by R. D. Cain
“Maybe you would like to explain how and why you two have been exchanging phone calls and text messages for the last month. Where were you last night around midnight? Why were you the last person he called?”
An awful sinking feeling came over him — no, it was more of a drowning feeling. The sounds of city traffic, horns, accelerating engines, disappeared and there was a heavy, claustrophobic feeling in their place. The two men seemed to surround him and the air grew too thick to speak.
“I don’t know what game you guys are playing —”
“Listen, just relax and come with us, Dave. Answer a few questions and we can all sort this mess out.” Crockford obviously saw the life-flashing-before-his-eyes expression on Koche’s face. “Don’t go acting all suspicious — unless, of course, you killed this guy, in which case we can call you a lawyer.”
Koche felt the double doors push him forward as they opened behind him and he was swept to the side. Scott walked past him carrying a banker’s box full of citations and plaques, leaving his office for the last time. Scott didn’t acknowledge him. His shoulders were slumped forward making him appear scared and defeated, with a police officer on either side of him. Scott followed the officers’ lead.
DEWAR AND NASTOS SAT IN the back booth of Frankie’s Restaurant. It was eleven p.m. and the place was closing for the night. The bartender was ringing out the cash register and counting through the float; the kitchen staff were mopping up and stocking shelves with clean dishes.
“After all we’ve been through, you can trust me. And I deserve to know what secrets you’re keeping.” Nastos took a sip of his water and took a piece of shrimp from the plate they were sharing.
Dewar shrugged and slid the patient list across the table. “When something happens to you or to your family, the rules go out the window. We see it every day: child molesters getting away with their crimes because the traumatized children aren’t as articulate as they need to be to convict these guys. Very few judges will send someone to jail on the say-so of a five-year-old — they’re perfect victims.”
Nastos was barely listening as he read through the names, wanting to see the ones that had been blocked out. He already knew what the missing two names were; he just needed to read it for himself. Dewar was still talking, rationalizing.
“And it’s not like there’s some magic therapy for these guys. How long would someone have to talk to you to make you change your sexuality? Honestly, how much would I have to talk to you to convince you that you should be gay for the rest of your life? It’s impossible. There is no cure for pedophilia.” Dewar took a sip of her wine.
“So we kill them,” Nastos deadpanned. “We round them all up and kill them. That’s the only solution here: the death penalty on the say-so of a five-year-old.”
Nastos noted that she couldn’t look him in the eye.
“I watched the video of what happened to my Abby — not all of it, just enough to know that I couldn’t deny it.”
“Where’s the video now?”
“Burned. But I had videos of the other kids. Someone has them in a safe place. I was going to produce it in the trial if I needed to.”
Nastos saw why. She’d sabotage the trial.
“I planned to do it in a way that would backfire on the case. The jury would be so disgusted and angry that there’d be no way they could convict you. They would’ve agreed with the crime of passion argument that you would no doubt have made upon seeing the video yourself.”
“Why did it even go to trial? If you knew I didn’t do it, why take such risks?”
Dewar leaned back in her chair. “Once Scott and Koche had you charged, we had to do some quick thinking.”
“We?” Nastos asked.
“We,” Dewar confirmed. “When did you figure out who it was?”
Nastos smiled. “Who killed Irons? During the trial. Couldn’t miss it — all those text messages. The ones you sent, the ones he checked from time to time.”
Dewar pondered, probably wondering if she was too obvious. “You think Carscadden put it together?” Nastos saw that she was a little nervous, and he enjoyed that. It so different from what he had been through. “When Carscadden left the morally ambiguous world of corporate law for criminal law, he thought he’d find a better defining line between right and wrong, but he found this world to be even murkier and messier. Like poor Macbeth, he was mired so deep in a river of blood that turning back was just as messy as crossing over to the other side. Carscadden got a small taste of that.”
“So did the rest of us,” Dewar said. She was thinking again, probably wondering which shore in the river of blood she had finally washed up on. “If he puts it together, what do you think he’ll do?”
Nastos didn’t answer; he had no answer. Anything he said would just be a guess. For him it was over. He’d get a settlement, a pension and his daughter back. He’d walk her to school every day and pick her up. He’d make her lunch and go on class trips. He’d be over-protective until he felt that she was going to be okay enough to trust the world again.
He also had work to do on his marriage with Madeleine, who had her own trust and security concerns. And he’d never work as a cop again. He didn’t know how he felt about that. “Whatever Carscadden does, I’ll support him.”
27
October 14, 2011
A MUSTY, RED CORDUROY LANE wound between the orange and yellow–tinged fall leaves of the maples and mixed deciduous trees. Pulling his car up to the lake house, Carscadden saw the man pushing a wheelbarrow full of raked leaves to a smouldering fire pit in front of the house. The man was wearing khaki cargo pants and a red plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He turned at the sound of Carscadden’s beamer, his eyes squinting in a vain attempt to see past the windshield’s glare.
