Condemned

by Soosie E Nova

  “You dress first,” Angel growled, snatching the jeans they’d given me from the floor. I caught them before they smacked into my face. He stayed on the bed, his arms folded over his wide chest, his eyes set in an unamused glower.

  “You gonna watch?” I asked, pulling my towels tighter.

  “You have nothing I’m interested in,” he huffed, turning his back to me.

  “That’s a relief, dude, I made it out of prison without becoming someone’s bitch, I don’t wanna ruin my streak.”

  “Dress.”

  “Sir, yes, Sir.”

  “Do you think you’re amusing?”

  Clearly not. I pulled on the clothes they’d given and followed Angel through the house. Maria and Dani’s dad were at the long dining table. It groaned under the weight of bowls full of fruit, cold cut meats, eggs, bread rolls and lobster.

  Maria jumped up instantly, pulling out a chair for me. I was plied with hot, black coffee, my plate piled high with eggs and lobster. By the time I’d cleared my plate, I was stuffed so full I could barely move. Angel scoffed copious amounts of food, more food than any human should be able to manage.

  “Your transport to Texas leaves in an hour,” Dani’s dad told me. “Maria will pack you a lunch. We’ll give some cash to start you out. There’s no point advising you take the money and run is there?”

  “I’m innocent, Sir. I intend to prove that.”

  “I had a feeling you’d say that,” he sighed. “We’ll offer you as much help as we can, but honestly, Leo, we have as much idea as you do who did this to you. I can promise you, despite what Danielle believes that we were not involved, nor were the men who took her.”

  “What about the men they sold her to?”

  “We have yet to locate them. If we find anything on them we’ll let Danielle know.”

  “Sir, can I ask why the change of heart? Last night you were ready to throw me onto the street.”

  “Maria, my wife, is more forgiving than I am. She asked me to help you. I do have one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Danielle. Look after her, love her, keep her safe. Maria thinks you can make her happy.”

  “I promise you, Sir, I will.”

  ◆◆◆

  Angel waited with me in a crowded diner at a truck stop. They planned on smuggling me back into Texas hidden in an eighteen wheeler. My heart raced, sweat dripped from my skin. The eyes of everyone in there scoured my skin, I could hear them whispering. My face flashed on the American news channel the Tv blasted out. They knew, everyone knew. The police would turn up any second, their guns all trained on me. One false move, I’d end up another statistic of overzealous, trigger happy Police.

  On the TV my mother opened the door, her shoulders slumped, tears staining her cheeks, glittering under the harsh camera lights, broken and defeated. Fuck, what I had done? Reporters screamed questions at her. Where is he? Is he dangerous? Will he come home?

  “My son is not dangerous,” she sobbed. “He is a good man. He did not plan this, he did not do this alone, my Leo doesn’t know the kind of people of who could do this, he was kidnapped. He’s a good boy. You have to believe me.”

  Theo grabbed her, yanking her inside, slamming the door. Minutes later a garden hose snaked from an upstairs window, showering the expensive camera equipment below.

  Angel shovelled a cheeseburger into his mouth. Grease dripped down his chin.

  “Relax,” he growled.

  Relax? How did he expect me to do that? My face was being broadcast on every channel. Strangers, news anchors, politicians were all discussing me, warning the public to steer clear. I was considered dangerous, a violent, volatile criminal, ready to kill the first person who crossed me. Detective Schilling spoke, asking the public to remain vigilant.

  “We don’t believe Leopold Roman to be armed or dangerous at this point but we do need to find him.”

  He must be the only person in the world to believe me not dangerous.

  “Truck’s here,” Angel barked, grabbing my arm, dragging me from the diner.

  I was bundled into the back, warned to stay quiet. Border officials had been paid off. I’d be dropped off at a truck stop on the edge of Houston, after that I was on my own.

  The driver threw a tarpaulin over me. I hugged the bag Maria had packed. The engine roared to life, speeding me towards my homeland, towards the manhunt that would end only with my death or incarceration. Every time the truck slowed, my heart stopped, my breath faltered. I gripped the bag tighter. Maria had packed water, sandwiches, a throwaway cell phone, anything a man on the run could need.

