by Freya Atwood
“No, ma’am.” His eyes went the direction I wanted and then back to mine like a scalded cat. “But when he’s straight, he’s not a bad guy. I don’t think he’s a killer. He’s just messed up.”
I nodded slowly, as though thinking over what he had said. “Thank you, Officer Halloran. I’ll keep it in mind.”
He nodded gratefully, smiling. I walked past him and out through the visiting hall, enduring catcalls from some of the inmates sitting at the plastic tables there. Barked orders quelled the machismo. As I left the hall heading for the security area to be buzzed out, another guard fell into step alongside me.
He was older, with cheeks marred by old acne scars. A thick mustache hid his mouth.
“Hear you were in to see Hunter Watson.” He said in a low rumble.
“That’s right, Jim. Good to see you too by the way.” I replied drily.
He chuckled. “Thought you had more sense Miss Jones.”
I had reached the checkpoint, an officer behind a mesh grill passed a register out to me through an opening for me to sign out. As I handed it back, my phone was passed through. Jim leaned casually on the mesh, popping a stick of gum into his mouth.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You never took a dumb step in your life, Miss Jones.”
“Defending Hunter Watson isn’t a dumb step.” I told him firmly.
“You’re gonna lose.” He said.
I walked out of the checkpoint, waiting for a security door to be buzzed open. Beyond was the open reception area, half full with wives and kids, waiting to see incarcerated males. I stopped at the door, looking back. “How long have we known each other Jim?”
“Ten years. Since you first walked in here with Jennifer Mason to interview your first killer.”
“That was Simon Temple and he was acquitted.” I pointed out.
“Well, I’ve seen what Hunter Watson is like when he thinks someone is holding out on him. You know he put another inmate in the hospital? Over a bag of dope?”
That hit me but I didn’t show it. “You’re saying he’s capable of killing.”
“Hell, yeah.” Jim drawled. “But then, what do I know?”
“Jim, do me a favor? Keep an eye on him.” I asked seriously, holding Jim’s eyes.
He grunted, went as if to spit, then thought better of it. “That’s my job.” He said.
I began the drive back to Everwood. As I hit the freeway I started to call Nic’s cell. But a message notification caught my eye. It had recently popped up and was from a friend of mine who worked as an elementary school teacher. The subject line read,
“Saw Bryan downtown.”
It was enough to make me break the law more than I already was doing with my speed. I picked up the phone and one-handed scrolled to my text messages, keeping half an eye on the road. In a quick glance I read.
“Took the kids to the fire station today. Saw Bryan and two other guys on Clarke Street. Thought you’d want to know. Sorry to be bringing bad news maybe. Call me.”
A car horn blared as I went to overtake it and didn’t spot the car in my blind spot. “Jesus!” I yelled as I swerved back into my lane, then had to brake sharply as I caught up with the car in front way too fast.
I slammed the wheel and fired a rude gesture at the driver I had almost run off the road. The anger had nothing to do with driving. “Damn kid!” I screamed. “Goddamn it!”
The heel of my hand came into contact with the horn and it blasted out several times. After everything I did to help get the boy into community college. After he flunked out of high school with nothing! Jesus Christ! Still holding the phone in one hand I called Bryan, hitting the video icon. The call rang out to voicemail. I hit redial, breathing hard, seething with anger. I didn’t notice the black and white creeping up behind me.
He didn’t pick up until the fourth time of calling and when he did, the screen was blank.
“Turn your camera on.” I ordered.
“Why? What’s up?” Came the reply.
“Don’t give me any BS. Turn your camera on!” I said, more sharply.
“No, I don’t have to. You can’t treat me like this. I’m eighteen years old…”
His tone was mirroring mine. This was a no win scenario. Get a grip, Laura. One of you has to be calm or he’ll hang up. You have to get through to him now. I forced my mind through the mantra for calm, feeling as though I were fighting an inferno with a garden hose. I had to force locked fingers out of a death grip on the steering wheel. That was when I saw the highway patrol car coming up in my mirrors. And that was when they hit the lights.
I dropped the phone onto the passenger seat, knowing I was already caught. That’s where anger gets you. It was Jenny’s calm, logical voice.
“Bryan. I’m not looking for a fight. I know you’re not in class right now. I just want to know where you are and what you’re doing.”
Silence. “I’m OK mom. I just…”
I was pulling over, willing Bryan to find the words before I had to hang up. Fuck them. I’ll make them wait. My son is more important. Just give me the fucking ticket.
“What, honey?”
“I…I can’t talk right now, mom. Can we talk when I get home?”
I was stopped and watching a cop approaching the car. “Will you go into college for the classes after lunch?”
Pause. I wondered if the other boys with him were listening. Not boys, men. “Come on, Bryan. This is what you were born to do. You’ve such an affinity for this stuff. How can you fail?”
