But Tim heard; he probably caught the quiet lilt of her jubilation too. He said, “So if he gets out, you’ll give him a chance, is that it?”
Beth set down the mums and stared past Tim into the street. She could see the light that in late afternoon had taken on a glow like pewter. Could Charlie see it? Could he see this delicious golden light? She imagined the cell that confined him. It would have bars and one narrow window through which he might see a patch of sky so small it could only leave you hungry, leave you aching.
“I doubt it,” she said. “Even if we could work things out, when he hears that I was pregnant with Jason's baby and had an abortion, that I kept it from him. . . .” Beth's voice trailed off.
“But I know it, and I’m still here. For you, for Chrissy. You know that, don’t you?” Tim dipped his chin reaching for her with his eyes. “I want to give you whatever you and Chrissy need. I'll find a way to catch Jason Tinker, put him behind bars. Whatever it takes. Beth? Do you hear me? I love you.”
She met his glance, impulsively reached to touch his arm. Fresh tears blurred her vision so that he appeared watery and dark. “Don't,” she whispered. “Please don't let this hurt you. Don't let me hurt you. I can't stand it. You've been so good to me, so kind.”
“You still love him, don't you?”
She shook her head, nodded, shrugged, and felt the heat of her confusion fluctuate across her face. “I'm different. He’s different. So much has happened.”
Tim unknotted his tie, jerking it loose. “He regrets leaving you and Chrissy that night, if it means anything.”
“Did he say that?”
“Yeah.”
“There's so much unfinished business between us.”
“I guess I’ve been a fool to think--”
“You aren't a fool, Tim. You're the first man I ever opened up to, my first true friend.”
His half smile was chagrined. “Friend, huh? That's a real kiss of death, I think.”
“Will you still help him? Help us?”
“I'm in too deep to back out now. The lawyer in me can't abide a miscarriage of justice.”
“The champion of lost causes,” Beth murmured.
o0o
The next day, at the end of their visit, Chrissy came with Beth to the car. She'd never followed Beth so far on her previous visits, and Beth felt her heart swell with cautious joy. Freida Pearson stood on the porch frowning. She still didn’t trust Beth; she didn’t want to let Chrissy go. Beth was congenial for Chrissy’s sake, but it was hard not to strike out at Frieda; Beth wanted to defend herself. She was going to take Chrissy soon. What would Miz High and Mighty Pearson do then?
Beth knelt down beside the car and gently chafed Chrissy’s upper arms. “Tomorrow, would you like to go with me for ice cream?”
“Can we have it for dinner, like Daddy said?” she asked, and her green eyes sparkled with familiar mischief.
Beth’s heart wallowed. It was the first time she had heard Chrissy refer to the past, and it sparked a memory from when they had lived in Florida. It had been Charlie’s habit whenever he won at the track to come home shouting about it. He’d swing Chrissie off her feet and over Beth’s strenuous objections and Chrissie’s delighted shrieks, announce they were having ice cream for dinner. “How about it, Stinkerbelle?” he’d ask her as if she needed encouragement. Beth looked into the street now. She’d never allowed it. In fact it had made her furious. Why? What harm would it have done them?
“Mommy?”
Beth froze, and oh-so-slowly bringing her gaze back to Chrissy’s face, she said, “What is it, sugar?” and somehow she managed not to call out with joy to Freida, to the neighborhood, the world, that Chrissy had called her “Mommy” at last. But the miracle was nearly too much. It was as if heaven had suddenly opened a wide place in her heart, and she couldn't help the tears that brimmed in her eyes.
Chrissie touched her fingertip to them curiously and Beth was somehow gratified to see that Chrissy wasn’t accustomed to her mother’s tears either. “Where’s Daddy?” she asked.
“He's out of town.” Beth said the first thing that came into her mind. It wasn't really a lie.
“I want to see him.”
