Bryce frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Let’s say you were driving your car and a child ran out in front of you. You hit him. He died. He came out of nowhere, you didn’t see him until it was too late.”
“That would be an accident, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” Kendra looked at her hands, then back at Bryce. “Unless you were driving over the speed limit, or under the influence of alcohol, or breaking the law in some way when the accident occurred.”
“Okay, but I still don’t grasp what unlawful act Marshall thinks I committed in trying to get Skyler to breathe.”
Kendra laughed, a sweet bubbling sound Bryce wanted to hold on to for hours. “Me either.”
“Would I serve time?” Bryce picked up a paper clip, then nervously unwound the silver coil.
“Seven and a half to fifteen years. You might get out in four with good behavior.”
“I’d be out by the time I’m forty?” Bryce raised his eyebrows. “A sure thing?”
Kendra nodded. “Pretty much.”
“And if I don’t agree?” Bryce paced across his holding room, his hands still fingering the now straight wire of the paper clip.
Kendra grabbed his arm to stop the pacing. “We fight. Take our chances, present our case, and let the jury decide.”
“I say we go finish the trial and let the jury decide.” Bryce dropped back into the folding chair and tossed the useless paper clip into the garbage. “I’m tired of this victim shit. And I don’t like the idea of admitting to something I didn’t do.”
“Good for you.” Kendra reached across the table to shake Bryce’s hand, that rich girl grin spreading across her face. “One more thing,” she added. “I want you to know I’m calling Dana as our first witness tomorrow.”
An uneasiness fluttered in Bryce’s chest. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Kendra. I haven’t spoken a word to her since she and Scott moved out. For all I know she hates me and believes I’m responsible for Skyler’s death. I mean, maybe she’ll corroborate Reggie’s lie about the ice pick.”
“Look,” Kendra said. “Trust me on this. She’ll be a great witness. No one will have more influence with that jury than the child’s mother. She refused to testify for the prosecution and I think that tells us something. Besides, my old man is working on a lead.”
“I hope your hunch is right, Kendra.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
On Friday morning, Bryce took a deep breath and waited as Dana was sworn in and asked the usual questions.
“How long have you known the defendant, Caleb Bryce?”
“About a year.” Dana was dressed conservatively in a pale pink knit suit, her dark hair pulled back with a matching ribbon. Looking somehow innocent and childlike, she cupped her chin in her fingertips, the nails short and painted a soft rose color.
“What was the nature of your relationship?”
“At first we were just friends. He offered to give the boys and me a place to stay until I could afford an apartment. So, we moved into Bryce’s house in Ashland.”
“Was he good to your boys, Ms. Sterling?”
She hesitated for an instant. “Yes.”
It was difficult for Bryce to look at her because he could see Skyler in her face, something soft and glowing he never noticed before. He focused his gaze on the rapidly moving hands of the young interpreter signing in front of him.
“Did you ever see him mistreat either of your sons or suspect that he might have?”
“No, I never saw him hit either of them. Bryce was generally too easy on them, especially Scott. My Scotty can be a handful.”
“Did you ask Bryce to stay home with Scott and not come to the hospital the night of his seizure?”
“Yes, but I didn’t think Skyler was hurt so bad. I didn’t think he would die.”
Bryce glanced up as she hung her head and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, tears dropped from the corners. He glanced toward the jury box where two women dabbed at their own eyes.
“But,” she said through her sniffles. “He should have fixed the door.” She looked at Reggie Sterling, then quickly averted her gaze.
“Did you know Mr. Bryce at the time he ruptured his Achilles tendon?”
“Yes, ma’am, we were living together. The boys and I were in the stands at the baseball field when it happened.”
“How did the accident affect him physically?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Marshall called out from the prosecution table. “Calls for a medical opinion. This witness is not a physician.”
“Overruled.” Shapiro jotted something on a legal pad in front of him. “You may answer the question, Ms. Sterling.”
“He was in a cast for about six weeks. When they removed it, he had treatments—physical therapy. He was getting better, but still unsteady on his feet. He tripped and fell pretty often, especially if he tried to run.”
“Did you ever know Bryce to have in his possession or to use the drug Haloperidol?”
“No, ma’am. I never even heard of that drug. Bryce didn’t take any drugs stronger than an aspirin. He didn’t even get the prescription filled for his pain pills after his Achilles surgery.”
“Before I ask the next question, I want to remind you that you are under oath to tell the truth. Perjury is a punishable crime.” Kendra stepped back. “Do you understand that?”
Bryce lifted his gaze and locked on Dana.
“Yes, ma’am.” Her face tightened.
“Did Mr. Bryce ever hurt you in any way?”
She made a low sound in her throat, then focused her gaze on the far wall of the courtroom. A distant look came over her face, as if she had somehow disappeared into the mahogany paneled wall.
“Please answer the question, Ms. Sterling.” Judge Shapiro was patient, but stern.
Dana swallowed, her eyes hooded. “No.”
“Specifically,” Kendra continued. “Did he ever threaten you or stab you with an ice pick or anything else?”
Dana glanced at Reggie as if seeking permission, but he didn’t meet her gaze.
Anxiety grew, like an air bubble, in the center of Bryce’s chest. He held his breath. Please, Dana. Tell the truth.
“No,” she said quietly. “Bryce never hurt me.”
Bryce breathed. Thank you.
“Isn’t it true, Ms. Sterling, the small scars on your abdomen are from a surgical procedure? A tubal ligation?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s true.” With those words, Dana Sterling lowered her head and burst into tears.
The court recessed for ten minutes so Ms. Sterling could gain control of herself.
On cross-examination, Marshall asked only three questions. “Did Mr. Bryce mention Skyler’s fall down the front steps or his own alleged fall into the coffee table to you either on the phone or when you saw him in the surgical waiting room?”
