The Canary List: A Novel

by Sigmund Brouwer

  “What are my chances of staying out?”

  “The investigative side doesn’t have much,” Dave said. “Your neighbor Nanna would have been very helpful. She’s the foundation of your story. Hopefully she just went somewhere for the day. Is she cognitive?”

  “Cognitive?”

  “She’s an old lady. Does she have Alzheimer’s or anything like that?”

  Crockett shook his head. “No, no. She’s sharp.”

  “And her story would match yours?”

  “Yes, of course. At this point, though, Jaimie’s account also matches mine.”

  “We’ll get to that. As I said, if the cops had talked to Nanna and she corroborated, you’d be at the zoo right now. Instead, from an investigative point of view, they’re going to be thorough until they talk to her. They catch a minor in your bedroom—you as a teacher—they have to make sure everything is squeaky clean. Especially with the old allegations on your record.”

  “Look,” Crockett said heavily. “All it’s going to take is talking to one of the other teachers Rhimes accused when she was a student of ours. All three of us went through hell, even though we were clearly innocent. Not only did she confess the allegations were false, but we had witnesses placing us in public or with family for about half the times she said we were alone with her. That’s on file. Get the principal of my school on the phone. Don Haldane. He’ll back it up too.”

  “Couldn’t get hold of him.”

  “So you tried?”

  “Sure, as I drove in. No answer. Wanted to give him a heads-up.”

  “And ask him about me?”

  “That too,” Dave admitted. “This is about as serious as it can get.”

  It was happening all over again, not only the anger at being accused of something that didn’t happen, but the horrible sensation that came with the type of accusation. Teachers and kids.

  Dave shifted awkwardly. “Hey, if you’re innocent, there are no worries.”

  “If I’m innocent? What kind of crap is that?” Anger was winning over exhaustion and stress. Or maybe it was losing to exhaustion and stress. “I don’t need you of all people having any doubt about this.”

  Another awkward shift. “Lean on reruns of Law & Order here, Crockett. Guilty or innocent is not the issue. I represent you. It’s not about truth. It’s about the justice system. And that leads me to point two. As far as I can tell, any prosecutor’s going to have a real tough time getting anything against you to stick. You’re a respected teacher; you dealt with a troubled child with compassion. You identified yourself to a cop at the fire scene, told them to call you. Later, you even let them into the house where the old lady lives. It all adds up and makes sense. Like I said, tough to crack.”

  Dave was talking slightly louder than demanded by their personal space. Crockett got the sense Dave was talking past him, then realized he was. Crockett was really addressing the one-way mirror, laying things out for the benefit of their hidden observers.

  Dave leaned forward, lowering his voice. “They do have a search warrant for your house. They won’t find anything, will they?”

  Crockett met Dave’s stare. “There’s nothing to find.”

  Once again, Crockett was wrong. Ten minutes after he and Dave had finished their discussion, Pamela, followed by Dave, returned to the interrogation room.

  She leaned against the wall. Her face was angular hard slate.

  “Tell me about the box in your attic,” she said to Crockett. “The one with a hard drive filled with child porn.”

  Fifteen

  hat?

  “Nice bluff,” Crockett said. He turned to Dave. “That’s a bluff. Trust me. I have no such thing in my attic.”

  To Dave—whose face registered pure shock—Pamela said, “All that crap of yours about two points of view, investigative and prosecution, all that posing in front of the mirror—pointless. We’ve got him on both sides.”

  She barely opened her mouth as she spoke, as if she didn’t even want to breathe when she was in the same room with Crockett. “And something else. Three other complaints in his teaching record.”

  “What are you talking about?” Crockett said. “This is crazy.”

  “I’ll explain it to your lawyer,” she said. “Because it won’t be a surprise to you.”

  Dave crossed his arms, waiting.

  Pamela looked back at Dave. “Students. Three other girls. Saying Crockett gave them the creeps. It’s nothing concrete enough to be followed up by administration at the school, but it’s on record.”

