Dying Declaration

by Randy Singer

  “I love him,” Crawford said without expression, “and he loves me. And I’m sorry to have to say this, but right now he needs me.”

  “Stay away from him,” Erica demanded.

  “Or what?” Crawford asked, tilting her head back.

  “Or you’ll regret it, that’s what. I’ll let it be known all over Tidewater that the deputy commonwealth’s attorney has seduced the vulnerable—and rich—husband of a sick woman. I’ll file for divorce based on adultery. And the reporters will be banging your door down.” Erica was talking faster now and leaning forward, squeezing her trembling hands together. She squinted through the sunlight at this monster before her.

  Crawford just smirked.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” she asked. “You think we’re trying to hide this to protect my career?”

  The question lingered for a moment, then Crawford continued. “We meet in the hottest bars in Virginia Beach. We’re seen all around town together. We’d make love on the beach in broad daylight if it wasn’t illegal. And you think we’re trying to hide this?”

  She paused again, but Erica could think of nothing to say. Erica felt the tears burning in the back of her eyes and blinked hard to fight them back.

  Crawford narrowed her gaze and continued. “Don’t you see? The only reason that he hasn’t divorced you already is that he feels sorry for you. He doesn’t want to hurt you emotionally. But you stopped being his wife a long time ago.”

  At this—the cold, hard truth of it—Erica felt a single tear crawling down her cheek.

  “And scandal?” Crawford mocked. “Puh-lease! Where have you been the last five years? Don’t you remember how Clinton’s approval ratings soared after his little tryst in the Oval Office? Go ahead and spread the rumor that I’m getting it on with a rich and handsome doctor. I won’t have to worry about those other rumors that always follow single career women.” Crawford leaned forward and spoke in a mock conspiratorial whisper, “I wonder when she’s coming out of the closet.”

  Then Crawford leaned back in her chair and shook her head again. She gave Erica a look of pity and indignation. “Don’t kid yourself,” Crawford said. “He’s saving you some embarrassment, that’s all. Otherwise, he’d have been gone a long time ago.”

  Erica stared down and felt the tear fall from her face. She felt so inadequate and ashamed. She had come to back this woman down, to humiliate this woman with the fake blonde hair and the all-too-perfect tan. But somehow she was the one who felt humiliated; she was the one who had failed Sean.

  She watched as Crawford stood, stepped around the desk, and opened her office door. “I’ve got some appointments,” she said. “I’m sorry it turned out this way.” She paused as Erica rose slowly from her seat, no longer trying to mask the pain of moving. “I won’t tell Sean you came by. It’s the least I can do.”

  Erica stopped on the way out, inches from Crawford. She tensed her jaw and felt her entire face tremble. She spoke in a whisper. “Stay away from him. Give our marriage one more chance. He loved me once, and we can rekindle it if you leave him alone. That’s the least you can do.”

  Satisfied that she had said what she came to say, Erica turned from Rebecca Crawford’s cold stare and limped down the hall.

  The Barracuda closed the door, then hit a speed-dial button on her phone.

  “Hello,” said the brisk, business voice of Dr. Sean Armistead.

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  “Now’s not a good time. Can you call back in about an hour?”

  “This can’t wait, Sean. We’ve got a problem. I tried to bluff my way out of it, but I don’t think it worked. We’ll have to deal with this right away.”

  32

  CHARLES ARNOLD couldn’t believe he was doing this.

  He had wanted to meet the kids and get their take on things. They would be the best sources for what had really happened. Plus he would have to determine what kind of witnesses they would make. It was always dangerous to put kids on the stand, especially when they would be subject to the cross-examination of someone as lethal as the Barracuda. It was imperative that Charles get a read on how well these kids would hold up, how prone they were to be tricked by leading questions.

  He also wanted some time with Nikki. She was obnoxious but very bright. He needed to pick her brain for a while about the details of the case. He had a few investigative assignments for her as well and wanted to bounce a legal strategy off her. Bottom line—he needed several hours with Nikki and the kids before the preliminary hearing on Wednesday.

