Isolated Judgment

by Jonathan Watkins

  “Why are you covered in mud? Did it rain mud?”

  “Izzy, do you really want to know?”

  She stared at him for a while without saying anything. Then she bent over and started collecting the papers together into a pile.

  “That’s going to be a conversation, you know,” she said without looking at him. “But, yes, let’s get out of here. I’m beyond exhaustion.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a conversation.”

  She set the pile of papers on the laptop and slung her purse over her shoulder.

  “Hiding a dead body?” she mused, and cradled both the laptop and the papers under one arm. “Hmm. Yes, I think that’s a conversation. As long as my name and yours are on the same fee agreement? Yep. That’s a conversation. Call me old-fashioned, Darren, but I like to talk it out when my legal partner implicates me in felonies. I’m kooky that way.”

  “Beautiful, too,” he said. “Transcendently lovely.”

  She snorted and pushed past him.

  “You’re covered in grave dirt and I smell like dead person bed,” she quipped as she went out the door. “Romantic distraction is probably the weakest card in your deck at the moment.”

  He followed after her, padding along with his shoes in his hand and droplets of water trailing behind him.

  “But just at the moment, right?”

  Chapter Five

  It was late. The storm had passed an hour before.

  Darren stepped up to the front desk of the Put-in-Bay Resort Hotel and Conference Center. He felt like a wet, miserable dog. Beside him, Issabella didn’t appear to be faring any better. Her hair hung lump and her face was etched with exhaustion.

  Darren yawned and offered the desk attendant a bleak smile.

  “We’ll need a room,” he said to the desk attendant.

  “This gets billed,” she said through a yawn.

  “We’ll need your most expensive room,” he corrected himself.

  * * *

  Issabella woke in darkness. There had been a sound. A voice? She reached out to her right, but the bed was empty.

  “Darren?”

  “No, baby.” His voice, so soft she wasn’t sure he had spoken at first. He was whispering a plea. But not to her. “Stay here. Don’t go out. Just this once. Stay here with me.”

  She fumbled around until her hand found the bedside lamp. She pushed the little button on its base, and the room was suddenly real around her. She blinked against the sudden light, and saw him there on the floor.

  Darren was on one knee, facing away from her. His hands were in the air in front of him, suspended, as if he was holding on to some invisible thing. A thick scar ran over his right shoulder, whiter than the flesh around it, from when he had been shot while in a Marquette crematorium trying to protect her.

  Scars. He had more than one. They weren’t all visible.

  “Stay with me, Shoshanna...”

  “Darren,” she said, loud.

  He shivered, his full length from toe to scalp, as if doused in cold water. He spun on one heel to face her, and the expression on his face was a mixture of surprise, terror and loss as his mouth made a sorrowful O. His arms fell slack to his sides, and his shoulders slumped. She saw his eyes focus, and knew he was back in the room with her, back from a yesterday he couldn’t let go.

  “Izzy?”

  “Come back to bed, sweetheart.”

  He did, silently, rising up from the floor slowly. He moved with a leaden exhaustion, his handsome face slack, his eyes bleak. Once he was back under the covers, she found his hand with hers and squeezed.

  “I’m sorry about that, Izzy,” he whispered, hoarse with emotion.

  “Don’t be. Just sleep, okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I love you, Darren.”

  He squeezed her hand and was silent.

  * * *

  When morning wandered in through the windows, Darren woke her with kisses and Issabella almost forgave him for illegally burying a dead man. Later, he held her up off the tiled shower floor, pinning her to the wall while the water ran over them, between them, and she forgave him entirely.

  By the time they were wrapped in terry-cloth robes and munching the breakfast Darren ordered, Issabella had put the issue of Daniel Prosner’s secret burial mostly out of mind. She chewed her apple Danish and looked at Darren sitting beside her. His hair was a damp pile of dark, uncombed curls and his jaw was still heavily whiskered despite the two showers he’d had since they’d been in the room.

  Darren was Darren, she decided. He never meant ill, and when he did baffling, reckless things it was because he thought he was morally right to do them.

  More than that, the dark shadow of the previous night seemed to have lifted from him entirely. He smiled at her, chewed his food and stared out at the morning light with a simple, clear-eyed enthusiasm. If his demons were securely locked away again, Issabella had no interest in poking at him and rousing them again.

  “Okay,” she said. “Tell me why you had to help bury him.”

  Darren had gathered up the papers Issabella had brought with her from Daniel’s room. He was halfheartedly perusing them. When he heard her question, he shrugged and said, “A man my age doesn’t let a man Ludolf’s age do that kind of work alone.”

  “A guy thing? You’re saying you’d take that risk for a...what? An unspoken guy code?”

  “I would. And did. Have you looked at the laptop yet?”

  “Nope. I have eaten, slept and been ravished. The laptop is on the list of things to do, though.”

  “So what do you make of this?” he said, and pointed toward the pile of papers.

  “Are we playing our game now?”

  Darren grinned and sipped his coffee. “Always.”

