, who sat there like some caught little boy. “A cop?” She’d grown to hate those people. A cop had accused her of killing her mom, slapped cuffs on her. Another cop had put on the leg chains. Drove her here to this dump. Nobody in the hall liked the police, nobody. Least of all her.

  “She’s a good woman, Laura.”

  “She’s a slut!” Laura kicked her chair again. “Hanging around you when you just lost your wife.”

  “She … makes me feel better.”

  “Well, good for you.”

  Her father’s expression changed. He looked up at her, eyes narrowing. “Don’t you talk to me like that.”

>   “How do you expect me to talk! I have to hear from my best friend that you’ve got a girlfriend? What’s gonna happen when I get home? I don’t want to see you with her. I won’t let her into the house!”

  “It’s my house, too, Laura. In fact, I pay the bills.”

  “My mother’s inheritance paid for that house, in case you forgot. And now you’re bringing some other woman into it.”

  Her father’s cheeks reddened. He stood up. “I won’t stay here and listen to you talk like this.”

  “Fine, go! Why’d you come at all?”

  He faced her, breathing hard. “Because I still don’t want to believe the truth. Because I still want you to convince me you’re not guilty.”

  The truth? The word pierced Laura to the core. She grabbed onto the back of her chair, squeezed it hard. Then, suddenly, she got it. All the pieces came flying into place. A girlfriend—who was a cop. Who had to believe, like all her other colleagues, that Laura was guilty. This woman, this Tina Fulder, was not only moving in on her father just after he lost his wife. She was telling him his daughter was to blame.

  “She did this to you, didn’t she?” Laura’s voice was low.

  Her dad ran a hand down his face. “There’s all the evidence …”

  “You didn’t believe the ‘evidence’ before.”

  “I don’t want to believe it now.”

  “Then don’t.”

  He hung his head.

  Something in Laura died that minute. With her standing there, feeling the gumminess of her flip-flops, the stares of Tats, like he might have to come break up a fight. The dirtiness of the visiting room floor, its dusty smell and glass walls. Her dad looking totally removed from her. He might as well have been standing on the other side of the building.

  She’d lost her mother. Her freedom. Her respect. Her life. Even God seemed to have turned His back. All she’d had left was her father. Now she’d lost him.

  To a cop.

  If her own father didn’t believe in her, how could her mother ever receive justice?

  Laura’s insides went to jelly. Then froze solid. Like she’d learned to do before, she concentrated on breathing. In … out. In … out. When she opened her mouth, the words could only croak.

  “Don’t come back here. I’ll see you at my trial. Where everyone else, at least, will believe me.”

  Laura flung back the door and stalked away from the one person she needed the most.

  April 2013

  Chapter 11

  As soon as I clicked off the call with Cheryl King, I drove to her house, praying all the way. I could straighten out the false rumor she had heard about my spotting Billy the previous night. But how to calm the heart of a mother who was terrified for her son? Especially when I was terrified too. I knew how easily Billy’s interrogation could go wrong.

  As I pulled up to the curb in front of the Kings’ house, I saw Cheryl peeking out the window. I’d told her I would be right over. She met me on the porch.

  “I’m so sorry.” I gave her a hug. She stiffened in my arms.

  “Come on inside.” She barely bothered to hold the door open for me.

  We sat in two sofas in her living room, facing each other. Both of us perched on the edges of our seats. “Look.” I held up a hand. “I did not see Billy last night. I never said I saw him. In fact, when Chief Melcher asked me about it, I insisted I hadn’t seen him.”

  Cheryl blinked. “Then who told Bruce that Billy was anywhere near that area?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Cheryl searched the carpet, as if the answer lay there. Anguish stretched her face.

  I closed my eyes. How much to tell her? I couldn’t let a mother hurt like this. But dare I ignore Chief Melcher’s threat to arrest me if I “interfered” in his investigation?

  “What is it? I see it all over your face, Delanie Miller. What do you know?”

  I gazed at her, pulling my upper lip between my teeth. I could feel my world teeter. Again.

  “What?” Cheryl leaned forward, hands balled in her lap.

  “I … did see someone last night. A man in the shadows of the Graysons’ yard.” Surely this information was wending its way through town already. If I didn’t tell Cheryl, she’d hear it soon on her own. “But I know it wasn’t Billy.”

  “How do you know?” Her expression changed. “I mean, I know it wasn’t. But how do you know?”

  “He was too short.”

  “Did you see his face?”

  “No.”