  “Not a chance!” Crockett exploded. “Haldane, school principal. Call him. He’ll tell you that none of it is true.”

  “Already tried,” Pamela said. “He’s on a hiking trip in Alaska. It’s going to be a couple of days till we reach him.”

  Dave’s shocked expression turned to disgust. He turned to Crockett. “Good luck finding a lawyer.”

  “Wait,” Crockett said. “What happened to that part about guilty or innocent not being the issue. It’s about the justice system, right?”

  “I’m a father and a family man, Crockett. I do not represent pedophiles.”

  “I am not a pedophile.” Crockett wasn’t sure how he was able to keep his voice from quivering. “Someone must have planted the hard drive. That’s the only way it could have gotten there.”

  Dave snorted. “Of course. Got a list of enemies and motivations to supply me? While you’re at it, how about explaining the other student complaints? All three.”

  “Dave,” Crockett said, pleading now. Grasping. “It’s got to be linked to the fire.”

  It must be the case. Jaimie, the fire, now this? It couldn’t be a coincidence. “You’ve got to hang in there with me.”

  Dave shook his head. “Here’s what I’ll do for you. I’ll lay it out before I leave, so you know what you’re up against. So listen carefully.”

  Blood seemed to fill Crockett’s ears. He heard the fast thumping of his heart. And above it, Dave’s voice.

  “This has tilted the other way,” Dave said. “With the hard drive as evidence, no jury will buy your version of last night’s events. They will send you to prison based on three things. Previous complaints against you. You collect child porn. A cop found a twelve-year-old girl in your bedroom. That spells pedophile. Not even sure if your neighbor’s alibi could help you at this point.”

  Crockett made it to his feet. “I am not a pedophile!”

  Dave shrugged, but Crockett noticed a hint of regret in his eyes.

  “If you are innocent,” Dave said, “then God help you. He’s the only friend you’ve got.”

  Sixteen

  efore the orange jumpsuit and general holding, after administrative procedures, Crockett was allowed his one phone call.

  Julie. He needed to convince her to believe in him. Someone had to believe in him.

  When she answered the phone, he told her where he was. “I’ve got nowhere else to turn right now.”

  “I heard from Dave.” Her voice was ice. “He’s in the backyard right now with Mickey, playing catch. Mickey cried for about an hour, waiting for you to take him to the zoo. At least Dave’s here to help him feel better.”

  It washed over Crockett again. Dave was right. People simply didn’t make it back after the pedophile card was played, especially teachers.

  Holding the phone so hard that the skin tight against his knuckles hurt, Crockett also realized that he felt worse about Mickey’s disappointment than the fact that he was going to be incarcerated indefinitely unless he somehow made bail. Great that his love for the kid was bigger than any other problem that Crockett could face. Not so great that this was one of the few problems that would take Crockett away from Mickey.

  “That’s why I’m calling,” Crockett said. “We’ve got to fight this. Mickey needs a dad. I need Mickey.”

  “Dave said you spent the night with a twelve-year-old girl from your class. He said you used a neighbor for an alibi, but she’s unreachabl
e. He said the cops found a hard drive with child porn in your attic. Do I have that right? And what about those other complaints on your file? Interesting how you managed to keep that out of custody hearings.”

  “Those complaints weren’t on my file. Ever. The twelve-year-old came to me for help, and I sent her next door to spend the night with my neighbor, Nanna. I don’t know … maybe the same person who planted the hard drive abducted Nanna. I know none of it makes any sense, Julie, but I’m innocent.”

  “Any idea how weak that sounds?” Nothing in Julie’s voice softened.

  “You’re right. It is weak. Which points to it being true. If I were lying, don’t you think I’d come up with something stronger?”

  “Dave says the girl probably started the fire as a cry for help. Maybe because you already had a relationship with her and she wanted it exposed. He said maybe she started it and when she came to you, you used her fear to leverage her into staying.”

  “Tell him the knife in my back is sticking through. What’s with you and Dave anyway? Why is he telling you all this? Has he made a move on you or something?”

