by A R Kennedy
“We need to get photos of Ferris as well,” he added before closing the car door.
Pugliese slid into the driver’s seat and Owens into the passenger seat. “Take Fifth,” Owens instructed him.
“Main is quicker.”
“I know that. But it has a big pothole and a couple of speed bumps. We need the smoother ride on Fifth,” he told him, before glancing back at Cecilia.
Pugliese shrugged and did as he was told. For the ten-minute drive, he drove like his grandmother, in an attempt to keep Cecilia comfortable and the Chief calm.
Clayton was waiting in the courthouse lobby when they arrived. “What took so long?” he asked.
“Had to drive like Granny Pugliese. I have no idea why I couldn’t have put on the lights and flown over here.”
“Because she’s hurt and in pain. Need I remind you she was viciously attacked last night?” Owens spat.
“Yes, I know. Before she murdered Gabbert,” he mumbled. But not low enough.
They glared at each other until the bailiff called them into the courtroom.
Daniel Briscoe was waiting at the prosecutor desk, Marcy seated to his right. Cecilia followed Clayton to the desk on the left. Owens and Pugliese remained on the other side of the railing until the back door opened.
Everyone stood when the judge entered. No one missed Cecilia’s struggle to stand, with her arms still handcuffed behind her. From behind, Holden gently helped her up.
Briscoe spoke when Judge Arthur Lowe looked to him. “We are charging Cecilia Chandler with second-degree murder of Robert Gabbert, Your Honor.”
“How do you plead Ms. Chandler?” the judge asked.
“Not guilty,” she answered, “Your Honor.”
The judge returned his attention to Briscoe. “We are asking for Ms. Chandler to be held without bail,” Briscoe told him.
“Without bail?” Clayton asked.
“Yes, without bail,” Briscoe repeated with emphasis.
“Your Honor, Mrs. Chandler is not a flight risk. She has been a solid citizen of this town for years with no criminal record.” Clayton leaned toward Cecilia, “Do you have a criminal record?”
“No,” she whispered back.
With the pause, Briscoe spoke, “She has no ties to the community and is being charged with second-degree murder.”
“And she’s innocent until proven guilty,” Clayton reminded him.
“The body in her backyard says otherwise,” Briscoe retorted.
“Briscoe!” Judge Lowe rebuked. “Are you a flight risk, Mrs. Chandler?”
“No, sir,” Cecilia answered.
“Will you surrender your passport?” the judge asked.
She nodded and answered, “Yes, sir.”
“And wear an ankle monitor?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good enough for me. Bail five hundred thousand,” Judge Lowe announced before slapping his gavel. The judge vanished through the back door.
Briscoe dropped his briefcase on the desk and threw his papers inside, muttering “Five hundred thousand. Absurd.” He looked up to find Cecilia glaring at him.
“What is she still doing here?” he asked, pointing at her. “Get her back to jail, Owens.”
Briscoe stomped out of the courtroom, Marcy at his heel.
Owens came around to the defense table. “Let’s go. And we need to take those pictures,” he reminded her.
“Pictures?” Clayton asked.
“Of my injuries,” she answered.
Clayton looked from Cecilia to Holden. “They didn’t do that at the hospital?”
She shook her head no. “Can you handle the bail, Clayton?”
“Yes,” he assured her. The three headed out of the courtroom. “But we need to find you a criminal attorney.”
She sighed. She was exhausted. She wanted to go home, check on Ferris, and go to sleep, until all this was over. “Do we need to do that right now? Can we do it tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Clayton answered. “I need to make some phone calls.”
“The bail. You’ll take care of bail first, right?” she asked. She started to panic. “I…I can’t stay a night in jail. Ferris can’t spend another night at the vet’s.”
Clayton put his hand lightly on her shoulder. She winced from the light pressure. “Yes, bail first. Then, find you a criminal attorney.” He scribbled on his pad. “I’ll stop by tomorrow first thing with options.”
Cecilia nodded and mumbled thanks. She watched Clayton walk down the hallway to exit the courthouse before turning to Holden. “Okay, picture time, I guess,” she told him. He escorted her to an empty room in the courthouse and posted Pugliese at the door.
“I’ll go get one of the female officers to take the pictures,” he said before walking away.
“Wait,” she called out. He turned and she waved him closer to her. She bit her lip. “Look, could you just do it? I don’t know them. It’ll be less embarrassing if you just do it.” She saw how uncomfortable he got at the request. “I’ve got a sports bra on and boy shorts. You’d see more of me if we were at the beach.”
His face blushed.
“Please,” she pleaded.
He hesitated.
“It’s been a long day,” she added. “I really want to get this over as quick as we can and I’m sure you’d do it fast.”
He nodded agreement.
“Thank you,” she said.
She slowly stripped. Not to be seductive but to avoid as much pain as she could. As the day wore on, the pain was worsening.
Holden tried to look everywhere but at her slender frame. But he couldn’t. Her body was covered in bruises. Deepening purple bruises marked her back and stomach. A deep cut ran along her side.
“Did you show this to the hospital?” he asked, pointing to the wound.
“No, they were worried about my head. There was so much blood from the head laceration, they didn’t see it. I didn’t notice it until I got home.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?” he asked.