Beth swept Chrissy into a tight hug. “I know, sugar. I do too,”
So far Charlie's photograph in the newspaper, and the accompanying article, had produced nothing more than a couple dozen crank calls. Tim said it was too soon to give up hope, but Beth wondered, if this plan didn't work, what would they do? Tim had said more than once that a dismissal of the charges on the grounds of judicial misconduct could take years. But Charlie didn't have years. One more day was too long.
Freida came and took Chrissy's hand. “It's almost time for dinner,” she said.
“You're taking wonderful care of her. I'll never be able to repay your kindness.” Beth looked earnestly at Freida, realizing she meant it. Realizing it was easy enough to say it now that Chrissie seemed to know where she belonged and to whom.
“Will you be staying in Houston?” Freida glanced down at Chrissy. “I was thinking if you did then maybe, sometime, I could come and visit, or you could come here. We could go to the park.” Freida gestured vaguely down the street. “She loves the park down by the school.”
“I know.” Beth smiled. “She's always talking about the teeter totter.”
“So, do you know yet, where you’ll settle?”
Beth shook her head. She didn't want to tell Freida that in a day or two, she planned to take Chrissy and leave the state of Texas entirely. She bent down. “I'll see you tomorrow, okay, sugar? We'll go for ice cream.”
“Promise?”
Beth crossed her heart. Promises were serious business.
Chapter Forty-Five
Jason sat in the car in front of Tim Metzger's law office and scanned the contents of the legal-sized folder labeled with Beth's name. It was all here, phone numbers, addresses, a lot of notes regarding what had happened to her since that hot night last July when Jason had chased her and the kid into the woods. What a crazy thing; Beth had lost her memory. The kid had ended up in foster care.
Bizarre was how Metzger's very helpful receptionist had described it.
When Jason had come here this morning, he hadn't known exactly how he was going to play it to get the information he wanted. He was just convinced that he would, that he had to. But it had turned out to be easy.
The twenty-something blonde at the reception desk had been alone and bored. Jason told her he’d stopped by to see his old friend, Tim. She was just there filling in, she said. Wasn’t long until Jason had her panting and damp with need. Bitches were all alike. When he mentioned he’d like to have her number, that he’d call her sometime, she couldn’t get to her purse fast enough. In the six seconds it had taken her to dig out a business card, Jason had pulled the folder right off her desk and stuffed it under his jacket.
He pitched it into the passenger seat now, started the Mercedes, and glanced in the rearview mirror as he pulled into traffic. His mother's face looked back.
Killer, she said, ... killer ... killerkillerkillerrrr....
The drone separated into words then ran together, a smooth singsong hum even as her image shattered into a thousand likenesses hanging all around him, masks of malice. Mother. Lover. Enemy. Whore....
“Shut up,” he muttered, shaking his head. He had to concentrate.
He had business. Things to handle, loose ends to tie up. Beth, the kid and Cunningham would look their last on his face. The notion satisfied him. It was how he should have planned it from the start. Lance and Jimmy Lee had never cared a damn about him. Thought he was a mental case. Jimmy’d even gotten Yamaguchi to fire him.
But a while back, Jason had phoned Jimmy, Lance, too, and warned them if he went down they'd go with him. Jimmy'd hung up on him. Lance had said Jason could kiss his ass. They made it plain he was out in the cold. But he'd have the last laugh. He always did.
Back in his suite of rooms at
the hotel, he sat at the desk, and laying aside the file Metzger had assembled about Beth, he pulled the small box filled with his own mementos of her from a drawer. Chrissy’s stuffed lamb was on top and he lifted it out and raised it to his cheek. A faint trace of the kid's scent sent a sharp ache of loneliness to lance his heart. Life had cheated him out of every dream. They had cheated him, used him--the whores--
Something godawful like a woman’s sob rose to choke him, and Jason ground his teeth against it. He crammed the lamb back into the box and fumbled the lid into place. Bitch had made a fool of him when he’d followed her from the hospital. He’d gone there figuring he’d get to Cunningham, then he’d seen Beth. When was it? He shook his head. He didn't know. Was having trouble tracking time. Was that days ago? Weeks?
He held the box between his hands. What if it was a dream … his idea that he'd seen Beth? That was happening, too, dreams getting mixed up with what was real....
