Ulterior Motives

by Terri Blackstock

  “We will,” Larry said, getting to his feet. “But even if she corroborates what you’ve said, we’ve got enough to book you.”

  Ben covered his face with his hands, unable to believe what was happening. When both detectives had left the room, he turned to Lynda. “I’m gonna have to stay in jail?”

  “Until morning, at least,” Lynda said. “It’ll be okay. You won’t spend the most comfortable night of your life, but tomorrow morning I can probably convince the judge to let you out on bond. You have no prior arrests?”

  “Not even a traffic ticket,” Ben said wearily.

  “That should play in your favor. Show up in court with your whole family in tow—all four kids—and maybe he’ll show mercy and let you out pending the Grand Jury investigation.”

  Ben closed his eyes. “My children are all going to know I’m in jail. What kind of image is that for a father?”

  “They’ll also know you’re innocent,” she said.

  “How do you know I’m innocent?” Ben asked angrily. “You don’t even know me. If all you know of me is what my ex-wife has told you, then you probably think I’m the scum of the earth.”

  “Wrong. Sharon’s an intelligent woman, and she was married to you for a long time. She wouldn’t have married a maniac.”

  Ben breathed a laugh. “You haven’t talked to her lately, have you?”

  Actually, she had. “She says you’re a good father, Ben. That tells me a lot. She just thinks you were a lousy husband.”

  Ben shook his head. “That’s why I hate this town. You make one mistake, and everybody in town knows about it.”

  Lynda wore a half-smile as she got up. “Look, I believe your story, and I think I can get you out tomorrow. Then we can start working hard on your case.”

  “There’s a killer out there,” Ben said. “Nobody’s even looking for him. He got away with it.”

  “Well, maybe we can put our heads together and figure out who it is.” She stuck her notebook into her briefcase and shut it. “Ben, they’re going to put you into a holding cell for the night. Just be patient. You’ll probably be in a cell alone, so you’ll be safe. I’ll see if I can pull some strings to get them to put you in the new wing. The old one is kind of creepy. Oh, and the hearing is early tomorrow.” She reached for the doorknob.

  “Hey,” he said before she could leave. “Tell my wife it’s going to be all right. Try to make her feel better about this. She’s a good person, regardless of what Sharon may have told you.”

  “Sharon hasn’t said anything to me about her,” Lynda said honestly.

  “Right. Then you heard it from the famous St. Clair grapevine. All those church ladies who spend all their time exchanging gossip disguised as prayer requests.”

  Lynda couldn’t help chuckling. “Don’t worry. I’ll forget whatever I’ve heard. See you tomorrow at the arraignment.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The small St. Clair Police Department was teeming with cops, people filing complaints, criminals waiting to be booked, and friends and family members waiting to bail them out. Sharon, who was able to fit in almost anywhere from soup kitchens to inaugural balls, felt as though she stood out ridiculously in her business suit and heels. She stood uncomfortably at the door and looked around for her children. She spotted Christy sitting with Emily in the middle of a crowd of seething gang members. Jenny sat a little farther down, between two women who could have been hookers. Anne was pacing and bouncing Bobby as he screamed at the top of his lungs.

  Sharon rushed across the room and grabbed Christy’s hand to pull her out of the midst of the street gang. Five-year-old Emily followed as they found vacant seats at the other end of the waiting area. Jenny got up and followed as they passed her.

  “Mom, thank goodness you’re here,” she whispered. “Anne doesn’t handle a crisis very well. She’s really losing it.”

  Sharon shot Anne a look. The woman saw her and quickly turned her head.

  Sharon dug into her purse and pulled out the bag with the cough syrup. “Here, Jenny. Give her this. I also got one of those little measuring spoons I used when Christy was younger, so she can give it to him now.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Jenny said, then dashed to her stepmother.

  Anne took the medicine reluctantly, looking more chagrined than grateful. Without acknowledging that Sharon had brought it, she headed for the bathroom to give it to the baby.

  Sharon was glad she was gone. “Where’s your father?”

