In Her Eyes

by Sarah Alderson

  Loud voices pull us back out into the hallway. The deputy Sheriff is back, sweating and out of breath. He’s talking to the hospital’s head of security and another officer, and he’s shaking his head. Clearly, he didn’t catch the man. Damn it.

  He looks my way then, his expression abashed. He ducks his head unhappily as the other deputy scowls and gestures angrily at the door. He’s getting bawled out.

  ‘Oh no,’ whispers Hannah, watching it happen. ‘This is my fault. I should say something.’

  I glance at her. Her face is flushed and her shirt is undone so that her bra is showing. A thought occurs to me. Maybe it was the flustered look on her face when she ran out into the hallway, or something about her concerned expression as she watches the Sheriff get reprimanded now. I look at him more closely. He’s late twenties I would guess, and good-looking in a clean-cut way. I can see how Hannah might find him attractive, especially wearing his Sheriff’s uniform. I’ve seen him a few times with Nate. I wonder if Hannah’s been turning to him for comfort and think about tackling her about it as he’s far too old for her, but before I can say anything Nate arrives on the scene.

  He’s obviously been apprised of the situation, as he strides into the ICU with a scowl on his face and makes a beeline straight for his deputy. He glances briefly our way and nods his head by way of greeting before leading the deputy away, further down the hall, where they stop and Nate pulls out his notebook and starts interrogating him.

  ‘Come on,’ I say to Hannah, pulling her back into June’s room.

  Chapter 24

  DAY 6

  Hannah’s problem becomes my problem. A day later I’m standing beside the newsstand in the lobby of the hospital, trying to withdraw cash from the ATM and the machine is refusing to play ball. I’ve tried every single card and I’m aware that there’s an impatient nurse standing behind me tapping her foot and sighing loudly.

  I turn around, stuffing my wallet full of redundant cards back into my bag.

  ‘I can lend you money,’ Laurie says, seeing my face when I walk back over to her by the coffee stand.

  ‘How am I going to pay you back?’ I ask, taking out my bottle of painkillers and dry swallowing several.

  Laurie smiles at me and links her arm through mine. ‘Don’t worry about it. That’s what friends are for.’

  Yes, I think, sure, but at some point I’m going to exhaust the limits of her generosity. It’s not like she and Dave can afford to keep supporting me. But what am I going to do? How am I going to get money to pay for our living costs? How am I going to find a place to stay or pay our hospital bills, let alone a lawyer? I don’t know what to do.

  It’s been two days since they arrested Robert. His arraignment happened this morning but Horowitz failed to tell me, so I missed it. He entered a no contest plea, something which I had to Google. It means he’s neither denying nor admitting the charges against him, but is willing to accept the punishment. The pundits on the news are all proclaiming this a surefire sign of guilt. Even Horowitz. The only charge he refused to plead guilty to was conspiracy to commit murder.

  I’ve called Nate to ask if I can see Robert again but apparently he’s refusing all visitors, including his lawyer. Another sign of guilt? I’m so angry that every time I think of him I feel like I might burst into flames. He lied to me about the bankruptcy and yet had the nerve to accuse me of being a liar, as though he’s so goddamn innocent!

  Hannah wanted to know how I could doubt his innocence, how I could believe for an instant that her father was guilty. Because the evidence is so insurmountable, I wanted to shout at her. Because he had a motive, several in fact, though I can’t tell her all of them. I’ve seen enough crime shows to know that money and jealousy are two of the biggest motives in homicide cases. And yes, I thought I knew Robert, better than anyone in the world, but how well do you ever know anyone, really?

  ‘Why won’t he see you?’ Laurie asked.

  I just shrugged. I can’t tell her either.

  ‘Where’s Gene, by the way?’ she asks now, as we make our way across the hospital lobby.

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t know. He came by yesterday to see June, stayed five minutes, then disappeared. I haven’t seen or heard from him since. I’m worried.’

  ‘What did he have to say about his dad being in prison? About the charges? Is he doing OK?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say. I don’t know anything. I’ve been living in a state of complete ignorance. My whole life was a lie.