Ummmmmmmurdermmmm ... ummmmurdermmmm ... ummmurder....
He clapped his hands over his ears, shouting, “Shut up!” But the chant only got louder, and he howled in protest, sweeping the box off the desk. The lid sailed into mid-air, and suddenly free, the stuffed lamb looked as if it were flying. It landed noiselessly on the floor beside the couch. Beth’s wedding ring rolled against the baseboard, but Chrissy’s birth certificate stayed where Jason had wedged it, against the cardboard walls of the box.
Now he cocked his head.
... my precious boy, my darling little Jaycie....
It was her, her voice at his shoulder. Not angry now, but enticing him....
Jason whipped around. “Beth?”
But no. She beckoned from the corner.
“Mother....” Jason choked on the word, blinking at her, weak in his knees and confused. She was smiling at him and wearing only a red silk slip he'd bought her for her birthday once long ago. He smelled the heady sweetness of her perfume and went to her. She put him on his knees and pulled his face into her breasts. He knew what she wanted and began to sob outright, but without mercy, she forced him to unzip his pants. Groaning, he took the hardened shaft of his penis in his hand and worked it furiously until he achieved a sweaty explosive climax. For her. Always, he did it for her. Afterward, wet-faced and shamed, he lay curled on his side, unmoving, not thinking, buzz humming relentlessly in his ears.
Chapter Forty-Six
Beth waited in her apartment, the way Tim had instructed her, but not patiently. She paced from the kitchen to the living room and back checking the phone line every so often as if doing that could make it ring. What was taking so long?
Tim had left hours ago to talk to his district attorney friend about Charlie’s friend the Cowboy. Will Schlatter had called Tim on Saturday to say he was the witness, the retired jockey they were looking for. When Tim interviewed him, Will said he'd been in Louisiana visiting his sister and had seen the newspaper article on his return to Houston. The Houston Chronicle had picked up the story. Thankfully, Beth thought, or Will Schlatter would never have seen Charlie’s photo when he was checking race results. Will didn’t read the Wither Creek Tribune.
But even more miraculously, Will had still had the tote ticket Charlie had written on; he remembered the farm Charlie spoke of outside Wither Creek. Will had turned the ticket over to Tim, and he’d signed a statement, too, asserting that he had been with Charlie on the night of Lucy’s murder at the exact time of the murder. He remembered it clearly, he’d told Tim, because Charlie had been riding such a hot streak.
Only time would tell if Will’s testimony was enough to get Charlie a new trial. Tim had said he’d know more once he talked with the Lincoln County DA. He had cautioned Beth, too, as he had all along, that she shouldn’t get her hopes up. When cops and politicians were wrong or just bad, they could be as slippery as snakes. Tim had warned her not to expect them to simply give up--the way Tim seemed to be waiting for her to. He seemed to think if enough time went by, she’d walk away. But maybe she misread him.
She checked the phone line again, heard the dial tone, and setting the receiver down, wondered if life would ever be routine. Would she ever feel safe or sane? An hour later, she was in the kitchen when she heard the knock on her door. Opening it, she found Tim there and her breath stopped. His coming in person must mean bad news. “They aren’t going to let him out, are they?”
“Could I come in first?”
“Yes, of course. I'm sorry.” She stepped back.
Tim took off his sport coat, and they settled on the couch. Her heart stuttered when he took her hand. He squeezed it reassuringly. “It's better than a new trial. The judge signed the order. Charlie could be released within the next few days, certainly within the week.”
“Oh, my God! How? How did you--?”
“Well, it's pretty unprecedented, but it turns out I was right. Lincoln County’s been under scrutiny for quite awhile. In fact Larry was brought in from the state’s attorney's office, and named acting district attorney, for the sole purpose of getting an inside look at what’s been going on, nothing legal from the look of it. He's compiled quite a dossier on some of those folks.” Tim frowned. “Which reminds me, did you happen to pick up your file at the office when you stopped by yesterday?”
Beth shook her head. “No, why?”