  Hours passed like days, minutes seemed to tick by in hours. Police sirens raced past us. The air grew hot and stuffy. My skin prickled, soaked in sweat, my shirt clung to my damp skin. My head thumped.

  The truck slowed to a stop. Someone pulled up the back, stepping onto the truck. I bit my lip, hugging Maria’s carefully packed bag for dear life. This was it. I was caught. I held my breath.

  “We’re here, you go now,” the Mexican truck driver snapped.

  My heart didn’t stop hammering uncontrollably in my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. I took shaking steps, numbly making my way off the truck, into the open.

  “GO!” The driver barked, shoving me from his truck.

  Fuck. I wanted to run. I had nowhere to run to. No-one to call. The Police and the world’s media camped at my parent's house. They’d be watching Carly and Laura too. Anyone I’d had contact with in prison was off limits. Angel had given me a checklist of what not to do. He hadn’t told me what I should do. Where I should go.

  There’s only one person I could call. One person who might turn me in as quick as they’d help me. I had to risk it. My sticky, sweaty fingers tapped at the disposable cell phone, typing in her number.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs Charles?”

  “Leo? Oh my God, Leo, you’re safe. There’s a manhunt for you. The Police say you’re armed and dangerous.”

  “I don’t know where to go.”

  “Where are you?”

  I gave her the name to the truck stop, she promised to be there within the hour.

  Well, this really was it. Either Stacey’s mom would turn up, willing to help me or the Police would. I sank to the ground, resting against a tree, my back to the road.

  Chapter Eleven

  Danica

  The station buzzed with life. The FBI had been called in. Sniffer dogs from around the state joined the search. The trail for Leo iced over. He'd vanished into the night.

  I rested my elbows on my desk, rubbing at my temples. Day three of my hangover and it still hadn’t abated.

  “Detective Milano, we’re ready for you.”

  Everyone Leo had contact with was being called for questioning, including me. Theo passed me on his way out of his interview, his face drawn, dark rings circled his emerald eyes. His boyfriend raced to him, wrapping his arms around him.

  “He didn’t do this, Leo didn’t plan this, Dani, he wouldn't. Someone did this to him, someone who might not be a friend.”

  I had a fair idea who’d done this. My father. But why?

  “There's no evidence to suggest he’s been harmed, Theo.”

  It was a lame response, but what else could I say?

  Two FBI agents sat, arms folded, dressed in identical black suits at the interrogation table.

  “Take a seat, Detective, this won't take long.”

  “I have no clue where he is and if I did I wouldn’t tell,” I sighed, sinking into the seat opposite them. The younger agent peered at me from over is rimless spectacles.

  “He’s doing himself no favours, Detective. Innocent men do not run.”

  “Innocent men days away from the death chamber do,” I shrugged.

  They ran through everything. Did he talk about his plans? Who could be helping him? Has ever mentioned any friends on the outside? Had he asked me for money or help? Where was I the night he escaped? D
o I own any other residences besides the one under observation? How long have I known him? Where did we meet? How did I come to be in contact with him again? Did I believe him to be dangerous? They barked useless question after useless question at me.

  “I know nothing,” I hissed, raking my hands through my hair. My head pounded. My heart hadn't stopped racing since hearing of his escape.

  “Detective, do you believe he’d seek vengeance?”

  “Against who?”

  “Detective Schilling? Other officers involved in the case? His victim's family?”

  “No. Leo is a good man, he’d hurt no one, even to save himself. Are we done? I have work to do.”

  “That’ll be all for now, Detective. If you hear from him…”

  “You’ll be the last people I tell.”

  “He’ll be found. The best way he can help himself is to hand himself in before anyone is hurt.”

  “Whatever,” I shrugged, letting the door slam as I stormed from the room. Schilling met me outside, his face twisted in rage.

  “Are you trying to get yourself fired or arrested?” He snapped.

  “I don’t know where he is.”

