The One-Eyed Judge

by Ponsor, Michael;

  “I’m telling you the truth, Libby. I never touched the fucking thing. Now take the …”

  “Good-bye, Ryan.” She picked up the duffel bag and walked toward the door. Then she paused and turned back into the room. Ryan must have thought she’d been bluffing.

  “Oh, Jesus.” He twisted his behind toward her. “Just help me with …”

  But Elizabeth only went as far as the bench, where she’d tossed Ryan’s pants, and pulled his cell phone out of the hip pocket.

  “If you ever get down from there, you’re going to need a new cell. This thing’s going into the river.”

  As she was leaving the room, Ryan completely lost it and yelled after her. “Come back here, dammit! I mean it. Hey!” Elizabeth was halfway down the stairs when his tone changed, and his voice got louder. “Okay!” His voice pursued her. “You’re right!” Then, even louder, screaming the syllables out, “Lib-beeee! Goddammit!”

  Elizabeth took a seat on the bottom stair. Listening to Ryan howl was a pleasure, in a way, and she let him go at it for a while.

  A few minutes later, back in the room, she approached him, keeping some distance between them. He was still pretty drunk, and his face was red from all the yelling. She didn’t want to tempt him to take a kick at her.

  “It wasn’t just me,” he said sulkily. “It was mostly Mattoon.”

  Elizabeth looked at him. “Okay. Let’s hear.”

  “Let me down first. That’s fair.” Ryan shot her his sincere look. “Then, I promise, I’ll tell you the whole thing.”

  Elizabeth turned to leave.

  “Okay, okay,” Ryan said. “I saw the flyer, sitting, like, on top of the wastebasket, okay? It was so gross. I couldn’t imagine even a creep like Cranmer being into that kind of puke.”

  “Uh-huh. What then?”

  “You were in the bathroom. I took it. Later, I showed it to Mattoon. I wasn’t going to do anything with it, except maybe give it to you, but he talked me into mailing it in. He said it would be a joke.” He twisted his head. “This rope is getting tight, Lib. I could slip, and it would be hard for you to get me down in time.”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I might not bother.” When Ryan gaped at her, Elizabeth added, “Professor Cranmer could die in prison.”

  “We didn’t know that.”

  “But you didn’t say anything after you did know. You didn’t, and Mattoon didn’t.”

  Ryan looked to the side, started to say something, but then thought better of it.

  Elizabeth looked him over for a few more seconds, then punched in the code on her phone. “You also took his credit card information, Ry. You weren’t all that innocent.”

  “He kept it sitting right out on a sticky on the side of his computer, okay? So I wrote it down. I admit that.” He looked at his feet and shifted from side to side. “Can we do the video now? Then you’ll get me down, right? Honestly, I’m getting scared up here.” He swayed a little, either because he really was losing it, or because he wanted her to think so.

  “First, we rehearse. Then the video. Then I call campus security. They’ll come get you.”

  “That’s fucking stupid, Lib. What you’ve done here is, like, a crime. What are they gonna think? Don’t be dumb.”

  “As I said, it was a sex game that got out of hand, Ry. You were drunk and pissed, and I got scared you’d hurt me, so I did the responsible thing: I called the police.”

  “Such bullshit.”

  “Right. So, you and Professor Mattoon …”

  “When we heard about the FBI coming to Sid’s house and everything, believe me, we were like—” He was talking fast. Elizabeth slowed him down.

  “Details, Ry. I need to know you’re not feeding me a line just to get off that chair.” Elizabeth folded her arms. “Tell me something you can’t deny tomorrow. Then we’ll do our recording. After that, we’ll see.”

  The noose had gotten tighter, and Ryan, she could tell, really was getting a little scared. She felt a nudge of sympathy. He wasn’t an evil person, just a shit. Maybe this whole project of hers could still bring him around. Maybe he’d learn something.

  “Okay, but don’t forget my Miranda warnings, babe.” He made his dimple, recalling a legal studies course they’d taken together, The American Constitutional System.

  “The Miranda warnings?”

  “I have a right not to incriminate myself, you know.”