“It all hurts.”
In silence, Holden took several pictures of Cecilia’s bruised and beaten body.
CHAPTER 15
“News travels fast,” Clayton announced as he slid in the side door.
“I’m sure the media is to thank for that.” The four media trucks remained outside. She’d closed all the blinds upon their arrival yesterday. This morning, she snuck a peek out the bedroom window, expecting them to be gone. She was disappointed to see they were still there. With the arraignment completed and the trial date not set yet, she wondered why they remained. It must be a slow news week.
“Wyatt Sewell,” Clayton announced.
“Who?” she asked. She poured Clayton a cup of coffee and topped off her own. She heard Ferris’s protective cone hit the kitchen island three times before she felt him at her side. Ferris tapped her leg with his paw and she gave him a treat. He walked over to his bed, hitting his e-collar on the kitchen island two times, which was an improvement.
“He wants your case,” Clayton told her.
“Wants my case?”
“This is a big case in the criminal world. A lot of exposure, free publicity. I didn’t even have to make any phone calls to find you a lawyer. They all called me!”
Cecilia had never seen Clayton so excited. He was gleeful at the prospect of this Sewell lawyer representing her.
“And we’re choosing Mr. Sewell why?”
“Wyatt Sewell. You can’t be serious. You don’t know him?”
She shook her head no.
“The Collin Franks case? The Pro Bowler accused of rape? The Ginger Simms case? The actress accused of drug trafficking?”
She continued to shake her head no.
“I can’t believe you haven’t heard of these cases,” he said.
She’d never been a news junkie and had never watched entertainment news. She had only one concern. “Did he win?”
“Of course he won. He always wins.”
/>
That’s all Cecilia needed to hear.
Clayton left after finishing his coffee, promising to return with Wyatt Sewell in the afternoon. He was picking him up at the local airport. “He’s flying in on a private jet!” Clayton announced before leaving.
Cecilia wanted to rest. The less she moved, the less she hurt. The emergency room had given her a prescription for pain medication but she had no way to get it. Going to the pharmacy was not an option. She envisioned a caravan of her Escort and four media trucks to the local pharmacy and then being swarmed by the reporters as she tried to get in the store.
As she walked to the stairs, the weight on her ankle reminded her of her ankle monitor and home imprisonment. A trip to the pharmacy would lead to a trip to jail.
She’d suffer with the pain instead.
Cecilia walked to the stairs to go back to bed. Ferris plodded behind her. His cone hit the wall twice. She stood at the foot of the stairs and sighed. She found the full flight too daunting and headed to the couch. Ferris agreed and lay down next to the couch. She put a throw next to him and he scratched at it briefly to get it the way he wanted.
She dozed briefly. Every time she closed her eyes, she relived the attack. It reminded her of the injuries she sustained, which intensified the pain. She resolved to remain on the couch, lying still, staring at the ceiling.
Horns honking outside disturbed Ferris from his sleep. He tried to stand on his back legs to look at the window but the e-collar hit the closed shades. Too tired, from either the pain or the pain medication, he sat back down on the throw. He sighed and looked to Cecilia to check it out. She didn’t care enough until the disturbance got louder. She slowly got up, wincing in pain, and hobbled over to the door. She hoped she could peek out the peephole and ascertain what was going on.
Cecilia looked out to see a crowd on her porch. Several people stood on the porch, with their backs to the front door. The media stood facing them, microphones thrust out, shouting questions at them. She recognized Clayton from the brown suit he’d been wearing this morning and assumed the others were Mr. Sewell and his staff.
The tallest man, dressed in a navy blue suit, stood in the center, with a man and a woman to his side. Clayton stood slightly off to the left.
Mr. Sewell held up his hands to quiet the crowd. “Please. No questions now. I’m here to meet with Mrs. Chandler and discuss her case. A woman already victimized once, in her own home, is now being victimized by the state.”
He shook his head in disbelief. He promptly turned, and the others followed suit. It felt choreographed. The media, the lawyers, the “impromptu” press conference.
Clayton rang the bell and Cecilia opened the door. She hid herself from the cameras, staying behind the door.
“Oh, you look terrible!” Mr. Sewell said upon seeing Cecilia. Her beaten face was bruised and swollen. She had avoided mirrors after a cursory glance while brushing her teeth this morning. He smiled when he said it, reminding her of the Cheshire cat.
He turned to the woman. “Abigail, need some photos of this.” She tapped on her cell phone and nodded understanding. “Make sure to take photos of everything.”
Cecilia was wearing a white T-shirt, and a gray-and-red flannel long-sleeved shirt, both Joey’s, and sweat pants. The clothing was a bit heavy for late summer but it hid all the bruising.
Clayton escorted them to the living room and made introductions. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Sewell,” Cecilia said. She nodded thanks to his assistants, Abigail Hodson and Michael Bloomington, also.
“Mr. Hindel here filled me on the details. The ones the media conveniently left out. I’ll be rectifying that soon.” He pointed to Abigail, who made another note in her phone. Cecilia had yet to hear either of the assistants speak.
