"Yes, Your Honor." Walker glares at Jack, but as always, his tone to the judge doesn't reflect it.
"So I'm leaving this up to Mr.
Hilliard."
Jack and Earl exchange a glance.
Neither expected this.
"Mr. Hilliard? If you'd rather, you can let the officers at your house finish their job now. However, if you prefer your family to be left in peace tonight, I will order Mr. Walker to have his men come back tomorrow, during the day." The emphasis on "day" is for Walker.
"Whatever is most convenient for you, sir."
"Thank you, Judge. I'd like to speak to my attorney before I decide, and Mrs.
Hilliard, if Your Honor will indulge me a few minutes."
"Of course."
Jack and Earl move into the same
conference room where Jack happened upon his entire legal staff watching the news. They leave the doors open so they see Walker and he sees them, but they're out of earshot.
"Sit tight, I'll call you back," he says to Claire, disconnecting before she argues.
"What's going on?" Earl asks.
"They're looking for something Celeste wrote. It's a description of . . ." He sighs.
"It's a description of a sexual encounter.
A less than loving sexual encounter by any standard, but in my opinion, a rape. It doesn't identify the man or his age, but it reads like the guy is older. I guess she's telling them she wrote it about what I supposedly did to her."
"You wanna tell me why you might have this, Jack?" His nostrils flare.
"What did they say when I was on the phone with Claire? Why do they think I have it?"
"She claimed you ripped it out of her notebook. She guessed you took it when you picked up Michael at school. She says her book bag was in the gym on the same day you were there. They confirmed with Mike's coach that you were, indeed, in the gym the day she claims."
The coach. So he did see Jack up on the bleachers. He wonders if Celeste
suggested the investigators question the coach. He can't help but think she'll make a good lawyer, if indeed she was serious about her future aspirations.
"She's right. I was there, and I did rip it out of her notebook."
"Christ Almighty!" Earl scolds under his breath. "What the hell were you thinking?"
Jack pulls out a conference table chair and sinks into it. He hunches over, rests his forehead in one hand while he rubs his tired eyes with the other. "I don't know. I never thought she'd say anything to anyone. There was a lot of fucked up stuff in that notebook. I thought she'd be afraid of it all being exposed. It's obvious from what she wrote that someone has messed with her, but I knew if
investigators got a hold of it, they'd automatically assume it was me she was writing about. It's not dated."
"I can't believe what I'm hearing. So now you're destroying evidence?"
"I didn't destroy it, nor did I plan to. I almost called the hotline when I first found it, but I knew it would be the last nail in my coffin if I didn't have some proof that it wasn't me she'd written about. Mike wouldn't answer me when I asked him if someone had hurt her. He did assure me she wasn't in any
immediate danger, so I planned to turn it over after I'd searched Mike's computer.
"Mike knew about this?"
"No, I didn't tell him what I'd found. I just questioned him to see if he knew anything. I know he must, but he won't talk." He sighs. "Look, if it wasn't written about me, it's not evidence, right?"
"That's usually left to the judge or jury to decide, don't you think?"
" She was assaulted. Someone messed with her. A girl doesn't just write stuff like that."
"Why didn't you come to me first?"
"I didn't expect to find it. I was simply getting Michael from practice. I had to make a decision. Take it and risk her talking, or leave it and risk her showing it to someone." He shrugs. "I chose door number one and lost. She talked."
Earl finally takes a chair, too, and blows out a long stream of air while he thinks. "What do you want to do?"
Jack knows what Earl is asking.
Neither will ever say it out loud, but the unspoken is understood. The judge has offered Jack an unusual gift—if he did it intentionally, Jack would rather not know
—but nevertheless, he's left it up to Jack to decide whether to accept it or not.
Can the ends justify the means? Is there any outcome that justifies him destroying Celeste's writing before the cops find it? Because once that piece of paper is made public, he might as well plead guilty. It's the best evidence that someone molested her, but unless he proves she wrote it before the night he took her home, Elias will argue it's the best evidence against Jack. He will be convicted in the press if not in the courtroom.
Can the ends justify the means? He thought a lot about that question the first time he ran for office. He knew no city would elect a prosecutor who didn't support capital punishment, so he bowed to pressure from the political party bigwigs and let the voters believe he did.
He allowed himself to be convinced that the good achieved in office would outweigh the lie—because if he's honest with himself, failure to put a voice to his position on the issue was a lie. He let himself believe the ends could justify the means, only to learn the harsh lesson that, despite best intentions, lies will always come back to bite you in the ass.
But what if the means contribute to the conviction of an innocent man, a clearly unjust end? What then?
"I need to talk to Claire."
"You shouldn't have to think about this,"
she says when he calls back. Her voice is stronger now. She evidently took the few minutes to compose herself.
He knows what he wants to do, what he should do. He called Claire because he was certain she'd provide the courage to do it. He thought he knew where she'd stand, because this is Claire. Claire, who always knows right from wrong. Claire, who just a few hours ago tried to make him feel like a criminal for even taking the page out of the notebook.