  She leaned over and grabbed up the pile. “Okay. This is a registrar’s class schedule from two years ago. Apparently Daniel was taking a medieval history class at U of M. Which I think sounds fun. I was almost a history major, once.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “The siren song of filthy lucre. I’m still waiting for that part to come into its own.”

  “This case helps.”

  “This case isn’t even a real case.”

  “The money’s real. Stop stalling.”

  She set that sheet aside and held another in the air. Darren winced when he looked at it.

  “This one,” she continued, “is a very crudely drawn attempt at a naked woman in a rather vulgar pose. I have a theory about that, by the way.”

  “Let’s hear it. And, yes, that’s not remotely attractive.”

  “I’m glad you agree. Okay, so he’s been on the Judge’s island a year, right?”

  “Apparently.”

  “And the only two guys out there are ancient. They don’t have internet. Ludolf probably doesn’t even know what the internet is.”

  “There’s a satellite dish on the west end of the island,” Darren agreed. “But, no, I doubt that includes the web.”

  “And poor Daniel,” she continued, “being the modern man he was, didn’t have physical...erotica? I like that word. Better than porno, anyway. So, he doesn’t have anything like that, and he’s stranded with no internet. So finally he gets fed up and scribbles out this really awful thing as his, you know...aid.”

  Darren nodded along while he spread a square of butter over half a bagel.

  “He gave her a pretty good face, though,” he mused. “Which is a little weird, I guess. I mean, you’d think he’d have focused on the, ah, other attributes. Either way, I think your theory is sound. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have even the slightest bearing on our task, Izzy dear. Anything else, counselor, or is dissecting incompetent pornography the totality of your case?”

&
nbsp; Issabella skimmed through the remaining pages, a wrinkle of concentration appearing between her eyebrows. After a few passes through the pile, she set it all back down and rolled her eyes in defeat.

  “Ugh. My entire case is dissecting pornography. The rest are just weird notes that don’t say anything. This game sucks.”

  Darren’s crooked grin appeared. He plucked one of the pages out of the pile and set it in front of them.

  “Silly girl,” he teased. “What’s this here?”

  “A weird note. I don’t know. Ideas for a badly written story about swords and stupid boy things.”

  The sheet of paper had several scrawled columns of acronyms Issabella hadn’t been able to decode. There were also words like sword and dagger and amulet of protection written under the heading belongings.

  “It’s a character sheet. He’s a gamer,” Darren offered. “Was. Was a gamer. You know, Dungeons and Dragons? A group of socially awkward boys huddled together with funny dice? Is this all before your time?”

  It was Issabella’s turn to smirk.

  “Obviously, it wasn’t before your time.”

  “Don’t start.”

  “You were one of those socially awkward boys, weren’t you?”

  Darren sipped his coffee and didn’t say anything.

  “Oh my God, you were. You totally were. This is adorable. Did you play a knight or a dragon?”

  “You can’t play the dragon, Izzy. The monsters were the enemies. And yes, I played a knight. A paladin, to be specific. His name was Durwin Hawksilver. A truer knight, never there was.”

  Issabella was smiling and leaning forward, ready to tease him again, but a knock on the door interrupted them. Darren rose. When he came back and sat down, Chief Fish was in tow. The chief extended a hand to Issabella, nudged his glasses up with a thumb and looked at the two of them in their terry-cloth robes amid their leisurely breakfast.

  Issabella felt a prickling of apprehension at the sight of the chief standing there, but she kept it off her face. Hoping it wasn’t obvious, she gathered up the assorted papers from the table and set them down on the carpet between her and Darren.

  “What’s the news, Chief?” Darren said, and gestured toward one of the other two chairs at the little dining table. Chief Fish nodded and sat. He set his cap in his lap and reflexively began to withdraw his notebook and pen. He stopped, halfway through the action, and resnapped the clasp on his breast pocket without removing the notebook.

  “Just a friendly visit,” the chief said, as if he were reminding himself of that fact. “Denise, down at the tourist shop, mentioned she’d gotten a call from you asking for clothing to be delivered up to this room. I thought I’d swing by and see if there was a funny story attached.”

  Issabella poured a cup of coffee for the chief. While she did, she imagined Chief Fish riding the elevator up to their room, forming that excuse, practicing it until it sounded casual and good-natured.

  She wasn’t a particularly cynical person, and hoped that would never change. But in her brief time as a criminal defense lawyer, she’d gotten to understand cops, and the ways they worked. If one showed up at your door, in uniform, there was no reason in the world to believe it was a social visit. Any pleasantries were a thin façade, meant to conceal the true aim of inquiry.

  Issabella set the coffeepot down, and felt no alarm.

  “It is kind of funny,” she said, and beamed a smile at the chief. “Cream?”

  “Please. And a little sugar.”

  She fixed his coffee and handed him the mug, her warm smile never faltering. Chief Fish sipped the coffee, nodded and set it in front of him on the table.

  “Thank you. So. Tell me.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Your funny story.”

  “Right! Well, as you might have gathered, Darren can be a bit of an idiot,” she said, and one of her hands darted out to rest on Darren’s shoulder. She squeezed once, and when he made no sign of interrupting her, continued, “I was ready to just stay the night on the Judge’s isle. But Darren comes from money, and he isn’t at home unless pampering is a phone call away. So I let him convince me we could make it back here before the storm rolled in.”

