Dead Wrong

by Janice Kay Johnson

  "Yeah, there's a women's league, too. I'm not much of a basketball player, but I play. It's the one place you can ram an elbow in a judge's stomach and not get slapped with contempt."

  His laugh may have been forced, but she had to give him credit for effort. "Hey, I'm sold. Every time somebody pisses me off in court, I can hope they play on an opposing team."

  "The league is in the fall, though, so you're too late for this year."

  He was deftly chopping vegetables for a salad. Sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar, she watched his hands, large and capable, engaged in such a domestic chore. He had wonderful hands.

  Trina felt slightly light-headed. How very strange to be sitting here, in Will Patton's apartment, sipping wine as she watched him put together dinner for the two of them. There was a time she'd have believed she could die happy if only she could have one date with him. And now, here she was.

  Not exactly on a date, of course; he'd pretty much gotten stuck with her. Still…

  "What's it like?" she heard herself ask. "Being back after so long away?"

  For a moment his hands went still. "Weird." His voice was gruff. "Home isn't home anymore. Maybe someday it will be again, but right now I feel like a stranger in a strange land." He resumed chopping a green onion. "Did you leave for college?"

  "Yeah, but I always meant to come back when I graduated. Lately I've been wondering why. Cowardice, I suppose." She took a hasty swallow of wine. For Pete's sake, why had she said that?

  "Because the familiar seems safe?"

  She nodded.

  "The truth is, there's nothing more emotionally loaded than our relationships with families and old friends. 'Easy' is dinner with a casual friend who you didn't ditch for a year in middle school because you'd gotten too cool for him. Who in fact didn't know you in middle school. You have plenty to talk about, none of it charged with resentment or regret."

  "Or the memory of the time you sneaked out in the middle of the night to go sledding in the dark, or the time your friend admitted to something he didn't do because you'd have been in more trouble than he was."

  He gave her a wry smile. "There you go. The problem is, easy isn't always the most fulfilling." He took salad dressing from the refrigerator. "Have you been thinking about leaving Elk Springs behind?"

  "Only when it's really cold. I hate cold weather. I don't ski, never learned how, and honestly it doesn't look that appealing to me. I could be a cop in Scottsdale, Arizona, or San Diego."

  "In the midst of strangers." He put spaghetti into the boiling water.

  "Maybe in the midst of people who look more like me." Oh, God—she really should have said no to the wine.

  He studied her with obvious surprise and curiosity. "What do you mean?"

  Flushing, she wished she'd kept her mouth shut. What was she doing, fishing for a compliment that wouldn't come? "Every woman around here seems to be a Nordic goddess," she muttered. "And the men are Nordic gods. They all have that ruddy glow skiers seem to get, and they're athletic, and they have gleaming, straight teeth."

  "Your teeth aren't crooked."

  "I didn't say they were. But you know what I mean. This has turned into a resort town for rich, beautiful people."

  To her surprise, he said, "It's true, Elk Springs has become a mini-Aspen. But spring will come and the beautiful people will disappear."

  She sighed. "When? June? My father used to say Elk Springs has a nine-month-long winter and just time left over for summer."

  Will gave the first genuine laugh she'd seen from him tonight. "I'm afraid that's about right. Portland had great springs. Lilacs in bloom…"

  "And rain pitter-pattering."

  "That's pretty much a year-round thing. At least it wasn't cold."

  "So why did you come back?" Awed at her boldness, she held her breath waiting to see if he closed up the way he had the other time she asked.

  He turned off the stove and poured spaghetti and water into a colander in the sink. "You know, I've asked myself that a hundred times. I guess the truth is, I was lonely. I'd made friends, but not the kind who'd lie and get themselves in trouble to save you from deep shit." He switched gears. "Why don't we just dish up in the kitchen?"

  "Sure." Trina hopped off the stool and circled the end of the counter. He handed her a plate and, when she extended it, filled it with spaghetti.

  "Sauce is on the stove."