Wyatt Sewell made himself comfortable on the living room couch. He patted the spot next to him for Cecilia to sit and she did. The assistants stood in the background, observing.
“Before I take a case, I like to talk to the defendant.”
“To see if they are innocent?” she asked.
They all laughed except Cecilia, who didn’t get the joke. “No, to see if I can win.”
He pointed to Abigail. “You are twenty-nine years old, work from home, computer work, independent contractor, setting up websites, etcetera, college graduate, bachelor’s in computer science, recent widow, spouse of Joseph Chandler, now owns Chandler Construction, no children, parents dead, one sister, Janna, who lives a few hours away, one dog, Ferris, golden retriever, a rescue.” Ferris barked softly at the mention of his name.
“And no criminal record,” she added.
“Anything else I need to know?” Sewell asked.
She was astonished and a little horrified by the thoroughness. And there was one fact that was news to her. “No, seems like you know everything about me already.”
He leaned in and glared at her. “No hidden secrets that will hurt us at trial?” he asked.
She shook her head no. Killing an intruder was as bad as it got in Cecilia’s world.
Cecilia couldn’t remember the last time there were so many people in her house. Not including the night of the attack. She had no idea how many police officers had traipsed through her home that night. But they weren’t invited in. The three defense team members and Clayton, she had invited them in. She needed them here.
Ferris and Cecilia watched them and wondered what to do. She felt like an outsider in her own home. It only took a few minutes to realize they didn’t need them. Cecilia went into Joey’s office and laid down on the leather couch. Ferris stretched out next to her, on the floor. They both moaned as they tried to find a comfortable spot for their beaten bodies. “They’ll call us when they need us,” she told him.
Cecilia was lightly dozing on the couch when Clayton stepped into the office to say goodbye. “They told me they don’t need me. So I’m going to go.”
“Thank you for your help, Clayton,” she told him.
He mumbled, “You’re welcome,” as he plodded out, shoulders slumped.
She glanced down at Ferris, who was sleeping soundly. Cecilia’s phone rang. She muted it quickly, trying to avoid waking Ferris. She glanced at the caller ID. Her sister, Janna, again. She couldn’t remember the last time her sister called her three times in one week, never mind three times in one day.
But she could remember the last time Janna had called. For money as usual.
CHAPTER 16
Then
“What do you want, Janna?” Cecilia asked when her cell phone rang.
Her sister as well did not provide a greeting and got to the point. “I need money.”
Cecilia should have been clearer when she answered the phone. She should have answered, “What do you want money for?” Or “How much do you need?”
Since Cecilia had married Joey, this was the only reason Janna called.
“I need money to search for Dad.”
Joey had been patient with Janna and her money requests. He’d often convinced Cecilia to give in to her. But Joey was gone and so was her patience.
“No,” she answered.
Ferris trotted over and rubbed himself against Cecilia’s leg before heading to his bed. She wiped off his stray hairs from her trousers. She looked at Ferris, realizing she treated him better than her father had treated her.
When the person she loved died, she didn’t abandon Ferris. She might not love him. She might not be as affectionate with him as he was used to. But she stayed and took care of him.
“Why not?” Janna asked.
“Because he left,” she answered.
“He was grieving.” Janna was always quick to excuse their father’s behavior.
“We all were,” Cecilia reminded her.
“It was harder for him.” It had been hard for all of them to watch their mother die of cancer. Cecilia started to argue that it was toughest on her. She was the one who cared for their dying mother while raising Janna and attending online college cla
sses.
But it wasn’t a competition. No one wins with grief.
“Well, he sure found comfort in the drugs,” Cecilia said. She tried not to think about the other comforts he had found—in other women—so soon after her mother’s death. She had tracked him down, more than once, to drug dens, and found him in compromising positions. It was no place a twenty-year-old should have to go.
Cecilia had given him a second chance at Joey’s urging when they got engaged. It was short-lived. He had taken the money she had given him to get a tuxedo for the wedding and used it on drugs. He never arrived at the church to walk her down the aisle.
Cecilia looked at the photo of Joey’s dad. He hadn’t walked away when his wife died. He stayed. He raised his children. He loved his family. And he loved the woman his son married.
She was thankful he had stepped in on their wedding day.
“Time to go, CeCe,” he announced when he found her in the church’s entryway. She’d been watching the street for her father’s arrival. Part of her praying for his absence, to avoid the pain of seeing him high. Part of her praying for his arrival, to avoid the embarrassment of walking down the aisle alone.
As the last bridesmaid walked down the aisle, the ushers closed the doors, to allow for the bride’s big entrance.
“You don’t have to call me Dad like Jeremiah does,” he had said. She smiled, knowing how much he disliked his son-in-law. “You can call me whatever you want.” He paused for a moment, before adding, “How about JJ? I’ll be your JJ to your CeCe, okay?”
Cecilia nodded and kissed Mr. Joseph James Chandler, now JJ to her, on the cheek.
It was the last time she had wished to have her father in her life.
CHAPTER 17
Pugliese came strolling into the Chief’s office. “Have you watched the news?”
“Little busy here today,” Owens said, pointing to his piles of paperwork. “You should be busy too. Out on patrols, right?”