  “In that room over there. He’s been there since I called you. Anne and I both signed statements saying that he couldn’t have killed Mr. Dubose, because he’s been with one or both of us since yesterday. But they’re saying he did it when Mr. Dubose fired him. He’s the only one they can prove was there yesterday, even though Anne saw him alive through the window when they were leaving their apartment.”

  Sharon looked toward the room. “How does your father get himself into these things?”

  “Mom!” Jenny’s tears had a hair trigger, and they filled her eyes now. “Daddy didn’t have anything to do with this. You know that!”

  She was instantly ashamed. “You’re right; I’m sorry. Your father picks bugs up in his hand and takes them outside to keep from killing them.”

  “That’s right!” Jenny said victoriously, as if that would be just the evidence she needed to clear her father. “Mom, tell them. They’ll listen to you.”

  “I will, when I get the chance.”

  The door to the interrogation room opened, and Lynda Barrett came out. “Wait here with the girls,” Sharon told Jenny, and hurried across the floor to meet Lynda, her heels clicking a staccato beat on the dirty tiles.

  “Lynda, what’s going on?” Sharon asked.

  “Well, it doesn’t look good,” Lynda admitted. “He’s going to have to spend the night in jail. His arraignment is tomorrow morning, and maybe then we can get him out on bond.”

  “Bond? They’re not really charging him with murder, are they?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Flustered, Sharon leaned toward her friend, intent on making her understand. “Lynda, I was married to the man for twelve years! He’s not capable of murder! He’s never even been able to bring himself to spank the kids. He’s a lot of things, but he is not a killer.”

  “Sharon, the murder weapon was registered to him.”

  “Well, what did he say about that?”

  “He said that it couldn’t have been, that he’s never owned a gun in his life.”

  “That’s probably true. He wouldn’t even know how to use one.”

  “Everybody knows how to pull a trigger. That’s all the court cares about. He probably will be arraigned, Lynda, but if things go well, we can at least get him out pending an indictment.”

  “Excuse me!” The voice behind Sharon was Anne’s, and Sharon swung around and saw the seething woman, still holding her crying baby. “This is none of her business,” Anne said to Lynda. “If you’re my husband’s lawyer, you should be discussing my husband with me, not her! She doesn’t even have the right to be here.”

  Sharon’s teeth came together. “I’m here because I didn’t want my children unattended in a police station, Anne.”

  “They’re not unattended. They’re with me.”

  “Forgive me if I thought you might be a little preoccupied, seeing how your husband has just been arrested for murder and all.” People were starting to watch them. Sharon lowered her voice. “Look, I’ll just go talk to my daughter, and you two can have a private conversation.”

  Her face was burning by the time she reached Jenny.

  “What did she say?” Jenny asked anxiously.

  “That this was none of my business. She’s got so much nerve. It never fails to amaze me.”

  “She said that? Really? But I thought—”

  “After I gave her that money, and brought the cough medicine, and hired a lawyer . . .”

  Jenny’s face changed. “Mom, I was talking ab
out Lynda! What did she say about Daddy?”

  “Oh.” Sharon felt stupid and mentally kicked herself. Why was it that her dignity began slipping away bit by bit whenever she was near Anne and Ben? She tried to shift her thoughts. “Lynda said that he would have to spend the night here.”

  “No!” Jenny cried. “Mom, he can’t! There are criminals in jail! He didn’t do anything.”

  “Tomorrow is the arraignment, honey.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That’s when they ask his plea and decide whether to set bond.”

  “Well, then he’ll get out, won’t he? There’s not any evidence.

  He can tell them he wasn’t there and prove it!”

  “Honey, the arraignment is not really for presenting evidence. But Lynda feels sure he can get out tomorrow.”

  Jenny wiped her eyes. “This is like a nightmare.”

  “It sure is,” Sharon whispered.

  Anne turned away from Lynda, mascara-muddled tears staining her face, and she called Emily. Both Christy and Emily came to her, holding hands. “Come on, honey,” she told the five-year-old. “We’re going back to the motel.”

  “What about Daddy?”