“I couldn't find it this morning. I wanted to go over some of my notes with Larry. Probably that temp I had last week misfiled it. Frannie's been griping about her ever since she came back to work.” He made a wry face.
“It'll turn up,” Beth said. “Will Jason be arrested now?”
“A warrant was issued, but, Beth, I have to tell you, nobody seems to know where he is.”
She pushed her hands through her hair; they were shaking. “I’m leaving then.”
“What about Chrissy? You can’t just--”
“I have the court order. She’ll be fine. Better with me than Jason. Surely you can’t argue that. Even Freida wouldn’t. I worry about Charlie, though. Once he’s released, what if Jason finds him?”
“It’ll take at least a day or two for the paperwork to go through. They’ll probably get Jason by then. You know, you’re both going to have to testify when Jason’s brought to trial.”
“No! I can’t. I don’t ever want to see him again.”
“Without your testimony, I can almost guarantee he’ll never be charged for your mother’s murder. There was no autopsy, remember? And the evidence that was gathered at the scene was ‘lost’.” Tim made quote motions with his fingers. “If you don’t tell Larry what you saw, he’s got no grounds to make an arrest. Jason will walk away. Is that what you want?”
Beth leaned back, pressing her fingertips to her eyes. “You don’t understand. I see him everywhere, behind every bush.”
“But you haven't heard from him?”
“No. But I know he’s watching me.” Beth went to the living room window and yanked the drapes shut.
The silence that loomed was as uncertain and grim as the loss of light.
“So will you be there,” Tim asked softly, “when Charlie gets out?”
Beth said no. She said, “I'm glad he's free, but I don't think my going there would be--” She stopped. She couldn’t say what was in her heart, that it was over for her and Charlie, that it had been over in every moment she’d chosen not tell him the truth about Jason. She imagined her life before Jason entered it, the chain of innocent hours, when her daddy had been alive and her mama had been happy enough.
All those lovely innocent hours before the one when Jason had come into her bed. A shameful secret had been conceived in that subsequent hour, and her life had been altered irrevocably. And now, because she’d lied to him, she would never know how Charlie might have reacted. She would never know if he’d loved her enough to forgive her. She had to let him go, she thought, no matter how much it felt like death to her.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Lovett waited outside the cell while Charlie shook Dixie's hand. “I
won't ever forget you, buddy.”
“Me neither, Charlie.”
“When I get settled, I'm going to try and get you out of here.”
“You don't gotta do that.”
“You saved my life.”
“It wasn't nuthin’, Charlie. I should’a been quicker.” Dixie brightened. “Hey, at least Brashear got tooken care of. Right?”
“Yeah.” Charlie grinned.
“You get outta here, Charlie, don't look back. Okay? Don't hold no hate in your heart.”
“Keep the faith, huh?”
“Think about your wife and little girl.”
Charlie ducked his chin. They were all he thought about.
The cell door rolled, and Charlie stepped through it. Halfway down the run, he glanced back. Dixie was pressed up against the bars, and the lost, hollow look on his face opened a hole in Charlie’s heart.
At the front door of the unit, the warden handed him fifty dollars cash and the address of a halfway house in Houston; he shook Charlie's hand and wished him luck. But he didn't apologize for the injustice that had landed Charlie in here. No one did. Nor was Charlie to be compensated. When he'd asked Metzger about his five thousand dollars, the money he'd won at the track, money that had been confiscated as so-called evidence, Tim had said it was possible he’d never get it back.
“You’ll have to file a claim,” the lawyer said, “and no matter what, since the State’s involved, it could take months. Years even.” Metzger had given Charlie a look. “You plan on sticking around here once you get out?”
“Why?” Charlie asked.
“The state’ll want you to testify at Tinker’s trial, assuming they can find him. Will you be up for that?”
Charlie had laughed, an ugly sound. “What do you think,” he’d said.
Now the warden clapped a hand on Charlie's shoulder. “Your lawyer's here. Guess he's giving you a lift into Houston, right?”
The Last Innocent Hour Page 21