  ‘Where’s he staying?’

  ‘He’s not staying with you?’ I ask, turning to her.

  Laurie shakes her head.

  ‘Oh. Well . . . at the house, I guess, or maybe with a friend.’

  ‘Dave drove him somewhere the other day but I haven’t seen him either since then.’

  I frown at that. ‘Why did Dave have to drive him?’

  ‘I think Gene sold his car. Didn’t he tell you?’

  ‘What?’ I stare at Laurie in astonishment but she just shrugs.

  I wonder if he’s sold it in an effort to help out with the bills, and for a moment my heart softens towards him. But then I remind myself it’s Gene and he’s probably just used the cash to replace his stolen laptop and buy weed. He certainly hasn’t bothered to call or offer money. It does give me an idea though. Perhaps I can sell my car, or Robert’s. And we own some good pieces of furniture . . .

  ‘How long have you got to move out of the house?’ Laurie asks as we walk to the elevators.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say. I probably would know if I checked my messages but I’ve been ignoring all calls and letting them ring through to voicemail. I only answer if it’s the kids, Laurie or Nate. I’m tired of having to repeat myself endlessly to friends and family seeking updates on June and more recently looking for an inside scoop on Robert’s arrest (though they disguise their rabid curiosity as sympathy). My voicemail is also filled with pleading messages from journalists, all asking for an exclusive interview. I gave up deleting them after the first two dozen.

  I stop in front of the newsstand and scour the front pages. Immediately a headline leaps out at me from the Santa Barbara Herald. TWO MORE SUSPECTS ARRESTED OVER HOME INVASION. There are mugshots splashed across the front page and I recognize them as the two men in the photographs Nate showed me; the ones Robert was paying off, supposedly to break into the house and murder me.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ Laurie asks. ‘Did the Sheriff tell you they were arresting them?’

  I shake my head dumbly. ‘I knew they were wanted for questioning, that’s all.’ I scan the article. There are few details about the suspects, other than their names and ages. I study their faces. One is a solid slab of a man. He’s staring at the camera like he’s facing off with an opponent in a title fight, his eyes so heavy-lidded they’re almost slits. The other one looks like he could be a friend of Gene’s from school – he’s preppy with clean-shaven good looks and a neat side parting. Could either of them be the men who broke into our house? I stare at the one with the shaved head and instantly I’m back in June’s room, seeing her there, on her knees in front of him, the man turning towards me with the gun in his hand.

  Dots start to dance frantically in front of my eyes and a sheen of sweat breaks out all over my body. I feel as if I’ve been hit all at once with flu.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Laurie asks.

  I take a few deep breaths, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Laurie throws some dollars at the newsstand guy and we walk a few paces away to study the photograph under the light.

  ‘Is that them, do you think?’ Laurie asks.

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t know. They were wearing masks.’

  My phone rings and I pull it out. It’s Nate. I take the call as Laurie and I enter the elevator.

  ‘Did you see the news?’ he asks me, straight off the bat.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We found the guys. We’ve brought them in for questioning. Can you come down to t
he station? We need you to do an ID.’

  ‘I told you, I didn’t see their faces.’

  ‘But you heard their voices. We want you to see if you recognize them by their voices.’

  Can I remember their voices? I don’t know anymore. It all feels like it happened so long ago. There’s something though – something that keeps nagging at me – something in the foggiest part of my brain that I know I’ve forgotten and that I need to remember.

  ‘Ava?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll be there.’

  ‘Great.’

  I make to hang up but I stop because I can hear Nate on the other end of the line, hesitating. ‘Ava?’ he finally says.

  ‘Mmmm?’

  ‘How are you doing?’

  His voice is soft as a caress, low – as if he’s trying not to be overheard. He’s not asking as the Sheriff.

  ‘I’ll see you later, Nate,’ I say, and then hang up.

  Chapter 25

  ‘In your statement you said that when you were in the kitchen the second man said the words ‘‘Get over here’’.’

  ‘Hmm?’

  I glance at Nate. He’s been talking and I haven’t been listening.

