by J. L. Brown
“I’m sure Josh would love that. No, I prefer my elliptical. Less stress for all of us.”
Whitney sat on the edge of his desk and crossed her legs. She checked the flat-screen TV. The CNN caption blared Killer Momma Arraignment at the bottom of the screen.
“How are you settling in at home?” she asked.
“Not as well as here. I’m never there.”
“No social life?”
“As I said, I’m always here.”
“Pity. I thought you and Ms. Harrington made a striking pair. How did the gaggle go this morning?”
The press gaggle was the daily briefing he gave from the desk in his office. The press gathered around him, as he took them through her schedule, measured their temperature about what stories they were following, which in turn helped him plan his day. Although what he said was on the record, these briefings—unlike in the Briefing Room—were not recorded or televised.
“It was fine. A lot of questions about Chandler’s first day of work. I handled it.”
“Good. I need you to do the talk-show circuit soon. Educate people on what they can expect from the New New Deal and our other legislative initiatives.”
Blake smiled. “Got it, boss.”
At the door, she turned. “I’m glad you’re here. We’re going to make a great team.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-TWO
Alexandria, Virginia
Wearing an expensive black suit, her makeup flawless, Rachel Chaney sat at the table across from her. Her hair was brown, cut just above the shoulders.
Like Jenny’s.
Jenny had known William’s mother of course. Had seen her at the baseball games dressed in her suits, just so. She had always showed up late—the fourth or fifth inning—when she bothered to show up at all.
The small room off the courtroom barely had enough space for the rectangular table and two chairs.
She rubbed her wrists, grateful that Rachel had asked for the handcuffs to be removed.
Rachel pulled out a legal pad and a fancy pen from her briefcase. She opened her mouth to tell Jenny about the process for her arraignment at the United States District Court for the Eastern District of Virginia.
Jenny didn’t have much time. But she did have the element of surprise.
On the count of three to herself, she exploded from her chair and wrapped her hands around her attorney’s neck in a vise grip. And squeezed.
Rachel Chaney’s eyes bulged.
The rage coursing within Jenny threatened to explode. Everything her family had suffered. She had suffered.
Her little boy, her angel, had suffered.
The woman’s body finally relaxed.
Jenny had to move quickly.
When Jade Harrington had told Jenny that her son’s killer was still alive, she realized she needed an attorney after all. She had remembered William’s mother from the games. That she was a defense attorney. That they looked alike. And were nearly the same height.
She switched clothes with her. The suit was loose, but fit well enough. She set the attorney upright, now with her back facing the door.
She left the pad of paper where it was. And the woman’s briefcase. She adjusted the suit skirt, and slapped the door as she had seen on TV. The bailiff opened it, looking in on the defendant.
She breezed past him. “I need to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
He closed the door behind her.
Jenny walked down the commodious hallway, her newly acquired high heels clicking on the floor. She passed benches where defendants and their lawyers waited. Passed courtrooms. She cruised on past the ladies’ room.
And walked out of the courthouse into a beautiful autumn day.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-THREE
Washington, DC
She felt a presence.
Christian filled the door frame.
“What’s up?”
“Did you see the news this morning?” he said.
Jade nodded. Jenny Thompson, now forevermore dubbed “Killer Momma,” perp-walked into the US District Courthouse for her first court appearance. The video had been plastered on cable and local news and social media throughout the morning.
Half the public demonized her. The other half considered her a hero.
He sat in the only other chair in her office.
“Matt wants to take the kids and move to Minnesota.”
“Minnesota?”
He shrugged. “He thinks they can live a normal life there.”
“Maybe. Any family there?”
“Nope. But they could never return to a normal life here.”
The “Killer Momma” stigma would probably follow Thompson and his kids around for some time. Maybe the rest of their lives.
“How’s Amanda?”
“My wife is a strong woman. I think she’s accepted what happened. That her sister could commit these murders. The statutory rapes.”
“Matt say anything else?”
“Only that Jenny can rot in prison forever as far as he cares.” Christian pushed off to leave. “He’s already taken Mia and Matt Jr., and moved out of the house. They’re living in a hotel now. Said he can’t stand to be there.”
“Because of Jenny?”
“Yeah. But Tyler, too. He can’t even go into his room.”
Dante entered her office without knocking, his face unusually pale. “You haven’t heard.”
Jade started to rise, a horrible premonition overcoming her. “What?”
“Jenny Thompson escaped.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FOUR
Fairfax, Virginia
He wiped a tear from his eye. He and his mother hadn’t been close. She was never around. Always working. His dad had told him the story multiple times that when his mother was pregnant with him, she took only one day off work for maternity leave. The day he was born.
Still. The thought of never seeing her again . . .
He parked the BMW near the gate in the vast, empty lot. Grabbing his cap and gloves, he exited the car and jogged toward the field in the distance.
