"The jail. She’ll be booked and will go before the judge tomorrow. He'll set bail terms then."
"I'll come to the jail."
"As you wish, but you won't be riding with me."
Miriam frowned at him and then put her face to the back seat window.
"Where are the keys to the BMW?"
Davonna looked thunderstruck but answered in a quiet voice, "In the kitchen."
Savva started the car and the glass slid away from Miriam's fingertips. As she watched the last car whip out of the driveway, Miriam ran back into the house, grabbed the keys, and followed them less than a minute behind.
XV
Ψάχνεις ψύλλους στ' άχυρα.
You're looking for fleas in the straw.
La Maison des Rois fell away in the distance, as Davonna twisted around in the seat. Miriam stood, as pale as an alabaster statue, in front of the open door. She turned back and stared at Savva's head. Reality sunk in along with despair. To what end was she being driven? The familiar road became full of the most brilliant details; pale golden light on the olive trees, the stripes of burnt orange in rocks, the grey wind-swept hair of stooped old women hanging their laundry.
As the car wound down the road, change tumbled over her like a rolling pin over dough. She couldn't quite place a finger on it, but she wanted a life. She peered at Savva; the words tore their way from her heart and up her throat; they might not get another moment. And even though the law separated them; in him lay a quiet righteousness. A kindred spirit.
"Captain Savva?"
"Best be quiet, Mrs. Fitzroy," he said. A quick, prepared, response.
"I have to tell you something," she said. " I just remembered."
"Think before you do."
Davonna didn't have to. "I noticed John go out to the garage late at night. The day before he left for London. He was out for quite a while. An hour I would say. I kept an eye on the clock. You asked if I saw anyone."
Savva didn't say a word. Had she infuriated him? She didn't realize what it meant, but simply that she must tell him in case they didn't get another opportunity.
"Thank you."
She frowned and her heart shuddered, and the resolve she built wavered. Perhaps he didn't care about finding the truth, perhaps he only wanted a quick resolution. They pulled in through the gate, past the sally port. Jailers strode purposefully to the car.
"I'll look into it," he said.
The large, automatic doors whipped open before Davonna managed a thank you.
Davonna was ushered through a second heavy door, which slammed shut behind her. She turned to get a last taste of clean, free air, but there was no window, no sign of the outside world. The officers stopped and deposited her in a room with a glass partition. Every surface bare and made of concrete. A coldness lingered behind the eyes of jailers.
A booking photo. Fingerprints. A strip search. Coughing to make sure all orifices were empty of contraband. New clothes.
Down an endless hall full of grilled, metal doors they marched. One slid open with a drone and a clang and she stepped inside, a strong hand on her back. Not shoved, not pushed, not helped. Just put inside; because no one cared who she was or what she felt. She was just here, and they were here to keep her. The metal door shut with an ominous clang, which reverberated through her like a hammer stroke to her head. She stood, petrified, in the middle of the cell, studying the door. The weight of her 'otherness' settled on her. She looked down at the concrete floor, and foresaw herself as an old woman with grey hair, standing in the same spot, in the same clothes, looking at the same, cold sterile floor. She wept. Tears flowed down her face in lonely, forgotten streams.
She curled up on the cot and turned her face to the wall. The mattress stank of a mixture of bleach, urine, and vomit. She jerked her head back, but couldn't bear to look at the white washed wall. What sort of nightmare had she fallen into? Would it ever end? As the day died, the lights went out in one quick succession, except for in the hallways, Davonna shut her eyes and plugged her ears against the sounds, against reality, and she longed to be back at home with Miriam and lounging with a cup of warm tea.
Davonna lay most of the night staring at nothing, letting her eyes wander out of focus so she might be at home or under a field of stars. But someone would grunt in their sleep or keys would jingle together or gates would buzz and clang. It was difficult to guess what the sounds were or where they came from, as if they were the heartbeat of the jail. Davonna tried to picture what Miriam was doing, if she slept, and what the rest of the outside world was doing.