“OK.” Came the subdued answer. “I promise.”
“I’ve got to go, honey. I love you.”
“Uhluvu” was all I could make out of his reply. I read into the mumble the words I wanted to hear and it finally subdued my anger.
The conversation with the highway patrol was as uncomfortable as I had expected it to be. I drove away with a ticket and a healthy sense of shame and embarrassment. I put my phone into the glove compartment before I hit the road again. I left the cops behind though I took care to stick to the speed limit. Thirty minutes had passed and the sun was overhead in a sky of scudding gray clouds when a bronze colored sedan came tearing up behind me.
I stayed where I was, waiting for the other car to overtake me. It didn’t. It kept coming. I turned the wheel too late, trying to swerve into the next lane as the car rammed into the back of my own. My vehicle fishtailed wildly but I got it under control. The other car finally overtook mine, pulling alongside and then slamming sideways into me. I got a brief startled look through the window at the driver and recognized Lyle Summers.
An off ramp was coming up and Summers pulled away only to slam into me again. I felt the wheels on one side of my hybrid compact lift from the road under the force of the impact from the more powerful automobile. I cried out and steered for the off ramp, narrowly missing the crash barrier as I hurtled off the freeway. Another impact came from behind as Summers followed me and suddenly my car was spinning towards a metal barrier.
Chapter 8
My skidding slide stopped inches from the metal rail that separated the road from a line of solid looking pine trees. I found myself screaming involuntarily and then just staring, open mouthed out of the windshield. The sedan had screeched to a halt across the off ramp and Summers was getting out. Summers wore a blue denim shirt, half tucked into his jeans, and boots. His hair looked unwashed and there was a growth of stubble on his face. He held a tire iron in one hand.
There was another man in the car, he was struggling to open the passenger door and was yelling at Summers. You’ve got to be kidding me. First the wife and now this?! Fear was melting away. I would be shaking with shock when this was over but right now it was fight or flight and I had learned long ago that flight never worked.
Summers reached my car. He swung the tire iron into my windshield, shattering it.
Summers was trying the door handle now and I acted. Flicking the handle fro
m the inside, I twisted in my seat and kicked out at the door. It swung open, catching him in the midriff and catapulting him back, knocking him off his feet. I vaulted from my seat, kicking off my shoes and catching the door by its edge as he got up snarling.
I could smell the booze. Guess your wife didn’t find you then, Lyle. Well, you think I’m going to be scared of another pathetic drunk man in my life? As he stumbled towards me I swung the door again with everything I had. It caught him in the shoulder and threw him to the ground. His passenger reached him.
“Come on, man! I didn’t sign up for this. Scare her, you said.”
I was breathing hard, my hair was breaking free and wild. I grabbed my phone from inside the car and held it front of me like a shield. “Smile, assholes,” I hissed and hit the camera icon. The way my hand was shaking, the images on the video would be impossible to make out, but Summers’ buddy was watching my phone like it was a cobra.
My anger was in full control now. No mantra was going to bring me back from the edge. I picked up a shoe and hurled it at them. The heel caught Summers’ friend on the forehead. The next object to hand was the tire iron. I picked it up and marched towards Summers’ car, still filming with my phone in my other hand. They got to the vehicle ahead of me and tore past me with tires smoking. I hurled the iron after them, hearing it clank as it bounced off the bodywork.
I stopped myself just short of throwing my phone after them. As their vehicle disappeared and I was left alone with the noise of traffic passing along the freeway above me, I screamed. I let out the frustration and rage in a protracted screech to the sky. Afterward, breathless and feeling hollow after expelling my anger, I recovered my shoe and began to act like a lawyer. I took pictures of the damage to my car and even walked up the offramp, keeping within the safety barrier, to document any marks on the road that might bear witness to my battle.
Having documented the scene as much as I was able, I called 911.
On my return to the office I had to inform Kevin of recent events. He looked ready to explode, his already deep color reddening even further. He called the firm’s attorneys and I was forced to sit through almost an hour of questioning regarding the incident, after which Kevin insisted on my working from home for the rest of the day. He promised swift action, and the DA’s head on a plate, if it wasn’t taken fast enough to suit him. I ignored the instruction to work from home, at least for the time being.
“Caramel apple cider, cinnamon raisin bagel and cream cheese on the side, boss.” Nic announced as she strode into my office. “Saw you coming in white as a sheet and then got a gander at your car. Figured you might need the whipped cream and sugar.”
I was sitting at my desk, scanning through the evidence files Nic had emailed through to me while I was up at the Stone. I smiled gratefully. “Nic, you can read minds.”
I sipped at the hot, sweet beverage Nic had obtained from the artisan coffee shop across the street. It felt like slipping into a deep, hot bubble bath.