Earlier, he had called the team—what was left of it—together for a fight night. He needed to work off the emotions from his mother’s death. But it was more than that. She never saw him fight. And, now, she never would. He was good. Really good. This was a way, for him, to honor her.
He was early.
He stripped off his baseball shirt and shoved the cap back on his head. He donned the MMA gloves and removed his shoes.
He entered the cage.
In the fading light, he spotted an object in the middle of the turf.
It was a cap. He wondered which of his idiot teammates had left it. He picked it up.
And his hand began to shake.
The faded “FC” was written in black magic marker over the bill where he had written it before last season. Seven months ago. He turned it over. Inside the bill, written in the same magic marker, were his initials “WCF.”
It was the cap he had lost the night they had beaten up Tyler.
“My son was wearing that when he died.”
William spun, dropping the cap.
Mrs. Thompson stood in the darkness at the end of the cage. She held a baseball bat relaxed against her shoulder, as if she were on deck.
Before he could react, she took several quick steps toward him and swung the bat. He didn’t get his arms up in time, and the bat smashed into his left temple.
“Fuck!” he yelled as he clutched his head.
“That was for Tyler.”
He hit the turf. Head throbbing, the blood seeped through his hands. Another blow to the kidney.
“Ow!”
“You killed my baby!” Whack.
“You took my family away from me!” Whack.
“You even hit on me. You pig!” Whack.
Where’s the damn FBI when you need them?
Whack.
Whack.
Whack.
Before th
e next blow came, a massive body flew over him and tackled Mrs. Thompson.
“Howie?” William whispered. “What took you so long?”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FIVE
Arlington, Virginia
Saturday morning, she sat with Christian, his wife, Amanda, and three of their kids in the stands of the same arena where Jade had received her fourth-degree black belt two years ago. A lifetime ago. She should be testing for senior fourth-degree by now, but had scarcely trained.
The attention of the three adults was focused on a ring where twelve-year-old boy and girl blue belts competed in a poomsae (forms) and sparring tournament. Christian’s son, Mark, had not done well in the poomsae competition. In fact, none of the boys had finished in the top three. The girls performed the patterns unerringly and with precision, in a way the boys hadn’t yet mastered.
Mark competed against a much taller boy for the sparring championship. The score was two to one, in favor of the other boy.
Christian turned to Jade. “Tyler must’ve lost his cap running away from the cages, or when they beat him up afterward. William accidentally dropped his when he and Andrew dumped Tyler in the front yard.”
“That’s why William had a brand-new cap with ‘FC’ on it when Micah and I interviewed him.”
He turned back to the match. Three to one. “Jenny figured it out in jail.”
Jenny had told them that Tyler had been proud of his baseball cap and had worn it everywhere. That as soon as he’d gotten it, he’d put his initials on it. Though a meticulous housekeeper, in her grief, she hadn’t realized it wasn’t Tyler’s cap on his dresser. Jail had given her plenty of time to remember.
“He almost committed the perfect crime,” Christian said. “His fists were his instrument. He didn’t leave fingerprints. The witnesses are dead.” Three to two. “Way to go, Mark!”
“I wonder why William told me that Tyler and Joshua were gay.”
“He was just trying to throw us off. Did you hear about Daniel?”
William wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t be returning to the team. Coach Lane Daniel had been placed on administrative leave pending an investigation. Based on information supplied by William and Sam and corroborated by their teammates, Daniel had encouraged an environment of hazing. Players had hurled racist, homophobic, and religious insults at each other. The coach had humiliated them for poor play and getting injured. It had become a game to see who could say the meanest, most hurtful things. Although the head coach and assistant coaches hadn’t been present during the fight club sessions in the batting cages, they were being held liable because they’d known about them.
At a press conference yesterday, Mr. Trussell, the principal of William Randolph Secondary School, had renamed the baseball complex Tyler’s Diamond. The team would play again next year, and he would expect nothing less than another state championship. He’d also announced his retirement from the county school system, effective immediately.
“Mark was afraid of William,” Christian said.
“He wanted to send you a message through your son.”
“After he gets out of the hospital, I don’t think he’s going to like prison much.”
Four to two.
“I think you’re right.”
“He’s going to be engaging in a whole new level of fight club in a different kind of cage.”
Jade grimaced. “Ouch.”
“Oh, and the handcuffs Jenny used. An old pair of mine. She must’ve lifted them from my house.” Four to three. “Yes!”
Amanda leaned over. “Can you two stop talking shop for once?” Her smile gave away the fruitlessness of her request.
The judge happened to be Master Won Ho, Jade’s instructor. He said, “Sijak!”
Mark rushed in and punched the other boy in the abdomen before he had a chance to react. Four to four.
The next point won.
Christian stood. “You got this, Mark!”
Jade grabbed his forearm and guided him down, knowing his muscular frame blocked the view of at least three spectators behind him.