  Elizabeth turned toward the far wall and shook her head, as though she were sharing this bit of brainlessness with their invisible professor. What had she seen in this loser? She lifted her chin up at him. “The Bill of Rights only protects people from improper state action, Ry—things cops and officials do—not from private parties like me. Don’t you ever listen in class?”

  41

  Jordan Norcross woke up in the strange house, more scared than she had been in her whole life. A fading memory of some nightmare—fire, a huge red mouth with teeth, and everybody screaming—was still crowding her chest, making her heart pound. Her cheeks and eyelashes were damp, and the feeling in her throat told her that more tears would be rushing in soon. When they did, they would never stop.

  Jordan slipped out of bed, keeping her head turned away from the horrible smiley-clown nightlight Uncle Dave had bought for her. Halfway down the hall, she passed the room where Lindsay was sleeping and slowed from running to a fast walk. She did not want to wake up her sister, who might get mad and say something mean. Her heart was still hammering.

  She continued down the hall past the bathroom—she didn’t need to go—and right up to the open door of Uncle Dave’s room. A warm smell was coming from inside that reminded her of her dad. As she stood there, catching her breath, her heart began to slow down a little.

  Jordan very carefully entered Uncle Dave’s bedroom, barefoot on the carpet, like an Indian.

  Uncle Dave was in his big bed snoring. Not loud. Sort of like breathing-snoring.

  She did this with her father, when he was home and they had bad thunderstorms. The two of them would snuggle up. He was big and squishy, like the Saggy Baggy Elephant. Uncle Dave’s room had a safe smell. After waiting a little while, listening to the house creaking, Jordan pulled back the covers and slipped into the big bed. Her side was cool, but she could reach a hand to where Uncle Dave’s long lumpy shadow lay. Over there it was warm.

  Uncle Dave moved in his sleep, rolling toward the window and pulling most of the covers off her. His movement was kind of a jiggle-bounce. He was skinnier than her dad, more like the Very Hungry Caterpillar.

  Jordan whispered, “Uncle Dave?”

  Uncle Dave made a jumpy move and said something like “Whuh?” and sat up very quickly, which made Jordan feel like laughing. He was wearing a piece of tape over his nose, and his wiry hair was all over the place. She’d never seen Uncle Dave, who was always so serious, looking silly like this. He had his hand on his chest and was peeping around in the dark. He hadn’t seen her yet.

  Jordan reached over and took one of his pillows. Uncle Dave looked down at her, as though he wasn’t sure what she was or where she’d come from. The pillow was extralarge, big enough to put her head on and hug at the same time.

  “Don’t be a cover hog,” Jordan said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Don’t be a cover hog.”

  Uncle Dave looked at her for a while—would he kick her out?—then flapped some covers over toward her. The flap made a puff of air that smelled exactly, exactly like Dad. “There you go,” he said.

  After a while, Uncle Dave lay back down and rolled away again, but without yanking the covers this time.

  “You’re stinky,” Jordan said.

  “So are you.”

  Soon after that she must have fallen asleep.

  The next morning, after another bad night, Lindsay woke feeling like she had a truck p
arked on her chest. Today was, or would have been, her mother’s birthday, and Lindsay realized she was possibly the only one on Earth now who remembered it. Jordan was too young to keep the date in her head, and it was a family joke that her father always forgot. Her mom would put on a determined face and arrange her own party, with some kind of crazy cake—a cake in the shape of the Washington Monument or whatever—and pictures and videos of things that had happened during the year. Presents she’d bought for herself would be wrapped up so she could act surprised. It sounded lame, but it was fun actually.

  The pain of this memory was so overwhelming that Lindsay had to bury it in anger at her prick of a father. Her feeling of rage swelled in her chest as the daylight grew and the outline of the room came into focus. Her mom had confided to Lindsay that she did not want to take the Croatia trip, and Lindsay had tried to convince her to stand up to Dad for once and just not go. She’d been totally furious at her mother for caving in again and leaving Jordan and her at home with the nanny. At the end of their talk, Lindsay blew up and stomped out of the kitchen, deliberately muttering that her mother was a stupid cow, loud enough for her to hear. Now, the very last image she had of her mother was her standing next to the island looking really hurt.