“Care to fill me in?” Nic asked, taking a seat.
“Not really. I’ve just gone over it in detail with our attorneys and Kevin. Let’s just say, Summers tracked me down and decided to give me a scare.”
I waved away the look of concern on Nic’s face. “Kevin wants me to go home and I intend to eventually. But first I want you to brief me on what you got from the DA and the Everwood Police Department.”
Nic looked up at the ceiling for a second then nodded. Data retrieval. “So, a patrol car happened to be half a block away when the shots were fired. Two officers in the car, parked on the corner of Broad and Engel street getting coffee. Three shots heard. And corroborated by an old fella who lives across the street from Khan’s clinic. He called 911. They arrive within minutes, see the light. Go in and find our client standing over Khan’s body with a gun in his hand.”
“Did they mention which way Hunter was facing when they went in?”
“No.” Nic replied without hesitation.
“They went in after hearing shots without waiting for backup. In that neighborhood?” I asked, disbelieving.
“Yes.” Nic replied, almost before I had finished speaking.
I nodded slowly. This doesn’t sound right.
“I need to review all of the evidence. I think I’ll take Kevin’s advice and spend the rest of the day working from home.”
“I got copies of the paper evidence in my office. You have all the digital copies in your inbox.”
“Great work, Nic.”
“We also got confirmation of a trial date. The court sent through the confirmation this morning. We have just over a month.”
I winced. “I thought we’d have more time.”
“I spoke to a friend over at the DA’s office. It looks like Halden has had to withdraw two cases due to witnesses withdrawing testimony. It’s opened up a hole in the court schedule and our case has been brought forward. Word is, Elaine Halden is foaming at the mouth to save her reputation.”
“And Hunter Watson is the scapegoat she’s going to use to do it.” I finished.
“Give the lady a prize.” Nic said with a dry grin.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Do we need anything else?” Came the reply.
“God, I hope not.”
I heard a buzzing in my jacket slung over the back of my chair. I fished out my phone but didn’t recognize the number. I’m busy, let it go to voicemail.
“I want you to do a deep dive on Khan. Everything we can possibly find out about him. Nothing is too trivial and nothing is irrelevant.”
Nic nodded, standing up to leave. I tore off a piece of bagel, swiping up a chunk of cream cheese with it, from the small plastic pot it was served in. “I’ll authorize the overtime now.” I told her. “Sorry, Nic. We’re not going to have much of a life for the next month.”
“Life? What’s that?” Nic laughed as she left my office.
My phone vibrated again, I glanced at it. The same unknown number had left a text message. I opened it.
“I’m not talking to a voicemail. We need to talk about Bryan. Regards, Miriam.”
The bagel turned to ashes in my mouth. I stared at the message, at the name in particular. I had once known a woman called Miriam. She had defended her son’s violent behavior towards his child and the mother of his child. She blamed me for what had happened to her son. She had once tried to take my baby away from me.
Chapter 9
The message on my phone was like a ticking bomb. I couldn’t shake it from my awareness. I packed up and headed for home, saying a distracted goodbye to Nic on my way out. How did she find me? Has she been talking to Bryan? Is that what he’s been doing when he’s been skipping class? I wasn’t aware of my surroundings as I walked out through reception and walked to my car.
The sun was bright and the afternoon warm. A breeze wafted the mingled food smells of Mason Street over to me. Usually it was comforting but I had too much on my mind to appreciate it now. The drive home was automatic. There was a reason I had severed all contact with Miriam and her family, why I had shut Bryan’s father out of his life. I called Bryan as I drove.
“Mom! I’m in school, OK? You don’t need to be checking up on me.”
“I’m not, honey. I just got a message from…” I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t use the word grandmother to describe her. What if he wants to meet her? Spend time with her and her family? The thought filled me with utter dread. “…someone from my past. From when I lived in LA.”
There was a brief moment of silence. “Who?” Bryan asked.
I could read him like a book, that silence was his moment of decision, trying to decide whether to lie or not.
“Don’t you know?” I asked, still not able to just say it aloud.
“You sound like you’re accusing me of something…”
“I’m not.” I cut across him hastily, not wanting to make him defensive.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel and I forced th
em to relax, feeling the tension in my shoulders too.
“Don’t talk over me, mom. You know I hate that.” Bryan’s tone was rising.
“I’m sorry honey. I hate that too. Oh god, this is such a mess!” I knew there was frustration in my voice. A horn blared behind me as I crossed lanes, another car suddenly appearing too close in my mirror. I had cut across him. I bit back the urge to sound my own horn or swear. The stress was a tightening band across my chest.
“Look, I’m just going to ask you straight out. Do you know who I’m talking about?” I demanded.
