by Kate Merrill
“Well, fingerprints, yes…” he muttered. “But that’s a little thin, isn’t it?”
Matthew’s ears pricked when he sensed a sympathetic tone in His Honor’s voice. Mecklin had prepared him to understand that all judges were different---a conservative might set an unreasonably high bail, while a more human specimen might read the evidence and consider Ginny’s arrest an overreach.
Mecklin spoke up. “You are correct, Your Honor. Ms. Troutman’s fingerprints are all they have.”
Matthew saw a flicker of hope in his daughter’s dark eyes as she listened. He felt the same. The judge’s boyish pink cheeks were flushed as pink as his shirt as he ran a pudgy hand through his crew cut red hair. Suddenly this “baby judge” reminded Matthew of his dentist, and his dentist was a nice guy.
“On the other hand,” the judge continued. “Ms. Troutman is a resident of Nevada. She has been in North Carolina less than a month, so she must be considered a flight risk.”
Mecklin got to his feet. “But Ms. Troutman is mother to a six-year-old daughter, and her father, Mr. Matthew Troutman, is a pillar of our community. His family has lived here for generations, and…”
The pink judge raised his hand to silence the lawyer. “Yeah, yeah, yeah---I know Trout.” He grinned at Matthew, who was sweating in his suit. “I’ve been in your store a hundred times. When I was a little kid, you gave me free ice cream. When I was a teenager, you refused to sell me beer and cigarettes.”
Matthew blinked. For the life of him, he could not remember this man, but then again, his mind was a roller coaster of ups and downs. He hoped the judge’s fond memories would serve Ginny well.
Mecklin seized the occasion. “We request that Ms. Troutman be released into Matthew Troutman’s custody---on her own recognizance.”
Again the baby judge lifted his hand. “Aw give me a break, Geek. This is a felony murder charge, so ROR is out of the question. But I’m tired and I wanna go home.” He smiled at Matthew. “I understand you have already made arrangements to post bail. Are you listening, Ms. Troutman?” He frowned at the monitor.
Everyone stared at Ginny, who nodded her head.
“Then I hereby set bail at five hundred thousand dollars, and once it’s been posted, you are free to go, Ms. Troutman---but not too far, you hear?”
He read Ginny the conditions of her release, and told everyone they would be notified of the dates of her upcoming court appearances by mail and by phone.
He stood and yawned. “That’s all, folks.” Mildred turned off the monitor and closed her machine. “Now go get your girl, Trout, and enjoy your weekend.”
Matthew heaved a sigh of relief and peeled off his coat once the officials had left the room. “What do you think, Mecklin?”
“I think you were damned lucky, Trout. I guess the judge likes you, because that’s a low bail, under the circumstances.”
“He knew the evidence is shabby. They’ll never convict my daughter with that garbage.”
Mecklin Adams refused to meet Matthew’s gaze. He got busy picking at his fingernails. “I’m afraid there’ll be more for us to worry about by the time Ginny comes to trial.”
“What do you mean more?” Matthew was sick and tired of legal games.
“It wasn’t in the file, but it’s coming.”
“Spit it out, son.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you, Trout. That part is lawyer/client privileged.”
“But I’m Ginny’s father, and I pay the bills---including yours.”
“If you want the truth,” Mecklin said. “You’ll have to ask Ginny.”
THIRTY-ONE
Ginny…
Her favorite matron allowed her to dress in her wheat pants suit, the same outfit she’d worn to Trev’s arraignment. The clothes weren’t too disgusting, considering someone had balled them up and stuffed them into a locker along with her other possessions, one week ago. Ginny longed for her makeup bag, but hey, a girl couldn’t have everything.
This matron, who’d been tending her during second shift, wasn’t too obnoxious. She was a single mom, like Ginny, so they understood one another. Best of all, the woman looked the other way when Trev’s visiting period ended and always let him stay an extra ten minutes. And he’d come to see her almost every afternoon.
Once she finished dressing, the matron took her into a holding room where a stranger with a briefcase was waiting.
