Romance in Color

by Synithia Williams

  “Ready.” The female officer slipped in beside Mona while another deputy took the driver’s seat.

  Mona struggled to keep her expression serious and quiet while they followed the other patrol car to the freeway. Soon they traveled west at the speed limit; Eau Claire with its small comforts and promises shrank by the moment. She stared at the car ahead, the one carrying Linc. What was he thinking? His absolute deadline to be married was midnight tomorrow. Would they be in jail?

  “Excuse me, officer.” Mona dampened her lips and risked a question. “This judge we’ll end up in front of today. Does he do marriages?”

  • • •

  Why? Why? Why? Linc sealed his lips while the question of the moment ran laps in his brain. The sheriff thought he killed Daniel? What sort of fake evidence had prompted this arrest? And Mona? He closed his eyes for a long moment, as if that could blot out his final glimpse of her, standing bewildered next to the second patrol car.

  “You okay, mister? Not going to get sick?” The deputy sharing the back seat of the cruiser broke the silence.

  Linc opened his eyes and gazed at western Wisconsin scenery flowing past for a full minute. “I’m okay.” Physically. “I won’t vomit all over your car.”

  If mental confusion counted as an illness he’d be in critical condition. But he could control the physical part so far. The thing he refused to do was to be drawn into conversation during the drive. At the first opportunity he’d use his phone call to contact Wayne White. The family attorney usually handled wills, trusts, and real-estate transactions, but the man had contacts.

  He shifted his gaze to his shoes and attempted to think of something pleasant. Breakfast with Mona returned as a warm memory. He could almost see her hands wrapped around her white coffee mug, bright red polished nails on full display.

  “Pretty,” he’d complimented her.

  “It’s a bride thing. Red represents good luck and happiness in Chinese culture.”

  “Should I wear my red tie? Will it bring luck and joy to the groom?” He couldn’t stop a big grin.

  “Almost there, Mr. Dray. I expect Sheriff Bergstrom will want to ask the questions today.” The deputy’s words brought Linc back to the present.

  He took a few deep breaths as he planned his first minutes out of the car. He tried to remember if Mr. White’s business card was in his wallet. He stared off in the direction of the lawyer’s office, trying to remember if Wayne’s father, the senior partner of White and White, specialized in criminal cases. Would they accept Mona as a client? His hands trembled until the chains clinked at the thought of her getting a public defender at some sort of River County Bar Association lottery.

  As they turned into the small lot behind the two-story brick sheriff’s office and jail, he turned his head and sealed his lips against a curse. The second patrol car, the one carrying Mona, was nowhere in sight.

  Half an hour later, Linc waited in a small office. The silver globe in the corner of the ceiling hinted at camera surveillance. He turned his face away from its unblinking eye and thought back to discussions with his brother. Jackson’s criminal law courses had furnished lots of conversation between the brothers during Christmas break three years ago. The less I say, the better. He looked across the ultra-tidy desk and counted the carved pigs on two small shelves. Fourteen, just like the last time he’d counted them, an entire three, maybe four minutes ago. The collection of wooden figures hadn’t changed.

  He stared down at his hands, counted the links between the metal cuffs around his wrists. Nope, that number hadn’t changed either.

  Where are you, Mona? Are you frightened? He recalled her quiet, uncomfortable demeanor after the initial interview on the farm. She didn’t like cops or lawyers. He blew out a lungful of air. He couldn’t help that she’d see too many of both today. He mouthed a silent combination prayer and wish for her to be calm, strong, and brave.

  He turned his head toward the door as two voices in conversation approached. A shadow, or an arm, moved outside the narrow window above the doorknob. He allowed a little hope that this time the elder Mr. White would be his lawyer.

  “Mr. Dray?” A trim man with milk white hair and a goatee to match walked into the room carrying a large battered briefcase.

  “Yes.” He stood out of respect. “Are you Clarence White?”

