Victim Rights

by Norah McClintock

  He stood up and automatically opened his arms to her. The guard at the door stepped forward, shaking his head, motioning to him to sit again. He dropped back onto the hard chair.

  Beth sat across from him.

  “How are you?” she said.

  She was the one who’d been in the hospital. She had been arrested. Now she was in here. And she was asking him how he was?

  “I’m good.”

  “My mother said your uncle called. He said you wanted to see me, and she said yes.”

  “That took me by surprise,” Dooley said—a lie, but an insignificant one.

  She smiled again, a sad smile this time.

  “She’s not what you think, Dooley. She stuck up for me. When Nevin’s dad came over with Parker’s dad, she stood up for me.”

  “Parker’s dad came to your place with Nevin’s dad? When?”

  “After my mom talked to Nevin’s dad that first time. They both came over and Nevin’s dad told her it would be best for me to drop the charges against Parker. You know what my mom said? She said, ‘Best for whom?’ I heard them talking. Parker’s dad was all understanding and smooth. He said that he believed his son implicitly. He said there was a witness who saw me go up to his room willingly. And Nevin’s dad jumped right in and went through all the facts—the witness, the fact that I didn’t say anything to anyone for days, I didn’t even tell my mother, and by then there was no physical evidence. All that. And then what Parker had said. He said the whole trial would be expensive and that it would be difficult for me.” Her eyes were on him the whole time, just like Dooley’s were on her. He couldn’t get enough of her.

  “Tell me why I’m not surprised,” Dooley said. “Nevin’s dad sounds a lot like Nevin—and vice versa.”

  “No,” Beth said, shaking her head. “Nevin never brought up what happened. He never asked me about it and I never told him. It was hard enough telling you about it, and the cops were worse. They wanted to know all the details. They wanted to know exactly what he did. I had to tell them stuff I didn’t even tell you.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and teary. “It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you—that I don’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to tell anyone. It’s like, I’m afraid if I keep talking about it, it’ll burn itself into my brain and I’ll never be able to forget it. So I’m glad he didn’t ask me. And I don’t think Nevin’s dad really wanted to get involved, either. I think he was doing it because Parker’s dad asked him to or maybe pressured him to. My mom told me afterwards that Nevin’s dad looked kind of embarrassed when he was trying to convince her that I should withdraw the charges against Parker.”

  “Yeah, but he did it anyway, right?”

  She nodded. “And my mom stuck by me. She told them she believed me. She didn’t question a single thing I said.”

  For some reason that he couldn’t put his finger on, Dooley had trouble imagining that. When he’d thought about it, which had only been for an instant, he had pictured her mother being annoyed by the whole mess. He’d imagined her worrying that it would upset her relations with people like Nevin’s parents.

  “Beth, what were you doing in the ravine that night?”

  She bowed her head, but only for a moment.

  “I wanted to talk to Parker. I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t going to back down and that there was nothing he could do about it. But when I tried to go to his house ...” She bit her lip. “I don’t know. I just froze up. I couldn’t make myself go in there, not when I knew what everyone had been saying about me. I know I shouldn’t have cared, but ... Everyone believed him, Dooley. No one believed me. I thought even you didn’t believe me. Until I saw you.”

  There it was again, those words—I saw you. He felt himself tremble all over when he asked the next question. She’d seen him. But she said the words so casually, as if what she’d seen was nothing special. His mouth was dry when he finally asked her.

  “What exactly did you see, Beth?”

  She looked around the room. Apart from a middle-aged woman talking in one corner to a guy who looked younger than Dooley, they were alone.

  “You know,” she said.

  “I need you to tell me, Beth. I need you to tell me what you saw.”

  She glanced around again.

  “It’s okay.” Dooley reached across the table and touched her hand. A jolt ran up his arm. That one touch, his hand lying lightly on tops of hers, sent the memory of a thousand other touches cascading through his mind. Her arms around his waist. The feel of her breasts, muffled by a sweater, a sweatshirt, a jacket, whatever she had on, pressing against his chest, insisting on their presence even through his t-shirt, his sweater, his sweatshirt, his jacket. The angle of her hip, naked beneath the flimsy crispness of a white sheet. Her lips, always soft, always full and lush, pressing against his.

  The guard at the door zeroed in on Dooley’s hand and started toward him.

  Dooley slid his hand into his lap again.

  “Sorry,” he said to the guard, who stopped and watched for another few seconds before returning to his post.

  It took her a moment to begin, and then the words came out slowly, fitfully. She refused to look at him, and he didn’t force her. It was important that he heard everything she had to say, and if that was the way the story had to come out, so be it.

  “I told myself I should just go home,” she said in a whispery voice. “But I couldn’t make myself do that, either. Out there on the street, looking at his house, I heard people laughing. I guess I knew it was because it was a party. People have a good time at parties. At least, that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

  She fell silent. Dooley imagined that she was thinking about the last party she had attended.

  She peeked up at him, her head still bowed.

  “I’m not crazy,” she said. “I’m not.”