  “I know you don’t, kid.”

  I’d been with Schilling the night it happened, curled up on his sofa watching some banal chick flick with Emma and their daughter. The banner slid across the bottom of the screen. ‘Breaking News: Death Row prisoner, Leopold Roman on the loose. Considered armed and dangerous.’

  The room fell silent, Schilling and his family all turned to me. Details reached us at a snail’s pace. Both banned from the case, warned to stay away, the details we did have were gleaned from the twenty-four hour news channels. Leo’s mug shot, his face pale, eyes rimmed red, was shown around the clock on one channel or another. Pundits picked over his past, painting him as a villain, a man addicted to using prostitutes. Angered supporters, ex-working girls, old friends, jammed the channel’s phone lines, ready to speak out for him.

  Strangers took to social media, offering him help, promising to wire him money, give him a place to stay, a plane out of the country. Vigilantes, paedophile hunters swore they’d find before the Police, give him a taste of their own sick justice. Leo himself condemned himself to radio silence. Something was wrong. There’s no way he’d leave his family to suffer, imagining the worst if he had any other choice.

  I called my father the first night, true to form he denied everything, claimed he’d been home with Angel and Maria all night. Maria hung around in the background, singing some American pop song.

  The entire office turned their eyes to me as I slipped behind my desk, shuffling through old case files. The whispering started up the second I’d been named as a person of interest.

  Rachel, the station receptionist dropped a note on my desk.

  ‘Barbie called, needs you to contact her urgently.’

  “Who’s Barbie?” Schilling asked, turning the note over in his hand.

  “Old friend from Pasadena.”

  “You gonna call her?”

  “Later, we have cases, remember?”

  “Call her,” he warned, picking the white, plastic telephone from my desk.

  Carly and her friends are the only people I’ve ever called Barbie. I have no friends in Pasadena. My fingers shook as I pressed the buttons. Schilling’s eyes bore into me. I struggled to fill my lungs. FBI agents flittered around the office, I was surrounded by law enforcement, all determined to hunt Leo down, kill him if they had to. I was dialling a number he might answer inches away from the person most convinced of his guilt.

  “Hello, Detective Milano?”

  A stranger answered my call, her voice too old for Carly or any of her friends.

  “Hey, Barbie,” I grinned forcing my voice to stay even, “I got your message. I’m still at work at the minute, what’s up?”

  “I see,” the woman replied. “Can we catch up later?”

  “Yeah, sure, where at?”

  “That coffee shop, the one behind my house, do you know it?”

  “Yeah, I remember it. I get off at eight, I’ll see you then?”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  The stranger hung up. I chatted away, umming and oohing, her new boyfriend sounded a right pain in the ass. Barbie should totally kick his sorry ass to the gutter. Schilling tapped his fingers on my desk, raising his eyebrows.

  “I gotta go, Barbs, work to do, my partner is a slave driver. I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”

  “It’ll be good for you, meeting up with a friend, taking your mind off Leo for a while,” Schilling said.

  The rest of the day ticked by achingly slowly. I had no idea who’d I’d spoken to. They had to be connected to Leo. It wasn’t his mom, I’d recognise her voice, Laura’s too. That left working girls, but how would I narrow that down enough to find their address, let alone the coffee shop behind their house?

  If I was Leo where would I go? Who would I reach out to for help? He can’t contact his family, the Police tapped their phones within minutes of his escape. Mine too, that’s why he used a code name. He can’t contact Carly. Who else was in his life, someone who had no contact with him in prison?

  Schilling finished up our active case. It was an open and shut case of domestic abuse. The husband fled to his mother’s after shooting his wife in the heat of the moment. He was arrested an hour later. My mind refused to stay on track.

  “You want dropping off anywhere, kid?”

  “No, thanks. Barbie doesn’t live far.”

  “I thought she lived in Pasadena?”

  “What? Um, no, she moved. A few weeks ago now.”

  “Suit yourself,” he huffed, climbing into his people carrier, leaving me in the parking lot, no clue where I needed to be or why.

