by Julie Frayn
~~~~~~~~
Mazie slammed the phone down and swivelled her chair. “Norman, can I borrow your car?” She snatched her purse from under the desk and brushed past Dory.
“Sure.” He tossed her the keys. “What’s up?”
“Clementine. Adam’s been making her life hell this past week. I’m going to pick her up. Might look into moving schools.”
“Let me come with you. Maybe I can have a chat with the little prick.”
She smiled. “No, please don’t. We don’t need more trouble.” Or more attention. “I’ll get her to call Constable Elders.” Would lying ever be difficult again?
She stepped out of the building, pointed the key fob at Norman’s sedan parked on the curb halfway up the block, and pressed the unlock button. The car chirped in response.
Across the street a police cruiser sat, its engine idling. The cop in the passenger seat tracked her movements. She fingered her scarf and glanced down the block. Another cruiser was parked on her side of the street.
She hastened her pace but felt like she was getting nowhere, her feet lumps of lead dragging through quicksand. She hunched her shoulders and focused on Norman’s car. When she got within ten feet of it, another cruiser approached from the front, flashed its lights and whooped its siren, pulled in front of the car, and blocked her way. Footfalls echoed behind her. She spun around to find four officers approaching, two with their hands on the guns still holstered in their belts.
A young officer, a baby-faced boy of a man, stopped a few feet from her. “Mazie Reynolds?”
She should be fleeing. Shaking. Freaking out. But instead she felt nothing.
It was over. It was finally over.
Her shoulders slumped and she gave the officer a blank stare. “Yes,” she said, her voice monotone. “That’s me.”
“Ma’am, we have to place you under arrest for the murder of your husband, Cullen Reynolds.”
“What the hell is this?” Norman jogged toward her, his nostrils flared.
Another officer blocked his path. “Step back, sir.”
“I’m her lawyer.” Norman bobbed around him. “Charlie, don’t say one word, you hear me? Not one damn word.”
“Sir, you can meet up with her at the station. Officers from Calgary are waiting for her there.”
The baby-faced cop pulled out handcuffs, turned her around, and clicked them onto her wrists.
“Must you cuff her?” Norman sounded like he might burst into tears.
“Yes, sir.” The officer reeled off her rights and asked if she understood. She nodded. He opened the cruiser door and guided her in.
“What about my daughter?”
“Another unit picked her up from school. She’ll be at the station. Child Protective Services in Calgary is expecting her.”
“No.” Norman stepped forward. “I’ll bring Clementine to Calgary.”
“Rachel.” Mazie could barely speak.
Norman squinted. “Her name is Rachel?”
Mazie shook her head. “Rachel Simpson is my neighbour. Place Ariel with Rachel. She’ll be happy there.”
“Ariel.” Norman nodded. “I’ll make sure she’s safe.”
She smiled. “I know.”
“Not another word, Charlie. Not until I’m in the room with you.”
“It’s Mazie. My name is Mazie.” It was good to have it back.
~~~~~~~~
Norman stood by Mazie’s side during her first court appearance. With each motion of his arm, each shrug of his shoulders, his black barrister’s robe and waistcoat swished. He ran his fingers under the white collar and wiped beads of sweat from his brow.
“How did they find us?” she’d asked him once she’d invoked her right to counsel and they were alone in the Cornwall police station. “Was it Ariel’s arrest?”
Norman nodded. “Fingerprints. AFIS matched her exemplars to latents from the crime sce— from your house.”
Mazie squeezed her eyes shut. “She didn’t tell me they’d printed her. I should have known that. We should have run when we had the chance.”
Now here she stood, in the same building Cullen had pled guilty to assaulting her. But in a much bigger courtroom.
When the clerk read the charge against her, murder in the first degree, the peace that had permeated her body since her arrest melted into a puddle at her feet, like so much pee on the gym floor during a grade four game of dodge ball.
Murder. In the first degree. Intentional. Premeditated.
At the preliminary hearing, the judge read the charge again. She sat up on her judgey throne, in her black tunic with the silly white collar under her second chin, and the blue sash that rested on her shoulders and hung over her breasts like some kind of gender-camouflage.