Before Mark could rush in to surprise the boy again, the taller kid used his long leg to fire a side kick to Mark’s abdomen. His body lifted in the air, and flew a few feet. His “Oof!” was audible to them in the stands. He fell on his back, clutching his stomach.
Christian started to rise again, and again she forced him to sit. “Like you said, he’s got this.”
Mark’s opponent reached down with both hands to help him up. Mark tapped the boy on the shoulder, thanking him.
During the medal ceremony afterward, the Merritt family and Jade cheered wildly, as Mark bowed for the judge to put the ribbon attached to the silver medal around his neck. The boy’s face, unhidden now by headgear, looked as if it would burst with pride.
As she clapped, Jade said to Christian, “I don’t think you need to worry about him being bullied in the future. He can take care of himself.”
“I didn’t tell you what happened a few weeks ago. Mark was drinking from the water fountain, and a couple of guys were giving him a hard time. Mark, still drinking, mind you, lifted his leg and shot a back kick right into the privates of one of them. No one has bothered him since.”
Jade nodded, still clapping. “A kid after my own heart.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SIX
The White House, Washington, DC
She stared out at the array of flowers and the gathered reporters in front of them. She fingered the index cards in her hand. She had occasionally spoken to the press in her role at the FBI, but never to this many. The cameras shuttered, unceasing, like the sound of an old movie projector. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she would ever stand here. In the Rose Garden.
As she stood next to President Whitney Fairchild and the radio talk-show host, Cole Brennan, a young woman spoke from the podium. She had spent her high-school years bullied repeatedly because of her sexual orientation. She recounted the broken noses, the cracked ribs, the bruises, the fear, the anguish, the loneliness. Wanting to die.
Most of those years, she had spent hiding behind a book, a safe place where she could go anywhere she wanted, unmolested. Anywhere but school.
Her story had a happy ending. The girl had persevered through her time in high school, gone on to college, majored in sociology, and was now a counselor working with bullied youth.
The president spoke next.
“October is National Bullying Prevention Month. How appropriate and right that I will be signing legislation that will do just that on this glorious day.” She raised her hands, taking in the seventy-five-degree weather. “But first, I want to say a few words and then introduce another special guest.
“Bullying is a major public-health issue. What at one time may have seemed innocuous or just part of growing up, has been proven to have long-term health consequences, such as headaches, stomachaches, sleep deficiencies, and academic failure.
“Thirteen million kids in America are bullied every year. One third of all children. Our children.
“Two hundred and eighty-two thousand kids are bullied each month. One hundred and sixty thousand kids skip school every day in this country for fear of being bullied. Ten percent of them drop out or change schools. The leading cause of death for kids under the age of fourteen is suicide.
“It doesn’t have to be this way. And it’s not a coincidence.”
“Everything is connected. When the leaders and potential leaders of this country speak to each other and about each other with disrespect and vitriol, it trickles down through the populace. Civility matters.
“Until our leaders embrace tolerance and inclusion—no matter if you are LGBTQ, overweight, Muslim, physically challenged—none of us will be accepted as individuals. And bystanders do not receive a free pass. Silence equals acquiescence. When a bystander gets involved, bullying stops.
“Now, I would like to bring up a special guest. She is with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
She apprehended the Talk Show Killer, the modern-day Robin Hood, and Killer Momma. May I introduce Special Agent Jade Harrington?”
Fairchild turned to her and smiled, and beckoned her forward.
Jade stood at the podium as the president moved behind her. She placed the index cards with her remarks on the flat surface and raised the microphone.
She did not like to talk about herself, and now she was about to tell the entire world something she had never admitted in public—or private—to anyone but Max.
“Good afternoon. My name is Jade Harrington, and as President Fairchild said, I am an FBI agent.” She stood proud and strong. “And I was bullied as a kid.”
She relayed to the journalists present and to the nation the story of when she had been beaten up by three of her classmates and left alone in the woods. How a stranger had come by to help. And how she had learned to protect herself by participating in Tae Kwon Do.
“They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. If you were bullied as a child, you never forget it. Some of the physical scars may heal, but the emotional ones never do.
“Kids need our protection. I’m proud to be standing here today to witness President Whitney Fairchild’s signing of the Federal Anti-Bullying Act, the toughest anti-bullying legislation ever created.
“This bill includes cyberbullying. And it not only protects kids. It will also be a federal crime to bully teachers.
“And to all the kids out there watching, ask for help if you need it. Check out stopbullying.gov. Accept who you are. Find a passion. Be confident. It’s okay to be different.
“And, remember, you’re not alone.”
Jade stepped back from the podium, surprised and pleased at the applause. She joined the group standing behind the president, who moved to sit at a nearby table. She glanced at Cole Brennan next to her and smiled at him.
He leaned toward her. “How’s my favorite FBI agent?”
“How’s my favorite conservative talk-show host?”