  “Correct. My son described your case to me.” He took the second visitor chair in the room and motioned Linc to sit. “We—my son and I—will work together. He’s making a few calls before starting his interview with Miss Mary Smith. Tell me about her.”

  “In twenty words or less?”

  “I’m an attorney. No word limit.”

  Linc relaxed and smiled. Like his son, this elderly man demonstrated a knack for putting a client at ease in difficult situations. “She likes to be called Mona. Our wedding was scheduled for this morning. Ten o’clock.”

  “Ahhh. Your nuptials will be postponed. But I’ll do what I can to get you out of here as soon as possible.”

  “I didn’t kill Daniel Larson. He and I held different opinions on all sorts of things. But I didn’t hurt him.” Linc looked away from the attorney and stared at the camera. The sparse explanation from the deputies this morning returned to run another lap around his skull. How could we have killed Daniel in the barn? We never set foot in it that day.

  “Good. It’s much easier when the client is innocent.” Mr. White removed a yellow pad from his case and began to take notes. “No acting, Mr. Dray. Sheriff Bergstrom assured me the camera and microphone will remain off while you and I have a good chat.”

  • • •

  Mona listened to voices in muffled conversation beyond the door of a small, sparse room. Four plain metal chairs and a rectangular table bolted to the floor matched concrete walls covered with pale tan paint. The dreary color complemented her mood of confusion coating fear. She identified the speakers as two men and a woman, but failed to capture more than a stray word of the exchange.

  Keep me out of it. She tipped her face to the camera near the ceiling and sealed her mouth into a neutral expression. Would they send her a lawyer? She recalled her brother’s most recent public defender and shivered. Overworked. Inexperienced. Eager to cut a deal and avoid a trial. She listed all the things she didn’t want but her brother had suffered through.

  This is different. I’m innocent.

  She looked at the floor and replayed her one phone call in her mind. Had she wasted her opportunity by leaving a message for Daryl Frieberg? The wedding should have been over by the time she left the voice mail. Would he understand her scrambled message, a mixture of information and plea for help? And she counted on him to share with the clergyman, Ben Cobb. Then there was Dr. and Lorraine Terrier. They’d interrupted their day to witness vows, not wait in a chapel for a bride and groom now sitting miles away—in shackles.

  Another lock of hair fell forward. She started to raise a hand to hook it behind her ear and found another reminder of her captivity in the clink of the handcuffs. Bosh on all of them. She lifted both hands and swept the wayward hair back into place.

  “Miss Smith?” A thick-set man of middle age invaded the room and extended a hand. “Wayne White. Attorney. My father and I will be your defense team.”

  “Have you seen Linc? How is he?” Her words escaped before she could bring her hands off her lap.

  “He’s talking with my father.” He angled one of the empty chairs to make it easier for them to talk. “Camera’s off. I need honest and complete answers from you. I don’t want any surprises when the detective comes in for the formal interrogation.”

  She tensed at his word choice. “Neither Linc nor I had anything to do with a murder.”

  “Good start.” He set a blank pad and pen within easy reach. “Mr. Frieberg shared only a little background information with me. Tell me all about your relationship with Lincoln Dray.”

  “Linc and I should be married by now.” She stared at Mr. White’s wrist and re
ad the time from his watch. “An hour ago.”

  “Continue.” He scribbled two words on paper.

  “Linc helped me leave Minneapolis,” Mona began. “A criminal gang leader broke into my apartment on Thursday and left an obvious threat. I needed to get space between us and give him a chance to cool off. I spotted Linc at the airport and begged a ride. After that …” She hesitated and watched the lawyer touch his pen to a new line. “He offered room and board for housekeeping. I accepted, strictly temporarily, but he had other ideas.”

  “Skip to Saturday,” Mr. White prodded.