  Nikki agreed and promised to give him all day Saturday on one condition: that Charles meet them at the Busch Gardens amusement park in Williamsburg. “It will give you time with the kids on an informal basis,” she had argued. “It will help you build rapport. We’ll be standing in lines all day, and you can pick my brain clean about every aspect of the case.”

  Charles was certain it wouldn’t take all day to pick Nikki’s brain clean. And he didn’t relish the thought of spending a Saturday in the blazing sun waiting in line for rides designed to make you sick. But the offer from Nikki was nonnegotiable. Saturday at Busch Gardens or nothing. She was rewarding the kids for finishing the school year on Friday. She couldn’t cancel this trip, she said. And so he had agreed. But he had his own condition. He would drive separately. That way he could leave whenever he gained the information he needed for the case.

  Charles had been sworn to secrecy by Nikki. Under no circumstances could Thomas and Theresa Hammond know about this. After all, Busch Gardens was run by a beer company, and the Hammonds would certainly disapprove. They would find out later, because Stinky and Tiger would eventually let it slip. But Nikki had postponed telling the kids about their excellent adventure until after they had finished school and visited Thomas in jail on Friday afternoon. It was easier to ask forgiveness than permission, she said.

  So now Charles Arnold waited outside the entrance to Busch Gardens at ten o’clock on Saturday morning, inhaling the pungent odor of the nearby brewery and listening to the bagpipe music blaring over the speakers designed to make you feel like you were stepping into medieval Europe. He watched the families roll in with grins on their faces and a spring in their steps—dads and moms as excited as the kids.

  And then it came. The fog of memories rolling in: the face of Denita, her slurred and painful words on the night he first left her. She had been out late after work, not answering her cell phone. The dinner Charles had planned—just the two of them, badly needed time alone together—never materialized. And when she came home giddy, with booze on her breath and her blouse unbuttoned partway, it was more than he could take.

  He had lashed out at her lifestyle, her “sinful” selfishness. She called him “judgmental” and a “hypocrite.”

  He could see the rage on her face even now, could smell the mix of stale vodka and perfume, could feel the fist clench around his heart. He followed her around the house and demanded to talk. He told her that he still loved her, but he hated the things she did. “Can’t you see what you’re doing to yourself? to our marriage?” he demanded. “Look at you,” he sneered, “strutting your stuff. Who are trying to impress? What happened to the woman I married?”

  “Me?!” she screamed. “What happened to me?! I don’t even know you “anymore.” The tears started flowing, and Denita tried to stalk away, but Charles grabbed her arm. “Let go of me!” she demanded.

  “Not until you listen to me,” he said between clenched teeth. “You’re still my wife. And I won’t ever let you go.” She struggled, but he squeezed the arm tighter until she stilled. She winced, and a wave of shame swept over him. He had hurt her. Maybe just a little, but still, in his anger he had hurt her. It was something he had promised himself he would never do. Things had spun out of control.

  Charles took a deep breath and dropped her arm. “You can fight me all you want, Denita, but I’m not giving up on us. I want to grow old with you, raise a family with you . . .”

&nbs
p; She laughed. Even as Charles recalled it now, it was the most painful sound he had ever heard. Just a short laugh, a mocking tone from deep in Denita’s throat. Then her eyes narrowed, and she put the dagger in his heart.

  “A family,” she said, sneering at the thought. “Look at us ready to kill each other, and you want a family.” She looked down as she said the next sentence, a certain sadness shadowing her eyes. She nearly whispered. “I aborted our family six months ago.”

  The rest of the night was still a blur to Charles. Disbelief. Condemnation. Demanding details. Eventually it all came out. Denita unleashed a bitter narrative that made Charles feel like he had caused it. Though the RU-486 pill had not yet been approved in the United States, Denita had used her connections with some corporate clients to obtain the drug. She couldn’t bear the thought of a clinic, she said. And she certainly couldn’t discuss it with Charles. “Look at you,” she said. “Even now you’re judging me for it, convicting me with your eyes.”

