The Aquittal

by Anne Laughlin

  The passenger door was smashed shut. She inched over to the driver’s side and crawled out the door, landing on the corn stalks as she slithered to the ground. Her leg shot arrows of pain up her body, but it was the tibia, maybe the fibula, that was broken, not the femur. She could cope with it. But her inventory of injuries was growing. Her knee seemed to be pointing somewhere off center. From the blood now dripping down her face she knew she had two gashes, not one. None of it would kill her. She pushed herself up and tried to look around the immediate area. Her leg held, but it hurt like hell. It was so dark she could barely see the corn rising up all around the car. The headlights were off, the engine no doubt ruined.

  She almost immediately tripped over Lauren and fell partly on top of her, but there was no response from the body beneath. Josie knew she was dead. She could see the rag-doll way her body lay. She rotated her until she could feel for a pulse in her neck. She couldn’t find one.

  Josie slowly stood up again, her pounding head making it hard to process what it all meant. She’d thought she’d found something with Lauren. She remembered that. The attraction, the physical connection, the sharp mind that seemed to see through Josie in a way most didn’t. But something came apart. She began to recall the car ride—the bitter tone to Lauren’s voice, the screwed-up perspective that showed itself more with every mile they raced down the highway. Her sudden certainty Lauren had killed Kelly after all. And then the suicidal crash. Apparently it meant nothing to Lauren that Josie could also have been killed.

  Josie eased her hand into her jacket pocket. Her phone was there, thankfully intact. She dialed 911 and looked at the compass on her phone to give the dispatcher her GPS coordinates. Then she dragged herself through the trampled corn to the road and sat down to wait. She speed-dialed Stan.

  “Waterman.” Stan’s voice sounded groggy. He was wisely getting some sleep in a motel before coming back to Chicago.

  “You’re not going to believe what’s happened.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Lauren drove us off the road and we flipped at least twice. She’s dead.” She noticed her voice getting shaky.

  “I’m on my way. Give me your location,” Stan said, sounding wide-awake. It made Josie feel better, safer, that Stan was coming to help her. If he were in front of her at the moment, she might very well have allowed him to wrap her up in his arms and pat her back.

  Josie gave him the coordinates and rang off. Soon she heard the sound of sirens. The town of Elizabeth was two miles behind them. She waved down the cop car and ambulance and almost cried when they pulled over to save her.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Monday, September 16

  Josie had been banged up before, but she had to admit this was bad. Her ribs were the worst. It was hard to breathe, hard to move around. Her sofa, the one that felt so comfy during Bears games and long naps, now felt like upholstered rocks. Her head still hurt four days after having it knocked around in the Corolla. The most inconvenient injury was the dislocated kneecap and broken tibia. Her right leg was in a cast up to the thigh. That meant driving was impossible for a while. It also meant going to the bathroom was an Olympic event.

  Her headache seemed to grow worse as her mother sat by the sofa, determined to be helpful. She slept in Josie’s bed at night, hovered about during the day, and drove Josie perilously close to insanity. She intended to stay until Josie could get around on her own, so Josie put forth a Herculean effort to start moving about the apartment as if it wasn’t painful in the least.

  “I’m getting along fine, Mom. You should head up to Aunt Mona’s,” Josie said, laying back on the sofa.

  “Not until you’re better. You’re still an invalid.”

  “Invalid? Aunt Mary’s an invalid, Mom. I’m going to be fine. In fact, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. My neighbor can come in if I need anything. Besides, I think you should get out of here before Dad tries to find you.”

  “I still can’t believe I’ve left your father. I can’t thank you enough for making me see the light, Josie.”

  Josie’s father wasn’t yet aware his wife had actually left him and wasn’t simply camped out with Josie. Her mother’s sudden eagerness to help wasn’t the only change Josie noticed. She’d been with her for four days and hadn’t seen her once take a drink. If she was seeing the light, it was probably from thinking clearly for the first time in years.