  “At least I’m an adult. Not a young girl.”

  “Come on, Julie.” He ran his hand through his hair. “This is insane. You know me.”

  “Do I?”

  “Look,” Crockett said. “Alimony, child support. I’ve always exceeded the settlement papers. That’s because it’s best for you and Mickey. Is that kind of person a pedophile?”

  “Dave says—”

  “Seriously, what’s with you and Dave? Something I need to know?”

  “My private life is not your business. I’m going to hang up.”

  “No.” Crockett’s throat felt raspy. “I’m stressed to the breaking point here. Saying things I shouldn’t. Don’t go.”

  “Why did you call, Crockett?”

  “I needed you to know that I am innocent. To hear the truth in my voice. But also.” He hesitated, but he had to ask. “I need someone to sign for bail. I gave you the house and—”

  “No, Crockett. You didn’t give it to me. It was a negotiated settlement.”

  “Fine, whatever. I just … I don’t have much for assets. I give as much of my monthly income to you as possible, so I don’t have savings. If—”

  “So you’re trying to guilt me into giving you something?”

  “No! I’m trying to explain why I need to ask you to sign for bail. Something is wrong, someone, for some reason, is out to hurt me, and I can’t solve it from inside.”

  Silence.

  “Julie?”

  “I’ve got to go,” she said.

  “That’s it? No help?”

  “Gotta go, Crockett.”

  Crockett knew the tone of her voice. This was the unyielding I-won’t-change-my-mind tone.

  “Can I talk to Mickey?” Crockett asked.

  “Not a good idea,” she said, and hung up the phone.

  Seventeen

  nstead of being forced to go into juvie, Jaimie had been officially signed into Dr. Mackenzie’s custody. She sat in a beanbag chair in Dr. Mackenzie’s library at the Bright Lights Center, out in the Malibu hills, with Dr. Mackenzie and some priest guy named O’Hare she’d just met. He was a big, blocky man and seemed nice enough. Dr. Mackenzie told Jaimie that Father O’Hare was from Rome and would be with them for the next couple of days until after Pope Someone Number had died. She didn’t really pay attention to the name because what she thought was cool was the number part of the pope’s name, which got her thinking that maybe she could call herself Jaimie Piper One. While she was thinking about that, they took turns explaining how Jaimie needed to meet this Pope Someone Number and help them with the new Pope Someone Number, who wasn’t Someone Number yet but would choose a new name and number when he was elected, which got her to thinking about not only a number at the end of her name, but a totally new name. Pope-ess Anne of Green Gables Two?

  Dr. Mackenzie and O’Hare were both looking at her expectantly now, because they wanted her to tell them if she would help with both of the Someone Numbers. They wanted to give her a way to fight back against Evil.

  Jaimie needed to think about it from all angles. She was dealing with adults, after all, and she had learned that when adults offered a deal, it was rarely as simple as they made it sound.

  She looked beyond them, out the window at the view of the hills. The Bright Lights Center was a ranch that had once belonged to movie star. It had this building with dorm rooms, plus some old cabins and a couple of barns. And a high chain-link fence. Not to keep people out. To keep people in.

  Jaimie didn’t care how the brochure description and fund-raiser blurbs described the Bright Lights Center. She knew it was a place for misfits like her, and she was even more of a misfit now that the house fire made her an official juvenile delinquent.

  Not that she minded being there. Dr. Mackenzie had brought her to Bright Lights for a lot of weekends over the past six months.

  Most of the time, seeing the hills through the big window at the Bright Lights Center calmed her. Feeding the horses here at Bright Lights made her feel really good. She didn’t have to pretend to be tough in front of the horses. Some of the kids hated the quiet, didn’t like walking on the paths in the hills, but Jaimie loved both. Time slowed down there. She even liked stopping to look at bugs, although she wondered if people would tease her about being like a little kid if they knew she liked the bugs. She found a caterpillar last week, fuzzy and yellow with a brown stripe running down most of its body. That was cool. She’d found a plastic container, filled it with dirt, put some grass on top, and made it a mini-zoo for the caterpillar. She’d spent two hours on the Internet and learned it was a Walters Saturnia Moth. That was cool too, feeling like a scientist.