She’d reviewed the evidence, she said. Determined there was plenty to move ahead to trial. To put Mazie away for life.
Didn’t they realize she was already serving a life sentence? Wasn’t time served with a future filled with self-loathing and regret sufficient?
The woman peered over her reading glasses and trained her laser-eyes on Mazie. “How do you plead?”
Guilty. She’d done it. She’d killed the bastard. And she’d do it again to save Ariel from years of rape and abuse.
Norman cleared his throat. “Your honour, on behalf of my client, the plea is...”
Mazie straightened her shoulders. “Not guilty.” Her voice bounced off the judge’s bench and echoed in her own ears.
“Not guilty,” she whispered.
~~~~~~~~
“I’ve got an apartment downtown.” Norman tossed his jacket over the back of a chair.
The guard pulled the door closed and locked them inside the cramped interview room — the only bastion of free-speech in the entire institution. No one recording Mazie’s every whispered word. No one spying on her through surveillance cameras or flashing beams of light in her eyes.
“How can you afford it?”
“Don’t you worry about that. I’m here until the trial is over and you are finally free.”
She stared at her hands. “What about your other clients?” She drew a sharp intake of breath. “What about Betty?”
“All taken care of. A colleague has taken my cases. I’ll consult about Betty. Might have to fly back to Cornwall now and again. She’ll get off. They’ll probably stick her in a facility though. Not sure she can cope in the real world. But she won’t be in jail.”
Mazie shook her head. “That’s not freedom.” No, Betty would never be free.
He reached across the table and took Mazie’s hand.
She flinched at his touch.
He pulled away and leaned back. “Remember, Char-” He clenched his lips and balled his fists. “Mazie.” His cheeks pinked. “Just remember, you can trust me. You truly can.”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I think I do.”
“Good. Then let’s talk out your case. I’m going to file a motion to dismiss all charges.”
“What? You can do that?”
“I always do that. Never works. Just part of the process. Maybe a motion for a change of venue.” He clicked open the briefcase and pulled out a stack of files and a pen. “I have the Crown’s witness list. You ready?”
She nodded.
He reeled off the name of two of Cullen’s friends. Men she didn’t know, had never met. Probably cigar bar buddies. Or maybe fishing pals. People from the half of her husband’s life he’d never let her in on. The happy half.
“Then there’s an Edgar Applebaum.” Norman eyed her over his reading glasses.
“Next door neighbour.” She scratched at a scab on her arm.
“He says he heard screaming the night of the murder.”
Whenever they talked about the case, Norman was all business. He didn’t coddle her, didn’t take the edge off the realities of what she’d done. She appreciated that.
“Well if he did, he didn’t bother to check in on us. Just like he never checked in
when it was me doing the screaming. But in the past few years, I learned how to take it without making much noise. If I screamed, he just hit me harder.”
Norman leaned back in his chair. “Mazie, I have to ask. How did Ariel not know what was going on?”
Tears brimmed in her eyes. “Apparently she did. Not everything, but she’d seen bruises, cuts. And of course my arm cast. She says she heard us fighting and him yelling. But the worst of it? He’d do that when she was at school or at a friend’s. When she was anywhere but right there in the house. He always had an excuse ready. Mommy fell down the stairs. Mommy was in a car accident. Mommy is a klutz. Mommy broke a glass and cut herself.” She covered her eyes with both palms. “Mommy never did any such thing.”
“Hazel McClellan.”
Mazie dropped her hands into her lap. “Who?”
Norman scanned the page. “Cullen’s aunt.”
“I only know of one aunt, the one that raised him after his parents were killed in a car accident. Total piece of work, too. Would let her husband, her third I think he said, beat the crap out of him. Yardsticks, belts, fists.” It all sounded so familiar. Maybe Cullen couldn’t help it. Maybe violence was all he knew. “But she’s dead and buried. Died when he was eighteen.”
“According to the Crown, she’s alive and well and living in Saskatchewan. And they’re putting her on the stand.” He scratched his pen across a yellow legal pad. “I’ll file a motion to exclude her.”