  When she lifted the lid and breathed in deep, her knees grew weak. For a moment she closed her eyes and just stood there savoring the smell. "Wow. I think I'm getting drunk just breathing in the scent. Your mom's right. Quit the D.A.'s office. Open a restaurant."

  "You haven't tasted it yet."

  "I don't have to." She swallowed saliva and opened her eyes. "Yes, I do."

  He brought the salad and garlic bread she hadn't even noticed him putting in the oven to the table, then dished up for himself once she'd carried her plate to the small eating nook.

  The spaghetti tasted as good as it looked. The meatballs were tender and spicy, the perfect accompaniment. "Your mother was crazy not to stay," Trina declared after the first bite.

  "My stepdad is a pretty good cook, too. And they still seem to be madly in love."

  "That's nice."

  "Yeah, it is. I was jealous as hell when she started dating Scott. I was fourteen and used to having my mother to myself. But I became reconciled. He's a great guy."

  "You're lucky. You have the perfect family."

  A flash of intense pain twisted his face. After an obvious pause, he said in a tight voice, "Yeah. Unfortunately, I don't seem to have noticed soon enough."

  Trina cocked her head. She'd guessed from hints the lieutenant dropped that something was wrong between them. But she couldn't imagine what. "What do you mean?"

  "I don't know how long you've worked with Mom, or whether she's told you our history."

  Trina shook her head. "I was thrilled when she tagged me for this investigation. Before that, the only time I'd talked to her was when she interviewed me for the promotion."

  He seemed to be looking into the past, not really even seeing her. "When she got pregnant with me, Mom left home. She was scared of her father. I guess he beat the crap out of her."

  Trina was shocked but not altogether surprised, if that made sense. She'd heard rumors that Elk Springs police chief Ed Patton had been a violent, cold man. Supposedly he'd dealt horrible deaths to a couple of suspects but had been lauded for keeping his town safe instead of questioned on his brutal methods. She didn't know how true the stories were, but they'd come from enough sources, she assumed they couldn't be completely fictional.

  "She didn't want him to know she had a child. So she raised me entirely on her own. She joined the army and became an MP. I was fourteen when she ran into someone by chance and found out her father was dead. That's when she brought me home to Elk Springs."

  Trina had tumbled head over heels in love with him right away. He'd been a ninth-grader, she was in seventh. In those days, the middle school had been attached to the high school, which gave an introverted twelve-year-old glimpses of the older kids. She had thought the new boy dark and mysterious. She could close her eyes and see him, a head taller than most kids his age with big hands and huge feet. A lock of dark hair had tended to fall over his forehead and he would shake his head to flip it back. Of course every girl in school had pursued him from the beginning. Trina would have been way too shy to join them even if he'd been a seventh-grader. As it was, she worshipped from afar.

  "I remember when you moved here. New kids weren't that common."

  He nodded. "Anyway, there I was, fourteen and suddenly I had a big, extended family. Aunts, uncles, cousins. And a father. I really wanted a father, and mine came through for me. He hadn't even known I existed, but he was great."

  Hadn't known Will existed? Trina filed away that tidbit to wonder about later.

  "Because it was all new to me, I didn't take family for granted the way most kids did.
I never went through a stage of not wanting to be seen with my parents."

  She wouldn't have been ashamed to be seen with his parents, either. They weren't regular mortals. Like the time his father had exchanged himself as a hostage for a teenage babysitter to save her life, then ended up dramatically killing the kidnapper, rescuing the other hostage and walking out alive.

  Her father couldn't get up from his recliner to get himself another beer.

  In an odd, faraway voice, Will said, "I guess I thought things would be the same forever. That they would forgive me for mistakes, but I didn't have to do the same. I don't know." He sat in silence for a minute, brooding, before giving himself a shake. "As you've probably gathered, I blew it."

  In puzzlement, she said, "But…they obviously still love you. Your mother does, anyway."

  "Love is one thing. Liking and trust are another." He lifted the bottle and refilled her wineglass, then added a splash to his. "What about your family? Are they still here in Elk Springs?"