  Right now, though, Jaimie didn’t feel cool or calm. It wasn’t that she was currently having the dark feelings that made her afraid of Evil. Dr. Mackenzie was here to protect her, and so was the priest. They were going to help her hunt Evil so Evil couldn’t hunt her.

  Jaimie’s tension wasn’t from distrust of these two either. Dr. Mackenzie wasn’t a pretender. You could see it easily in adults who were pretenders. Some would talk nice to you when other people were around, but when you were alone, would yap or snap or snarl. Other pretenders treated you like toddlers, smirking at you with superior smiles.

  Probably what had first convinced Jaimie to relax around Dr. Mackenzie was her clothes. Old stuff. Used stuff. Baggy. No pretending there. Jaimie thought Dr. Mackenzie could probably look smoking hot if she wore makeup and did something with her thick blond hair, but that wasn’t Dr. Mackenzie’s style. No pretending. So if Dr. Mackenzie said it was okay to trust this Father O’Hare from Rome, then it was okay.

  The reason Jaimie was on edge was because she felt bad about Mr. G.

  She had seen something on television about him. Arrested for inappropriate stuff with school girls. No way was it true. She knew it had happened because of the fire and the Evil that hunted her and because she had gone to him for help. It nagged at her like the hangnail on her thumb that she tore off with her teeth as she looked at Dr. Mackenzie and Father O’Hare.

  Jaimie felt guilty that she didn’t feel nearly as bad about her latest foster dad, who had died in the fire. She’d hardly known him anyway. This foster dad had been a yeller, so she’d just tuned him out.

  Jaimie hadn’t done anything to start the fire. She guessed the Evil guy who visited that night did, but even if she had warned the entire family that the guy was Evil, they wouldn’t have listened. It didn’t seem real to her anyway, that this foster dad was dead.

  What did seem real was Mr. G in trouble and that truly was her fault. She should have known better than to get near his house when Evil was hunting her, because it naturally drew Evil into Mr. G’s life.

  “Jaimie?” Dr. Mackenzie prompted her.

  They were waiting for her to agree to help with Pope Something Number.

  Maybe there was a way to
help Mr. G and make up for getting him in trouble. Adults weren’t the only ones who could make deals.

  Instead of answering them about Rome, Jaimie asked a question in return.

  “I want to know what we can do about Mr. G,” Jaimie said, fully aware that Father O’Hare was staring at her. “Not the pope.”

  Weird, Jaimie thought, that half the world treated an old man like God, even though the pope was in a hospital, living through tubes, somewhere in a country where people didn’t speak American. Weirder that Father O’Hare was here because he needed her. And weirder what they were saying to her about the pope. Good thing was they needed her, and she knew it.

  Jaimie spit the piece of fingernail on the floor. Dr. Mackenzie winced.

  “Sorry,” Jaimie said. She kicked at the fingernail. She looked up at Father O’Hare, who was hiding a smile. She figured he must be okay. That was the thing, for Jaimie. She needed to make quick judgments about the adults who stepped in and out of her world. And the quick judgments better be accurate.

  “No need to apologize,” Dr. Mackenzie said. “I need to be better about letting little things go. Really. What is it you want us to do about your teacher?”

  Dr. Mackenzie was decent for someone wound so tight. Even though she dressed loose and sloppy, Dr. Mackenzie had the kind of tightness that a lot of foster kids shared, like tightening your whole body when someone was about to hit you. Jaimie’s tightness. Trying to stay wrapped up so no one could get through.

  “You have to help Mr. G out of jail,” she said. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “We’ll help,” O’Hare said.

  “I hear stuff like that all the time,” Jaimie said. “It’s like when a president says he’s going to help the country. A lot of times, he’s kinda shy on details, and not much gets done.”

  Father O’Hare shook his head, smiling. “We learn younger and younger, don’t we.”