Carscadden parked next to a Land Rover. He got out of his car, leaving the other man inside. He smiled to retired Judge Montgomery and took a moment to look around the property appraisingly, stalling. There was a bite in the air, and grey, heavy clouds above, a sure sign of the changing of the seasons. The still, black waters of Pine Lake were motionless behind the house; songbirds twittered from their branches. With the carnivorous insects long gone, the place was a Canadian paradise.
Montgomery walked over with a warm smile and, after dusting his hands off on his pant legs, offered a firm handshake. Carscadden accepted his hand, but was unable to smile back.
“Nice surprise, Mr. Carscadden. Just in the neighbourhood, were you?”
“Not exactly, Judge.”
Montgomery glanced at the car and his eyes squinted again. He could just make out the shape of a man in the passenger seat. He turned back to Carscadden. “Been two weeks since the trial — you want to raise a few more objections?” Montgomery studied Carscadden’s face, trying to read him. He found the dark circles under the eyes trapped in the web of wrinkles so out of place for a man his age.
“I know everything, Your Honour, I know the whole story. What you did —”
“What I did? No, what he did, it’s about what he did.”
Montgomery was like a bird trapped in a cage. He appeared out of breath, like he needed to sit down. Carscadden could only imagine the fear going through his mind. Maybe something like what went through Dr. Irons’ mind when he saw the judge approaching with the bat in his hands.
Montgomery glanced at the woods. Sounds of birds, creaking trees and swaying grass surrounding them. There were noises from everywhere. They appraised each other. Montgomery pointed and Carscadden followed as the old man walked to a porch step and sat down. Carscadden took a seat next to him, watching the slow burning fire Montgomery had been feeding. The heat from below dried the wet leaves on top. The smoke and steam rising from the top were indistinguishable from one another and were both going to the same place — disappearing into the wind.
“How’s your grandson, Judge
?”
“Listen, Carscadden,” Montgomery said as he smiled. He shook his head, not where to begin. “My only regret is that that monster didn’t get what he had coming to him thirty years earlier. I don’t even want to think about how many victims are out there who could have been saved lifetimes of anguish and suffering.”
“It doesn’t sit right with me, to say the least. You must have known that I might figure it all out. Did you plan to kill me too, to cover it all up? Did you somehow think I could just keep it all secret and become an accessory after the fact?”
A new sound, barely perceptible, emanated through the still air. Carscadden heard it, cocking his ear to the sky. Montgomery heard it too, but Carscadden wasn’t sure the old man could distinguish that it was a siren; it was too elusive just yet.
Montgomery continued. “We knew you were smart and hungry. You made some waves when you got the Russian clear on his charge, the no-winner. It was Dewar who wanted you; she was adamant right from the beginning.”
Carscadden rubbed his hands together. “Who decided to kill Irons, to murder him? That was the biggest risk of all.” He turned to Montgomery, wanting to see the expression on his face, to see if he was being honest or not. Instead, Carscadden saw remorse which turned to fear when it became clear that the sound in the distance was a siren approaching.
The sound came from all directions, echoing from each of the trees and from over the lake. It even seemed like it was coming from the sky. Montgomery’s posture slumped and withered. Carscadden saw a man lumbering under a heavy burden.
“That was my call,” Montgomery said, taking the blame with his few words. “Dewar wanted it, of course — the rage was eating her alive — but I told her it had to be me. I was beyond reproach.”
CARSCADDEN SAT BACK, REVEALING NO emotion as Montgomery stopped and examined him. Montgomery was probably wondering if he was wearing a wire.
“Was it easy getting on the trial?” asked Carscadden.
“No one wanted it — it was a political tightrope. Getting the case was the easy part. It was like offering to take out a bag of used diapers.” Montgomery glanced back at him, appearing beaten, lost. “You know, Carscadden, you seem to be struggling with something. What’s troubling you? Have you done something you regret?”
A mild, then grotesque expression of fear appeared on Montgomery’s face as the siren grew very loud. It was painful to see the distinguished Judge, the well-respected pillar of community, diminished so much. Like a rabbit caught in a trap — a frightened animal frozen in panic. A thump at the end of the driveway drew their attention as the police car came into view. It was a black-and-white with the roof lights flashing blue and red. Carscadden watched it lurch over a hump in the driveway. The siren stopped and the cruiser came up the rest of the way silently. Every second seemed an eternity. He felt the hairs on his arms rise as the cold sweat began. Montgomery might have wanted to run, but his jogging legs must have been forty years behind him.
Of course, Montgomery should have known this to be a distinct possibility. You can’t conspire to kill someone and leave the corpse on a city beach without considering that it could all lead back to you, especially with your co-conspirators still out there. With a little something called forensics, you can’t even count on dead men to keep your secrets for you.
The squad car pulled up and as the driver’s window opened, Montgomery somehow managed to get to his feet. Carscadden led the way to the driver’s door.
The officer was a man was in his early thirties with a standard country-issue cop moustache and shaggier hair than you could get away with in a city force. He might as well have been working a gob of chewing tobacco or spinning a toothpick in his mouth from the local grease-hole diner. The officer grabbed something from the seat next to him and got out of the car.