  “Mom, aren’t you dying for a drink? I don’t think I’ve seen you with one since you’ve been here.” Elaine didn’t look up from the Oprah magazine she was flipping through.

  “I’ve given it up,” she said.

  “Just like that?”

  “Yes. It’s been four days.”

  Jose looked at her skeptically. “Have you been sneaking off to AA meetings?”

  “Oh, there’s no need for any of that. It’s a simple matter. You decide you aren’t going to have a cocktail anymore and that’s it.”

  “Maybe being sober a few of days helped you realize what an ass Dad is. I’m glad you’re trying, Mom.”

  Josie adjusted herself on the sofa again, moving the discomfort from one spot to the next. She knew her mom would be in an AA meeting by next week. Her aunt Mona had been sober thirty years and would be dragging Elaine in first thing. She hoped it worked, though she doubted it would.

  The buzzer downstairs interrupted Josie’s meal of frozen enchiladas, part of the plethora of frozen meals her mother had brought to the apartment. These were a definite improvement over the Swanson fried chicken dinners her mom served when she was a kid. Every meal went from box to oven to table. Microwaves were the technology miracle of Elaine’s lifetime. She hadn’t turned on an oven since they were invented. The buzzer rang again and Elaine sighed as she walked to the old wall unit that buzzed people in. “Who is it?” she screamed, unable to believe her voice would make it down the three floors of the apartment building. “I swear to God, Josie, it’s like you’re the queen of England; it’s been one person after another through here.”

  “That’ll be Stan, Mom. You can buzz him in.”

  Elaine looked alarmed. “You don’t think he’ll tell your father anything, do you?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t let him in. Anyway, Dad knows you’re here. You’re supposed to be looking after me. It’s when you’re up at Aunt Mona’s he’ll figure it out.” Elaine looked alarmed, as if the idea of her husband looking for her hadn’t crossed her mind. “You’re going to have to be strong, like we talked about. If he shows up here, I’ll talk to him. Let Aunt Mona do the talking if he comes up to Madison. She’ll kick his ass.”

  The thought cheered Josie. Aunt Mona had always been her hero. She took crap from no one, raised hell about every social justice issue that crossed her path, and never married. She was the family iconoclast. Mona had been living with a woman’s studies professor in Madison for nearly thirty years. It didn’t take much of a detective to figure out what was going on there.

  Elaine was putting on her coat when Stan knocked on the open door. The two had never been friendly, even if Stan kept her husband out of more trouble than Elaine would ever know. Stan nodded at her as he took a chair by the couch and handed Josie a cup of coffee. He looked over his shoulder when he heard the front door close.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “I can’t begin to explain, Stan. But I’ll say her new mother act is close to driving me crazy.”

  Josie shifted around until she was propped up with pillows and could look Stan straight in the face. “What’s up?”

  “You ready to hear more about Lauren Wade?”

  “Not really,” Josie said. She felt guilty and embarrassed she hadn’t seen through the woman. Really, all she’d seen was how hot she was. Her mind had fallen into that slot grooved so deeply during the past years of impulsive behavior.

  “I don’t have much to add. So far the police have found bupkis in her house or office that would further explain anything—why she committe
d suicide or why she killed Kelly Moore, which I’m pretty sure she did. They were looking for a note, I guess.”

  Josie didn’t say anything. Given the insane way Lauren acted just before the crash, there was no reason to think she hadn’t killed Kelly. It was ridiculous to think she’d left behind a suicide note. Josie closed her eyes. She’d not only been taken in by Lauren, she’d almost been killed by her. The thought of Lucy came to mind, making her squirm even more. She groaned when her sore ribs protested. She groaned when she thought of the way she’d treated Lucy.

  “Are you okay?” Stan asked anxiously.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. These ribs are killing me.”

  “Well, I’ll get out of here so you can rest,” Stan said.

  Josie opened one eye. “No, stay for a bit.”

  He shrugged out of his jacket and took a bag out of its pocket. He passed it over to Josie. “Gummy bears.”

