Inevitable Discovery

by Melissa F. Miller

  Sam Blank glanced at Charlie Robinson, then turned to Landon. His hazel eyes were flat and hard. Familiar. Landon’s pulse ticked up.

  * * *

  It was 2009. Calvin Tennyson’s lifeless hazel eyes stared up at him. Cold and unseeing.

  Calvin James Tennyson had been cutting through the park, his head bent and hands jammed into his jacket pockets. The patrol officer who stopped him later said he seemed calm. In a hurry, but polite and helpful. He assured the officer that he didn't know anything about any dead boy bleeding out in the alley, hadn’t heard any gunshots, nothing like that. The officer—relying on instinct, his gut, nothing more tangible than a feeling—checked his ID, took down his name and address, and sent him on his way.

  By the time a witness came forward and placed Tennyson at the scene, Josh had been dead for three months and Calvin Tennyson was in the wind. A career criminal with two strikes, he’d talked his way out of the stop in the park, then vanished.

  That first year—after Josh—he’d focused on finding Tennyson, tracking down the man who killed his son. In the early days, that had been his mission. But then Tennyson's body was found in North Carolina, in a small town where he had family. Like Josh, he fell victim to a violent crime. Stabbed, not shot. In a tidy, wood-paneled den, not a grimy alley. The investigating officers told Landon they had no leads, and Tennyson’s death wasn’t a priority. One of them gave him a crime scene photograph, a closeup of Calvin’s Tennyson’s face, his sightless eyes. It was all the closure he would get.

  After Tennyson’s murder, Landon needed a new quest to give his grim existence meaning. That's when he dreamed up Cesare, when he’d set his sights on helping all the Joshes, all their families.

  With two prior felonies in his background, if Tennyson had been arrested, charged and convicted for Josh’s murder, he would have served a life sentence. But what if someone had predicted his future crime and taken him off the street before he’d committed another crime? The idea haunted Landon.

  * * *

  Officer Fox cleared his throat. Landon pulled his gaze away from Sam Blank’s eyes and shook himself back to the present. Officer Scott was still holding the chairs and waiting for instruction.

  "Set those down so they’ll be clearly visible on the video." He waved at the camera on the tripod behind him.

  "You want video, sir?" Fox didn’t hide his surprise.

  "Yes, I’ll be recording this session in case I need to have the sign language translation verified."

  It was a highly unusual move. The three windowless basement rooms were set aside for when particularly vigorous and muscular forms of interrogation were employed. But he needed a way to keep Robinson in line and to ensure he didn’t coach the witness.

  "We could’ve just done this in a regular room," Scott mumbled.

  Landon ignored him.

  Scott thumped down the chairs on the ground, and he and Fox pushed the prisoners into the seats. They fastened their ankle restraints to the chair legs, then freed their hands. Both men rubbed their wrists and shook out their hands.

  Landon jerked his chin toward the door, dismissing the guards. They left, and he crossed the room and slid the iron bar into place across the door. He turned on the video recorder and clapped his hands together.

  "Let’s get started."

  18

  Charlie caught Sam’s eyes as they settled into the chairs. He flashed a ‘B’ under the guise of massaging his wrists. Sam didn’t react other than to blink, but Charlie figured he understood.

  They would use BSL instead of ASL to communicate. Most people had no idea that Black Sign Language and American Sign Language were two distinct languages. Charlie hadn’t known until college.

  He learned BSL to talk to his Aunt Rae, and he was pretty adept. So, in college, he chose ASL to fulfill his foreign language requirement, thinking it would be an easy A. On the first day of class, he realized his error. It was the equivalent of thinking you can speak Spanish just because you speak Italian. They were both Romance languages, but they were two completely different Romance languages. On his first trip back home, he’d peppered Aunt Rae with questions. Turns out, BSL had originated in the Deep South, in segregated schools for the deaf and, like so many aspects of culture, it had spread. Now Charlie could code-switch between the two sign languages just as he code-switched between AAE and SAE, speak one way with certain folk and another way with others.

