Reluctantly, he put a twenty-dollar bill and some change in his pocket, leaving the rest of his limited cash under the third shirt in the chest. Then he took Julie’s instructions and started for the bus stop.
The sun was brighter, the day warmer, than it had been an hour earlier, and he didn’t need the jacket. He enjoyed the coolness of the day. His cell at Reidsville had been airless and hot, there had been no air-conditioning, no fresh breeze to brush away the odor of hundreds of bodies and the fear and hate and hopelessness that permeated the isolation section.
He bought a paper from a box at the bus stop. His worst fears were realized as he scanned the first page, then the second, where he found what he was dreading.
Parole Board Defends Decision Freeing Killer Cop
The story quoted a spokesman for the board saying a number of factors were involved in granting the parole, including the prisoner’s heroism in saving a woman and child, his exemplary prison record, and continuing health problems. The district attorney involved in the case did not oppose the parole.
Above the story was the old photo of him the paper had previously used.
The damn story was going to live forever. And Julie would probably pay for it. He crumpled the newspaper and threw it into a trash bin just as the bus approached. He had the right change out, thanks to Julie’s instruction, and he stepped up, asking the driver about changing buses. Armed with that information, he found a seat by himself.
He’d apparently lived in Atlanta all his life, many of them as a police officer. He should know it well Something should trigger a memory. But as the bus passed office building after office building, then entered the downtown area, he recognized nothing No familiarity No shadow of a memory
He had no trouble switching buses, nor finding the Fulton County parole offices. Julie’s directions had been specific. He hesitated outside a cubicle a secretary directed him to, steeling himself against a hostility he’d learned to expect After taking a deep breath, he knocked, then entered at a gruff “Come in.”
Davidson was hunched over a desk so loaded with papers Ryan thought it would fall under the weight. He didn’t look up from one of them until Ryan was all the way inside.
“Murphy?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, sir,” Davidson corrected him
Ryan bit back a retort, but remembered Julie’s warning. Do as he was told. But damn, the “sirs” were grating on him.
“Yes, sir,” he replied.
“Sit down.” Davidson looked at his watch. “You’re on time Good. How did you get here?”
“Two buses.”
“No problems?” He looked at Murphy under heavy lids and bushy brows.
“No”
Davidson raised an eyebrow at the lack of a sir, but didn’t say anything Instead, he picked up the file he had been reading and turned his gaze back on it “Says here you claim to have amnesia ”
Ryan didn’t reply It hadn’t really been a question
Davidson looked up, and Ryan studied him He was a large man. big boned and now a little overweight. Probably approaching fifty or so, he looked overworked and tired even at this hour in the morning.
“You don’t remember anything?”
Damn, but he was tired of that question. But this man was all that stood between him and a bus back to Reidsville.
“No.” Then after a slight pause, he added, “Sir.”
“Did you get away with that in prison?”
Ryan felt his jaw stiffen. No, he hadn’t. He’d learned very quickly to say sir. Once when he hadn’t said it quickly enough, he’d been slammed against the bars of his cell. It had taken every ounce of his will power not to strike back.
“Murphy?”
“No, sir, I didn’t.” He kept hearing Julie’s warning They’ll try to make you angry to see what happens Keep control. Always keep control.
“That’s better.” The parole officer continued to study him under heavily hooded eyes. After a moment he handed Ryan two sheets of paper. “Those are the rules you must follow. If you move, if you change jobs—hell, if you sneeze, I want to know about it. I’m sure you’re aware that the police can pick you up any time for questioning. You will cooperate. Every time you come here you will also give us a urine sample which will be tested for drugs. I can also show up at your apartment or your place of work and demand a sample.” He let the words sink in. “At this point, you have damn few rights Parole is a privilege.” He hesitated “I’m surprised they let you go at all Some people went way out on a limb for you. Don’t cut it off.”
The observation didn’t require an answer, but he nodded
“Mrs. Farrell said you have a job”
“I’m going by there this afternoon.”
Davidson handed him a card. “Call me when it’s firm. I want to know your hours and how much you’ll be making. A portion of your earnings go to the county for your supervision ”
So he had to pay for his own humiliation. “Yes...sir.”
Davidson smiled but Ryan didn’t see any humor in his eyes
“The secretary outside will give you a cup. Your name is on it. Use the restroom to provide a sample.”
Davidson stood. “You really have lost your memory.”
Again, it wasn’t a question. Ryan stood also, waiting.
“We knew each other ten years ago.”
Ryan stiffened. “How?”
“You were after one of my parolees.”
“Did I get him?”
“Yes. You usually did, I was told ”
“Did I step on your toes?”
“You could say that. But I didn’t take offense. You were doing your job.”
The parole officer’s voice was almost friendly now. As if Ryan had passed some kind of test.
“Call me about the job,” Davidson said. “If you get it, you can call me next week. You won’t have to come in.”
