Paternity Case

by Gregory Ashe

  Hazard’s foot came down on cement. The fumes hung thick in the closed space, making him dizzy. Somers paced the length of the basement. Unfinished drywall and dust. That’s all. Nothing else in the whole goddamn place. Where was Hazard? Somers’s mind conjured up a litany of horrible possibilities: Hazard’s mutilated body dragged out into the frozen emptiness; Hazard strapped into his car and driven into the Grand Rivere; Hazard dying, alone, where no one would find him. Somers’s breathing quickened. His field of vision shimmered as the gasoline fumes poisoned him.

  “No sign of him,” Moraes said, covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve. “Let’s get out of here before something sparks and we get toasted.”

  Somers nodded, following Moraes to the stairs. But something at the edge of his hearing stopped him.

  “Come on,” Moraes said. “This place could go up any minute.”

  Shaking his head, Somers held up a hand.

  “Somers, we gotta—”

  “Get upstairs then. Or stay. But you’ve got to be quiet.”

  Moraes, to his credit, stayed, but he glanced at the rectangle of light above them and sighed. Somers ignored him. The shimmering in front of his eyes had grown worse. A headache had started, a white-hot magnesium fire buried deep in his skull. He needed air, fresh air. But he stood still. He had heard something. He knew it.

  A tap. The sound was so quiet that it barely even deserved the name, more of a brush of contact than anything else. But Somers had heard it. He took a few nervous paces deeper into the basement. There it was again. He followed the noise. His heart jittered every time the soft rap sounded. Please, please, please. That was all Somers could think, and he knew it wasn’t helping, but the headache was getting worse, and he felt like he was seeing everything from under six feet of water.

  Then the sound was right next to him. Coming right out of the wall. Somers stared at the taped and mudded drywall; the headache pounded like a war drum. No, he realized, his thoughts sluggish. The sound wasn’t coming out of the wall. It was coming from behind the wall.

  He started hammering on the drywall. Then, realizing he needed more force, he backed up and rammed into the wall. Gypsum and paper crumpled inwards. Rubbing his aching shoulder, Somers bent to peer through the hole he had made. More darkness met him, but Somers could tell that the space was large—larger than he had expected. And someone was in there. Someone was breathing, and the breaths were ragged and pained.

  “Ree?” Somers pounded on the drywall, and gypsum shifted loose and spun and dusted his trousers. “Jesus Christ, Ree? Are you in there?”

  It felt like an eternity before a familiar deep voice croaked, “John-Henry?” Another pause intervened, and when Hazard spoke again, he sounded like a man getting off the Tilt-a-Whirl. “It’s dark.”

  Somers fought back maniacal laughter. “We’re coming. Just hold on. We’re coming. Moraes, for fuck’s sake, get over here. No. Go get Foley. Get whoever the hell you can find. Ree, we’re coming. Hold on. Hold on, Ree. I’m coming.”

  HAZARD REMEMBERED THE AMBULANCE RIDE to the hospital, but only because the jarring movement had threatened to shake his head to pieces. He remembered, too, the sudden glare of fluorescent lights, the swish and rattle of curtains sliding along tracks, the occasional hiccup of the stretcher caused by an irregularity in one of the wheels. He remembered thinking that he needed to tell somebody because it was damned uncomfortable.

  Pain chopped the rest of the night into fragments: the pinpoint prick of a light in his eyes, a doctor’s voice asking questions and demanding answers, the thrum and blitz of the x-ray machine, murmured voices talking about an MRI, maybe a CT scan, and the feeling of long, slender fingers sliding into his hand, and Nico’s voice, and then starched coolness of a hospital gown, and the papery sheets pulled up to his chest, and darkness. Blessed, perfect darkness before he slipped away.

  When he woke, day was already in full progress, beaming through the windows. The room looked familiar: the curry-colored walls, the fading border overhead. And then the headache kicked him like a mule on a bad day, and Hazard groaned and clapped hands over his eyes. The light stabbed right to the brain. How could there be so much light in the world?

