The Crimson Trial: A Legal Thriller

by Freya Atwood

  “OK. Good point. Want me to carry on digging?”

  “No, he was a smart man. At least we assume so. It’s likely he’ll have covered his tracks. I’ll see what I can find out from his wife. Why don’t you move onto the clinic itself? Hunter hinted that Khan may have been dealing, or at the very least, holding illegal drugs. Go through any statements taken from any of his colleagues or helpers. Then speak to them again.”

  “OK. Now what about the EPD’s eye witness?” Nic asked.

  “The old guy who lives across the street?” I scanned through the list of prosecution evidence.

  “He says he saw Hunter Watson go into the building before the shots were fired.”

  It’s an angle we need to cover.

  “I’ll make time to go talk to him.” I decided.

  “I should be there too. That’s really not the kind of place you want to go by yourself.” Nic commented

  “Agreed. We can check out the murder scene too. Put some time in the diary for tomorrow morning.” I instructed.

  At that moment I heard a car pull up in the driveway, moments later the slam of a car door. Bryan was home. And it was time to revisit a past I had thought dead and buried.

  Chapter 12

  Bryan came into the house carrying pizza. He looked wary, smiling hesitantly as I greeted him. He dropped his rucksack off his shoulder with a shrug and a sigh.

  “Could you take these Mom?” He asked. “I wanna get my shoes off.”

  “You read my mind.” I told him, smiling brightly and taking the three boxes from him. “Good day, honey?”

  I kept my tone light, not wanting to launch into a serious conversation the second he was in the door. Bryan was sitting on the stairs, kicking off his sneakers. He looked up at me from beneath his brows. His hair was falling across his face and as I reached down to brush it back, he jerked his head away.

  I kept the dismay from my face, fixing my smile in place and pretending I hadn’t noticed.

  “Yeah. Like I said.” Came the eventual muttered reply.

  I walked through to the kitchen. “Well, come on. I don’t know about you but I’m starving.” I put a jokey over-emphasis on the last word but when I looked back over my shoulder, Bryan was immersed in his phone, still sitting on the stairs.

  Come on Bryan, throw me a bone here!

  “Could you get some plates for me?” I called through.

  He eventually appeared in the kitchen and walked to the fridge, taking out some soda. I leaned against the counter, tapping a fingernail against the hard surface. He opened the bottle and lifted it to his mouth.

  “Glass.” I snapped, irritation finally breaking through. He’s playing me, get a grip!

  Bryan shot me a look, the bottle inches from his lips. Then he lowered it and walked to a cupboard, taking out two glasses and filling each. He brought one over to me and I smiled my thanks.

  “Plates?” I reminded him, raising my eyebrows.

  “Right.” He put his own glass down too hard, soda slopped onto the counter.

  Another cupboard opened and two plates were produced. Eventually, he took a seat next to me, helping himself to a couple of slices from two of the boxes. That was our tradition, one each and one to share.

  “Feels like there’s glass somewhere.” Bryan rubbed at the palm of one hand, mouth half full with pizza.

  “I broke a glass,” I admitted. “Thought I’d got all of it.”

  Bryan gave me a level look, one he’d probably learned from me. “Broke? So you dropped it on the floor and the broken glass jumped up onto the counter? Or did you throw it?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Jeez, kid. You sure you don’t want to be a lawyer? OK. I got angry and I threw a glass. I’m sorry.” His comments were too soon after Jenny had made the same observation. I tore a chunk off the slice of pizza I was holding.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” was the next question, asked in a gentle voice.

  He had stopped eating and was looking at me intently. Suddenly, I felt like the teenager. I held up my hand where there was a small cut, a smear of dried blood on my palm. He rolled his eyes.

  “Did you think to make sure there was no glass in the wound or just wipe it with a paper towel and carry on?” Exasperation was loud in his voice. He took my hand, squeezing at the small cut and peering closely.

  “You know how easily cuts get infected, especially if there’s anything left in the wound?” He demanded, standing and pulling me by the hand to the faucet.

  “I didn’t really think about it,” I admitted. I hid my smile, letting him nurse me. Just when I think he doesn’t care, I see the real Bryan. My boy.

  I sighed and made out like he was making a fuss over nothing, secretly pleased at his concern. He began to knead the cut to find any shards of glass. Blood mingled with water in the sink.

  “What was it this time?” He asked without looking up from his first aid.

  “Your father’s mother.” I said, seeing an opportunity and taking it.

  He stopped what he was doing, looking at me. “You spoke to her?”

  I nodded, gently pulling my hand back from the water but keeping hold of his. “I did. And she is just the same as I remember.”

  Bryan frowned. “She seemed so nice when I talked to her. And Maria was raised by her and her husband, Tony.”

