A Healing Justice

by Kristin von Kreisler

  Fixx coughed and fumbled with his notes so he appeared to be looking for something, but the awkward silence was obviously intended to pressure her into saying more. Perhaps he wanted her to admit that the raffle ticket was a prelude to a delicious affair, that she and Christopher had groped and thrashed during after-school trysts and their hot breath had fogged her patrol car’s windows.

  When Andie did not volunteer rope to hang herself, Fixx coughed again. “What if the deceased had come back to sell you a magazine subscription? What would you have done?”

  “Objection. Irrelevant.” Hausmann pounded his fist on the table.

  “All right. We’ll get back to that.” Another of Fixx’s smiles told Andie, Sweat it out while you wait. “Let’s return to the deceased running toward you. Why did you think you were in danger?”

  “He stabbed my dog. I saw his knife.”

  “Have you had training in de-escalation tactics?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was it?”

  “A workshop given by our department psychologist, Dr. Capoletti.”

  “So what did he teach you about calming down somebody?”

  “Basically, you ask open-ended questions and get him talking. You paraphrase what he says and repeat it back to him so he knows you’re listening and you understand. You build rapport.”

  “Did you ask questions and build rapport with the deceased?” Fixx asked.

  “I had no time to talk with him. He was running at me. De-escalation tactics wouldn’t have worked.”

  Fixx continued to badger her. He tried to get her to admit she’d cut corners and not bothered to try an alternative to force. When she didn’t buckle under his questions, he finally moved on to her knowledge of first aid and asked, “Did you have any training to take care of wounds?”

  “Yes, at the Academy. Since then, I’ve had to be recertified every two years.”

  “So you’d say you’re an expert?”

  “No, but I know what to do,” Andie said.

  “When did you notice the deceased was bleeding?”

  “Soon after he fell.”

  “And you started first aid immediately,” Fixx said, as if any competent officer would have jumped right in to save a life.

  “I had to call for help first and make sure I was safe.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “I kicked away his knife, checked him for other weapons, and cuffed him.”

  “When did you finally get around to helping him, Ms. Brady?” Fixx asked with sarcasm.

  “Objection. Mischaracterizes her testimony. She administered first aid after following necessary protocol,” Hausmann said.

  “I saw he was bleeding badly, so I wound a tourniquet around his leg,” Andie said.

  “Where?” Fixx asked.

  “Above the wound. In the middle of the bend between the front of his leg and his hip, as high up as I could.”

  And so it went. Fixx circled around and around, stopping one topic and picking up another and returning to the topic before. Why did Andie apply the tourniquet and then leave the deceased? When the police arrived, why was she bent over her dog?

  Andie stayed cool as lettuce even when he brought up her “relationship” to Christopher again. And again. Fixx weaseled around and tucked that topic into most lines of his questions. He seemed obsessed with it. When he pursued her history on the force, he asked if Andie had a boyfriend. Did she ever fantasize about teenage boys? Would she say that she was sexually fulfilled?

  After four hours of Fixx’s grilling and his threat to require her to return for more, Andie got up and walked outside into the gathering darkness with Justice and Hausmann. She didn’t need her lawyer to say she’d done a good job today because she knew she had. She wished Tom were here so she could tell him that she’d done what he’d suggested. Ain’t nobody messed with her.

  CHAPTER 50

  TOM

  Andrea was raking leaves in front of her house when Tom drove up in his patrol car. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, and her cheeks were flushed from exercise. As Tom tucked a manila envelope under his arm and started across the grass, Justice galloped over to him. Tom held out his hand for the requisite sniff.

  “Hey, Brady! It’s almost April. Don’t you know you’re supposed to rake leaves in the fall?”

  When Andie smiled, her green eyes could conquer nations, including the Nation of Tom. On her small hands, her leather garden gloves looked like mitts. “I didn’t feel like cleaning up out here before,” she said.

  “Need some help?”

  “I’m done.” Andie tied her last bag of leaves closed and set it with others lined up on her flagstone path.