  “He’s going to stay here tonight. We’ll see him in the morning.”

  Sharon stood back as Jenny went to kiss Emily and Bobby good-bye. “Anne,” Jenny said, “do you want me to come and help you take care of the kids?”

  Anne glanced stoically at Sharon and lifted her chin, as if to hide any evidence of vulnerability. “No, thanks. We’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” Jenny said weakly.

  “You’ll be here in the morning?” Anne asked.

  “I sure will,” she said. “Try to get some sleep, okay?”

  Anne nodded and gave her a hug, then leaned down and kissed Christy on the cheek. Christy returned it easily, a gesture that bothered Sharon more than she ever would have admitted. Christy didn’t follow as Anne led Emily out of the building. “Poor Anne,” Jenny said, watching her go. “It’s like her life is falling apart.”

  “I remember that feeling,” Sharon muttered.

  “Mom!”

  Sharon took Christy’s hand and started to the door. “Come on, girls. Let’s get out of here.”

  Later that night, as Christy was changing into her pajamas, she found in her pocket the little army men that Emily had gotten in her Burger King bag. Emily had no pockets in her own pants, so she had asked Christy to hold them for her.

  Christy set the little men up on her dresser and wondered if Emily had missed them. She had been so excited about them when she’d gotten them, even though Christy had found them a disappointment. Emily didn’t have many toys, though, and the ones she did have were packed in a box in the back of their car. Carefully, she picked the little army men back up and held them securely in her fist. She would call Emily, she thought, and tell her she had them, so at least she’d know they weren’t lost. And maybe she could offer her something else, just to make her feel better about Daddy.

  Christy looked around her room for something Emily would like.

  Her collection of porcelain dolls lay carefully arranged on the French provincial canopy bed, but she knew that Emily wouldn’t really like those, because they broke so easily. On her shelves was a menagerie of stuffed animals. Though Emily had never been in her room before, Christy knew that she would like Simba, the little stuffed lion, better than any of the others. She climbed up on her chair and reached for it.

  It was soft and good to sleep with, she thought. Maybe it would keep Emily company, and keep her mind off her troubles.

  Clutching the stuffed animal in one hand and the army men in the other, Christy ran down the hall to Jenny’s room. Jenny was on the phone, as usual.

  “Jenny,” she whispered, as if keeping her voice low would not disturb her. “Do you have the number of the motel?”

  Jenny put her hand over the receiver. “Why do you need it?”

  “I want to call Emily,” she said. “She left her army men. They’re real important.”

  Jenny frowned. “Christy, those aren’t important. It can wait.”

  “She’ll cry if she thinks she lost them,” Christy said. “She doesn’t have anything to play with. I want to tell her that she can have my Simba, too.”

  Jenny stared at her for a moment, then smiled. “That’s sweet of you. Okay, just a minute, and I’ll look up the number.”

  Christy waited as Jenny continued her phone conversation while simultaneously searching the phone book. “Here it is,” she said. “I’ll circle it for you.”

  Christy looked hard at the circled phone number. Then, stuffing Simba under one arm, she took the book and headed down the stairs to the study, where her mother had a separate phone line. She climbed into her mother’s big chair behind the desk, laid the book open on the desktop, and set the toys down. Picking up the phone, she punched in the number slowly, checking and rechecking each digit against the phone book.

  “Holiday Inn,” a woman’s voice said.

  “Can I speak to Emily, please?” she asked.

  “There’s no one named Emily who works here,” the woman said. “Can someone else help you?”

  Christy hesitated. “No, I need Emily.”

  “Emily who?” the woman asked, irritated.

  “Emily Robinson. She’s my sister.”

  The woman’s voice softened. “Honey, you have the wrong number.”

  Tears of frustration filled Christy’s eyes, and she hung up the phone. Had they gone back home? she wondered. Had they forgotten to tell her where they were?

  She dialed their old number and waited through three rings. Finally, an operator’s voice cut in. “I’m sorry. The number you’ve called has been disconnected . . .”