He must misunderstand.
"Are you there?" she demands.
"Yeah, I just . . . I'm not sure what you're saying."
"You need to do what you need to do.
For yourself. For us."
Like the judge, like Earl, she won't say it out loud. But he now gets it. A fist forms in his stomach, and he feels like any minute the fist will punch its way up his throat. This isn't the same woman he's known since their first year of law school, when he spotted her across the Pit and fell hopelessly in love. Has he done this to her?
"Do you hear me?" she asks.
"Yeah, I hear you." He stares at the blank, flat screen television on the far wall, thinks about what they'll say tomorrow, all those cogs in the media machine who think they know him. Who think they know what's in his mind, his heart. "Can you let me talk to one of the cops?"
Earl, who until this point kept his back to Jack and pretended not to eavesdrop on the conversation, turns to him. What are you doing? he mouths.
"Why?" Claire asks.
"Claire, please just put one of them on the phone, okay?"
She sighs a little too loudly and then calls one over. The small speaker at his ear transmits the fumblings of the phone being passed unexpectedly to another person.
"Mr. Hilliard?" an officer says tentatively.
Jack takes a deep breath. "It's in my briefcase, in our study. Mrs. Hilliard can show you."
"Uh, I . . . " he stutters. He didn't anticipate this.
"Just don't scare my kids anymore, okay? Whatever you do, please don't traumatize my kids."
He wakes the next morning fully dressed on the family room sofa. He squints to read the clock in the kitchen, winces when he sees that it's half past eight. He's already missed the meeting he likes to have with his staff every Monday
morning. By the time he showers, dresses, and drives into the city, he'll also have missed a nine o'clock call with an investigator.
Last night, he a
rrived home just after one thirty to Claire’s stubborn silence, a clear indicator he’d done the opposite of what she thought he should. Rather than spend another night lying next to her, immersed in the tension that had taken up permanent residence in their bed, he collapsed in a sleepless stupor on the couch. He has a vague memory of her calling down to him from the top of the stairs, but maybe, in a bout of
hopefulness, he only imagined it.
Michael, he knows, left for his bus much earlier, but he hears the bedroom floor creak upstairs from Claire's quick footsteps. Water runs in the bathroom at the top of the steps and he hears Jamie brushing his teeth. Jack forces his aching body up from the sofa. He sees Claire left him two gifts: a full pot of freshly brewed coffee and the Post-Dispatch. She propped the newspaper up against an empty coffee cup placed in his usual spot on the table.
Once again, Jack has made the front page.
In an ironic twist, late last night police searched the office of St.
Louis DA Jack Hilliard for
evidence relating to the pending sexual assault charges against him.
Police searched the Hilliard
residence as well. Sources close to the case, who asked to remain anonymous, say police found a document created by Hilliard's teenage accuser that they believe may be a written account of the alleged rape of the victim by the District Attorney. Hilliard's accuser informed authorities that she believed he had stolen the document from her backpack when she left it unattended on school grounds. The special prosecutor, Elias Walker, plans to appear in court this morning to seek a
restraining order against Hilliard to prohibit any further contact between the DA and the alleged victim.
No mention that Jack willingly handed the document over. Or that the police showed up at his home well after the time allowed by law. Or that the document failed to identify the male written about.
Or that the document wasn't dated. Or that Jack consented to the restraining order.
He glimpses the street from a front window. A few media types lie in wait.
He thinks about what might happen if he invited them in, offered himself up for an in-depth interview, instead of waiting until trial to tell his side of the story. Or maybe he'd choose only one of them. Call Jim Wolfe and grant an exclusive. He imagines Wolfe's startled reaction to the invitation, his wide eyes made to look even larger behind the Radar O'Reilly glasses he wears. He then imagines Earl's reaction and turns for the stairs to fight his next battle.
A small suitcase rests on Claire’s side of the bed, open flat like two butterfly wings. She comes out of the bathroom fully-dressed and carrying various items
—a blow dryer, her hairbrush, and a make-up bag, which he knows doesn’t have much make-up in it, but instead most likely holds toothpaste, a
toothbrush and miniature bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body lotion.
She places everything in the suitcase, tucking the items around the clothes which have already been packed inside.
"Going somewhere?" he asks from the doorway.
"I need a few days away from this." She answers without looking at him. "Mom and I are flying to Arizona for a few days.
We both want to see Sedona."
She makes her announcement as if she and her mother take off on vacation together all the time. Jack can’t remember Claire ever traveling alone with Ruth except to visit relatives in Kansas City.
And yet now she's leaving only days before Christmas? He wants to ask her how long they've had this in the works; she couldn't have spoken to her mom since just last night. And aren't her students in the middle of exams?
Wouldn't she have had to arrange for someone to cover for her? It also doesn't escape his notice that their chosen destination is a place he and Claire always talked about visiting together. He wonders how much it will cost and then feels ashamed. He should probably be concerned that this is the first step in his wife leaving him. Instead, he agrees with her: they both need a few days away from everything. From each other.