  The self-induced miscarriage had been painful, personal, and something she had to endure alone because she couldn’t even talk with her husband about it. She described flushing the fetus as well as the feelings of guilt and then anger at a husband who would never understand. She talked about it matter-of-factly, without a single tear, as if every ounce of emotion had already been drained from her body. She did it for both of them. They weren’t ready for kids. Not even close. And she knew he would never understand.

  Charles remembered listening, questioning, and riding a roller coaster of emotion. An abortion! An illegal abortion! Of his child!

  To this day he couldn’t remember what he said. He remembered trying to control his rage and expressing his own disappointment. The blunt force of his words landed even harder when delivered with a detached monotone. He remembered aching to hold her, but her body language said to leave her alone. Like everything else in life, she could handle it alone. Most vividly of all, he remembered the cold finality of her response: “You’ll thank me one day.” Then she turned and headed up the stairs, shutting the door of their bedroom behind her.

  He went to his study and wrestled with his emotions. He typed out a note on his computer. He read it twice, the monitor blurred by his tears. I forgive you, he wrote, but I’ll never understand. We need some time apart.

  He left the note on the kitchen counter, then quietly entered his bedroom. Denita had fallen asleep with the television on, the light from the screen partially illuminating her face. Charles quietly packed a gym bag, then knelt beside Denita, brushed some hair away from her face, and kissed her on the forehead.

  He said a prayer, a silent one, asking God for forgiveness for Denita, and begging God to draw Denita to Himself. As he stood to leave, a fresh wave of grief overwhelmed him. His lip started trembling, and he felt the tears pooling in his eyes as he mourned his shattered marriage and a precious child he would never know.

  33

  FOUR YEARS LATER the wound was still raw, and it still had the power to summon fresh tears. And so, as he saw Nikki and the kids hop off the tram and start running down the hill toward the gates, he found himself wiping at his eyes and putting on a forced smile.

  Tiger led the way, wide-eyed—no, wild-eyed—with excitement. Stinky ran close behind, and Nikki called out for the kids to slow down. “You don’t have to run; we don’t even have our tickets yet.”

  Charles’s small grin turned into a full-fledged smile. His own little family for the day.

  Nikki had exposed as much of her skin to the sun as the occasion would allow, revealing the small tattoo on her ankle and the larger one on her shoulder. She wore a bright tie-dyed halter top, short khaki shorts, and sandals. She had pulled her thick black hair into a tight braid and shielded her eyes with a pair of sleek Ray-Bans. She surveyed the landscape and finally spotted Charles. Her whole face smiled behind the shades.

  She could have been a movie star.

  She called the kids over and introduced them to “Mr. Charles.” Stinky politely shook his hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said properly. Tiger shook his hand too but just stared up at Charles for a few long seconds, squinting and wrinkling up his little nose.

  “Do you ever get sunburned?” he finally asked.

  Nikki laughed out loud, throwing her head back as she chuckled. Charles suppressed his own grin.

  “Not as bad as you crackers do,” he replied.

  The little boy sure was cute. And Nikki was going to keep things interesting. Maybe I’ll stay a little longer than I first thought.

  But still, Charles couldn’t believe he was doing this.

  The Loch Ness Monster.

  They hadn’t been inside the park for ten minutes, and they were already standing in front of the biggest and baddest roller coaster in the world’at least as far as Tiger was concerned. It was huge and it was fast and it was noisy.

  It seemed to Tiger that it stretched miles into the sky. So close to the sun that you would probably get burned. And it made this terrible rattling noise, so loud he could barely hear his own teeth chattering. It was a miracle the cars even stayed on; the thing sounded like it would fall apart any minute. And the screams! People screamed every time they came down that first huge hill. They screamed like they were dying or at least being tortured. And then they almost hit the water in the pond below, went around this curve and through a big upside-down loop and disappeared into a dark tunnel where the Loch Ness Monster himself actually lived.