They came for her early the next morning, and she showered and put her clothes back on. They escorted her through a series of tunnels to the adjacent courthouse and she was told to wait until a judge was ready. She sat on an old church pew between two young men with bowed pockmarked faces, their blank eyes cast unseeing at the floor. But Davonna’s eyes roved hungrily. They relished being out of the living death of the jail, to smell the air, and to study the free people; it was like looking at the world through new eyes altogether.
Sofia was allowed a half-hour in a locked room with Davonna before they went before the judge. Sofia’s normal, perfect hair stuck out at odd places from its ponytail and no amount of concealer masked the dark bags under her eyes. Davonna pointed out the hair, blushing.
"Thank you, it wouldn't do to appear in such an unseemly fashion." Sofia said, smoothing out her hair, the elastic band clutched between her lips. "You'll plead 'not guilty' correct?"
"Yes," Davonna whispered.
"With any luck you'll be let out on bail with lenient conditions. Perhaps house arrest."
"Is that likely?"
"They have no proof of your guilt. It's circumstantial evidence at best, I'm confident in our chances."
"My chances," Davonna corrected her. "I'll be the one going to prison for years if they find me guilty."
"I'll fight as hard for you as I would if it was me in your place, don't forget." Sofia smiled. Davonna's lips trembled; she looked away and nodded.
"Thank you."
"Your sister is in the courtroom. I caught sight of her as I came in."
"She is?"
"Yes. With any luck you'll be able to go home with her in a couple of hours."
"Yes," Davonna said wistfully, and she cast her mind to the feeling of Miriam's strong arm around her shoulders as they walked into the sunlight together.
"Just a few minutes now."
An officer steered Davonna through a side door and she found herself in an old-fashioned courtroom full of honey colored wood. But she only had eyes for Miriam, who sat as close to the defense's desk as possible. Davonna longed to reach out and touch her, but settled for a weak smile. Dark bags lay heavy under Miriam's eyes as well, and her hair was lank. Her pallid face shone in the harsh lights.
It was all a blur. Davonna spent most of her time trying to convince her mind to keep breathing. The judge listened to the evidence, raised one eyebrow, and a minute later set bail at €20,000, banging his gavel. It was over. Sofia was right, less than two hours later; Miriam gripped her elbow and escorted her to the black BMW.
"I'm so glad to see you," Miriam whispered.
They maneuvered through the streets, passing the police department and the bakery. Davonna was impressed by her sister's sense of direction. But she didn't answer. She gripped Miriam's hand as they drove back to the house. Miriam opened Davonna's door. They stood in front of the mansion, and for the first time a sense of relief flooded her mind.
Miriam asked about tea, her fingers trembling on the doorknob.
"I'm fine," she said.
Miriam smiled, but it failed to reach her eyes. "Do you want to eat?"
"I want to shower and maybe take a nap."
She let go of Miriam's hand and walked toward the stairs. The ground swayed under her feet and she barely grasped the bannister before she toppled over. Miriam didn't seem to notice. Davonna walked to the master bath
room in a daze. The marble shone in the afternoon sun, everything just as she left it. But there, on a floating shelf above the bath sat a bottle of John's cologne. The dark brown bottle was horrendously out of place in front of the bright, white towels.
Something broke. Davonna lunged forward, knocking off plush towels and scented soap bars from Paris. She ran out of the bathroom, flung open a window in the bedroom, wound back her arm, and with an almighty throw, chucked the bottle with all her strength. It hit a marble fountain, the seductive statue of Aphrodite to the left of the gazebo. The crack of shattering glass echoed through the garden and up to the second story window.
Davonna sauntered back to the bathroom, slammed the door, and screamed. The pain, the betrayal, the horrific night in jail, broke through the barriers she'd erected. She grabbed at her hair, pulling out dozens of strands at the roots as she stripped of her clothes and flung them at the door. Her screams and growls echoed through the floorboards to Miriam in the kitchen, who stood frozen, the kettle in her hands. Davonna’s body shook and a pool of salt water spread over her chest and down her white, silk blouse, staining.