“Yes, sir.” It came a little easier this time, but not much
Davidson grinned. “Detective Murphy would never have forced himself into saying ‘sir’”
“It’s not easy for me, either,” Ryan admitted dryly.
“I noticed,” Davidson said. “But you did it You might just make it out there”
“I plan to,” Ryan said coolly.
Davidson nodded. “You can go Don’t forget the urine sample”
“No,” Ryan said. He wanted out. He needed a breath of fresh air. He was so damn tired of subduing his pride. It was necessary to hold onto what freedom he had, but he wondered how long he could manage it.
“Good luck, Murphy.” It was dismissal, or at least he took it as such He walked out, stopped at the desk and as quickly as possible took care of the last requirement.
Julie found herself keeping an eye on the driveway. She needed to keep her mind on her work. She was already late with the appeal, but she couldn’t stop worrying about Murphy, especially as the day wore on Noon, then one. Two Three.
Had what happened last night, her unforgivable loss of control, scared him off? But then she realized nothing would scare him off Not after what he’d already been through. Yet he’d been distinctly uncomfortable this morning. Or maybe it had been her.
She hadn’t slept a wink. Her body continued to react in rebellious ways with a yearning and need that horrified her. She couldn’t forget, not for one moment, how her body felt tucked into his, or how his lips felt on hers. He apparently couldn’t sleep either, for when she finally left her bed after lying awake sleeplessly, she saw him on his knees weeding the poor, neglected garden patches. She watched him for several moments, his hands working the earth, before going to wake Nick.
I’ll pay you back every cent.
There was certainly nothing wrong with his work ethic, or sense of obligation....
Julie looked back down at her watch. Where was he?
She certainly couldn’t call the parole office.
The phone rang, and she answered it quickly.
“Ju
lie?”
She immediately recognized David Caldwell’s voice, and her heart sank. She’d read the story in the paper this morning. It had identified her as associated with Caldwell, Michaels, Evans and Cagle.
“Mr. Caldwell.”
“How’s the appeal coming?”
“I’m almost finished.”
“Good. Can you bring it to the office tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Around ten?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good. I’ll see you then.”
Julie hung the phone up slowly She’d expected a reprimand, or reminder, that she’d not sacrifice firm business, or reputation, in the cause of Ryan Murphy The fact that the call came on the heels of the newspaper article worried her. But he’d said nothing, and that worried her even more.
Trying to focus her attention back on the appeal, her eyes returned to the computer screen.
She had to stop worrying about Murphy.
She had to exorcize those gnawing doubts
Where was he?
His insides twisted into knots, Ryan stood across from the police station, staring at the imposing white building and jail and willed himself to remember He had worked in this building for years.
Behind him were numerous bad bond companies, their storefront windows garish with phone numbers. He watched as police cars turned into a parking lot, as people hurried into the building. He could pick out the detectives and officers from the lawyers and secretaries. Or thought he could.
He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to ask a security guard at the county building for directions Perhaps hope that the sight of the building would bring back something.
He’d felt so damn frustrated after leaving Davidson’s office. He wasn’t sure whether the man was an enemy or potential ally. Whether he had been trying to make a point in those first few moments or whether he’d been trying to discover whether Ryan was lying about the amnesia. Since he had no memory to judge people by, he could only call on his instincts. And he didn’t know if they were reliable
He thought about his meeting with Davidson, about the prospect of living for years under his thumb, urinating on demand, always living with the prospect of returning to a cage if he said the wrong thing or didn’t show the right amount of respect.
Julie had said once that he might not be guilty of the crime, that something had been odd about his confession. He hadn’t really listened, the fact that he had confessed had convinced him of his guilt. But now that he knew the kind of life he could expect, the threat of prison always hanging over him, he wanted to explore any possibility of removing the shroud that threatened to smother him. Hell, he had to
He didn’t know how long he stared at the building, willing some fragment of a memory, but finally he realized it wouldn’t come. Not now He had to find another way of discovering the truth. The library Julie had given him copies of some stories, but he wanted to know everything. It would be a place to start. And Banyon. Jack Banyon Perhaps he could find out more from him
He went into one of the storefronts and asked the location of the library Then he started walking, his mind cataloging everything he knew and questions that needed answering Julie had mentioned a priest; had anyone found him? His wife. He had to speak to her His attorney at the time of his arrest What had he said nght after the shooting? Had he made any friends in prison, anyone he confided in?
His footsteps hurried. For the first time since he had regained consciousness in the hospital, he felt a small bit of control over his life. It felt good
He reached the library and found an information desk. A helpful woman guided him to microfiche and showed him how to access back copies of the newspaper In minutes, he was scrolling back page after page of newspapers dating back ten years ago to the week of December twenty-third He read the initial stones. Detective found dead. Preliminary investigation shows involvement of another officer Detective suspended Then the press was in full cry The lead story on December twenty-seventh was his arrest, followed by a story in which his attorney denied his guilt. Two days later, another story reported he had been denied bond
It must have been some Christmas for his wife and child.