  Someone shifted, clothing rustled, and a cool hand touched his arm.

  “Somers?”

  The silence was answer enough, and even through the headache, Hazard knew he’d stepped into it again.

  “No. It’s Nico.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s ok.”

  “I just—” Hazard expelled a breath. “My head. Could you close the blinds?”

  Another long silence. “They are closed, Emery.”

  “Yeah. Ok.”

  The sound came of Nico settling back into the chair. His slender fingers ran up and down Hazard’s arm. The bandage rustled under his touch, the bandage that Nico had applied to cover up the puncture wounds Grace Elaine had left. The headache didn’t get any better, but it didn’t get any worse either.

  “I’ll find a nurse.”

  “Yeah.”

  Nico’s soles squeaked on the linoleum, and he came back with a woman as old as the railroad and built out of the same stuff. She made Hazard opened his eyes, ignored his explanation—a very rational, detailed explanation of why his head was hurting—and ran him through a battery of questions. Not until she had finished did she give him a paper cup with two blue pills, which Hazard swallowed. Then she left, and Hazard covered his eyes again, and Nico’s hand feathered up and down Hazard’s arm again.

  After a while, Hazard managed to say, “Head’s better.”

  “That’s good.”

  “What happened?”

  “Why don’t you rest some more? We can talk about it when you’re feeling better.”

  Hazard thought carefully about how to phrase the next question. “Is everyone ok?”

  “Besides you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You got hit in your head so hard you have a skull fracture. You’re not fine.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “You’re lucky you’re not—I don’t even know. You’re lucky you’re not in a coma. You’re lucky you’re not dead.” Nico was shouting.

  “My head, remember?”

  When Nico spoke again, his voice had lowered, but the edges were still ragged. “Sorry.”

  “Everybody else was—”

  “He’s fine, Emery. Can’t you just ask me what you want to ask me? John-Henry is fine.”

  Hazard subsided into silence. The drugs had taken off some of the headache’s edge, but he still felt like his head might come apart at the next loud noise.

  “He’s not here,” Nico finally said. “If that’s what you’re wondering, he’s not sitting out in the hall or anything.”

  “I wasn’t wondering.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “He rode with you in the ambulance, and when I got here, he left.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ve been here the whole time.”

  “Nico, for fuck’s sake.” Hazard paused to draw a breath and smother the flicker of rage. “Are you trying to pick a fight?”

  Something like ten minutes must have gone by before Nico spoke again, and now his voice was soft, conciliatory. “They got Bing.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Everybody’s ok. Oh, God. That’s not really true, I guess. They found his wife. He . . .” Nico didn’t seem able to finish.

  “He killed her.”

  Nico’s fingers tightened on Hazard’s arm. “Yes. Well, someone did. But it must have been him, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  “She was out in her car. They didn’t find her until this morning.”

  “Gunshot?”

  Nico didn’t answer, but by the way his fingers tightened again, Hazard knew he’d guessed correctly.

  “Emery,” Nico said, an
d from the sound of his voice, Hazard knew he was crying. “Your head. You could have—”

  Hazard peeled his fingers away from his eyes. Nico had his head down, and he was rubbing his wrist across his face. Taking Nico by the arm, Hazard pulled him towards the bed.

  “Come here.”

  “No, it’s just—”

  “Get up here.”

  Slowly, with his usual coltish grace, Nico clambered up beside Hazard and curled against his side. Burying his face in Hazard’s chest, Nico drew a deep breath. A tremor shook him, and then another, and then another, until he was crying in earnest. Hazard ran his hand through Nico’s thick black hair, ran his hand down the younger man’s broad back, and waited until the worst of the crying had stopped.

  When Nico had calmed down, Hazard pushed shaggy hair behind the younger man’s ear and said, “You didn’t sleep.”

  “I don’t know. I dozed for a little.”

  “Go on, then.”