  During one of their trips back to DC, she’d tried to confront her dad about him dragging Mom along on the stupid Croatia trip, and they’d both lost it. The next day, after she and Jordan were on their way back to Massachusetts, he’d supposedly nearly died or something. She almost wished he had.

  Plus, her weed had disappeared, which was the only thing that evened her out these days. Had Uncle Dave been sneaking around in her room? He didn’t seem like that kind, but what else could have happened? On top of all that, she’d forgotten to dump her clothes in the laundry, and now she didn’t have anything to wear except the jeans and sweatshirt she’d slept in.

  All this had her dreading the idea of going to school, sure she’d start crying if someone said something nice to her—or even something mean to her or talked to her at all—when a knock on her door startled her.

  It was Uncle Dave. Great.

  “Hustle up, okay? Bus is coming in fifteen minutes.”

  She kept very quiet. Maybe he would think she was asleep and go away.

  He knocked again. “There’s a bagel on the counter and some cream cheese.” He wouldn’t leave. “Okay?” A pause. “Lindsay? Are you awake in there?” It was incredibly annoying.

  She called out, “I’m not going today.” A longer pause.

  “Are you sick?”

  It was ridiculous talking back and forth through the door. She got up and opened it a crack. Uncle Dave was standing there in his navy pinstripe looking hassled. He was just like her dad, always in his suit and tie and in a rush.

  “No, I’m not sick. I’m just not going in today, okay?”

  He looked at her, then looked down and scratched the back of his head. “You can’t just not go to school when you don’t feel like it.”

  “Why can’t I?”

  He sniffed and looked at her. “We all have our jobs, Lindsay. I have to go to work, you and Jordan have to go to school. We all—”

  “I need a mental health day.”

  “You had two mental health days last week. I’m getting uncomfortable having you hang around the house while I’m—”

  “Uncle Dave, I’m really sorry you’re uncomfortable, but I can’t manage school today, okay?” She opened the door a little wider.

  Jordan ran up. “What’s going on?”

  It was like someone was pumping air into Lindsay, just one thing after another until she’d explode. “Jord, do me a favor and vanish for a second, will you, please? Uncle Dave and I are—”

  “Hey.” Now Uncle Dave was getting protective. Lindsay knew she was being a bitch, but he was the one who wouldn’t leave her alone, and it really bugged her that he was going all Poppa Bear with Jordan.

  Plus, he wouldn’t shut up.

  “Just take it easy now, Lindsay. I put a bagel on the counter, and your bus will be here in ten minutes or so. Staying home isn’t going to work out today.”

  The sense of something pushing up from Lindsay’s gut was getting overwhelming. Part of it was that she could see Jordan, with her wet brown eyes, picking up on things and getting stressed, which just made her angrier.

  Jordan turned and skipped down the hall, calling over her shoulder. “I’m going to put my Eggo in the toaster.”

  Lindsay turned to Uncle Dave. “I’m not going to school.”

  Uncle Dave was shaking his head, about to tell her about how much work he had to do. “Listen, Lindsay. Today is a particularly tough—”

  “I heard Jordan running down the hall last night. I suppose she hopped in bed with you?”

  Uncle Dave shrugged. “She startled the heck out of me. I guess she was scared.”

  “I could tell the counselor at school that I’m concerned.”

  “You’re concerned?”

  “I could tell the counselor at school that I’m concerned about something maybe going on with you and Jordan.”

  “She was scared, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, but I’d just have to say I was worried. I wouldn’t have to say I knew anything for sure.” Uncle Dave was standing there looking at her. Lindsay was hating herself, but hating herself was just making her angrier. “I’d only need to say that Jordan was with you, right? And that afterward, she seemed to be acting sort of strange, and I was worried about what was going on. And they’d have to investigate. That’s the law now.”

  Uncle Dave’s face changed. He got it.