  “Aren’t you going to rake that side of your yard?” Tom pointed to what once had been the crime scene.

  “I can’t get myself to go over there. I don’t park in front of my house anymore, either.”

  “Why?”

  “It gives me the creeps.”

  “Park wherever you want, but if you let that part of your yard go to hell, by summer the grass will be up to your windows.”

  Andie shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Tell that to the fire department. Tall grass is a hazard. If you find me over there raking and mowing someday, you’ll know why,” Tom said as Justice nudged his hand to ask for pets. Tom stooped down and scratched Justice’s chest, which was one of his favorite spots.

  As Andie took off her gloves and stuffed them into her jacket pocket, Tom noticed that she looked puzzled, and he realized she might be wondering why he was there. Dropping into the Barkery with an ice-cream cone was different from showing up at her house. Crossing a boundary called for an explanation.

  “I wanted to talk with you about something,” Tom said.

  “Good or bad?” Andie asked.

  “Depends on how you look at it.”

  “Now you have me worried.”

  “It’s just some news.”

  “Um . . . do you want to talk out here or come in for a cup of tea?” Andie asked.

  “Let’s go in.” Tom was a put-hair-on-your-chest espresso man, but for her he’d stoop to chamomile.

  * * *

  Tom had not stepped through Andie’s front door since the shooting. After such a violent incident, even the house had seemed shocked, like it had been shaken to its foundation. Tom had turned on all the lights to chase away the gloom pervading the place. Wishing he didn’t have to be there, he’d zipped up his jacket against the chill.

  But today sun shone through the windows, and the rooms felt light and airy and warm. Tom was aware of bright, friendly colors coming at him from all directions—the stained-glass lamp hanging in the entry, the rug and sofa pillows in the living room, the red geraniums blooming in the windowsills. It felt like the house had come to life again.

  He followed Andie into the kitchen, and just as he’d helped her wash the Barkery dishes, he set the breakfast table with the place mats, spoons, and cups she handed him. They discussed Andie’s deposition and Ron Hausmann’s belief that she’d stopped Norm Fixx in his tracks. Tom did not mention that he’d almost waited for her outside the law firm that day. But then he’d decided that if she’d walked outside defeated, however unlikely, she might have wanted to be alone.

  Justice Hoovered down a people cracker, and on his golden kitchen throne he lay on his side and thrust out his legs so his body formed a sideways U. His sagging eyelids announced that Tom could take over as guard and protector until Justice finished his nap.

  At the table across from Tom, Andie poured tea into his cup, and steam billowed up between them. He took a gulp and winced—it was chamomile. How could anybody drink this stuff? Still, it was pleasant to be here. He’d have welcomed sitting around for a friendly chat, but the manila envelope next to his elbow reminded him that he’d come here on business.

  “I’ve got some things to tell you,” he said. “The lab’s still working on Christopher’s cell, but they got into his lap
top. I printed up part of his journal.”

  All the way across the table, Tom heard Andie’s sharp intake of breath. “Did he write terrible things?”

  “He’s left us a lot to think about.”

  “Like what?” Andie asked.

  “For starters, we were right that Christopher didn’t have good parents.” Tom unclasped the envelope and slid out pages, which he’d marked with yellow Post-it notes. “Christopher always refers to Franz as ‘the Jackass’ and Jane as ‘the Slave.’ There’s no dad or mom mentioned anywhere.”

  “That’s sad,” Andie said.

  “It gets worse.” Tom set the first marked page on top of the others. “You want to read this yourself, or should I summarize?”

  “Summarize.”

  “Okay. Here’s an example of something that happens pretty regularly, because it’s clear that Franz is emotionally abusive. He tells Christopher to make him a chicken sandwich for lunch. So Christopher picks some meat off a carcass in the refrigerator, puts everything together, and brings it to Franz, who’s glued to a Mariners game.” Tom read: “ ‘The Jackass took a couple of bites and started yelling about chicken fat and why hadn’t I cut it off. I didn’t know chickens had fat. I mean, BIG DEAL.Who cares? But apparently I’m a LOSER who’ll never amount to anything because I don’t know about chicken fat? And no wonder nobody likes me, because I’m too stupid to make a sandwich.’”