  Josie had to admit it was hard not to love a man who remembered your childhood devotion to gummy bears.

  “I even took the green ones out,” he said.

  Josie let a tear slide down her cheek. She didn’t have the energy to fight it. “Thanks, Stan.”

  “Your father’s a real bastard, you know? He hasn’t been here to see you yet, has he?”

  “No, and I don’t want him to. I don’t even consider him a father, Stan. Let’s forget about him.”

  Stan looked at her thoughtfully. “Done.”

  “What’d you find out about Lauren?” Josie asked.

  Stan paused a moment. “The police didn’t do much. As far as they were concerned, the suicide simply confirmed Lauren had been guilty of Kelly’s murder. They don’t give a shit about anything else, especially when it’s a suicide. If she hadn’t died it would be a different matter. They could charge her with attempted vehicular homicide because you were in the car. But you can’t charge the dead.”

  Josie stared at him.

  “And I talked to a few people at her company and on the board and even to those creepy parents of hers. It looked like Lauren’s career with the family biz was just about over. That’s about it.” Stan shifted in his chair and took a sip of the coffee he’d brought in. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” Stan continued.

  Josie looked at him warily. She held up her hand to stop him while she took a painkiller. “What is it?”

  “It seems to me you’ll be a pretty sharp private investigator, despite your tendency to go your own way. Why don’t we join into one firm? Waterman and Harper Investigations. It has a ring to it, don’t you think?”

  “Why would you want to do that?” Josie asked. “I nearly fucked up this entire thing. I could have gotten the Wades killed. I could have prevented Lauren being killed.” She reached for the bottle of pills to take another, but Stan caught her wrist.

  “Or you could say you did exactly what you’d been hired to do. You found out who killed Kelly Moore and you freed Lauren’s parents. What more do you want from yourself?”

  Josie stared at the ceiling a moment. “I wanted it to be more satisfying.”

  “Satisfying? What, like sex?” Stan was helping himself to the gummy bears.

  Josie shot him a look. “No, not like sex. Sheesh. More like having the ends neatly tied together.”

  “Like in Law and Order,” Stan said. “Don’t worry about that. It never happens.”

  They stayed silent for a while. It wasn’t uncomfortable.

  “As I was saying,” Stan said. “Waterman and Harper Investigations sounds good, doesn’t it?”

  “Drop the ampersand and I’m in. Waterman Harper has a better ring to it. More professional.”

  Stan slapped his hands together. “Excellent! We’ll be a great team.”

  Josie thought so, too. “When can I start?”

  Stan laughed. “Given the looks of you, I think it’s going to be a few weeks yet. But I’ll get your stuff moved into that second office of mine and you’ll be ready to go. Getting out of that lease will save you a lot of money. Plus I’ll have you to yell at. It’s a win-win.”

  Josie didn’t think Stan would do much yelling, but she could stand it if he did. She knew very well how easily she could make mistakes, how much she could learn from him. When her eyes grew heavy again she heard Stan quietly let himself out. She woke sometime later to the sound of the buzzer again.

  “Fucking A,” Josie muttered, as she reached for her crutches and hobbled over to the intercom. She didn’t bother to ask who it was. She buzzed them in, then headed to the bathroom since she was already upright. When she finally made her way from the bathroom back to the living room, she saw Bev sitting in the visitor chair.

  “I feel like I’m in an episode of Friends,” Josie said. “Everyone I know is coming by.”

  Bev rolled her eyes, which she often did in front of Josie. “Honey, you’re once again under the impression that the center of the universe is you. And you look like shit. How long since you changed those clothes?”

  Josie eased herself back on the sofa. There was a film of sweat on her brow and she was panting. “Don’t start on me, Bev. I really almost died this time.”

  “You’re like a cockroach. Practically nothing can kill you. How’re you feeling?”

  “Let’s leave it at bad. The details require too much energy.” There was a coffee table pulled up next to the sofa holding everything she needed: remote control, water, a bag of Chex Mix, Jane Eyre, her laptop, and her phone. If she didn’t have to pee, she’d never get up.