  Nate looks up from his notebook. ‘Sorry, I know this must be hard.’

  I study him and in my head I’m thinking, You have no idea. No one does. No idea at all. ‘What happens?’ I ask, turning my attention to the two-way glass and trying to compose myself. ‘I give a correct ID on these guys and you arrest them?’

  ‘We’re checking their alibis. If you can ID them and we can find a hole in their alibi, then yes, we’ve got enough to charge them. If we can match DNA to traces left at the house, then we’ve got an even stronger case. The lab are running tests but they’ll take a month, maybe longer, to come back with results.’

  I stare through the glass at the empty room on the other side. It’s the same room I sat in with Robert when he told me he knew about me and Nate. I can’t tell Nate that Robert suspects something is going on between us, as I’m sure Nate would use that as further evidence against him – another motive – and until I know for sure that Robert isn’t guilty, I’m not about to give Nate more evidence to use against him.

  ‘Did they admit Robert hired them? Did they say he hired them to kill me?’ I ask.

  ‘They haven’t admitted to anything,’ Nate says. ‘But that’s because they’re lawyered up better than OJ and their lawyer’s counseling them to say nothing.’

  So they haven’t admitted it. ‘And if I manage to identify them by their voices, then what?’ I ask.

  ‘We can’t hold them. It won’t be enough for the DA. The defense will punch a hole right through it in court.’

  ‘So what’s the point of this then?’ I ask.

  ‘Because it’s something,’ Nate says. ‘If you can ID them, at least we know we’re looking in the right direction. We can discount other lines of enquiry. We’re looking into their alibis for the night of the break-in right now. If we can tear those apart and put them at the scene with DNA evidence, we’ve got enough to charge them.’

  ‘And Robert too.’

  He gives an awkward shrug. ‘Don’t you want to know the truth?’ he asks me.

  I nod. I do. I need to know if Robert is guilty. I wish I could swear blind that he’s innocent, but I can’t. If he lied to me about the bankruptcy and the fact he’d blown through three million plus dollars, then what else could he lie to me about?

  ‘Let’s do this then,’ I say impatiently to Nate. ‘I need to get back to June.’

  Nate bangs on the door. An attractive Latina woman strides into the room wearing an expensive suit, stiletto heels and a slash of red lipstick. She gives me a once-over that makes me shrink about three inches. If I had balls they would have ridden up somewhere inside my body.

  ‘Their lawyer,’ Nate whispers under his breath to me. I eye the woman with a frown. How the hell can they afford a lawyer who looks like she just walked off the set of The Good Wife?

  A minute later six men, all wearing ski masks that cover their faces, troop into the room on the other side of the glass. I take a deep breath, feeling a tremor run through me. I sense Nate glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. I wasn’t expecting the masks but of course it makes sense. Nate and I watch as the men are lined up in front of a height chart. I immediately discount number six because he’s tall, almost six feet one, but the others are all shorter.

  ‘They can’t see or hear us,’ Nate reminds me.

  I scan the men in turn. With the masks over their heads it’s almost impossible to tell which two I saw in the paper. But it’s just as hard to know if any of them were the two men who broke into the house.

  Nate leans forwards and presses a button on the desk in front of us. ‘Number one, if you could repeat the line on the piece of paper.’

  I notice now that they’re all holding a small scrap of paper. The man holds his up in front of his face. ‘June,’ he mumbles. ‘Get over here.’

  ‘Louder please,’ Nate orders.

  The man repeats it. I close my eyes and try to focus on the timbre of his voice. He sounds too gruff, too old and the words are too muffled through the mask to hear well. When I open my eyes I find Nate watching me. I shake my head.

  ‘Number two please, step forwards and repeat the line,’ says Nate.

  Number two takes a slouching step forwards, glaring in our direction. Even though there’s mirrored glass between us, I can’t shake the feeling he can see through it and is fixing his gaze right on me. He talks quietly at first and Nate has to ask him to speak up.

  ‘June, get over here,’ he says louder, a hint of amusement in his voice as though he’s smirking beneath the ski mask.