He’d confessed a week later
He kept searching that final story for clues Why would he confess, even if he had committed the crime? As a detective, he must have been very aware of the weakness of the case as well as the penalty he could expect Or had he known he was guilty and wanted to avoid the death penalty?
How could he subject his family to the subsequent publicity, the shame of having a husband and father known as a “Killer Cop”?
He glanced upward and saw the clock. Ten after three. He froze for a moment, then turned off the machine and returned the film. Julie had planned to take him to the garage this afternoon. It would take him an hour or more, depending on the buses, to get back
Ryan found a phone and called, but it was busy. He swore softly to himself. No telling what she was thinking He could wait and call again, but that would just make him later He strode quickly out the door, heading for a bus stop, his mind puzzling over everything he’d just read.
Julie picked up Nick and returned home. Nick in tow, she knocked on Ryan’s door No one answered.
Nick squirmed next to her. “Where’s Ryan?”
“Mr Murphy,” she corrected
“He said to call him Ryan”
“I know,” she said, “but I think you should call him Mr. Murphy ”
“But—”
“No buts, love. Let’s go get some cookies.” She needed distraction. She also knew one reason she was insisting on formality was for her own sake Ryan had gotten altogether too close last night. Perhaps she could keep more of a distance with Mr. Murphy.
Perhaps.
The word “cookies” had magical properties Nicholas skipped down the stairs and she followed, her keys out to unlock the door. As Prissy happily threaded in and out of their legs, Julie poured a glass of milk and placed a couple of store-bought cookies on a plate.
“How was school today?”
“Fine.”
“Did you see Abby?”
“Yep.” The reply was almost lost in the mouthful of cookie.
“Did you learn anything?”
“I read a book all by myself.”
“That’s wonderful ”
“My teacher says I read really good.”
“I think you do, too.”
“Mebbe I can read to Ry..Mr. Murphy.”
“Maybe so ”
“After we play baseball.”
Baseball again. Would his heart be broken if Murphy disappeared? She kept telling herself it was quite impossible. Then the demon intervened. What if he’d never lost his memory? What if he had been involved in drugs? Wouldn’t he have money squirreled away somewhere?
He should have been back by now.
Or what if he became lost? Or hurt?
She felt a chill even as she tried to concentrate on Nick, keeping a running conversation with him. But she was conscious of the ticking of the clock.
It was well after five when she heard a knock on the kitchen door. Her heart thumped loudly as Nick raced to open it
Murphy stood there, the sleeves of his white shut rolled up in a way she now expected. His hair was mussed as if repeatedly combed by his hand and his angular face was shadowed by new beard. Strain showed at the edges of his mouth. He looked dangerous. Dangerous and exciting and incredibly appealing. Her body still hummed from the contact last night.
She wanted to ask questions. She wanted to know where he had been. But she really had no right She wouldn’t even know he’d been gone so long if he’d been able to rent an apartment on his own She wasn’t his mother, or wife, or keeper. His proximity gave her no more rights than any other landlord. She had to remember that. Even more importantly, she had to distance herself from him. She kept her voice even as she asked instead, “How did the appointment go?”
He
shrugged, and she knew it had been more than a little difficult. He quickly changed the subject “I meant to buy a baseball on the way...back, but it was getting late,” he said, looking down at her son
“That’s okay,” Nick piped up generously, much more generously than if she had admitted something like that. “Would you like a cookie?”
He shook his head. “Not tonight. I need to talk to your mother.” Murphy’s eyes locked on hers. So intense. She could no more ignore the demand in them than she could breathe.
She looked down at Nick. “How would you like to watch a movie on the VCR?”
Nick looked from her to Murphy and back. “I want to stay,” he said stubbornly which surprised her. Nick loved movies.
Murphy sat at the table and looked directly at him “Why don’t you watch it, then tell me all about it?”
Murphy certainly had an instinct about small boys, even if he claimed he didn’t know anything about them. And she knew that instinct could exist only if he really liked children. It wasn’t something you faked. Nor were children easily fooled.
Nick looked at him suspiciously “You won’t leave?”
“Not until I hear the story.”
“You promise?”
Murphy glanced back at her as if seeking permission.
She nodded.
“I promise.”
Still obviously reluctant, Nick stood and headed for the living room. Julie followed and mused over the choices. “What do you want to see?”
“The Dalmatians ”
She sighed. He’d seen it a hundred times, but never seemed to tire of it She found the video and inserted it into the VCR, turning the sound high so he wouldn’t hear them. She lingered until the credits came on, then went back to the kitchen She would fix supper while she talked. While he talked. Perhaps that would ease some of the tension between them.
Murphy was pacing the kitchen floor when she returned.
“When you didn’t get back early, I called the garage and told Mr. O’Donnell you would be there tomorrow morning. I have to be at my office early, so I’ll drop you off at the garage at eight.”
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