“Morning gentleman, can either of you give me some help real quick?” His voice was deep and smooth like a late-night talk-radio man. Before either one could answer, he slapped a map book on the hood of the cruiser and waved them over. Carscadden saw it was a local map; he’d be of no help.
“I’m looking for 3345, but half the houses don’t have numbers — any guesses?”
When Montgomery spoke, his voice sounded dry and sore like he had walked through a desert for forty years, but he forced his way through. “You know the name, Officer, or get any landmarks?”
“Dan Phillips. He’s supposed to be retired real estate, but I’m new here and —”
Montgomery exhaled. “He’s about four houses down on the left. You’ll see a mailbox made out of a wooden toy farm tractor — his is the next place on the left. It’s a long driveway. You’ll see the blue-stained house.” The cop was obviously relieved, but nowhere near as much so as the good judge, who didn’t know whether to shit or go blind.
He closed up the map book saying, “Thanks,” and made to get back in the car.
“Hey, Officer,” Carscadden asked, “what’s going on down there?”
The cop sat down, closing the door then turned the ignition, starting the engine.
“A couple bears in his back garden. He’s the only guy up here without a gun to shoo them away.”
Montgomery’s voice was stronger now. “Hey, before you go, tell him Judge Montgomery is up for the month and to give me a call — I’ll lend him my shotgun for the winter while I’m in Florida.”
“Much appreciated, I’m sure. I’ll tell him. Totally illegal, mind you, without a permit, but I doubt dead bears fill out many police reports.”
Montgomery agreed. “People in the country like to solve their own problems.”
“Fine with me, saves me driving forty-five minutes each way for bullshit.”
As the cruiser backed down the driveway, the two men returned to the steps. Montgomery sighed as if he had been holding his breath for an hour.
“How’s that for timing?”
“Nearly killed me,” Montgomery said.
“Well, at least I know where you can get a good lawyer.” Carscadden smiled, but he didn’t think Montgomery had heard him. He was staring at his hands, trying to wring them dry from either the cold sweats or the blood he saw from behind his haunted mind.
Despite the weeks since the trial and the long drive up, Carscadden still didn’t have it straight with himself about how the whole mess made him feel. He just found himself talking. “You know, I never had children, but I guess I’m not too old to rule it out. As an only child, the closest I ever got to something I had to look after was a puppy my parents got me when I was twelve. We lived in the country and that little escape artist — Hartley was his name — got to following me to school every day. We lived in a quiet subdivision and back then kids were allowed to walk to school instead of being encased in bubble wrap and chauffeured there and back in armoured suvs.
“Anyway, I tried to get Hartley to stay home, but he got more and more comfortable with the idea of following me and I got more and more comfortable too. Sure enough, one day I came out of school and there he was, waiting for me across the road. He ran over to me and was hit by a truck, right in front of me. There he was, eighteen months old, sixty-five pounds of blond, wavy, fur looking up at me, unable to move. I could tell by his breathing and the blood all over him that he was as good as dead, and he knew it too.” Carscadden was the one now wringing his hands while Montgomery watched silently, letting him speak.
“He had this expression on his face, like he wanted me to help him — me, a twelve-year-old boy. He wasn’t ready to die. There was nothing anybody could do, especially me. So, I rubbed his fur and told him that he was the best dog there ever was and after he died I swore I’d never have another dog and I haven’t. I can only imagine the hell you, Dewar and Nastos have gone through after you unknowingly took your kids to that pervert.
“I never felt any animosity toward the truck driver since it was my fault for letting Hartley
decide the safety rules. In college, my girlfriend Beth died in a swimming accident, then years later after I got married there was all this pressure to have kids. I started working overtime and, when that wasn’t enough, I started drinking. I drove Emily away just like everyone after Beth who had the same plans for me.
“Like I said, I can’t imagine what you went through — I don’t ever want to know. But considering how hard I have been on myself for the last dozen and a half years over a host of bullshit — even aside from the dog — I guess I can say that I understand. I can’t imagine a parent out there having their child hurt so much and not doing something about it.”
“It was your and Dewar’s names on that list that were blacked out — I saw them and no one else alive did. Let’s hope it stays that way. I’ll take it to my grave, Judge — I guess maybe that’s what I came here to say.” Carscadden wiped the tears from his face with the sleeve from his coat, avoiding eye contact with Montgomery.
“I’m sorry it had to go the way it did, Carscadden. I’m sorry that man had to die, that Mr. North — I’m just glad it didn’t spin as far out of control as it could have.”
“How’s your boy doing, Judge?”
“Good. He’s in town at a friend’s house tonight. He’s looking forward to going to Florida this winter — Disney World, Sea World, Universal, the whole deal. They have a camp down there for kids who have been through the same stuff as him. Over a hundred kids and that’s not even the tip of the iceberg.”
“There’s a whole generation of broken children; all we can do is protect the ones in our charge. It’s all we can do. You can’t sit around waiting for the government to protect them. There’s just too many people like Irons out there.
“Ever thought of adopting, Carscadden? There are plenty of kids out there and I think you’d be a good dad.”
“Well, like I said, I’m not too old . . . and I’ve met a girl. I’ll just take things one step at a time.”