  "My father and one brother are. I don't see much of them. My mother died when I was a kid. I had another brother who killed himself driving drunk, and a sister who's in Portland. She and I were allies, the two girls, you know, but…" Trina shrugged. "She's an alcoholic. Mostly I hear from her when she needs money."

  His eyes were warm. "That's rough."

  "For her. Not me. I mean, I'm doing all right."

  "Why did you come back to Elk Springs, then?"

  "I guess, like you said, it seemed safest. Besides, believe it or not I grew up wanting to be like your mother and your aunts. Hiring on with the sheriff's department or the Elk Springs PD seemed logical. I remember the first time your mom came to talk at the middle school."

  He grimaced. "She talked at the high school assembly the same day. Okay. That was one time I pretended I didn't know her."

  "Really?" Amazed, Trina stared at him. She'd sat there on the bleachers, squeezed between classmates, transported from the smelly, restless, noisy crowd of middle-schoolers to imagining herself in a uniform with a badge on her pocket, a gun at her hip and a confident, cool way of staring down insolence and evil alike.

  Will laughed again. "No, our last names were the same. I had to admit to a relationship. Fortunately, she didn't say anything embarrassing."

  "She's amazing. I still want to be like her."

  His expression changed and his voice became harsh. "Did you know I told her she'd as good as murdered Gillian herself? She and my father both? I was angry and cruel and I meant every goddamn word."

  Trina gaped at him. "Murdered Gillian?"

  "Both of them, but especially my mother, were so determined to see a possibility for redemption in everyone, they gave them chance after chance after chance. Ricky Mendoza had a chip on his shoulder. He walked around just waiting for an excuse to blow his top. Every time he got fired, it was because the boss was out to get him. It never occurred to him that he had such a piss-poor attitude, no one would want him around. He got arrested half a dozen times. He broke one poor son of a bitch's nose. Finally he stole a thirty-thousand-dollar SUV and wrecked it. But guess what? My mom went to bat for him. Got him a light sentence and then a job. Because she was convinced he'd had a rough childhood and he only needed someone to believe in him. If she hadn't believed in him, he would have been in prison the night Gilly was murdered."

  Shocked as much by his acid tone as by the story itself, she said, "You really believed your mother was responsible?"

  "And I've kept believing it all these years. I wasn't about to forgive either of my parents." He drained his wineglass, then poured more. His hand shook. "So, are you going to tell me what a bastard I am?"

  "I…I wouldn't presume…."

  He laughed, not a pleasant sound. "Or maybe you should tell me how richly I deserve my comeuppance, which I'm about to get."

  "What do you mean?" Trina asked carefully.

  "Even I have a hell of a time imagining Ricky Mendoza conning someone into committing vile rape and murder just to sow enough doubt in the minds of public officials to earn him a pardon." His dark, angry eyes challenged her. "Do you think we have two different killers?"

  Trina bit her lip, but shook her head.

  "Me, either. Mendoza might have ended up committing a crime. Who knows? But if he didn't kill Gilly…"

  "Then you hurt your parents without even having the justification of being right that they'd misjudged Ricky Mendoza's potential for violence."

  "Exactly." His mouth twisted, the torment on his face painful to see. "Do you want to know why I really moved back to Elk Springs?"

  She gave a small nod.

  "Because I wanted to forgive them. I wanted them to forgive me. I had some fantasy of going back to a time before everything went wrong."

  She couldn't think of a single thing to say. "Oh."

  "Funny, isn't it? I was going to forgive my parents." He gave a jeering laugh. "How goddamn noble of me. You know something else? Today I even briefly had the thought that God is punishing me. As my oh-so-wise mother observed, another piece of arrogance in the guise of remorse. Even I can't believe God visited unspeakable suffering on Amy and Karin just to humble me."

  He sounded as if he loathed himself. Pity stirred in Trina, but it was mixed with a shocked awareness that she didn't actually like this man. How could he have said such awful things to his mother? Hadn't it occurred to him that she would be thinking them anyway? That she'd feel horrifying guilt without any help from him? Why, in his grief, had he been so angry he wanted to hurt other people?