  Chief Fish nodded along, a faint grin on his thin lips.

  “I thought you arrived after the storm passed,” he said.

  Darren cocked his head to one side and said, “How would you know that, Chief?”

  Chief Fish’s eyes, enlarged and swimming behind the thick lenses, darted from her to Darren. His mouth pursed, opened, but Issabella talked over them both.

  “Well, that’s the funny part,” she said. “We got halfway across when the boat stopped working. Stalled? I don’t know anything about boats. That’s not important. But anyway, Darren and Lou started fussing around with the motor and arguing about what to do. Men. And it took them precisely as long as the storm lasted to get it running again. That’s not an exaggeration. At the very moment the rain stopped soaking us, the motor made this burbling sound and we started moving again. So we get our nice room and breakfast, and all it cost us was an hour of wet misery and two sets of business attire. Isn’t that funny?”

  Chief Fish sipped his coffee again, and his eyes came to rest on the pile of ruined, dirt-caked clothing heaped on the table beside the television.

  “The mud,” Issabella said, as if reading his mind. “Darren fell when we were getting off the boat. Right into the water. Literally, a belly flop. He doesn’t look it, but he’s unbelievably clumsy. He even fell again once he got to the shore.” She ran her hand through Darren’s curls and mumbled, “Poor thing.”

  Darren chuckled, and he stared at her with a hint of admiration.

  “That’s me,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek. Darren offered the chief a bagel from the two that remained, but Fish shook his head.

  “No, thank you. So, aside from the adventure in the storm, how was your visit with Judge Prosner? Is everyone well?”

  Darren started to answer, but again Issabella beat him to it.

  “I think he’s as well as can be expected for someone of his age,” she replied. “I think he keeps busy with the State Bar—disciplining inept and dishonest lawyers and that sort of thing. I’ve heard that’s the key to long life, keeping busy with work. Speaking of, Darren and I have really got to get hustling. We need to catch the morning ferry and trudge on back home. Is there anything else, Chief?”

  He was silent for a beat, as if asking himself that same question. Then he nudged his glasses up again and rose out his chair.

  “Nope,” he said, brushing at imaginary dust on the top of his cap. “I guess that about does it. Thanks for the coffee, Miss Bright. And if you see the Judge again, see if there’s anything I could do for him, would you? I could float on over his way now and then. You know, just to check on him.”

  “I’ll pass that along,” she agreed.

  Chief Fish was halfway to the door when Darren called to him over his shoulder.

  “Your boys ever find that boat?”

  Chief Fish stopped, but didn’t turn around.

  “Boat?”

  “The Bass Tackler. The one that went missing. Was it found?”

  “Oh,” Chief Fish said, and half-turned. “You know, it was. Some kid went joyriding is all. We found it floating not far from where it was supposed to have been tied up. Ah, well. Little island, these are the things that go on. You two have a safe trip back to Detroit.”

  When the chief was gone, and the door shut behind him, Issabella regarded Darren silently for a long moment. He patted his mouth with a napkin and arched a critical brow at her.

  “A bumbler? An idiot bumbler?”

  “People who secretly bury other people don’t get flattering lies told about them.”

  “And, wow, you were
lying. Just one after another, pouring out of that innocent face of yours.”

  Issabella grinned.

  “You don’t approve, Mr. Fletcher?”

  “Oh, I do. I do. I always approve of obfuscation where law enforcement is concerned. I’m principled that way.”

  “I think Chief Fish is suspicious of us.”

  “You didn’t believe this was a social call?”

  “Did you?”

  “No. I think that missing boat was how our mystery killer got to and from the Judge’s island. And I think unassuming, earnest and forthright Chief Fish just lied about it. The question, as always, Izzy dear, is ‘why’?”

  “This is getting exciting,” Issabella enthused, and stood up with the intention of tidying up the room before they dressed and departed. She hadn’t been lying about the ferry. They needed to take it to get across to Ohio, and from there lease a rental car for the trip to Detroit.

  All billable, she reminded herself, and stretched with a sense of keen satisfaction. An interesting case. The chance to beat Darren at his game again. And a sizeable sum to throw in the savings account. Issabella Bright, you don’t have much to complain about, do you?

  “God, you’re stunning, Izzy.”

  Darren was staring at her with unabashed fondness. He scratched at his whiskered chin and peered up at her like he was looking into the sun.

  “How exciting, really?” he said.

  “Hmm?”

  “You said it was exciting. How exciting is all this getting?”

  Issabella recognized the playful glint in his eyes. She made a shrugging motion and the terry-cloth robe fell to the carpet around her feet. There had been nothing underneath it but her. He stared at her in silence, and she had the impression he was testing himself to see how long he could remain where he was. She cocked her hip and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes nonchalantly.

  Darren grabbed her wrist and pulled them both down to the floor. His hands moved hungrily, and he kissed her for a long while, the breath from his nose hot on her cheek.

  “Bumbler?” he murmured between kisses.

  “Well, not always.”