  “We went to the orchard after a stop in town. I went to the convenience store and Linc picked up some sort of spray at the farm supply. Then we drove out to the farm and started working. Neither of us left the fenced area until late afternoon.” She clenched her hands tight at the memory of the marriage proposal over lunch. Enough events for a lifetime crowded on top of each other in less than a week. “We met Daryl Frieberg and Kathy Miller for supper at the tavern.”

  “And you went directly into town after you put the tools in the shed?” Mr. White glanced at his watch as if their allotted time was soon to expire.

  “We did. On the way … almost to town … we were passed by Basil headed toward the farm.”

  “Who?”

  “Basil Berg. He deals in drugs, stolen goods, and prostitution in Minneapolis. He’s the reason I left the Cities. I thought he’d found Linc’s van and was still after me.”

  “Why would he follow you all that way?”

  “One of his informants lied to him—told him I was holding out money from a robbery committed by my brother.”

  “Is he still looking for you?”

  “He found me.” She studied the ceiling for a long moment before returning her gaze to the lawyer. “Sunday afternoon he tracked me down. We got straight on the money. But … he didn’t want it known he was in Crystal Springs on Saturday.”

  “Anything else I need to know? I hate surprises in front of police.”

  “My brother’s in prison. Will they use it against me?” She didn’t know how large a shadow his history would cast.

  “Should they?”

  “No. I left Minneapolis to protect him.” She shook her head and stared at the lawyer’s face. On another person she’d call it honest, inviting trust. But she disliked his profession and retreated a mental step. “Can you protect Matt?”

  “He’s in prison. Who’s after him?”

  Mona moved her gaze to the camera, swallowed hard, and prayed both video and audio feed remained disconnected. “His former boss, Basil Berg. His minions welcomed him to prison with a beating.”

  “I’ll do what I can. In a few minutes the senior detective in the county will walk through that door and start his questions. If he touches on anything you don’t want to answer I’ll help you shut it down. Fair enough?”

  “I can’t pay you.”

  “We’ll sort that out later. First we try to get the charges dropped or bail set.”

  She didn’t have funds to pay bail. She inspected her hands and considered how the prison orange would clash with the Tart Cherry Red on her nails. It didn’t look pretty.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Linc walked in small, uncertain steps behind the deputy. Ankle cuffs shortened his usual stride and with the additional chain running up to his waist and beyond to his wrists he felt like a stooped-over old man. He hadn’t been this conscious of each step since his final semester in college, when he’d smashed a foot and hobbled for weeks in a fracture boot.

  He paused at the bottom of six wide concrete steps. One quick glance over his shoulder confirmed Mona followed two yards behind. He stopped a greeting in his throat as the deputy next to her sent him a stern look. No talking. He stared at her, silently begging her to make eye contact. There, for an instant, he attempted a smile and received a small shake of her head.

  “Move along.” The deputy beside him touched his elbow.

  Linc lifted one shower-sandaled foot with care and climbed toward the open door.

  Cool air, scented with decades of lemon furniture polish and masculine aftershave, replaced the sunshine and new-mown grass of a moment ago. Links of his chain clinking against each other destroyed a fantasy of sitting on a bench outside to soak up fresh air. It was well into the afternoon and since his morning ride in the back of a patrol car he’d been in one or another of small rooms with too many bodies and voices.

  “Wait here.” The lead deputy brought their small parade to a halt on the second floor, beside an unmarked wood door.

  Linc nodded and scanned the hall. They stood beneath fluorescent tube lighting suspended from a high ceiling wearing tired white paint. He considered leaning against the wall but discarded the idea in favor of another glimpse of Mona. She stood still, appeared tiny in the tall corridor.

  “All set.” The officer returned and opened the door.

  Soft voices hushed to deep silence the instant Linc stepped across the threshold into the courtroom.

  He looked straight ahead and moved one foot after another where the deputy indicated. Clink. Clink. Jingle.

  His chains indicated his progress to the table where Mr. White and his son stood, their conversation interrupted. He nodded at the lawyers and listened to Mona’s restraints echo his own as she shuffled and clinked off to his left.