  When had the charming, confident boy Trina remembered from high school become capable of such rage?

  "How could you?" she asked quietly.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  PERHAPS SHE DESERVED for Will to turn on her. Who was she to judge? She'd never lost anyone she loved deeply, and in such a dreadful way. Maybe you would be angry, at everyone and everything. Maybe that was natural.

  She hoped not.

  Eyes dark, mouth still bitter, he said, "So I'm a bastard after all."

  "I shouldn't have said that."

  He shrugged carelessly. "I asked. And do you want to know the truth? I feel like scum. You can't tell me anything I don't know."

  None of her business, but…"Have you told your mother how you feel?"

  "God, no!" He gave a harsh laugh. "It's a hell of a lot easier to ask for forgiveness after you've bestowed it. Now I find myself the only one in the wrong. Not the same thing at all."

  "No," Trina agreed. "Now apologizing requires real humility."

  This laugh was more amused. The skin beside his eyes crinkled. "You're right. Unfortunately, humility appears to be a virtue I'm lacking." The amusement vanished. "I'm…working myself up to it. God knows they deserve their pound of flesh."

  "Do you think that's what they want?"

  She sounded so priggish. And who was she to lecture? She, who despised her father and enabled her sister's alcoholism because the mere idea of cutting her off, too, left a gigantic chasm inside her. Face it, she knew next to nothing about how normal, loving families worked.

  "I don't know what they want anymore." Will picked up the wine bottle, then set it back down. "I haven't gotten drunk since the night Gilly died. And here I am, thinking about it."

  "From what your mother said, the fact that you were drunk saved you from being a suspect in your girlfriend's murder."

  "My being drunk?" He seemed startled.

  "You, ah, snored."

  He blinked. "That bad?"

  "So rumor has it."

  "Jeez." He laughed without humor. "Okay. One more reason not to get plastered."

  "You don't like feeling out of control?"

  "Or like shit in the morning." Naked emotion flared in his eyes. "But most of all, I didn't like knowing that I couldn't have helped Gilly. If she'd somehow gotten away and called, I wouldn't have even heard the phone. I was too drunk, too busy wallowing in self-pity." He shrugged. "I suppose in the end, you
're right. I just don't like feeling out of control."

  "You're ashamed that you were getting drunk while she was being raped and murdered." His face stiffened; Trina hurried on. "If you can admit that to me, why can't you say 'I'm sorry' to your mother?" Then she realized. "No, silly question. It's not the same, not when you don't really care what I think about you. What was this, a trial run?"

  "You're easy to talk to. You know enough to understand the issues, but you're not emotionally invested." He shook his head. "My apologies."

  "No, it's okay," she began awkwardly, but he'd already risen to his feet and was gathering dirty dishes.

  "Let me help…"

  "No, have some coffee." His tone was cool, pleasant. That of a stranger. "This will only take me a minute."

  He brought her a cup of coffee and she presumed was gulping some himself to counteract the wine. Trying to control her inner turmoil, she tried to enjoy coffee that had nothing in common with her usual instant or the crap they brewed at the station. Wouldn't it figure that Will Patton, amateur chef and assistant D.A., served an intense, rich brew, encompassing bitterness as well as subtler flavors?

  When he returned from the kitchen, he said, "I'm sure you're wanting to get home."

  She finished the coffee and stood. "I'm sorry I have to drag you out."

  "I offered."

  Her parka still lay on the back of the rocker in the living room. He put on a long wool coat from the closet and leather gloves. Pride kept her from asking to use his bathroom again.

  Unlike her complex, his included a garage for each unit. Narrow spots, though. He backed out to let her in.

  Like most cops, she hated being a passenger, but Will drove so capably even on the snowy streets that she was able to sit still without her foot wearing out the floorboards and without any impulse to grab the steering wheel.

  Snow still fell in slow motion, the ghostly flakes visible mainly in pools of light cast by street lamps. Trina gave brief directions, then sat rigid as he followed them. She kept stealing glances at his profile, which gave away absolutely nothing.