Blacken

by Alandra Rankin

  “Yes, I was.”

  “How much time passed between the crime and the detainment that night?”

  His face pulled down while pursing his lips, “I would have to wager about an hour, an hour and a half.”

  “I would like to ask, did Mr. Zagorski appear in pain or with any markings on himself at the time?”

  He shook his head, “No, the kid had clearer skin than he does now. Nothin’ mentioned during the interview neither.”

  She turned back, giving the jury all of her attention, “I’d like to show evidence, mug shots taken at the police station mere hours after the attack.” Her confident stride presented the shots, showing the clear-cut V-neck blue tee shirt, showing off his neck and dipping enough to glance at the beginning of a chest.

  “Detective, if two people are mixed up in a fight, what happens when someone is hit so brutally by an attacker?”

  “Broken skin, broken bones, swelling, discolouration, bruising… depends on the severity.”

  “And how long does it take for any of those to show up after an attack?

  “Usually? Immediately.”

  “What is missing on the defendant in this photograph?”

  “All of the above.”

  Owen saw her smirk at the information presented by the detective, she was covering her ass for his own inevitable testimony. “Upon processing the defendant, he gave a statement to you, could you let us know what was said with the documents you have?”

  Det. Arcand spoke about Owen being in a trance like state, most likely due to the disturbance experienced. The Crown played the recorded interview, listening to his own confession played back for him. He only opened up about what happened once he believed Avie had died in the hospital. He explained about needing to protect her, from herself, that she wasn’t thinking right or the same way she had been. Admitting, finally, to firing the very same handgun presented as evidence, but not the circumstances around that night.

  “Thank you for your time, detective.”

  The trial went on, the prosecution called upon one of Avie’s neighbors to testify as well. The older gentleman Owen only met in passing instructed to be called Buddy. Buddy was asked about the same night of the shooting, testifying that the only raised noise levels had been the blond at her door pounding for several minutes and shouting through the barrier. That, and the gun shot a few hours later.

  His well-suited attorney asked permission to cross examine the neighbor, claiming the fact that Buddy had hearing aids, asking if they were turned down at the time.

  “The man was making such a ruckus; I did turn them down for a short period.”

  “Could it have been possible that in that time, if Miss. Conrad and the defendant were both aggressive, a struggle could have been muted to you?”

  “I… I guess it is possible.”

  Owen smirked behind his hand.

  Afterwards, a Dr. Fidler was called to the bench. The pictures were presented at his testimony of Avie’s torso that had been cut open, showing off the damage done by the bullet. Even the bullet itself was brought up, matching the gun record.

  Dr. Fidler talked about the state his patient had been in on arrival, how tricky the surgery was with her extremely rare blood and how no other injuries were found on her person. The questioning woman asked about attack injuries once again.

  “Typically,” he went on to explain, “even an assailant would receive marks on their body from a defender. Things like imprints on the wrist from being held back, or a push or kick imprint on the skin if they were forced away.”

  “And you can confirm that the victim didn’t arrive with or show any signs of those developing in their time at the hospital?”

  “None. It would have raised concern from any of the doctors or nurses attending.”

  The Crown dismissed him as well after a few more technical questions, thanking him for his time while she turned her head to the jury, dark waves of hair tossing around in that annoying superior motion.

  “From the information we gathered here, there casts reasonable suspicion on Mr. Zagorski. Only one other person had been there that night who can tell us their side of the story. The very person who, by all odds against them, survived a gunshot at close range. I would like to call to the stand Avie Conrad.”

  “Avie Conrad, you are being called upon for your testimony, please come this way.”

  She sat up straighter, a chill running through her body, causing her to forcibly shiver. This was it. She felt as though she could throw up at any second, public speaking never being her forte. Still she made her way to the bench, the world around her feeling as though it moved in a slow-motion fluidity.

  Finally reaching the podium, she heard the distorted voice of the bailiff recite the vow for her to plead to, the world coming in as a sharp focus as soon as his words finished.

  “Avie Conrad, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth—so help you God?”

  “I swear.”

  The woman sat, staring at the Crown prosecutor with her raven hair and bright chartreuse eyes staring back. Here she was at last. All the apprehension building up for her testimony and here she sat, awaiting to start it.

  It was time to tell them what happened that night.

  CHAPTER 24

  “Miss. Conrad, could you tell us the date of the incident that took place?”

  Avie had the whole courtroom’s attention. She tried to keep her stare on the questioning woman in front of her as best as she could, the temptations of looking over the audience tickled at her sightlines, yet they remained fixed instead on the Crown counsel dressed in black.

  “It was October twenty-sixth.”

  “That date is significant in another way, was it not your birthday too?”

  She nodded, “Yes it was.”

  The Crown began to stride across the room, asking questions to her at the stand, but also gauging the jury’s reactions as the testimony took place.

  “How old are you now?”

  “I am twenty-seven years old.”