  I study him hard. He’s about the right height but he’s stockier than either of the men who attacked us. He reminds me of a pit bull. And the man who took June upstairs, the leader, he said get like git.

  ‘No. It’s not him,’ I say.

  Nate makes a mark on a clipboard. I frown and study the man again.

  The man who dragged me off the bed and shoved me down the stairs, the man that I hit with the chopping board . . . I remember his hand around my leg – the iron strength of his grip. ‘Can you get him to say something else?’ I ask Nate.

  Nate looks up. ‘What?’

  ‘Get him to say: Where are you taking her?’

  Nate presses the button and leans into the microphone. ‘Number two, please repeat the following line: ‘‘Where are you taking her?’’ ’

  The man pauses and then delivers the line flatly.

  Nate’s holding his breath and despite her outward cool I can sense that the lawyer is holding hers too. ‘Ava?’

  I think it’s him. I think it’s the man I hit with the board . . .

  ‘Is it him? Do you recognize the voice?’ Nate asks.

  ‘Sheriff,’ the lawyer says in a warning tone.

  ‘I . . .’ I stop. If I admit I think it could be, then where does that leave Robert? Will it confirm his guilt? And I’m not sure, anyway, how is it possible to tell? ‘No . . .’ I say, shaking my head. ‘It’s not him.’

  I glance at the lawyer and see she isn’t bothering to hide her smile.

  ‘OK, let’s move on to number three,’ Nate says, scowling. He speaks into the microphone and gives his orders and we go through two more suspects but now I’m rattled. They all sound similar – muffled and indistinct. By the time we get to the final two I’m more confused than ever. All the voices have blended into one. I admit that I can’t be sure about either of the final suspects and Nate dismisses them all.

  I know he’s disappointed as he sighs loudly, especially as we watch the lawyer stride from the room smiling smugly.

  ‘Which numbers were they?’ I ask Nate.

  ‘Number two and number six.’

  ‘Six? The tall one?’ I ask.

  Nate nods.

  ‘But he’s too tall. Neither of them were that tall.’ I can feel my heart s
tarting to beat with something like elation, relief filling me with helium lightness.

  Nate frowns at me. ‘Maybe you got that wrong in the heat of the moment. Witnesses often give confusing statements. Your husband said one of the suspects was between five ten and six feet one.’

  I shake my head. ‘No. I made a real effort to remember everything I could about them and I know his height because Robert’s six foot one, and the man who attacked him was shorter. They were both shorter.’

  ‘Maybe you made a mistake. It happens.’ Nate leans against the table, his long legs stretched out ahead of him. He looks tired, I notice, dark shadows beneath his eyes. He hasn’t shaved in a while either.

  ‘What happens now?’ I ask him.

  ‘We’ve still got their alibis to check out.’

  ‘So you might still be able to charge them?’ I ask.

  He gives a non-committal shrug.

  ‘And what about Robert?’

  ‘He still won’t talk,’ Nate tells me. ‘Which isn’t helping him any. If he would tell us what he was doing meeting them it would make this easier. A no contest plea means he’s going to prison. You realize that, don’t you? And he’ll still stand trial for the conspiracy to commit murder charge.’

  Murder. Every time I hear it I shudder.

  ‘Come on, let me see you out,’ Nate says, ushering me to the door. There’s no hand on my lower back this time.

  ‘Can I see him?’ I ask.

  ‘He still won’t accept visitors,’ Nate answers.

  We reach the door to the reception area. ‘I’ll keep you posted on what happens,’ Nate says.

  I nod and make to turn away but then I remember something.

  ‘Remember the guy who said he was a journalist? The one you confronted at the hospital? His name was Euan Shriver. At least that’s what he told us.’

  Nate nods.

  ‘I Googled him on the way here – he doesn’t exist. I called the Santa Barbara Herald and they’d never heard of him. And I couldn’t find a single trace of him online.’

  Nate rubs a hand across his eyes. ‘Shit,’ he mumbles again. ‘OK, well, we both got a good look at him. I’ll get a uniform to check the hospital security tapes. See if I can pull something on him. Find out who he is.’