  “Do we need those?” Clarence White pointed to the restraints and addressed the lead officer in a harsh whisper.

  “Judge’s order.”

  Mr. White frowned at the deputy and motioned Linc to sit. “The judge watches too many movies. You may not need to speak at all. If you do, keep it short and formal.”

  “Yes, sir.” Linc nodded to his own lawyer while allowing his gaze to follow Wayne White to the jury seating where Mona sat at the near end of the first row. Be kind to her.

  “Prosecutor will try to keep you in jail. Less reaction from you while I negotiate bail works better.” Clarence White kept his voice hushed.

  Linc nodded understanding. Following directions and listening were his primary duties in this room. He took a moment while his lawyer arranged papers on the table to look at the spectator benches. Three people, none of them familiar, waited.

  “All stand.” The bailiff announced the court session and introduced the judge.

  Linc turned forward, stood, and laced his fingers. He glimpsed a man at a second table littered with manila folders. The prosecutor? The man looked fit and in his prime. How difficult would he make an old man’s negotiations?

  “Be seated.” The judge settled into a high-backed chair between national and state flags. He appeared to move papers around on a sunken portion of the bench.

  Linc remained aware of every clink of his restraints as he took his seat. He felt as obvious as sitting on bubble wrap in church.

  The clerk stood, read the case number, and ordered the principals in Dray vs. State of Wisconsin to rise.

  Linc levered up, and slid his gaze toward Mona. She appeared calm from this vantage point. He didn’t want to think about his own lack of acting skill.

  “Approach.” The judge beckoned the attorneys and defendant forward.

  Linc straightened his shoulders and studied the judge during the short walk. The man wore a closed businesslike expression.

  “To the charge of second-degree intentional homicide, how do you plead?”

  He blinked and glanced toward his lawyer.

  “My client pleads not guilty, Your Honor.” Clarence White’s voice emerged strong and clear to fill the entire room.

  “So entered. And to the accompanying charges, how do you plead?”

  “Not guilty.” The exchange repeated between Clarence White and the judge.

  “Your Honor.” The prosecutor held tight to one slim manila folder. “Due to the nature of the charges and both physical and circumstantial evidence against the accused, the people request bond be set at one million dollars.”

  Linc clenched his
hands, fighting the body blow in the words. Did the old man beside him stand a chance for a reasonable amount?

  “The defense requests release on his own recognizance, Your Honor.” Mr. White’s voice dropped in volume but stayed determined. “The accused has no history of violence. He is employed with strong ties to this part of Wisconsin. My client does not pose a flight risk.”

  “Your Honor,” the prosecutor countered.

  Linc stared at the American flag behind the judge and listened to the lawyers volley his fate like a tennis ball. The two attorneys were a generation apart but after several lobs their voices sounded remarkably similar.

  “Gentlemen.” The judge brought the room to a hush with one tap of his gavel.

  “Bail shall be set at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, cash or bond, and the defendant’s passport surrendered.”

  Linc stood perfectly still. He couldn’t breathe; the weight of a quarter million dollars crushed his chest.

  “Next case.” The judge broke the murmur from the spectators.

  “Mr. Dray.” Clarence White placed one hand on his shoulder and directed him to the deputy at the far end of the jury seating. “I’ll make the necessary calls.”

  “Smith versus the State of Wisconsin.”

  Linc listened through a fog to a replay of his recent drama with a different voice volleying against the prosecutor. With each blink and breath from his new vantage point the scene clarified until he listened for Mona’s voice.

  “Fifty thousand, ten percent cash, and surrender your passport.” The judge struck the gavel. “This hearing stands adjourned.”

  Linc struggled to his feet with the rest of the assembly as the judge gathered several files into a bundle and exited. Physical and circumstantial evidence? He and Mona had left fingerprints all over the tools in the shed. How did anything tie either of them to the activity inside the barn?