  “Maria?” I asked.

  “My half-sister. Apparently.” Bryan said.

  He met my eyes, daring me to get angry, to challenge him. But I didn’t. I stroked his hair but he jerked away again. It cut me and I couldn’t hide the hurt this time. It manifested as anger, like it always did.

  “Bryan. I’m sure she came across just like the grandmother you’ve never known. But I know the real woman. And she’s far from what she seems.” I snapped.

  “She told me you’d say that.” Bryan responded sullenly, backing away and glaring at me.

  “Oh, I have no doubt!” I put both my hands through my hair, clenching my fingers and pulling. “Let me think. She told you that I was abusive towards her son and that he was a good boy who I led astray? Is that pretty close?” There was acid in my words now, I was spitting venom. “Or is that pretty much exactly what the old bitch told you? Huh?!”

  Bryan’s face was growing red and I knew that my eyes were wide as I started to yell. I turned to the counter, clamping both hands down on it. They itched to pick up something and smash it.

  “For what it’s worth, Mom, I didn’t believe her.” Bryan shot back, mirroring my raised voice.

  I looked up, my hair falling over my face. Bryan stood with his hands behind him. He was also gripping the edge of the counter, also keeping himself from breaking the nearest object to hand. The realization was like an ice bucket emptied over me. I swept my hair out of my face. He was looking at the floor.

  “I’m glad.” I told him. “But I was wild when I was your age. I met your father when I was on the streets. My mother was in an institution after having a nervous breakdown. My dad…was a monster who put her there. I was using. I was drinking. But Tommy was worse.”

  “Tommy’s my dad?” Bryan asked.

  His shoulders were hunched, like he was trying to withdraw into himself. His bold, handsome features were twisted into a snarl.

  “Yes.” I walked towards my son, moving slowly until I could reach out and touch his hand. It was like touching a statue. His muscles were taut and rigid. I rubbed his arm and stood next to him, keeping my hand on his. He didn’t pull away and I felt his grip on the counter lessen. It had been a long time since he had allowed this kind of physical contact.

  “We were no good for each other. But we were both running away from crappy home lives. Both rebelling.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He tried to kill me. I ran. Last I heard, he was doing time in San Quentin.” It was all delivered in as flat and matter of fact voice as I could muster. I wanted him to know the facts and not think I was embellishing. No point sugar coating or trying to sof
ten the blow. He needs to hear it.

  “Gran…Miriam told me he was framed.”

  “That he was a good boy? That he would never do what they accused him of?”

  “Yeah.”

  I sighed. What I was about to do would feel like I was ripping off my own skin. It was anathema. But he had to know the truth. I unbuttoned my blouse and pulled it away from my left shoulder.

  “This is what he did to me. This put me in the emergency room and I almost lost you to that family. They tried to take you away.”

  Bryan looked, face paling. I saw the storm of anger sweeping in, the tightening of the jaw, the eyes. I put my hand to his cheek, willing calm into him.

  “Miriam tried to get custody of you but the judge deemed you safer with me in a shelter for abused women than with your father. And that by giving her and Tony custody, you would be in your father’s custody. If Miriam hadn’t been so insistent that her blue eyed boy could do no wrong, I might have lost you. As it was, the judge ruled that he could not guarantee she wouldn’t hand you over to him. And he judged your father, correctly, to be unfit.”

  “The son of a bitch.” Bryan breathed, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’d like to do that to him. Bastard!”

  “Well, you won’t get the chance. He’s in prison and he’ll be there for a long time.” I assured him.

  “No, he isn’t. He got out.”

  My worst nightmare had come true.

  Chapter 13

  “How do you know he’s out?” I asked, though I already suspected the answer.

  “I spoke to him. He called me.” Bryan admitted.

  He slapped the counter, propelling himself away from it and stalking across the kitchen. He picked up a half-eaten slice of pizza then just dropped it, pushing the box away.

  “And do you want to tell me what he said to you?” I asked.

  Bryan wouldn’t meet my eyes. He scowled across the room. “Just that he had been released from prison. Something about his lawyer getting the case back to court, and I guess he got acquitted.”

  Or maybe he got the conviction reduced to manslaughter instead of murder one. I wished I could review the case file, see for myself.

  “I don’t think he will have been acquitted. If they got the charge reduced on the basis of new evidence, maybe he got released on the grounds of time already served. But he was guilty.” I told him.

  There was a desperate anxiety eating at me. It was important Bryan understood the character of the man and the nature of the crime he stood accused of.

  “Do you want to know what he did?” I asked.

  “I’m going to my room.” Bryan muttered, making for the door.