  Tom continued, summarizing, “Franz threatens to ground him for disrespect—apparently Christopher is punished for no good reason all the time—but after Franz’s flash of anger, he loses interest and goes back to the Mariners. Then Jane comes home that night.”

  Tom read again: “‘I didn’t bother telling the Slave what the Jackass said because, as usual, she’d act like it wasn’t important. She’d say what she always does: “Oh, that’s just Franz’s way of talking. He doesn’t mean any harm. YOU need to try and get along with him better.” Like it’s MY fault he’s an asshole. She doesn’t get it. I don’t matter to her.’ ”

  “That’s horrible,” Andie said. “But Christopher was wrong. He did matter to Jane. When she stopped here before Christmas, she was really upset.”

  “Maybe he didn’t matter enough. Or Jane could have been trying not to rock the boat with Franz. Maybe she’s scared of him—he could mistreat her too,” Tom said. “You can see why Christopher stole shirts and attacked the camp counselor. In a house like that, he had to put his anger somewhere.” Tom hid his grimace as he swallowed more chamomile. “It’s a shame Christopher couldn’t have hung on till he grew up a little. Once he got bigger, he could have stood up to his dad.” Like I did. Tom knew what Christopher had felt.

  “Jane should have left Franz.” Andie’s face looked as dark as it had during Tom’s investigation. “Abuse like that can be so damaging to a kid. It’s awful nobody intervened.”

  “I know you think you should have, Brady, but forget that. There was no way,” Tom said. “And Christopher’s girlfriend didn’t help. You want to hear about her?”

  “I’m not sure I can stand it. But go ahead.”

  Tom flipped to another page and read: “‘I called Kim five thousand times yesterday, but she wouldn’t talk to me. She got her parents to say she wasn’t home. Like I really believed them. I called this morning at seven and she was still “gone.” RIGHT. I can’t believe I was ever dumb enough to think she cared.’ ”

  When Tom looked up, Andie had dropped her head to her hands. She looked like she couldn’t bear to hear another word. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but I thought you needed to know,” Tom said.

  “I do. It’s just hard. He must have felt so alone,” she mumbled against her palms.

  Tom appreciated that Brady, the tough cop, was more sensitive than she probably liked people to believe. And the truth was that he himself didn’t exactly enjoy thinking about that sad kid. In Tom’s work, he came across troubled teens like Christopher every day, but the numbers of them out there didn’t make knowing about him easier. “I can stop if you want me to.”

  “No.” Andie raised her head again. “Keep going.”

  “Christopher rants all through his journal about the Jackass and the Slave. But two days before he attacks you and Justice, he keys a teacher’s car, and he gets into a brawl with Joey. Christopher calls Kim a ‘coldhearted bitch’ and says he wants to kill her.”

  “You think he meant it?”

  “We’ll never know.” Tom set another page on top of the others. “He admits he’s been doing things he knows are wrong and he doesn’t even want to do them.”

  “Like what?”

  “Besides the shirts and camp counselor, he probably means the keying and the fight. I’m not sure. He says he doesn’t want to be like that anymore. He wants to move on to a better place and start over,” Tom said. “I imagine he was pretty lost.”

  “That makes what I did worse.” Andie scrunched up her face like she might cry.

  “No, Brady. Christopher brought it on himself. I’m sure he was upset about more than he writes in this journal. It all adds up. Near the end, he says he doesn’t want to live anymore.”

  “I made sure of that.”

  “That’s why I came to talk with you.” Tom wanted to reach across the table and take her hand, but for now he was a messenger, not a comforter. “The most important thing you need to know is that Christopher wanted to kill himself, but he couldn’t work up the courage. He decided to buy the knife and run at you and force you to shoot him. Look at his final journal entry. . . .” Tom set a page between them and pointed to the last two lines. “He says: ‘I’m going to commit suicide by cop. Tonight I’m going to die.’”