  He would have given anything to be able to touch her again.

  “You’re not crazy.”

  “But when I think about it, it feels like I was crazy. I was standing there on the street, and I heard all that laughing, and all I could think was that they were laughing at me. Everyone was laughing at stupid little Beth for being dumb enough to believe Parker, for going up to his room with him. And Parker was laughing louder than anyone. I kept seeing his face. Even with my eyes closed, I could see it.”

  She looked down again, and Dooley saw her chest heaving. Of all the places to be having this conversation. Of all the times. He should have held onto her that time in the coffee shop. He should have put his arm around her shoulder and taken her someplace private. He should have held her then, for as long as it took, and listened to every word she had to say.

  “I tried to leave, but I ended up in the ravine behind Parker’s house.”

  Here it was now—he was going to have to face it.

  “I don’t remember thinking that’s where I wanted to go. I don’t even remember going down there. But there I was, in the ravine, looking up at the back of Parker’s property, still hearing all that laughing. I wished I could do something, you know? I wished ...” Her hands knotted together on the tabletop. Yeah, Dooley knew. He knew all too well. “And then I saw you.” She raised her head now. Her eyes were filled with tears. “You were wearing a blue shirt.” Dooley frowned. This wasn’t going where he thought it would go, and she was speaking so fondly of him, almost reverentially. “I remember thinking about the last time I’d seen you in blue. Blue brings out your eyes.” He remembered her telling him that. Dooley favored black. He used to like it because it didn’t show up the dirt like other colors. Then he liked it for the way it made him feel—dangerous—and how it matched everything he felt. Now he was just used to it.

  “I saw you shove him,” she said. “Then you were fighting. And I—” Her head ducked down again. “I was glad. I even ... I wanted you to ...”

  She couldn’t say it. Jesus, didn’t Randall see what kind of person she was? She couldn’t even say it.

  “Then I saw you
pick up a rock. I saw ...” Her head was still bowed. She raised a hand and wiped away a tear. “I saw it all. I saw him fall. I saw where the rock landed. I ... I went to where he was lying.” She looked at him, tears streaming down her cheeks now. “I saw him. His eyes were open. It was like he was looking straight at me.”

  He sat there helplessly, watching her cry, listening to the softness of the sobs she worked at stifling. No wonder she’d sounded so convincing to Randall. His uncle had said she’d given the cops the how and all the details, and what she had said obviously jibed with whatever they had found at the crime scene. Randall wouldn’t have bought her confession, otherwise. He wouldn’t have arrested her. Plus she had a motive, a damned good one. And some solid citizen—he’d heard on the news that the guy was a cardiac surgeon—had seen her near the scene. Put it all together, especially her telling the how of it, and it seemed like she’d given the cops a slam-dunk, because the only way she could know what she knew was if she’d done the deed, right?

  Wrong.

  There was another way.

  She could have witnessed it. She could have seen it all and decided to take it all on herself.

  After Dooley had left Randall, he’d thought about calling him and telling him to talk to Beth again, ask her more questions, grill her if he had to, because he was sure that if Randall asked enough questions he’d find the hole in Beth’s story, the one that would make him doubt her confession, doubt that she’d had anything to do with it. But now he wasn’t sure that was such a good idea, not after what Beth had just said. Not with Randall’s agenda. He had it in his mind that Beth couldn’t have pulled it off all by herself. She didn’t have the physical strength. He thought Dooley must have been in on it with her. That explained his latest round of questions. And Randall could be smart with his questions. What if he tripped Beth up? What if she let something slip, even though she’d promised not to? What if she said something that didn’t add up in Randall’s mind? What if ...

  He waited.

  Eventually the tears subsided.

  “Beth?”

  She ventured a glance.

  “Beth, why didn’t you say anything?”

  She looked blankly at him.

  “Why didn’t you make yourself known?”

  “I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. When I finally looked up again, you were gone.”

  When she’d finally looked up again.

  “Dooley?”

  He looked across the table and waited.

  “I was glad.” She sounded hesitant, as if the words were being dragged out of her on pain of death. “I was glad.” As if she couldn’t believe she would think such a thing, let alone say it out loud. “And then ...” Her voice broke. She wiped away a few more tears. “I was so ashamed of myself.”

  “Beth ...” He wanted to tell her she shouldn’t have confessed to something she hadn’t done. He wanted to tell her to come clean, to tell Randall everything. But if she did that, if she told him everything she’d seen and somehow managed to convince Randall that she’d had nothing to do with it, Randall would come after Dooley, and then what? He wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t sure he would ever be ready. “What happened wasn’t your fault. None of it was. What he did to you, he did it to other girls.”

  “I was glad he was dead.”

  “You were in shock after everything that happened, after what you saw.”

  “I was glad you did it, Dooley.”

  Shame swallowed him every time she said that. There was no way could he tell her to talk to Randall again. Not now. Not when she was so sure about what she had seen.