  “Are you—”

  “My head’s killing me. I’d like to close my eyes.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  In moments, Nico had dropped into sleep, curling against Hazard’s possessively whenever Hazard shifted. For a while, Hazard dozed, but the pain in his head hovered at a knife’s edge. When the door clicked open, Hazard glanced over.

  Somers looked like he always did: so hot he could have started a grease fire just by turning his head. Dressed in his usual casual clothes—a t-shirt that looked like it had been wadded into a ball, jeans with a million different creases, battered sneakers, a fleece-lined denim jacket—Somers still looked like he could have stepped off a runway.

  When Somers saw Nico, he cocked an eyebrow and whispered, “I’ll come back.”

  “Like hell. Sit down.”

  With a grin, Somers dropped into the chair, kicking his legs up onto the bed.

  “Were you raised in a barn?”

  Somers’s grin turned into a smirk. “Guess you finally got the medical diagnosis, right?”

  “What? Oh. Sort of. Nico told me there’s a fracture.”

  Somers snorted. “No, the real diagnosis.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know how everybody always wondered why you were such an ass?”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “No, I’m just saying, it’s been a mystery how you can consistently be the most stubborn, pig-headed, arrogant man to ever walk the earth.”

  “Is this why you came here?”

  “But medical science finally has an answer.”

  Hazard waited. He felt a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth and he quashed it.

  “Thick head,” Somers pronounced, as though he were naming an incurable disease. “Like, three times thicker than any normal human’s.”

  “You’re a dick.”

  “It’s not me saying this. It’s science.”

  In spite of Hazard’s best efforts, the smile slipped onto his lips. Somers’s grin could have lit every Christmas tree for a hundred miles.

  “Thanks,” Hazard said.

  “You fucked up.”

  Hazard didn’t know how to answer.

  “You really fucked up.”

  “I know.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone by yourself.”

  “It was just an interview.”

  “You shouldn’t have left him alone.”

  Shifting uncomfortably, Hazard nodded.

  “You should have talked to me.” Before Hazard could object, Somers held up a hand. “I know. I was an asshole. I deserved getting socked in the jaw, and I deserved more. But we’re partners. You know I’ve got your back.”

  And for some reason, the next two words were the hardest Hazard had ever spoken because they came so close to the truth, so close to what he had buried inside himself for all those years. “I know.”

  Somers paused, as though making sure the words had settled, and then a smile crept onto his face. “Cravens is going to peel your hide with a butter knife.”

  “God. I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t—no, it’s all right. You can go back to sleep.”

  Nico blinked up at him. His hand flexed across Hazard’s chest, and he stretched.

  “We’re talking about the case.”

  “I know.” Nico rolled up, rubbed a pillow crease along his cheek, and swung his legs off the bed.

  “You can stay.”

  “I know.”

  But he loped out of the room, and when the door closed behind him, he still hadn’t even looked at Somers.

  Hazard glared at his partner. “Don’t say anything.”

  Somers held up his hands. He was trying—and it looked like an honest effort—but he couldn’t hide the satisfaction in his face. Hazard fought the urge to huck a pillow at him.

  “So let’s hear it,” Somers said.

  “What?”

  “You’re the brilliant detective. What was it that gave Bing away?” Somers hesitated, worry creasing his forehead. “You didn’t guess, did you? If you went to his house on a guess, I’m going to rip your balls off.”

  “No. It was—” Hazard stopped himself before he could mention Somers’s mother. “It was something Nico said. About parents who become infatuated with their children. Pathologically, I mean.”

  “Uh huh.” Somers’s tide-pool eyes flickered. He wasn’t a dummy, and Hazard hurried on before either of them said more.

  “So I tried that scenario out: I put Bing at the center of it all.”

  Somers ticked off his words on his fingers. “The boyfriend in Chicago, he arranged that. The house burning down, too. He must have decided that his plans worked so well the first time, it wouldn’t hurt to try them again. He framed Hadley plenty of times before. And Daisy believed it.”