  “He killed a drug dealer he was trying to steal from. Stabbed him!” I ran after Bryan, getting between him and the door.

  He spun away from me, hunching his shoulders. I followed. “He came to me covered in blood and hid the knife in a drain behind our apartment building. He burned his clothes and told me what to tell the police.”

  “Stop it.” Bryan hissed.

  “No! You need to understand the truth!” I yelled, reaching around to grab his wrist, forcing him to face me.

  He pulled his hand away violently. As he pulled away his shoulder caught me, shoving me back into the breakfast bar. My foot tangled around a stool and I fell. My hip hit the tiled floor with an audible slap and I cried out in pain as my elbow jarred against the metal stand of one of the barstools.

  Rage boiled within me, a volcano about to explode but Bryan was suddenly crouching at my side.

  “Mom? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” He was speaking quickly, words tumbling out of him. “I’m sorry. Don’t get mad. I won’t speak to him again. Ok? I won’t speak to him.”

  There was panic on his face and his hands were shaking. The anger faded at the sight of my son, needing his mother.

  “It’s OK, Bryan. Really. Help me up.”

  He took my hand and gently helped me to my feet. I gave him a wry smile.

  “I forget how much bigger you are than me.” I joked, trying to calm him and defuse the situation.

  His face was flushed, eyes bright and wide. He licked his lips, constantly brushing his hair from his face. “I get so mad sometimes. When…when I’m…like…”

  He was fumbling for words. I put my arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

  “When you’re feeling overwhelmed?” I suggested.

  I felt the nod against my shoulder. For a moment we stood there, then he pulled away from me. He wouldn’t meet my eyes except for quick, shy glances.

  “Sit down.” I told him. “Eat. I am fucking starving.”

  “Mom!”

  I filled my mouth with pizza. “What? I’m not allowed to swear occasionally? I swear less than you do.”

  “Sounds weird coming from you.”

  It was the perfect moment to move the conversation into something lighter but I couldn’t help myself. I needed to know more about his interaction with his father.

  “So how do you feel about the chance to meet your father? Is that what he’s talking about?”

  “Yeah. But it’s not going to happen.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of what you told me, of course. Why else?”

  “I can’t stop you if it’s something you wanted to do. I can only tell you what my experience of the man was. And his family. They never acknowledged the things he did. They just blamed me.”

  I had another question, one that was eating at me but I had to play it calm and keep Bryan from shutting down. I took a slice of pizza for myself, taking another bite and not really tasting it.

  “Have you mentioned where we live?” I asked as casually as I could.

  “No.” Bryan replied.

  I watched him carefully from the corner of my eye. He noticed and looked right at me raising his eyebrows questioningly. I scrutinized him. I trusted Bryan in the way that a parent trusts their child inherently to know the difference between right and wrong. I trusted him not to break the law, to not deliberately hurt someone. But that didn’t mean I automatically trusted him not to lie if he thought it would benefit him or keep him out of trouble.

  Bryan had his own code. Something he deemed of no consequence, but where a lie would spare him some hassle, in those circumstances he would lie. I thought maybe it was a teenage thing that he hadn’t yet grown out of. I think he’s being honest with me. No way to tell without looking through his phone. And if I did, it would just drive him away.

  “I don’t want him knowing where we live.” I said emphatically. “I don’t want him even knowing what state we live in.”

  Bryan looked away, taking another bite of pizza. It was a tell. It screamed at me that he was hiding something and it didn’t need a lawyer to pick up on.

  “You’ve told him we live in Washington state.” I said, a statement, not a question.

  “Not directly. I may have mentioned the Seahawks.” Bryan told me.

  I fought for control, trying not to react but the effort must have been evident. He dropped the pizza.

  “Jeez Mom. How could I know? All I knew was that you two didn’t get on. I didn’t know about…” He gestured towards my shoulder. “I mean, how could I?”

  “I know. It’s OK.” I hurriedly tried to reassure him. “It’s my fault for not telling you. I just didn’t think I would need to. I didn’t think they would be able to find us.”

  “As far as he knows I’m a Seahawks fan, doesn’t mean we live in Washington. Could be living in Oregon or even Canada.” Bryan was trying to mollify me, sensing my frustration.

  “I know. I’m not blaming you.”

  “I won’t speak to him again. Or Miriam if you don’t want me to.”

  “I don’t.” I replied. “The man is toxic. The entire family is. We’re just better off without them. We don’t need them. You don’t need them.”

  Bryan nodded. I needed a way to defuse the situation, voices had risen again. I wanted his company for lon
ger, it was rare enough that we sat down to eat together. I cast around for a subject. Couldn’t talk to him about sports, I didn’t know enough. Music? Bryan liked loud guitars, I liked jazz.