  “Very exciting, birthdays. Especially for a young lady like you, you must have had big plans, with someone special?”

  “I did, yes. I had gone out to dinner with my boyfriend.”

  “And this boyfriend, is he in the room today?”

  Avie easily shook her head, “No, he isn’t.”

  “Miss. Conrad, did the defendant ever know about this relationship you had?”

  “Yes. The both of them actually met a few times, unfortunately, they didn’t get along.” The redhead laced her fingers, holding them in her lap, hoping it would help their shaking.

  The prosecutor held her hands steepled in front of her chin, “Did the defendant ever treat you differently upon learning of your relationship?”

  “He was very upset, trying to intervene and declaring his own feelings. Owen said it wasn’t right, that I was with someone else. Like he was entitled to me.”

  Her brow furled, “Could you explain, please?”

  She drew a deep breath, looking down at her ring before addressing her once more, “Two days before the incident, Owen didn’t know of my relationship. We were all together and he quickly put two and two together. Owen pulled me aside and said that I was supposed to be his instead, he crossed a line and forcefully kissed me. I was mad at his actions and attitude, and I told him to leave, which he did.”

  “And did Mr. Zagorski try to contact you before the night of the event?”

  “No. I tried to initiate contact in the afternoon of the next day, I was hoping it was an out of character moment, I’ve never seen him act so aggressively before. I stopped by his house, hoping for an apology. All I got was a person who couldn’t accept the fact that I wouldn’t be with him romantically. He accused me of being tricked into thinking I was in love with someone else. The logic just didn’t make any sense and I thought for sure he was not himself.”

  “How do you mean ‘not himself’, Miss. Conrad?”<
br />
  “Owen started to act a little differently for a few weeks prior, as though he was so wrapped up into the little amateur case study we were doing, that he couldn’t focus on anything else. And then with the addition of my relationship, he came undone—a shell of the former man who was initially sweet and kind, turned bitter and accusatory. As I see him now, he’s not even the same person anymore.”

  “This is the same attitude you had during the defendant’s visit on the night of the incident?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  Avie couldn’t help it, she looked over, just for a flash of a second, to see Owen and his sour look. He couldn’t be bothered to even look at her.

  She went on to explain what transpired that night; how she had entered back through her bedroom window after sneaking out, having no idea if Owen still lingered outside of her door. Only to leave her bedroom to find that he broke in, standing on the other side with his gun drawn and pointed to her. Absolutely no provocation.

  “Thank you, Miss. Conrad, that is all—”

  “Permission to cross examine, Your Honour?” Owen’s lawyer piped up, catching the attention of everyone, causing her to slightly squirm with concern.

  “Granted, go head.”

  The Crown counsel returned to her seat as the man in the bright suit waltzed up the bench. His dark skin made his attire look chic instead of tacky. Fixing his tie, he leaned a nonchalant elbow onto the stand in front of her. He reminded her of one of those slick 1920’s gentlemen with a no-nonsense attitude and dapper sense of style.

  “Miss. Conrad… your father’s name was Harvey Conrad, right?”

  Her blood drew cold at the name.

  “Yes, that’s right,” she spoke slowly. Where was he going with this?

  He laughed once out his nose, “Quite the character, wasn’t he? Murdered your sister in cold blood and is still serving time across the country, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes…”

  “Do you have a history of violence, Avie?”

  “No! My father is unwell, that doesn’t mean I am the same.”

  “Right, right... What about your late sister Aubree, she had some mental deficiencies, didn’t she?”

  Avie paused, she wasn’t sure where this man was going bringing up her family, what could it possibly help serve?

  “She did, Aubree was mentally at the age of two-years-old, even into her teens.”

  “And could it be possible that you suffer from some undiagnosed mental health issues too?”

  “Objection, Your Honour! More prejudicial than probative,” the Crown jumped up, voice projecting.

  Judge Neish nodded, “Sustained, defence is allowed to rephrase their argument.”

  He rolled his bright shoulders, looking back at her, “Miss. Conrad, your sister had a lot of development issues, were you diagnosed with anything as well?”

  She shook her head, “No, Aubree was born that way. Once my parents saw how she was struggling at birth, they worried for my overall well-being too and took me in to see how I was developing. I have a clean bill of health.”

  “So did Harvey until he reached his forties. He became very aggressive towards his immediate family, especially to Aubree with no provocation and it only increased as his alcohol addiction peaked. Now the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, you’re almost in your thirties and haven’t been examined by a professional since childhood. Can you be sure you are not showing the same signs as your father did? Lashing out at my client the same way he did to your sister?”

  “Objection—!”

  “I want to answer the question,” Avie spoke up, looking up towards Judge Neish, who hesitantly waved at her to go ahead, the redhead leaning forward in her seat.

  “I am nothing like my father. The man you represent is the one in the same boat as Harvey Conrad; I have been the one to see their actions, their attitudes, their mental state slip in very much the same way. I can assure you; I am not the one who needs professional help, I am not the one who tried to take a life,” her tone was low and calm, getting her point across with poise at the lawyer trying to intimidate an emotional response from her.