Her voice went hoarse long before she was sated. She rinsed off in the shower and wrapped a towel around her body. Her mind sank into that place, the darkness where memories and torture assaulted her and it took hours to escape from. She saw herself go, as if a road disintegrated underneath her and she plummeted through space.
But in the mirror the reflection of a woman stood with wet hair, thin arms, and a trembling body. Did it tremble from fear or power or rage? Davonna watched, her mind spiraling into the abyss. But the woman in the mirror straightened, her face grew hard and strong and hopeful. A light, for whatever reason, began to fill her before she succumbed. The shaking trembled in an after shock and then at last left her, and the room stopped spinning.
Softly, quietly, the thought crept up on her. It was John. It was John. It was John who did this. He wanted to reduce her to a bumbling miserable wreck. But why? Davonna cried. Why couldn’t he love? Why'd he do it? The voice, or the knowledge, or the woman, said back—because he was weak and you never were.
Her nostrils flared. She clenched her jaw and closed her fist. The betrayal became horribly real. His behavior swirled and lingered like the smell of a skunk. John, in his hatred, in his narcissism, had done this to he. He'd been the tormentor. Even in his death it continued.
Davonna flung the towel on the floor, tugged on soft underwear and a sports bra and a loose, black shirt and jeans and left. She once again caught the gaze of the woman in the mirror and smiled. They weren't weak. And there was justice to he claimed.
Davonna walked to the kitchen, full of purpose and fire. She hesitated in the doorway, tying not to ignore the melodious sounds of Miriam's voice, which bounced off of the other side of the wall. She leaned against the frame of the back door and gathered that Miriam was talking to Seamus. She loitered, knowing if she moved, Miriam would hear her. But Miriam seemed to detect listening ears anyway, saying a hasty goodbye to her husband. She turned around, surreptitiously wiping her eyes.
"Oh, you scared me. I didn't hear you come down. Did you listen?" Davonna asked hesitantly nodding with her head at the ceiling, in the general direction of the bathroom.
"Not if you didn't want me to."
The two women smiled at each other. It seemed to Davonna that she walked into a bright ray of light, full of warmth and goodness.
"Your attorney called, she'll be here in a few minutes to discuss the case."
Davonna nodded and looked around the room. "I didn't expect I'd ever enjoy being here.”
"Was it terrible last night? I can’t imagine."
Davonna looked appraisingly at her and tried to force her thoughts into words. "The idea of being there. The room wasn't awful. I suppose it was the experience, of somehow being less of a human being—I was different, cut off. And not being in control of what you do or where you go, or even being able to turn the lights off."
"I'm so sorry," Miriam said.
The doorbell interrupted them. Miriam glanced at the front door. "She's early."
Sofia Gabris came through the house like a whirlwind. "I've been working since 4 a.m. I've had way too much coffee. How about we sit and talk about our next steps?"
Miriam and Davonna nodded, both looking at Sofia out of the corner of their eyes, like one might survey a deranged circus animal. "Through here."
"They found internet searches," Sofia said, and sat in Savva's usual blue silk chair. Her hair was limp and her hands twitched in her lap. "Somewhere in the browser history; it's why Savva arrested you."
"But that's ridiculous," Davonna sputtered, "I didn't search for how to cut his brake lines."
"I realize that," Sofia said, reaching out and placing a hand on her knee. "It's reasonable to argue in court that John had access to the computer. Then there's the burglary. Someone was in this house that shouldn't have been. There's also evidence that the time stamp on the searches was changed."
"What do you mean, ‘John also had access to the computer?’" Davonna asked, leaning away.
"It's possible he was the one who searched. The intruder theory fits better though."
"None of it makes sense. Surely the jury will see through it? Why would John search for how to cut his brake lines? Why would someone break into our house to use our computer?"
"I agree John makes little sense, but the intruder theory does. They did it to implicate you.” In her coffee fueled state, Sofia had formulated a circus of a defense.