  “Everything’s going to be okay, Beth. I promise you.” He wasn’t going to let her take the fall for this—no matter what. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Dooley. When Warren told me the police had taken you in for questioning—”

  “Warren?”

  “I asked him how you were, and he said he’d seen the cops take you in. I knew I had to do something, Dooley. After what you did for me, because I was so stupid ...” She started to reach for his hand. He had to tell her it wasn’t allowed. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Dooley. I promise.”

  The guard at the door cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Dooley.

  “I have to go,” he said. He didn’t want to take his eyes off her. How could he possibly make himself get up and leave when she had to stay? “I’ll be back, okay? I’ll be back to see you.” He started to get up, then sank down again. “Beth, you’re not going to do anything crazy, right? You’re not going to try to hurt yourself.” Telling her, not asking her. “It’s going to be okay.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  Dooley’s uncle had been nursing some residual pissed-offness when he’d pulled up in front of Dooley’s school that afternoon to take him to see Beth. But by the time Dooley pushed through the door into the reception area after seeing Beth, his face had softened. His voice, too.

  “How is she?” he asked Dooley.

  I’m so ashamed.

  “Okay, I guess. A little scared. A little nervous.”

  “She’s a good person,” his uncle said with surprising conviction. Sure, Dooley knew that his uncle liked Beth—a lot. But she was a confessed murderer. “She might get lucky on sentencing. A smart lawyer could play up extenuating circumstances.”

  Dooley wanted to tell him: She didn’t do it. It wasn’t her. But then he thought about the conversation that would follow: How do you know? Did she tell you that? If she didn’t do it, why did she say she did? And Dooley would find himself lying to his uncle—again.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said instead. He started for the door.

  His uncle grabbed him by the arm. “We have to sign out.”

  As Dooley scrawled his signature on Beth’s visitor log for the second time, he scanned the rest of the names. There were hardly any: just her mother and Detective Randall, and, now, Dooley.

  SIXTEEN

  Dooley pictured it happening this way: his uncle, sitting in his cramped little office at the back of the first of two dry-cleaning stores he owned, his watch off his wrist and propped up in front of him like a little clock, staring at the minute hand and then the second hand until he calculated that Dooley had had enough time after the final bell to go to his locker, fill his backpack with homework, and make his way down the stairs and out the front door of the school to the sidewalk. Then, at the precise moment when he calculated—correctly, it turned out—that Dooley’s foot had hit the sidewalk, he pressed the speed dial number for Dooley’s cell phone.

  Dooley groaned when he read the display. What now?

  “Get over here right now,” that’s what.

  “Why?” Dooley said.

  A gusty, irritated sigh blew into his ear.

  “Randall called.”

  Shit.

  “What did he want?”

  “He wants you.”

  That didn’t sound good.

  “Did he say why?”

  “He said he wants you to go downtown and talk to him, so I can only assume he has more questions for you. I put in a call to Annette. She’s tied up in court. We’re going in first thing in the morning. Randall’s okay with that. But we need to talk, Ryan. Now.”

  Double shit.

  “I have some stuff I have to do. Can we talk when you get home?”

  There was another long pause.

  “Do you have any idea how serious this is?” his uncle said at last. “He’s a Homicide detective. He was at the house a couple of days ago with a search warrant. He took some of your clothes. And now he wants to talk to you—again. That doesn’t tell you something?”

  What it told Dooley was that Randall was still on him as a possible second suspect, but that right now he didn’t have enough to arrest him. But he didn’t say that to his uncle. He might jump to the wrong conclusion.

  “I know it’s serious,” Dooley
said. “But there’s this stuff I have to do. I’ll be home at supper. We can talk all you want. I promise.”

  He hit the END button, knowing, even as he did it, that he would regret it. His uncle had probably blown a gasket once he realized that Dooley had hung up on him.

  He checked his watch. He didn’t have to be at the athletic center until five o’clock. That gave him a little time. He headed down to the public park.

  The baseball diamond was swarming with little kids and parents. Dooley scanned the adult faces, but didn’t see the one he was looking for. He loped down the hill to the diamond and approached one of the moms. She was standing alone behind the backstop.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “Do you know when Mr. Ralston will be here?”

  She shook her head and opened her mouth to answer, but a man in a windbreaker beat her to it.

  “He hasn’t been around in over a week,” he said. “Hasn’t bothered to let anyone know, either. I left him some messages, but he didn’t get back to me.”

  Dooley had a pretty good idea why.

  “I heard he was coaching here,” Dooley said to the man. “He used to coach me. I thought it would be nice to catch up with him.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck.” The man turned and yelled something at the kid who had just gone up to bat.

  Dooley looked at the woman again.

  “Do you have any idea how I could get hold of him?”

  She shook her head.

  Terrific.

  He glanced around and wondered if he would have any luck with any of the other parents. Little League coaches probably gave out their phone numbers to parents. But how many gave out their addresses? What was the point in that?

  He saw a kid standing by himself to one side of the bleachers and headed for him instead. He stood beside the kid for a while, watching the game.