  “Did you have anything to drink that night?”

  The question caught her off guard, ready to answer more loaded ones about her family, “I, well, yes. I had a glass of red wine at dinner.”

  “Could it have clouded your memory of the evening?”

  Shit… this couldn’t be good. “No, I remember the night crystal clear.”

  “This is a woman who came into town with no attachments, no friends, disowned by family. She had nothing left to lose, that level of isolation must take its toll on the psyche. She admitted to drinking that evening, leading to a reasonable connection with alcohol fueled irrational behaviour and clouded interpretations of events. I ask the jury; which is more believable? A woman with a family history of neglect, alcoholism, and violence, running from her past and attacking someone close to her—or a man completely unprovoked shooting in cold blood? Thank you.”

  Judge Neish called for a recess, allowing people to stretch and use the washroom if needed. Avie stood immediately, making her way to the door, Todd following her at a rushed pace.

  “Are you alright? Do you need some water?”

  She was fighting back frustrated tears, a lump in her throat as she hiccupped out a response, “I j-just need the bathroom.”

  Pushing open the swinging door, she hovered over the sink, sobbing out heavy breaths while allowing a few droplets to fall. She wiped at them with the back of her hand, staring at her reflection. The woman was terrified she would look differently. Not once did the thought occur of being compared to her father—where he always was intimidating and cruel, she always tried to be kind and patient, never wanting to be anything like him. Even though bits of her temper flared and slipped through the cracks, she still tried.

  There she was, staring back, the same Avie she had seen all her life. Not Harvey. She placed a palm on the mirror, solidifying that it was still her, that she was still the same person.

  Even her mother growing up had been aloof, never being present in her years. Avie didn’t have very many memories of her, Cecilia seemingly blending into the wallpaper throughout her life—constantly under the same stressors of having to take care of Aubree, muddling through on autopilot. It was never Aubree’s fault that they had shown their true colours. They were never ready to be parents, having Avie and then Aubree a few years later with a whole slew of added on responsibilities made them resent their own children.

  Avie only wished it never turned out the way it did.

  “I hate to intrude,” Todd knocked, peeking his head into the women’s bathroom, “but when I’m upset, I have hot chocolate, I brought you some if you need to decompress.”

  She laughed once, sniffing and wiping away streaking makeup, “I’d love that, thank you, Todd. I just needed a moment to clear my head.”

  “You were very brave back there,” he handed the foam cup to her as they exited the doorway, “you did perfect and left the room still very composed; rushed, but composed.”

  Sipping at the drink, it scalded her tongue slightly from the burning temperature, “I did? I was worried I messed up by answering that question.”

  “I don’t think he was expecting that, he had to scramble at your answer. We should get back to the courtroom, the break is almost over.”

  They returned to their original seats, sitting in front of the bar as people began to file back into the room. She didn’t know if Owen left at all, he still remained at the table, cautiously turning around to look back at her. For a moment, she could almost see a glimmer of the other Owen in his eyes. They were soft and apologetic, maybe even sympathetic at hearing her testimony involving her family.

  She wondered if she even made an impact at all.

  On the second day of the trial, Owen was finally called to the stand.

  The blond gained a quick nod from his lawyer standing at the bench before
he stood up and shambled over to testify. Handcuffs clenching around his wrists were released but the ones securing ankles remained. He rubbed at the carpal joint where metal chafed, the warm skin meeting his cold fingertips, placing it on top of a bible once it was presented by the bailiff, raising the other for his vow.

  “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

  “I swear.” He sat in the rigid seat.

  His attorney approached, a smooth fluidity with his stride, “Mr. Zagorski, you were born June fifteenth, 1970, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you been in Blacken your whole life?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, Mr. Zagorski, could you state your occupation for the record?” He leaned over on bent elbow, asking easy questions for him to start out with.

  “I was a librarian for Blacken Public Library.”

  “Thank you. Now was that also when you first met the victim, Avie Conrad?”

  What the hell did that have to do with anything? A first meeting couldn’t have anything to do with the correlation, and he didn’t remember discussing this with him at all.

  “That’s correct.”

  “Can you explain in your own words how the first meeting went?”

  He adjusted in his seat, talking over the first meeting, finding her at the front desk shaking and cold, still bruised and bandaged from her car accident. They bonded over the mystery; Owen explained how Avie interjected herself into the picture that was originally his private project.

  “Sounds like the two of you got on pretty well initially. Would you have considered her as a friend at that moment?”

  “I did.”

  “What about when you bought the Taurus Judge revolver six weeks later?”

  “Avie was my friend then too.”

  “What, exactly, did you purchase the gun for, Mr. Zagorski?”

  “Protection...” He sighed deeply before continuing, “I bought it because I had a feeling that whatever Avie and I were working on at the time, was linked to someone hostile and living outside of the town in the woods.”