  On the other side of the tunnel, if they came out alive, they would go up and down some more hills and—get this—through a second loop, where they would scream some more and actually go upside down again. No kidding. Completely upside down. Two times.

  Tiger watched the ride without blinking while holding tight to Mr. Charles’s hand. A full five minutes passed before he took another step toward the line. As far as he could tell, during those five minutes not one person had fallen out, not even on the loops. But it would be just his luck to be the first. He carefully studied every person who stepped off the ride and headed back out to the park. They all looked okay. Some were even smiling.

  The Loch Ness Monster.

  Tiger Hammond couldn’t believe he was doing this.

  But he had come this far, and there was no turning back now. Mr. Charles gently pulled on his hand, and they started walking slowly and cautiously toward the line. Stinky and Ms. Nikki followed a step behind. Tiger was still not convinced that he should do the Loch Ness Monster this early in the day. Maybe they should save it till last or at least after lunch. But he kept walking. Right up to the big covered building where the line snaked in and out, guided by chains strung from one post to another.

  He got stopped by a guy wearing a funny-looking outfit and holding a long stick in his right hand. “We’ll have to measure this one,” the guy said.

  He held the stick next to Tiger.

  “Stand up straight,” Mr. Charles said. “You’ve got to be as tall as this pole to ride the ride.”

  “It’s too dangerous for anyone shorter,” said the helpful guy with the stick.

  Tiger stood up as straight as he could. He stretched his legs, his back, and his neck. He even stood on tippytoe, at which point Miss Nikki insisted he was close enough. The guy with the stick was shaking his head, and Tiger felt the tears forming in his eyes. This wasn’t fair. Stinky would get to ride the Loch Ness, and he would have to settle for the merry-go-round.

  But Miss Nikki wasn’t through. She wiggled up to the guy, wedged herself between him and Tiger, and put a hand on her hip. She spoke in low tones, so low that Tiger couldn’t hear. But she seemed really into it, her arms flying around as she talked. And then she inched even closer to the guy and gently reached out and touched the measuring guy’s arm, leaving her hand there, and Tiger heard her say something about his daddy being in jail. After a few more seconds Miss Nikki apparently achieved a breakthrough and gave the guy a quick and vicious hug. “You’re a lifesaver,” she gushed, and Tiger cou
ld see the guy’s face turn red. Then Charles grabbed Tiger’s hand again, and they were off to wait in a long line to ride the Loch Ness Monster.

  If you’re too short, does that mean the seat belt things won’t be able to hold you in? Tiger wondered. “It’s too dangerous,” the guy in the uniform had said. And if anyone should know, he should know.

  Tiger fretted for the next half hour surrounded by the sweaty legs of hundreds of strangers, each one taller than he. Mr. Charles, Miss Nikki, and Stinky each tried valiantly to engage him in conversation, but to no avail. He would utter an occasional “yes, ma’am” or “no, sir” or even an “uh-huh” or “huh-uh” to Stinky, but he was not in the mood to talk. He just couldn’t stop thinking about that huge first hill, the big monster in the cave, and the very real possibility that he would slip right out from under the shoulder restraints—given the fact that he was an illegally short rider who had snuck onto the ride against all the park rules.

  “Don’t bite your nails, Tiger.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  As he approached the front of the line, he said a final prayer. He confessed every sin he could remember and asked for forgiveness one more time, just to make sure he had a clean slate if something happened to him on the ride. He was now ready for the Loch Ness and to meet his Maker, if it came to that.

  He sat next to Mr. Charles in one of the shiny green cars. Mr. Charles held his hand as the roller coaster took off and began climbing that first humongous hill. The rattling chain sounded even louder in the car than it did on the ground, the incredible noise drowning out Tiger’s pleas to stop the ride so he could get off. Mr. Charles was yelling some kind of encouragement at him, but Tiger couldn’t hear a word he was saying.

  He stole a peek over the side of the car and almost puked. He was way up above the trees, above the buildings. Pretty soon they would be above the clouds. And the stupid ride just kept climbing and climbing. And climbing.