~~~~~~~~
The chill in the interview room soaked into Mazie’s flesh and cut her to the bone. She rubbed her hands over her arms. She must look oh-so fetching with black roots to her ears and blonde ends, dried and frizzy from shitty shampoo and no conditioner, her face naked and exposed, her scarred neck bare. Not to mention the navy prison-issue sweat suit, droopy in the ass and armpits, that never quite kept her warm. She must look like the frumpy housewives at the grocery store on shopping day. The ones who’d given up. Or who had husbands who loved them no matter what they looked like.
The buzzer sounded and the squeak of crepe soles on concrete neared.
Her heart flipped. She smiled and sat straighter, ran one hand over her hair in a vain attempt to tame the mess.
Keys clicked in the lock, the guard opened the door, and there was Norman and his huge grin. He dropped his briefcase on the table and held out his hand. Mazie took it and stood.
It had become their custom to greet with a hug. A gesture of friendship, a sign of faith in each other. But for her, the brief connection had become an anchor. He prevented her from drifting into a sea of infinite pessimism.
She sank into his kind and gentle arms, inhaled the vanilla of his cookie scent. When he began to pull away, she tightened her grip on his waist and held on for a few more seconds. He needed no encouragement to return the long embrace.
When they finally released, he brushed hair from her eyes. “You okay?”
She smiled. “Yeah. As okay as possible.” Goosebumps broke out on her arms.
He took off his suit jacket and placed it over her shoulders.
She was certain he cared for her as much as she did for him. Was she ready to call it love? No, not yet. That scared the hell out of her. Love was dangerous. Love hurt like hell. And what was the point? All she could offer him were shackles and prying eyes, iron bars and no future. He’d be better off without her.
“We’ve got a date.”
Mazie squinted. “A date?”
“Trial date. September eighteenth.”
She wrapped his jacket around her body and hugged it. “What day is this?”
“July twenty-third.”
~~~~~~~~
“How are final exams?” Mazie rested her palm against the grimy Plexiglas wall that kept her from touching her little girl. Though little or girl could hardly describe the Ariel who’d strolled into the remand centre for their regular Saturday visit. Every week brought changes, a new level of maturity. She was too damn young to be so damn adult.
“Not bad.” Ariel held the receiver of the phone on the visitor’s side in one hand, her other hand against the glass where Mazie’s palm rested. The closest they could get to actual contact. “Eighty-seven in English. Seventy-nine in social. Math mark sucks, but I passed.”
Mazie smiled. “Well, just don’t be an accountant, then.”
Ariel laughed. “Definitely not.”
Other than the obvious, something about her was different. Mazie scanned her face and hair and blouse. “Where’s your necklace?”
Ariel touched a finger to her bare neck. “I — I lost it.” She focused on the table top and traced a random pattern with one finger.
Mazie swallowed. “Lost it how?”
Ariel sat back. “Fine, I threw it away.”
“Oh, bug. Why?”
“I’ve tried to just think of the good parts of Daddy. The fun stuff. But every time I look at that necklace, all I see is your blood on his fists, that angry vein throbbing in his forehead. All I hear is him yelling.” She sniffed. “So I tossed it in the toilet and flushed it. Except it just sat at the bottom and didn’t go anywhere.”
“Oh, dear. What did you do?”
“George reached in and grabbed it. Then Rachel took me to a pawn shop. It wasn’t worth much. I gave the money to a homeless guy.”
“I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to lose the best parts of him.”
“Mom, how long are you going to be in here? It’s been months already. When is the trial?”
“September eighteenth.”
Ariel nodded. She dug a hand into her purse. “Want to see pictures from the lake trip last weekend?”
Mazie swallowed hard and plastered a smile on her face to camouflage the wave of jealousy that rolled over her. The Simpson’s cabin at Sylvan Lake. A place Mazie would never see. A trip she’d never make. “Did you take Nick?” Ariel’s new boyfriend, according to the snapshots on the iPhone Norman had bought her, was a skinny fellow with warm eyes and a sheepish grin. Mazie didn’t voice her constant concerns, didn’t remind Ariel of the warning signs of control and abuse. She knew them by heart.