  Bev took a handful of Chex Mix before reaching into her bag for a folder. “I come bearing presents. I finally got Nicholson’s notes on the Kelly Moore murder. I don’t know enough about it to tell whether there’s anything significant in there but thought you might pass some time taking a look. A copy’s in the folder.”

  Josie felt only mildly interested. Finding out who killed Kelly Moore seemed like the concern of another life, another person. And it seemed a sure thing it was Lauren. Who cared at this point? “Leave it on the table. Please. I think I’m going to pass out for a while.”

  Bev looked down at her with a frown. “Are you here alone? That doesn’t seem right.”

  “Believe me, I’d prefer it to my mother being here. But she should be back any minute.”

  “Okay. Let’s stay in touch.” She kissed the top of Josie’s head and left, moving in the swift, sure way that was very much Bev.

  At four o’clock the following morning, in keeping with her completely messed-up sleep schedule, Josie lay wide-awake staring at the ceiling. By some miracle she was neither depressed nor manic. Greta said the same thing when she made a house call shortly after the accident. But she was bored nearly out of her head. A streetlight kept the room from total darkness. She reached over to the table to get her sippy cup of water and saw the file left behind by Bev. She scootched up to read, turning on the floor lamp next to the sofa. The file was thin, containing two pieces of regular eight-by-eleven sheets of paper on which the pages from a small notebook had been copied. There were four notebook pages in all. The first seemed to be a series of codes, probably notations on upcoming horse races. The fourth page was a grocery list most likely dictated to him by his wife. There were too many fruits and vegetables for it to be Nicholson’s creation. That left the two in the middle related to the murder of Kelly Moore.

  The second page noted aspects of the murder scene that were later officially recorded by the forensics team. There was Nicholson’s description of Lauren Wade. She was sitting at the breakfast bar when Nicholson arrived on the scene. He described her as shaken but not greatly so, kind of like a witness to a bad car crash. The only words she spoke were to identify herself, Kelly, and the gun. Beyond that she remained silent. Nicholson took her upstairs to have her show him where the gun had been kept. She led the way to the master bedroom suite. The middle drawer of the nightstand on the right side of the bed was open, with a handful of bullets in the drawer. She was then taken into custo
dy.

  The third page of notes was made during the brief investigation into the murder. Mostly they consisted of comments about the people being interviewed. Kelly’s parents seemed nearly catatonic, the sister eager to tell them of Kelly’s infidelity and Lauren’s discovery of it. Gabby was described as belligerent, but she didn’t feel right for the murder of her lover’s lover. Nicholson felt it much more likely she’d punish Ann-Marie somehow. Ann-Marie’s interview related her alibi—that she went straight home from work on the day of the murder. Home at that time was her sister’s place, where she’d been staying since Gabby threw her out. Nicholson noted that she sounded “tentative.” Josie’s brain went from hazy to sharp in an instant. Her own notebook was across the room in her bag. She threw off the comforter and reached for her crutches. It had been hours since her last pain pill, but she didn’t want one. The walk across the room was a struggle, compounded by a trip to the bathroom. By the time she got back to the sofa with her notebook, she was exhausted. She got herself situated again and reread Nicholson’s notes. Then she started paging through her own. There was something about the alibi Ann-Marie gave Nicholson that didn’t jibe with the one she gave Josie.

  She found the page and saw Ann-Marie had told her she’d stopped at a Mariano’s on her way home but didn’t have a receipt to show what time she was there or whether she was there at all. She was staying with her sister and cooked dinner for the family that night. Why tell Nicholson she’d gone straight home? No mention of the grocery store, no mention of cooking for the family. It was possible the lazy bastard didn’t write everything down and that Ann-Marie had told him the same thing. Josie fell asleep before she could think things through.

  When she woke again she saw her mother sitting on the chair, a large suitcase at her side. Her coat was draped over her arm.