She zips the suitcase shut and yanks it upright onto the floor. "I'll take Jamie to the bus stop on my way out, and Marcia will meet his afternoon bus and drop him with my dad for the rest of the time."
"Is there a reason he's not staying home with me?" Jack asks the question without emotion even though he's
outraged by the insult.
"I think you have enough to contend with."
Jack crosses his arms over his chest, holds his tongue.
"I'll call to let you know we arrived,"
she says, and without another word, not even goodbye, she starts for the bedroom door, the suitcase rolling behind her.
And despite all the questions in his head, the things he wants to say, he moves aside and lets her go.
He stays home for the rest of the morning rather than battle the small crowd outside. He knows they’ll abandon their posts soon enough; the story, even with fresh developments, is old enough to die quickly if they don’t get a newsworthy reaction from him. Avoiding the press is a perfect excuse to hibernate and explore Michael's computer. He can't access Web Watcher without Claire, but he can read Michael's Facebook messages.
"Jesus Christ, Michael, do you ever sleep?" he mutters when he sees the many messages. Most of them reflect exchanges with Celeste, but plenty are
communications with others, too.
He opens the message with the oldest date and begins reading.
His weary-eyed patience bears fruit an hour later in an early October message from Celeste to Michael, but Jack is surprised by the subject matter.
Celeste: who's jenny?
Michael: why?
Celeste: people at school keep
making comments about how i
look like her. who is she? an old gf?
Michael: no . . . definitely not
Celeste: ?
Michael: my dad cheated on my
mom with her, long story --__--
Celeste: ur dad? no way!!
Michael: u dont even want to
know
Celeste: what happened?
Michael: long story, cee. it
happned after he was first
elected. he got caught cus she
got arrested 4 murdering some
lady and my dad was her alibi
Celeste: u got to b shitting me!
Michael: i wish . . it was al over the news, google youl see
Michael: u there . .?
Celeste: OMG . .
Michael: told ya
Celeste: she does look like me
O.o
Michael: yea i guess a little, she was hot, i’l give her that ;)
Celeste: cant believe ur parents
stayed together
Michael: yea me either
Celeste: ur lucky
Michael: not quite
Celeste: i mean, that they
stayed together. my rents got a
divorce cus my mom fucked
around a lot
Michael: ur MOM?!
#usual ytheguy
Celeste: ha! they al do it . .
adults are fucked up . . my
moms stil with one of the
douchebags!
Celeste: i hate him hes a total
asshole, what kinda guy screws
around with someone whos
married?
Michael: i sorta liked jenny,
believe it r not, least til he
fucked her. after that, i hated
her
Celeste: you knew her . . ?
Michael: yea she was friends
with my rents, she even babysat
me and jamie a couple times
when we were little
Celeste: damn . . . that sucks
Michael: tel me bout it
Celeste: so did she actual y do it
. . kil the lady?
Michael: no one knows 4 sure,
its al online
Celest
e: is that why u like me,
mike? cus i look like her? cmon,
tel the truth ;)
Michael: lol . . trust me that
would be a reason for me not to
like u
Jack has always known how angry Michael was about what happened with Jenny.
Even at just shy of twelve, he understood the gravity of the betrayal. After Claire kicked Jack out of the house, Michael assumed the role of her protector—he insisted on accompanying her everywhere, he screened every phone call—and in doing so, he grew up that year faster than he should have. His anger at Jack only intensified when his parents reunited, because Jack's return to the family knocked Michael back down in the family pecking order.
Yet seeing him discuss it with a friend gives Jack a new understanding of his son's feelings. Michael had always liked Jenny. Even after he learned what Jack had done, he never spoke badly of her. He heaped all his vengeance on Jack, so it never occurred to Jack that Michael might hate Jenny, too. Yet four years have passed and Jack feels the hot resentment buried in his messages with Celeste.
Jack watches for more discussion of Jenny, but the one conversation seems to be it. The next messages to catch Jack's attention are ones that make clear their relationship had become physical.
Celeste: hey babe :) what u
doin?
Michael: hey :) nm just got
home
Celeste: can i come over, its
been a while ;) . . oh and i have good news!
Michael: nah not tonite. oh yea?
whats the news
Celeste: . . . why not
Michael: hw
Celeste: i could help u :)
Michael: lol . . u hate chem.
what news??
Celeste: true, lets just say ive
dropped the bait ;)
Michael: ?
Celeste: r plan?
Michael: what plan
Celeste: juris doctr lol
Michael: what r u talking about
Celeste: dont u remember? im
just gonna cal u
Jack remembers how she sat in his car so doe-eyed, insisting what she and Michael were doing on the couch was a first. He knew she was lying. Now, the its been a while followed by the winky face confirms it. They met at the start of the school year, and this message is from late October. A first, my ass, Jack thinks.
Keep No Secrets Page 20