  By using BSL, he and Sam would have some measure of privacy, even under the watchful eye of the video recorder. Sure, this guy might eventually learn that they hadn’t been signing in ASL, but that would take time. And he’d need to find a BSL interpreter willing to work for … whatever this outfit was. Using their own dialect wasn’t going to solve all their problems, but it was something.

  The questioner cleared his throat. “Let’s get started. State your name and address for the record.”

  Charlie signed the question. Sam answered.

  “My name is Samuel Lawrence Blank, and I don’t have an address.”

  “You’re homeless?”

  Sam shrugged, then signed, “At the moment.”

  Charlie signed back that his place was a one-bedroom apartment, but he had a futon in the living room, and Sam was welcome to it.

  “I didn’t ask a question. What did you just say to him?”

  “I told him he could sleep on my couch if he needed a place to stay—when we get out of here.”

  “Limit yourself to the questions I ask and the answers he gives.”

  “Will do,” Charlie lied smoothly.

  The man asked Sam about his warrant. Sam signed that, about a month ago, he had needed to make water, but the deli and the corner store had both already banned him from using their bathrooms, so he went behind a tree in the park. The spot wasn’t visible from the street, but someone must’ve seen him from the houses up on the hill and called the police.

  Charlie’s hands stopped moving, and he gaped at the man. “Seriously? He has a warrant for peeing on a tree?”

  The man shrugged, unconcerned. “Take it up with the local PD. Let’s get back to it.”

  He moved on to the topic of the night of the protest, and Charlie’s heart thumped in his chest. They needed to be careful here. The less Sam said about Vaughn Tabor, the better.

  “Why did you go to the protest?” The man demanded.

  “Why were you at the protest that night? What do you want me to tell him?” Charlie clarified.

  Sam paused, then he signed, “Does he know?”

  “Does he know you saw Vaughn die? I don’t think so.”

  “I heard about the boy’s death and wanted to pay my respects. Tell him I thought there might be food there. Sometimes at vigils, the protestors have snacks.”

  Good, Charlie thought. Believable story, not easily disproved. He passed the response along, while Sam nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

  “Snacks,” the man muttered to himself.

  He looked from Charlie to Sam and then back to Charlie, then he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. “Okay, look. I’m gonna be straight with you. I don’t know why the Milltown police are interested in this man. My AI program doesn’t clear it up. Maybe Mr. Blank can tell me, because, frankly, I don’t understand why he’s here. It can’t be because he took a leak against a tree.”

  Charlie sat back. He hadn’t expected this guy to place his cards on the table, but he didn’t get the feeling the man was bluffing.

  He signed the question for Sam, who frowned and started signing more animatedly.

  “I’ve been on the wrong side of the Milltown cops for years. They don’t like it when I fall asleep on the benches. They kick me awake and tell me to move on. They don’t like it when I sit in front of stores and restaurants. In the winter, they tell me to leave the library. I think, when they saw me at the protest, it just made them mad.”

  The man frowned.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Charlie didn’t wait for
his agreement. “Your guys showed up before the Milltown police. So they didn’t target him, you and your racist computer program did. I mean, right?”

  The man’s nostrils flared. Charlie didn’t really expect an answer, but he got one.

  “Again, Cesare is an artificial intelligence application. It can’t be racist or not racist. We used the traffic camera at the intersection to scan the protest for persons of interest. Those of you who were hits were gathered up in the van. Everyone except Mr. Blank, that is. Cesare didn’t flag him. The Milltown police asked me to add him to the list. They’ve declined to share their reasoning, and, frankly, having talked to him, I’m inclined to release him. I don’t like being used.”

  Charlie blinked. “I’m glad to hear that, and I’m sure Sam is, too. I understand you’ve also released Mr. Barefoot.” He left the rest unsaid.

  The man tented his fingers together. “And you want to know if you can go, too. Yes, I’m prepared to release you both. Of course, you’ll both need to sign the same nondisclosure agreement and liability waivers that Mr. Barefoot signed.”