Davonna fell back against the couch, her hands over her face. "This is insane."
"Davonna, I want you to trust me, we have every hope this will never even go to trial. I'm working to get all the evidence thrown out."
"But who did this—really?"
"I can't answer that."
Miriam shook her head. "What are we supposed to do in the meantime?"
"Lie low." She rose in one swift movement. Davonna cocked her brow. Sofia shook perceptibly.
"Do you need something to eat?"
"Oh no," Sofia said, smiling. "I've got to get back to work."
Davonna walked her out; they passed through the massive glass doors before Sofia turned.
"You will get through this," she said, putting a hand on Davonna's shoulder. "Have you considered going to the therapist I suggested?"
"I have."
"Go. I know it's uncomfortable but it'll be worth it."
"Thank you."
Sofia squeezed Davonna's shoulder and then turned and walked to the black Mercedes parked in the drive. She turned, with her hand on the door handle, and waved, still smiling.
"We need to find my passport," Davonna said, as she reentered the room.
Miriam jumped up from the couch, pulled her phone from her back pocket and sat back down again. "Let's make a list of where we haven't looked."
Miriam smiled when Davonna wasn't looking, with a surge of pride and pain. Had it happened to them — to her little sister? Her kind, gentle sister. Miriam pushed aside those tear-inducing thoughts, just like a Brit (her mother would be proud), and bent her head over Davonna's list. They spent the better part of an hour racking their brains for potential hiding spots, and when it was over they had turned the house upside down in search of it.
Davonna collapsed against the balustrade of the staircase. The wood was cool and unforgiving against her back. Every muscle ached from standing hunched over, sifting through boxes of sweaters and drawers of junk and banging on floors. Her mind was a jumble of emotions; anger at John, fear of the future, the cloying threat of a life in prison, and the overwhelming desire to fall asleep and never wake.
Soft footsteps echoed down the staircase and Davonna lifted her head to watch Miriam slouching as she walked, her perfect hair covered in dust, and her hands grey with dirt.
"I've been in the attic," she said, by way of explanation.
Davonna smiled and patted the stair beside her. "Did you find
it?"
"Do old textbooks count? I mean, why even keep them? They’re out of date the year they're printed."
"It's nice to see them."
"I suppose your textbooks wouldn't ever go out of date. I didn't see any of yours though."
"I don't know what happened to them. Thrown away, I imagine," Davonna said, carelessly. She smiled at Miriam, who cocked her eyebrows.
“Your language books in the trash?”
“Possibly.”
Silence fell. Davonna shifted to get more comfortable. A simmering pot of anger radiated from Miriam. It emanated from her in great rippling waves; from her dusty hair to her dirt-crusted nail beds. She waited for the ball to drop. Miriam opened her mouth and then closed it. There was hesitation in her eyes and grief. But still she was silent. Davonna wrung her hands, stared out the window from which poured thick rays of sunlight, and stood. She murmured something about the library and fled downstairs.
It was easier this way. Easier to escape the fumes of Miriam's torrent of emotions than to sit and wait for the dam to burst. She padded over to the windows and stared out. The garden was in full glory; the fading sun cast a golden halo of light on to the gazebo and the rippling tips of the cypress trees. It all looked as though it meant more, as if magic lived right beneath the surface, as dangerous and magnificent as a smoking volcano.
"I want to talk."
She turned to face Miriam, who had come and gripped the back of one of the leather chairs, her face pale and her cheeks wan. Her eyes wouldn't rise from the floor. Davonna tried to smile and encourage her to continue, but all that came out was a hoarse grunt. The room was so still; Davonna watched the lint floating on the air.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Miriam said.
Davonna winced, but she smiled weakly, and dropped into a chair opposite Miriam. "Tell you what?"
Miriam rolled her eyes. She clutched the back of the chair, her knuckles stood out pale white against the brown leather. "Why didn't you tell me about John? About what he was doing to you."
"You aren't my mother."
"I know! But I'm your sister. I wanted to helped you."
Mrs Fitzroy Page 20