“Miz Troutman? I’m your bail bondsman.” He smiled, exposing two gold caps where his incisors should have been. “I’ve done all the paperwork. The criminal database burped up your conviction in Vegas, but the cops already knew about that. So as soon as your daddy gets here and writes me a check, you’re good to go.” He blew his nose and fidgeted in his seat.
Ginny understood his discomfort. The whole place stank of disinfectant that never quite covered the odor of a bunch of women locked up together---their sweat and their fear.
“You’re lucky to have a daddy like Matthew Troutman. He’s coughing up fifty thousand for you today.”
“Yeah, I know.” Ginny inspected her fingernails, where bits of chipped polish clung like lichen on pink bark. She’d die for an emery board and some remover. Thing was, she was humbly grateful to Trout and needed her daddy. She had cried stupid tears each time he came to visit, but they had always been separated by a Plexiglas window, when all she wanted was one of his big, comforting bear hugs.
The bondsman continued to fidget. “Look, Miz Troutman, will you excuse me a couple of minutes? Call of nature…”
“Yeah, sure.” Once he left to take a leak, Ginny wandered to the heavy metal security door and peered through the chicken wire glass to the lobby. The usual collection of scared-looking family members and tacky boyfriends were assembled to visit with their loser loved ones. But then, sitting ramrod straight in his chair in the corner, she spotted Trev.
Her heart stopped. Did he realize she was about to be released? How the hell did he know? He was so handsome in his crisply ironed tan shirt and casual kakis. His brown dockside deck shoes looked clean and new, like military spit n’ polish. In general, Trev was always excessively neat, while Ginny was a slob. She seldom made up her bed, but visualized Trev bouncing a dime on his tightly made cot, like they did in those boot camp movies. They were an unlikely pair.
She liked how Trev had allowed his curly black hair to grow out like it was when they were kids, but she hated the expression he wore in those unguarded moments when he thought she wasn’t looking. His deep blue eyes stared straight ahead, like he was watching ghosts, and similar to those other lost souls assembled in the waiting room, he also looked frightened.
Ginny tapped the glass, got his attention, and his haunted stare dissolved into a broad smile. His eyes focused and danced as he strode to her window, where he pressed one large hand against the glass. She spread her fingers against the glass, inside his handprint, which would have been a no-no before she got her walking papers. But at the moment, no guard was there to stop her.
He took his hand away and gave her the V for victory sign and mouthed the word “congratulations.” She mouthed “thanks.” They couldn’t hear one another through the sound-proof barrier, so Trev ambled over to the dour receptionist, who was also behind security glass, and charmed her out of a pencil and some paper. He made a sign for Ginny, held it to the window:
“Have dinner with me?”
Her heart stalled again. She knew damned well Trout would have a celebration planned back at the lake. Ginny had visualized it a million times---ribs on the grill and a big “welcome home” cake. Next to Daddy’s bear hug, the party idea had kept her putting one foot in front of the other as she’d sleep-walked through the prison routine. She shook her head “no.”
Trev tapped again. He scribbled a second note in much larger letters.
“PLEASE?”
Oh god. She searched his expectant eyes and realized they still needed to talk. Under the watchful gaze of the blasted guards, Ginny had avoid
ed the one topic she most needed to discuss with Trev. He held up a third sign and rapped harder.
“PRETTY PLEASE?”
Sweet Jesus, the man was persistent, and she was crazy. Trev was still deeply in love with the dead Lori. That had been clear each time they met. He bled his pain from a big hole in his heart, so she was insane to agree. Yet she had traveled half way across the country to do this thing.
So Ginny lifted her face and said, “okay.”
THIRTY-TWO
Matthew…
Matthew feared his swollen heart would explode if they made him wait one more minute. The bondsman met them at security, then took them into a stuffy office where Matthew signed the check and the release papers.
“Are we done?” He tossed the pen on the table.
“Sure thing, Mr. Troutman.” The bondsman’s golden incisors sparkled.