  “Or she wanted to believe it. Daisy seemed like a woman who only knew what she wanted to know, and I don’t think she wanted to face the truth.”

  “That’s harsh. You think she knew Hadley was being raped by Bing and didn’t do anything to stop it?”

  Hazard shrugged. “People do worse things all the time. She might not have known, but that’s like I said: she didn’t want to know. Not really. Easier to blame everything on Hadley’s moodiness—as though the girl didn’t have every right in the world to be angry. Bing used it to his advantage.”

  “He had access to her phone,” Somers said. “We know that; they told us that. All he had to do was find a chance to get the phone, when she was asleep, maybe, and send those emails. Same thing with the fire. It was easy to pin everything on Hadley; easy when she was too frightened to tell anyone the truth.” And then a thought pinged inside Somers. “Until she wasn’t. Afraid, I mean. She was going to tell Dusty and Frank.”

  Hazard nodded. “Because she was pregnant. That’s what started all this. That’s when she couldn’t take it anymore.”

  For a moment, Somers didn’t respond. Emotions flickered across his face like heat lightning, and then, in a rough voice, he said, “Let’s start from the beginning.”

  “He was abusing her. Sexually, obviously, and undoubtedly for years.”

  “It might have gone on that way for even longer,” Somers said. “Bing must have thought he had her good and scared. He liked that feeling. He liked being in control of the situation. And he knew how to manipulate people, up to a point. He knew how to—” He stopped.

  “He was good,” Hazard admitted grudgingly. “He knew how to punch my buttons.”

  “Me too,” Somers said, and again emotions stormed across his face. Pain, this time. Even Hazard could tell that much. Somers spoke again, “Could have gone on a hell of a lot longer. Until she went to college, maybe. But something went wrong. Something Bing thought he could prevent, but somehow it slipped past him.”

  Hazard nodded. “She got a boyfriend.”

  “And that raised all sorts of new dangers.”

  “Yes. Hadley now had s
omebody she could confide in. Somebody she might trust, somebody she might think could protect her. If they had sex—even if they didn’t—he might come to suspect what was happening.”

  Nodding, Somers said slowly, “Yeah. You’re right. But for Bing, I think it was more than that. Worse than that. She was his. That’s how he saw people. Not just sexually either. I think he saw me as his—his player, his property as far as that was concerned. Hadley was his too. And somebody was touching something that was his. So he had to put a stop to it.”

  “As you pointed out earlier, Bing had parental access to Hadley’s phone. It wouldn’t have been difficult for him to get her phone, forge those emails and hire someone off Craigslist to assault the boyfriend.”

  “But the situation escalated,” Somers said. “The police were involved. Hadley faced charges. Again, there was the chance that the truth might come out.”

  “It didn’t, though.” Hazard slapped the bed’s railing, and the metal chimed. “That’s what I don’t get. She had a thousand opportunities to tell. But she didn’t. And before you lecture me, I know the psychology behind it. I know that it’s common for victims of abuse to conceal the crime, even to aid their abuser. But I still don’t get it. It doesn’t make sense.”

  A long moment passed. Somers’s tropical blue eyes flitted around the room. Then, with a glance that lasted less than a breath, Somers looked at Hazard and then away again. “Sometimes people can’t say what’s inside them, Ree. Sometimes they just can’t.” And the hell of it was that Hazard could have sworn Somers was talking about something else entirely.

  The thought unnerved Hazard, although he couldn’t say why, and he forced himself to continue their conversation. “In any case, Bing must have been worried that things had become too dangerous in Chicago. He burned down the house. And no, I don’t have any proof of that, but you have to admit it fits.”

  “He’d already done good work painting Hadley as unstable. Oppositional defiant disorder covers just about every bad behavior you can imagine. It was the best lie, the most effective lie. And we believed it. At least, I believed it. Frank and Dusty, they tried to tell us that wasn’t what Hadley was really like, but—I don’t know. I thought they were trying to speak kindly of her. I thought maybe they just didn’t know.”