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever you need.” He didn’t care what he had to sign to get out of there. He was going home, and that’s all that mattered.

  19

  Ryan and Sean were in the backyard building the bonfire when Sasha and Connelly arrived. He beelined through the house to join her brothers as they poked at logs and did whatever other tasks stoking a bonfire entailed.

  Sasha wandered into the kitchen and hugged her sisters-in-law.

  “Where are the kids?”

  Riley was plating cheese and crackers with a glass of red wine in one hand. She gestured with her glass toward the basement door. “They’re down there watching a movie. Liam’s in charge.”

  Jordan maneuvered around Riley’s kitchen as if it were her own. She reached over Riley’s head and pull down a wineglass for Sasha. “Drink?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  Jordan poured out a glug of wine and handed her the glass. She perched on one of the barstools that lined the kitchen island.

  “Do you need any help?” Sasha asked, even though she could count on one hand the times that either of her brothers’ wives had taken her up on an offer to lend a hand in the kitchen. She wasn’t exactly known for her command of the domestic arts.

  “You just sit there and look pretty,” Riley grinned.

  She sipped her wine. “Now that I can do. I’m glad you decided to do this tonight.”

  Jordan slid her a sidelong glance. “Are you?”

  Riley shifted her attention from the cheese she was cubing to Sasha’s face to see her answer.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  She addressed Jordan, but Riley answered, “The guys thought you might not want to do the whole remembering Patrick thing. You’ve always been sort of … funny about it.”

  She felt her right eyebrow inching toward her hairline and struggled to keep her expression neutral. “Funny, how?”

  Riley focused on filling a glazed ceramic bowl with olives while she responded. “You know, you never want to go to church and light a candle with your mom. And half the time you’re late for Thanksgiving dinner—if you even come.”

  “Whoa, whoa. Hang on. I think I’ve missed two Thanksgiving dinners over the past twenty years, and both times it was because I had to—”

  “Work,” they said in unison.

  She caught her lip between her teeth. The inflection in their voices left no question what they thought about her career.

  “Listen, if I wanna have an argument about work-life balance, I’ll wait till my mom gets here. Can’t we just drink our wine and enjoy the soundproof basement?”

  Her attempt at levity worked.

  Riley chuckled. “Sure.”

  Jordan clinked her glass against Sasha’s. “Here’s to finished basements.”

  The tension in the kitchen dissipated, and they sat in companionable silence for a while. The only sound was Riley’s knife hitting the cutting board.

  After a moment, Riley said, “Speaking of Thanksgiving, just so you know, Daniella has decided she’s a vegan.”

  “Oh? Does that mean Valentina will be making a Tofurkey?” Jordan wondered.

  Sasha nearly did a red wine spit-take all over Riley’s spotless center island. “Could you imagine?” She gasped, trying not to laugh.

  They were still giggling when Connelly came in to grab some beers from the refrigerator.

  “Fire’s coming along nicely,” he informed them. He stopped to drop a kiss on the crown of Sasha’s head. He smelled of smoke and fresh air.

  “Great. We’ll bring out some snacks in a minute. I’ll wait until Val and Pat get here to order the pizza,” Riley answered.

  “Sounds good.”

  Sasha waited until he stepped out onto the deck and shut the sliding door behind him. Then she said, “Thanksgiving next week. Before we know it, it’ll be Christmas.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Jordan said absently.

  “Remember the first Christmas after Patrick died? You were there when Karyn smashed up that nativity set my college roommate sent to Mom and Dad, right?”

  Jordan and Riley exchanged a long look, but neither spoke.

  “What?” She demanded.

  Jordan let out a long, slow breath. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “It’s kind of hard to forget,” Riley added in a quiet voice.

  Her sisters-in-law shared yet another meaningful look.

  She tried again. “I always wondered why she did that. I know she was probably in a bad place—we all were—the first Christmas without Patrick. But it was so out of character. So strange, really.”