Matthew stared. “So what are we waiting for?”
Mecklin placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “Ginny is ready. They’ll meet us in reception.”
Matthew led the double-time parade to the waiting room, then all three men rushed the taciturn clerk behind the window and passed her the papers. While she lifted her glasses and took her sweet time reading each line, Matthew thought he’d gag on the ammonia stench. He was sick to the gills of the jailhouse smell. Finally, the infuriating clerk climbed to her feet and exited the back of her cubicle through a sinister steel door.
“They’ll bring Ginny out now,” Mecklin assured him.
Matthew’s vision blurred and his pulse raced. The others waiting in the sad room became watery, unrecognizable shadows. He heard the door open, then both Mecklin and the bondsman rushed past him to greet his daughter. They pumped her hand, then parted so she could break through.
Suddenly she was in his arms. “Daddy!” she sang into his ear as he crushed her in a hug.
Ginny felt so tiny, like a frightened, trembling creature come in from the wild. He felt her warm tears on his neck, then he buried his face in her soft hair. No more jailhouse, only the smell of his sweet little girl. His Ginny.
“You okay, honey?” he whispered against her ear.
“Not really. Are you okay, Daddy?”
“I’m okay now.” He extracted himself and looped his arm around her waist. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”
As they moved towards freedom, Matthew heard several people in chairs clap and cheer. Some woman in a uniform called out to Ginny and wished her good luck, while Mecklin and the bondsman followed them into the parking lot.
He took a gulp of fresh air. The sun had begun its descent in the western sky, and the oppressive heat of the day had given way to the cool of evening as Matthew guided his daughter towards his truck, with Mecklin and the bondsman close on their heels. The two men wanted more congratulations, more handshakes. They couldn’t seem to get enough of the magical reunion, so Ginny thanked them both and sent them on their way.
“Are you ready to go home, honey?”
“God yes, Daddy!” Yet she lagged behind.
“So hop in the truck…”
Only then did Matthew spot the lone figure standing several paces away, his face obscured by the long shadow of the prison wall. He realized this man had followed them out, and Ginny tensed as the stranger approached.
“What do you want?” Matthew demanded. “If you’re a reporter, go away.”
“No, Daddy, it’s Trev Dula, don’t you see?”
Matthew didn’t see. Not at all. He squeezed his moist eyes and looked again. The fellow was straight and tall as a flagpole as he walked closer.
“Hello, sir, it’s good to see you again.” The man held out a stiff hand.
Matthew ignored it. He saw the man was uncertain. “Get lost, Dula. You’re not welcome here.”
“Please don’t say that, Daddy.” Ginny gripped his arm. “I know it’s hard, but Trev has invited me to dinner tonight.”
A sudden anger rose up in Matthew. His hands involuntarily clenched. “But you said ‘no,’ didn’t you, Ginny?”
Ginny started to cry. Her sobs came from somewhere too deep to fathom, and all at once Matthew glimpsed the black shadow in her heart, the one he’d try to describe to Diana. He now knew for certain that Ginny was hiding something---a secret, a shame, something to do with Trevor Dula.
Matthew’s hands relaxed, He was terrified for his girl, yet he couldn’t abide her tears. Ginny’s mother once told Matthew he possessed a “woman’s intuition” when it came to their only child. At the time, he hadn’t known whether to be flattered or humiliated by her remark. Yet over the years, long after his wife’s death, her instinct had proven to be true. Unfortunately, Matthew had used his power poorly. In Ginny’s difficult teenage years, he had seen through her schemes---the drugs and the alcohol---and used his intuition to punish her, not help her. And in the end, he’d driven her away.
“I promise to bring her home early, sir,” Trevor said.
Matthew did not want to make the same mistake twice. “Is this what you want, Ginny?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she pleaded. “So long as you save me some cake. There is a cake, isn’t there?”
He would have laughed, but it hurt too much. “Yeah, it’s chocolate, your favorite.”