  “I want to speak to Emily!” she cried over the voice. When she realized it was a recording, she slammed the phone down and looked helplessly at the phone book again. How could she get in touch with her?

  She sat at her mother’s big desk, looking at Simba staring expectantly at her, and those three army men poised to strike. What if they had put Emily in jail, too? she thought. What if they had put Bobby and Anne there?

  Helpless about her father’s plight and about all the other things she didn’t understand, she began to cry into her small hands.

  Her mother came to the door. “Oh, Christy . . .”

  Sharon crossed the room and pulled Christy up into a tight hug, then sat back down with the small girl in her lap.

  “I miss Daddy,” she squeaked. “And Emily forgot her army guys.”

  “We’ll take Emily her army guys tomorrow when we see her, okay?”

  “But she’ll cry when she thinks they’re lost, and I wanted to call and tell her, but she’s not there.”

  “Honey, it’ll be okay. She’s probably so tired after everything that’s happened that she won’t even think about them. Tomorrow will be soon enough. You’re going to see her first thing in the morning. And your daddy, too.”

  “I am?” Christy asked hopefully.

  “Yes. You and Jenny are going to court, and they’ll both be there.”

  She wiped her eyes. “Will you be there?”

  Sharon thought about that for a moment. “Yes. I think I will go. I’m worried about your daddy, too. But Daddy needs for you and Jenny to sit with Anne and Emily and Bobby, so the judge can see what a beautiful family your daddy has.”

  The words, though delivered softly, had a little bit of a bite to them, and Christy recognized it. Wiping her eyes, she sat up on her mother’s lap. “I want to sit with you. Will you sit by us, too?”

  “No, honey,” she said. “Anne wouldn’t appreciate that. But I’ll be there if you need me.”

  Christy suddenly felt very tired, and she began to cry again. Her mother hugged her tighter as she laid her head on Sharon’s shoulder. “Mommy, can I call and talk to Daddy?”

  “No, sweetheart. They don’t let him have phone calls where he is.”

/>   “I know where he is,” Christy said. “He’s in jail. You don’t have to act like I don’t know.”

  “It’s all just a mistake, honey. He’ll be out soon.”

  “You promise?” Christy asked.

  Sharon hesitated, and Christy knew that she wasn’t going to promise. Sliding off her mother’s lap, she grabbed up her Simba and the army men, and started for the door.

  “Where are you going, honey?”

  “To bed,” Christy muttered.

  “But it’s still early, and you don’t have to go to school tomorrow since we have to go to court.”

  “I’m tired,” Christy pouted, rubbing the tears on her face. “I need my rest.”

  Ordinarily, Sharon would have smiled, but the words were spoken with such dejection that she didn’t find them funny.

  “All right. Come on, and I’ll tuck you in. And we’ll pray for your daddy.”

  Christy slept with Simba and the army men that night, eager for morning to make sure her father was all right.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The cell was cold and dimly lit. Ben lay on his two-inch-thick mattress stretched across sagging steel springs and tried to sleep. A few cells down, a man sang out a painful dirge in a voice that could have made him millions. How had he wound up here?

  Same way I did, he thought. He watched a roach crawl across the ceiling and closed his eyes as it got directly overhead. Jail. He couldn’t believe it.

  He rolled onto his side and pulled the threadbare blanket up to cover him. Two voices exchanged curses down the way, and a third screamed for them to shut up. Someone closer to his cell banged out a rap beat with a spoon on the edge of his bars, a sound so annoying that he too longed to scream “Shut up!”

  Anne was probably scared to death. Anne, who had once made him feel like such an important man; Anne, who had believed in his work and his dream to become a renowned painter; Anne, who had vowed that she would follow him to the ends of the earth, regardless of the consequences, if he would just make her his wife. Over the past five years, after two children and a lot of ups and downs, that deep passion had faded into a more practical (and even cynical) kind of relationship, the kind that he had fled from with Sharon. Did Anne have even an ounce of love for him left? He doubted it. Instead, she was probably wondering what she’d ever seen in him in the first place. He was wondering that himself.