  Riley rested the knife on the cutting board and leveled her gaze at Sasha. “I don’t think Karyn was acting strangely at all. Considering …”

  “Riley,” Jordan warned.

  “Really? She destroyed a gift, an expensive, thoughtful one, for no reason,” Sasha countered.

  “Oh, she had her reasons,” Riley responded.

  Jordan shook her head, grabbed the wine bottle, and refilled all three glasses. “You’re gonna need it,” she muttered under her breath as she handed Sasha her glass.

  “I don’t think Karyn cared about the cost of the gift, Sasha, because your roommate slept with her husband.”

  What?!

  Sasha sucked in her breath. She was quiet for a long moment while she processed—or tried to, anyway—Riley’s claim. Finally, she shook her head.

  “No. There’s no way. I don’t know what Karyn thought happened between Allie and Patrick, but there is no way my roommate had an affair with my brother. He was married. He was ten years older than her, for crying out loud. Just … no.”

  Riley sighed and looked at Jordan as if to say ‘your turn.’

  Jordan smiled sadly. “Do you remember that cloying body lotion Allie used to wear?”

  “That pear stuff? Sure. How could I forget? Our entire dorm room reeked of it,” Sasha laughed.

  “Yeah, well, the summer before Patrick died, when she stayed with you while her parents were in Europe, Karyn said Patrick would come home from your parents’ place with the scent clinging to him.”

  “So? That doesn’t mean they were having an affair.”

  “You didn’t think it was weird how upset she was at Patrick’s funeral?” Riley prodded.

  “Of course, she was upset. She was like a member of the family. But she wouldn’t betray our friendship by sleeping with Patrick. Besides, he would never cheat on Karyn.”

  “They were going through a rough patch, Sasha,” Riley said in a low voice. “They were having trouble getting pregnant. It was causing a lot of stress. She wanted to try for IVF, but they couldn’t afford it. He was working a lot of hours to make extra money. They were fighting … things were bad. And then Allie came along. Rich, pretty, young, and starry-eyed. She thought he was amazing, and he lapped up the attention.”

  “No!” Sasha slapped her hand down on the
top of the island. “You’re wrong. I’m going to go check on the kids.”

  She shook with anger as she crossed the room and yanked open the basement door.

  Behind her, Jordan said, “He told Sean, Sasha. I’m sorry, but it happened.”

  Sasha raced down the stairs without responding. Even as her brain refused to believe the words, the truth was cracking her heart wide open.

  20

  By the time Landon finished recording his observations and updating Cesar’s database, it was after six. He sped from the facility over to the Milltown Police Department in a desperate bid to catch the chief of police before he left for dinner.

  Even as he peeled around the corner and careened into the parking lot, he knew he was too late. The chief’s distinctive burnt-orange Hummer wasn’t in the lot. He should’ve called instead, but old habits dictated that he have as many conversations about the program face-to-face as possible. After all, he of all people knew there was always somebody listening to one’s phone calls.

  He jerked the wheel and hit the brakes, squealing to a stop in the first empty space. As he killed the engine, he scanned the lot. Kara Diamond’s subcompact was in her usual spot. She wasn’t the chief, but she was nearly as good.

  His mood lightened, and he strode quickly into the building.

  “Hello,” he boomed, startling the officer at the front desk—a fresh-faced, dark-haired woman whom he didn’t recognize. He leaned forward to read her badge. “Officer Comford, I’m here to see Officer Diamond. Tell her it’s Landon Lewis.”

  The officer fidgeted with her duty weapon at her hip. The motion appeared to be a nervous tic, but it was an unfortunate one. It was the kind of mindless habit that could get a law enforcement officer killed. Or indicted.

  “Sure thing. Wait right here.”

  She disappeared into the warren of cubicles and returned a few moments later with Kara in tow.

  “Twice in twenty-four hours. It must be my lucky, interminable day,” Kara said in greeting.