“Then please tell Lissa I love her, and I’ll be home in time to tuck her in. And tell Diana I love her, too.” Ginny dried her tears. “Will you do that, Daddy?”
Too much emotion. The last thing Matthew expected was his daughter’s declaration of love for Diana. Far as he’d seen up to then, their relationship had been one of mutual tolerance at best.
“I’ll tell them.” He almost choked on the words as he felt Ginny’s hand slip away.
“Thank you, Mr. Troutman. I appreciate this,” Trevor said.
Was it his imagination, or was the tough-as-nails soldier blushing? Matthew remembered only bad things about Trevor, but people do change. Lord knew Matthew was trying to change. But it was a challenge. He almost called Ginny back as she gave him a shy little wave, took Trevor’s hand, then walked away towards her date’s Jeep, which was parked at the opposite end of the lot.
She did not look back.
Matthew experienced an ache behind his breastbone as he climbed into his truck and opened the glove box. Diana had insisted he take her cell phone, to call her the second Ginny was free. He glanced at the sun falling into a stand of pines in the distance and made the call to tell Diana he was coming home---empty-handed.
THIRTY-THREE
Ginny…
Being in Trev’s Jeep again messed with her head. It was like being time-warped back to high school with a horny boyfriend at her side. Back then the car smelled like pot and suppressed sex. Trev kept rum in the glove box and a six-pack of Cokes on the floor. The interior had been littered with fast food bags, and once when Ginny was contorted on her back across the uncomfortable front seats, with Trev on top of her, she remembered focusing on an abandoned French fry lying stiff on the rubber floor mats.
No more. Today the Jeep was like the man---neat and polished. It smelled of Trev’s subtly spicy aftershave and car wax, and the windows were spotless---as opposed to being fogged up from heavy breathing and smudged with both fingerprints and footprints.
But what really tripped her out now, as they rode through the peaceful countryside, was that the Jeep had become a symbol for Lori Fowler’s murder. Ginny couldn’t drive the image away---Trev’s car in the dead girl’s driveway. And it was the damned car that got them both in trouble.
They had been shy with one another, not spoken one word as they left the town limits behind and drove through darkening fields. But Ginny had to ask. “Trev, were you at Lori’s the morning she died?”
He eased up on the accelerator and pulled off to the side of the road. When he cut the engine and rolled down the windows, she heard tree frogs singing and the faraway droning of a private plane cruising above the lake.
“I told you before, Ginny. I wasn’t there. You know I lo
ved Lori. Why would I harm her? And why won’t you believe me?”
She wanted to trust him, yet she couldn’t erase the horror. “Then please explain why your car was there. Your alibi from the VA hospital doesn’t work, and you know it. After you dropped off your friends, you had time to return home, pick up the Jeep, and drive to Lori’s house before Diana and I arrived.”
Trev’s body tensed. She felt his frustration even though she had attached herself to the passenger door, out of accidental touching range.
“You’re right, Ginny, but you’re also dead wrong. After I left the guys at the pancake house, I drove around to clear my head. Seeing my buddy James go into convulsions, then miss his birthday party, put me into a bad place. Brought back memories I’d just as soon forget.
“I drove to Lake Norman State Park and just sat there---maybe two hours. When I drove my station wagon home that day, the Willy’s was parked in my driveway, just where I left it.”
She searched his face for lies, but saw only truth. “Okay, so who took your car?”
Trev exhaled, loosened the top two buttons of his shirt. “God knows it could have been anyone. Hate to say it, but I always leave my keys in the ignition. Everybody knows it---my army buddies, even the kid who mows my fields.”
Ginny sighed. “Like an open invitation. So who usually borrows it?”
Trev gazed out the window. “Well, Paula sometimes takes it grocery shopping when Uncle Maynard’s using their old Cadillac. But Paula hates the Jeep, claims it’s so bumpy it knocks her tailbone up her ass. Sorry, her words, not mine. I guess Maynard uses it most, though. My uncle loves that car. Says it takes him back to the sixties. He even threatened to paint a daisy on its hood, or some such nonsense.”