  All I could do is call Barbie back. I picked up a disposable cell from a garage. She answered on the second ring.

  “Hey, it’s Dani. We can talk now.”

  “I’m at the coffee shop.”

  “Oh. I, um, where exactly is that?”

  “Bebe’s on the corner of Maple and Sycamore.”

  My heart sank.

  “Mrs Charles?”

  “Yes.”

  Stacey’s mom. Leo’s final words had been to her, they’d been plastered over every newspaper. Killer refuses to apologise, tells victim's family slain mother and child were safe with him. They made him out to be a monster. The Charles’ lawyer issued a statement, claiming the Charles’ held no grudge against Leo, they just wanted justice for their daughter. Leo wouldn’t go to her, would he?

  I made it to the coffee shop thirty minutes later. Abigail Charles sat in a window booth, nursing a steaming mug. Her face ghostly white, her eyes puffy and red, long, bony fingers tapped on the side of her mug. She caught my eye, smiling unsurely at me. I took a deep breath, threw open the glass door to the coffee shop and walked, head held high to her table, ready to convince her of Leo’s innocence.

  “Do you want a coffee?” she whispered.

  “He’s innocent, Leo. He’d never hurt anyone.”

  “I know.”

  Wow. That was unexpected. I sank into the booth opposite her, my mouth flapping.

  “Do you want a coffee or should we go?”

  “Go where?”

  “He needs you.”

  “We’ll go.”

  She led the way, slipping into a silver estate car, opening the passenger door for me.

  “He’s safe?” I asked her.

  “Yes, he wants to find the people who hurt my Stacey. He thinks you can help him.”

  “I promise, I’ll try my best.”

  Silence filled the rest of the trip. Mrs Charles wound the car through the busy streets of Houston, taking the freeway towards Livingston. The woman looked decades older than her age. Time, the court case, the loss of her daughter and granddaughter had ravished the once vibrant and loving nurse. Her skin so pale, almost opaque, her fine silver hair hung in a lank curtain over her drawn cheeks. Tea
rs rolled steadily from her dull, dead eyes. She sniffed back her sorrow.

  My eyes didn’t stray from the rearview mirror, checking for cop cars, unmarked FBI vehicles, anyone who might follow us.

  She turned off before Livingston, following signs for an upmarket lakeside resort. At least she’d had better sense than to bring Leo to her home.

  We rolled to a stop outside a lakefront, log cabin. My heart pounded.

  “He’s inside, waiting for you,” she whispered, wiping her tears with the long, thick sleeve of her grey cardigan.

  “Thank you.”

  My feet couldn’t work fast enough. I raced up the steps, flinging the door open.

  Time stood still. My heart jumped into my throat. Leo stood, his hands jammed into his jeans, smiling sheepishly at me.

  “I didn’t know who else to call,” he breathed, shrugging his shoulders.

  He caught me in his grip, his arms tight around my waist as I threw myself across the room, burying my face into his chest. He’d lost weight in the ten years since I held him. His ribs poked through his shirt, digging into my arms. It didn’t stop him lifting me off my feet, cradling me to his chest. I was holding him, solid in my arms. I never believed this moment would ever happen. We’ve spent so long parted by glass, chains wrapped around his body and now he was here, in my arms.

  I inhaled, drinking in his fresh lime flavoured scent, savouring the steady beat of his heart in my ear, the softness of his lips pressing to my cheeks, kissing away the tears that poured from my eyes.

  “Oh, God, Leo, I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Me too,” he sighed, pulling me tighter to his chest.

  “I’ll leave you two alone for the night,” Mrs Charles interrupted us. “There are fresh towels in the airing cupboard and groceries in the cupboard. There’s no fresh milk, I’m afraid.”

  “You’ve done more than enough for me, Abigail, thank you,” Leo replied, his grip on me still as tight as ever.

  Before she made it to the door, someone on the other side hammered hard on the solid wood. We all froze. Leo’s fingers dug into my hips. The little colour remaining in Mrs Charles cheeks drained. I reached for my gun.