  “Jordan had a bad dream, Lindsay. You can’t …”

  “Just don’t push me, Uncle Dave, okay? I’m, you know, I’m my father’s daughter, and I’m not going to school today. That’s it.” She stepped back and closed the door hard.

  A silence on the other side. Then Uncle Dave’s footsteps going downstairs. Sounds of Jordan and him talking in the kitchen. Lindsay crawled back into bed and pulled the sheet up to blot out the daylight. She was so, so fucking sick of all this.

  She must have dozed off, because she was jerked out of sleep sometime later by a loud rapping on her bedroom door. The door popped partway open as she was pulling herself up onto one elbow, and an empty suitcase came flying in and bounced off the side of her bed.

  “Pack up.” It was Uncle Dave calling from the hallway.

  “What?” She was still foggy.

  “Pack up, Lindsay. You’re on a ten thirty flight to DC.”

  “What?”

  “You’re going home. You dad doesn’t like it, but that’s too bad.”

  “He agreed?”

  Uncle Dave was standing in her doorway now. He probably hadn’t wanted to poke his head in until he was sure she was covered up and everything.

  “He didn’t have time to agree or disagree, but he’ll have someone at Washington National to meet you.”

  “What … ?”

  Uncle Dave pointed at her. “You may be your father’s daughter, but I’m his brother, okay?” He nodded at the suitcase. “Pack up. We’re leaving in half an hour.” He walked down the hall. “Your bagel’s still on the counter if you want it.”

  A few minutes later, Norcross was down in the kitchen, his laptop open on the island, emailing his staff to rechoreograph the day. He’d already called Ruby and asked her to contact as many of the Cranmer jurors as possible. Seat Nine was from Great Barrington and was probably already on the Pike, but David couldn’t help it. The trial today would be starting at eleven instead of nine in order to give him time to drop Lindsay at Bradley Airport. A sentencing he’d scheduled for late that afternoon would also have to be pushed back, which would inconvenience the marshals, who were already on the road bringing the defendant in from Rhode Island. It was a mess, but he had no choice.
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br />   He never should have let Ray talk him into taking the girls in the first place. He wasn’t suited for it. The memory of getting manipulated over Christmas into agreeing to the six-month extension made him furious now. He closed the laptop, picked up his coffee, and drank most of it in two long gulps. Out the window, past the garage, the remains of the most recent snowstorm were piled along the sides of the driveway. The traffic would be heavy on I-91, so they’d need to leave plenty of time. Heaven help him if the flight were canceled.

  Had he been wrong to make a big deal about Lindsay’s not going to school today?

  Probably. He really had no idea. But she’d been missing so much school, and the marijuana and the kid in the pickup had given him the jitters. What was she up to all day?

  If it hadn’t been this, it would have been something else. Who did she think she was, pushing him around with that hooey about talking to a counselor? It was just the sort of stunt Ray would pull. In fact, when he had called Ray and told him what was going on with his daughter, Ray had just chuckled and said, “That’s my Lindsay!” By the end of their phone call, he wasn’t so jolly.

  When he came home from work later, he’d explain to Jordan that Lindsay had gone back to Washington to talk to her dad about something. The two of them would have pizza with carrot sticks and watch Frozen for the eighteenth time. In honor of the movie’s theme, he’d pick up ice cream bars on the way home for dessert. It actually didn’t sound too bad.

  Norcross looked up at the ceiling and listened. Jordan had dashed out the door in time for her bus, but aside from a few vague thumps, he hadn’t been hearing much from Lindsay. With a feeling of dread he trudged upstairs to find out what the heck was going on.

  “You all set in there?” Something moved and a shadow flickered under her door. “We need to push off in about fifteen minutes.” There was a noise, like a groan. Something fell over. “Lindsay?”

  “Yeah. Yes. I’m coming. I just need …” Her voice was odd somehow, and muffled. He opened the door.

  Lindsay was sitting on the edge of her unmade bed, elbows on her knees, hands covering her face. Was she sick? The suitcase sat open on the floor next to the bed. There was nothing in it except a bra and her catcher’s mitt.