“Nah. Too soon for that. Maybe at the end of the summer. And don’t worry, Rachel already told me he’d be sleeping on the couch. And George would be sleeping with one eye open.” Ariel held the phone up to the glass and shared pictures of a bright June weekend, Ariel and Polly up to their knees in the shallow waters of the lake, both of them winter-pale but smiling and happy, each photo marred by the fingerprints and filth past offenders and visitors had smudged on the glass cage.
Ariel glanced over her shoulder. “Mom, can we cut this week a bit short? Rachel has to talk to you.”
“What? No. Why?”
But Ariel was already standing.
“Love you, Mom. See you next week.” She blew a kiss and retreated, a door buzzed, and Rachel’s face poked around the partition that gave the inmates privacy from each another. When every visit, audio and video, was recorded, privacy was a relative concept.
Rachel plopped into the chair and snatched the phone receiver from the wall. “Whoa. Serious roots, Batman.”
Mazie touched the crown of her head.
“Don’t they let you dye it?”
“I haven’t asked. I figure a couple more weeks and I’ll just get it all cut off. Start over. With my real hair.”
Rachel nodded. “Good plan.” She dropped a stack of papers on the table. “So, look. George and I, we kind of kept something from you.”
One eyebrow crept up Mazie’s forehead. “Kept what?”
“We sort of saved your house from foreclosure.”
“You did what?” Mazie sat straighter.
“Look, I know you said to let it go, but shit, honey, there’s money in that house. So we took those final notice letters to the bank and we’ve been making the payments. We got it cleaned up, too. Had to replace the carpet in your room and repaint.”
Heat rose in Mazie’s cheeks. “Rachel, I told you I couldn’
t afford to repay you. What if I’m convicted? You’ll never get that money back.”
“Well, first off, we don’t care. Second, yes you will. Sell the damn house of horrors. Neither you or Ariel want to live there. Hell, the darling girl can’t even look that direction. It’s always right there, every day. She even keeps Polly’s blinds drawn since her room overlooks your back yard.”
“Shit.” Mazie rested one elbow on the table and dropped her forehead into her palm. She looked back to Rachel. “Can I do that from here, sell a house?”
“I don’t know the ins and outs. But I bet your cute lawyer dude does. Or he can find out.” She leaned toward the glass. “When it sells, if you want to, you can pay us back out of the equity. Then you’ll have money for Ariel for university. Or for a down-payment on a house of your own when you’re exonerated. Which you will be. I just know it.”
Mazie wiped tears from her cheeks. “Damn it, Rachel. What would I do without you?”
“I don’t know, be bored? My time is up, sorry. Talk to Norman. He’ll figure this out.”
~~~~~~~~
Time had marched on outside the halls of Canadian justice. Ariel was in her first semester of grade nine. She’d grown a good three inches, was taller still with her new high-heeled shoes of choice. The nose piercing wasn’t alone anymore. Gold earrings gleamed from the lobes of each ear, and she begged to get a ring through her eyebrow. But none of her friends in Calgary had mothers who stabbed holes in young girls’ flesh for free. She needed parental permission until she turned sixteen. And Mazie wasn’t ready for that much maturity.
She witnessed the morphing of her child into a woman from behind a wall of glass, only heard her daughter’s voice through the receiver of a tinny phone line. She was right there, inches away. But utterly untouchable.
Inside the judicial system, time stood still. Three-hundred-eighty-nine days had passed between Mazie’s incarceration and trial. Another year spent in a different prison.
Murmured voices bounced around the courtroom. Onlookers dotted the public seats, rubberneckers there to steal a peek at her car-wreck of a life. Scattered among the curious, the occasional reporter, tablets and recording devices at the ready. No one she recognized. Not one sign of familiarity to support her. Her daughter and friends were all witnesses for the defence, and they weren’t allowed to watch the trial until after they testified, Norman had made sure of that. Their testimony could be tainted, influenced by others. He only wanted the truth. The truth would set her free, he said.