  Cheryl leaned back against the couch. “At least it’s something.”

  Apparently not enough for Chief Melcher.

  She ran a hand across her forehead. “Maybe the chief will just question Billy and let him go.”

  “I’m sure he will.”

  “Because I know Billy wasn’t anywhere near Brewer last night. Why would he be? That’s six blocks from here.”

  It would be easy enough to mistake someone’s identity in the dark. “He gets off work from McDonalds at nine, right?”

  “Yes. Sometimes he has to stay a little over and do some cleaning up. But then he always drives right home.”

  “Did you tell Chief Melcher that?”

  “Of course, but he didn’t seem to care. Said he needed to hear it from Billy.”

  “Do you know what time Billy got home last night?” The timing was so very important. How well I knew what a difference ten minutes could make.

  “Shortly after nine. Doesn’t take long to drive here from the restaurant. I told the chief that too.”

  “And you know Billy stayed here and didn’t leave again?”

  Cheryl’s face hardened. “Why would he leave? Where’s he gonna go at night in this little town?”

  “I understand. It’s just that the chief’s bound to ask your son if he stayed home. If you can back up his alibi, it would really help.”

  “He stayed home.” Cheryl’s voice was firm. “I know he did.”

  We looked at each other. Something about her—a flinching around her eyes?—gave me the impression she was lying. Maybe it was her emphasis on the word know. A chill trickled through me. If I’d sensed that, surely so had Chief Melcher.

  I cast about for what to say next. “Did the chief press you on that, Cheryl? Did he demand to know where you were in the house and how you could be sure?”

  “Yes. I told him everything. But still he took Billy away.”

  I nodded. As much as I wanted to know the “everything,” I couldn’t press this any further.

  “Billy was so petrified.” Cheryl winced. “He was practically crying on his way out the door. And he looked so guilty. He can be that way around authority. Just going to the police station is enough to tie him in knots. But I’ve watched plenty true crime shows. I’ve seen how many times police misread somebody’s fear. They automatically think the person’s got something to hide.”

  I couldn’t respond to that. Because it was all too true.

  “What do we do now?” Cheryl got up and paced, the energy of her fright clearly too much to contain.

  “All we can do is wait. Hard as it is. But I have to warn you, Billy could be at the station for a number of hours.”

  Cheryl halted. Her expression contorted. “I can’t lose him. Isn’t it enough that I lost Lester last year?”

  More than enough.

  “Billy’s all I have now.” She looked at me. “You know I had him late in life. I couldn’t get pregnant, even though Lester and I had tried for years. Finally when I was forty … Many times I wondered if that’s why Billy is the way he is. Slow. Barely able to grasp concepts like math when he was in school. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I was just too old.”

  “Cheryl, don’t say that. You wanted him, you’ve loved him. He knows it, and that’s what counts.”

  She flopped back onto the couch and picked up a pillow. Tossed it down. I couldn’t bear the sight of her despair. Memories
of my father flashed in my head—those first few days after my arrest when he still believed in me. He’d suffered so terribly. As I had. Then look what had happened to him ….

  I could not sit back and watch this happen to Cheryl.

  “Look.” I leaned forward. “I promise you I’ll do all I can to keep Chief Melcher from homing in on Billy. I already talked to him just this morning, insisting your son’s not responsible for this. And I’ll keep talking. I’m the closest thing to an eyewitness. My recollection has to count for something.”

  Cheryl focused on me and slowly nodded. “Thank you.” The words were little more than a croak.

  I stood. “I need to go now. I was on my way to see the Crenshaws.”

  Cheryl winced. “Tell them I’m sorry. Tell them Billy didn’t do it.”

  “Yes.”

  What else could I do?

  On the way out I put my arm around Cheryl again. This time she hugged me back.

  Maybe she hadn’t lied to me at all. Maybe I’d misread her, just like the police were so good at doing.

  Maybe, somehow, I would slide through this. Help Billy and still keep the life I’d built. The life that demanded my constant deceit—and separated me from the God I so needed.

  If I could just find the real murderer.

  Chapter 12

  As I was driving to the Crenshaws, still shaken from my visit with Cheryl King, my cell phone rang. Pete. I pulled over to a curb and answered. “Hi.”

  “You won’t believe this, but they already hauled Billy King down to the station.”

  “I know.” I told Pete I’d stopped by to see Cheryl.

  Pete grunted. “And you told her you know Billy’s innocent, didn’tcha.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Even after ol’ Melcher-Belcher threw out his threats.”