  “Die” echoed around the kitchen. Andie looked like she’d been slapped, and her cheeks looked feverish. She pressed her lips together like she was stifling a wail.

  “It’s hard to hear. You’re shocked.” Tom got up, found a glass in Andie’s cupboard, and filled it with water. He set the glass in front of her. “Here, drink this. It’ll help.” In the quiet kitchen, Tom listened to Andie’s swallows. Down the road, someone was using a leaf blower. Crows were cawing in Andie’s trees.

  “If I’d only known what Christopher was thinking that night,” she finally said.

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference. He didn’t give you time to talk him down. He wanted you to shoot, and he chose to die. He basically asked for your help,” Tom said. “Christopher put you in a terrible position. He used you. He was too young to see how he’d affect your life.”

  “All this time, I’ve felt responsible. . . .” Andie’s voice drifted off.

  “You may have pulled the trigger, but you’re not to blame for Christopher’s death. You carried out his wish.”

  Tom finally did what he’d wanted to do for a long time. He reached over and took Andie’s hand, which felt like ice, but maybe he could warm it. “Now you can let yourself be at peace.”

  CHAPTER 51

  ANDREA

  Andie was pulling Beef Yummies from the oven when the Barkery’s phone rang.

  “Glad I caught you,” Ron Hausmann said.

  “I’m still here.” Please, don’t tell me I have to face another deposition.

  “I’ve got news.”

  Andie braced herself.

  “Norm Fixx just called. Christopher’s journal has changed everything,” Hausmann said. “The Vanderwaals realize they don’t have a case. They’ve dropped their civil suit.”

  When Andie grabbed the stainless-steel counter to steady herself, she almost knocked the Beef Yummies onto the floor.

  “You’re free, Andrea.”

  “So that’s it? No legal fight? No six million dollars? I don’t have to do anything else?”

  “Nope,” Hausmann said. “How does it feel to walk away from such a mess?”

  “I’ll let you know after it all sinks in.”

  Could she ever walk away from such a mess? Not completely.

  As she drove to the beach, the s
ame worn and tattered question gnawed at her: Did I do the right thing? Suicide by cop had blurred the answer to her question. Tom Wolski was right that Christopher had used her—her actions had been a foregone conclusion to him. It tarnished the freedom she felt now that the Vanderwaals had dropped their suit.

  Andie parked and got out of her Honda. When she opened the passenger door, Justice, who’d moped in the Barkery all afternoon, took a flying leap. The instant his paws touched the parking lot’s gravel he rejoiced at being in his favorite place. In contrast to her pensive mood, he danced, ecstatic, around her feet.

  Andie grabbed her army blanket and followed him as he pranced along a path through the woods. They passed blackberry thickets, ferns, and sorrel until the canopy of branches thinned and the greenery got scruffy. Finally, they stepped into the light, slanting from a slowly setting sun, and the beach lay before them. Justice’s sniffing nostrils shouted, Crabs! Sea cucumbers! All for me! and he dashed away. Andie walked alone.

  Now that April had arrived, the weather was warmer. The water’s steely winter gray had changed to a silvery blue, reflecting the sky. Along the beach, willows and alders glowed with the green aura of renewal that was about to burst forth in new leaves. Geese and great blue herons had flown in from their southern winter sojourn and were sunning themselves on the pebbles.

  The last time Andie had brought Justice here, the tide and wind had carried her letter’s scraps back to shore. But today the tide was going out, and the wind had calmed—and there wasn’t a piece of her paper left anywhere. Nature had brought her anger and guilt out to sea and drowned them so now mostly what remained was her regret, which came in occasional bouts. Like now.

  Though Christopher had wanted Andie to kill him, she still felt sorry that she had. She wished he were alive today and had decades left to sort out his problems. She told herself that if she’d known he’d be waiting in the bushes she could have come home earlier or later when he wasn’t there. If she’d been willing to die, she could have risked Tasing or Macing him or fighting him with her bare hands. If she’d been a mind reader, she could have befriended him and headed off his death wish.