“He told me about the fall down the steps in the surgical waiting room.”
“When did you learn of Bryce’s tripping over the coffee table?”
“The coffee table…let’s see…” Dana paused, clamped her eyes shut for a moment. “I think I heard about it for the first time when Ms. Palmer gave her opening statement.”
“Didn’t you think it strange his not mentioning something that important?” Marshall stepped from behind his table and stood only a few feet in front of the witness box.
“Not really,” Dana said, shaking her head. “It all happened so fast. Skyler was in surgery. We had more important things to worry about.”
Kendra made a note on her pad and passed it to Bryce. See, I told you, she made a great witness. And besides, my father found the doctor who performed her tubal ligation. She wasn’t about to lie with him sitting right next to my old man in the third row back.
* * *
It was nearly 2 p.m. on Sunday when Radhauser parked in the Lazy Lasso parking lot, near the back dumpster and waited. He knew if he went inside the Lasso, Bear
Evans would be on him, like a bee on honey.
With some help from Kendra and her father, they were granted a subpoena for Henry to appear as a witness for the defense, but Radhauser wanted to talk with him again first, without his father lurking over him. Henry bused tables and did odd jobs in the kitchen. With any luck, he would step outside to empty the trash.
When Radhauser met with the senior Reginald Sterling earlier that morning, he gleaned nothing new except that he was an even bigger pompous ass than his son. Mr. Sterling claimed Dana was nothing but a slut, his grandson a brat who needed discipline, and that Reggie was an idiot, but had his sobriety to worry about now and was much better off without either of them. He hadn’t come across as a man who’d risk anything to protect his son.
And that got Radhauser thinking about Bear, the way he put his arm around Henry’s shoulder—the way it appeared he wanted nothing more than to keep Henry safe. Radhauser also knew that Bear was fond of Bryce. It made much more sense that he was the one who placed the anonymous call to Kendra.
After an hour, Radhauser’s intuition paid off and Henry appeared carrying two large, black trash bags toward the dumpster. He wore a pair of high-top red Converse sneakers, pressed jeans, and a butcher-type white apron over his light blue T-shirt. His hair was cropped shorter than when Radhauser had last seen him.
He opened the car door and got out, then walked over and held the heavy dumpster lid open for Henry. “How’s it going, Mr. Philosopher?”
Henry looked up at him without a trace of guile. “I’m not really a philosopher. I’m just plain Henry.”
“Okay, just plain Henry. How’s it going for you?”
“My dad said I’m not supposed to talk to you unless he’s with me.” Henry pulled up the sleeve of his shirt, exposing a wide rubber band on his wrist. He snapped it several times, hard enough to sting. “I’m afraid my dad’s gonna be mad.”
Looking back on his earlier interview with Henry, Radhauser realized Henry hadn’t been snapping the elastic in the sleeve of his hoodie—he was snapping a rubber band on his wrist.
Radhauser smiled. For the first time since he arrested Bryce, he had a glimmer of hope that things might just work out for Bryce.
“No, he won’t be mad,” Radhauser said. “He likes me. I’m not stranger danger anymore. We’re just two people who bumped into each other in the parking lot. We’re talking. Like friends.”
“Sure. Reggie and Dana are my friends, too.” Henry snapped the rubber band again.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” Radhauser said.
“A little.”
“Why do you do it?”
“Dr. Durham showed me a trick for when I get nervous or feel like I’m going to shout out bad words. If I sting myself with the rubber band, I forget to say the cuss words. And that makes my dad happy.”
Radhauser gave him a big smile and tipped his Stetson. “That, Sir Henry, is a really great trick.”
Henry bowed.
“Did you know Skyler had a rubber band on his wrist?”
“Sure,” Henry said. “I gave it to him. Skyler screams a lot and Reggie hates it. I showed Skyler the trick Dr. Durham taught me. If he stopped screaming, Reggie and Dana would make up and Scott and Skyler could live with both their mommy and their daddy. My mom left when I was little. I miss her.”
“That’s a very nice thought, Henry. Did you do anything else to help Skyler?”
“Yeah, I—”
The door from the kitchen opened.
Henry stopped talking and backed up against the dumpster, snapping the rubber band on his wrist again and again.
Bear stormed out. “Go back inside, Henry. You’ve got tables to bus.”
He waited until Henry closed the door into the kitchen, then grabbed Radhauser by the shoulders. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I was preparing Henry for his testimony on Tuesday.”
“What are you talking about? Henry’s not testifying. I already told you, he didn’t have anything to do with this mess.”
Radhauser handed Bear the subpoena. “Have him in court at 9 a.m. sharp, or you’ll be arrested for impeding a murder investigation.”
“He doesn’t know anything. He follows Reggie around like a puppy. Henry’s got the mind of a seven-year-old. He’s not responsible…” Bear stopped himself. His face went dark for an instant before he turned and hurried into the restaurant without saying another word.
Radhauser drove to the police station, hoping Detective Vernon, a well-known workaholic who often came in on a Sunday afternoon, might be available to help him. And sure enough, Vernon’s car was parked in the lot and Murphy’s wasn’t.
The sun streamed through Vernon’s first-floor window, the low blinding sun of a late November afternoon. “I know I’m suspended,” Radhauser said. “But I’m close to solving the Sterling murder case and I need your help.”
“No problem,” Vernon said. “Murphy screwed up. He should have given us more time.”
He asked Vernon to find every Dr. Durham in a twenty-mile radius of Ashland. “Start with psychiatrists. Bryce said Henry had some psychiatric issues.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Vernon said, then turned to go, but Radhauser stopped him.
“One more thing. What’s the name of that condition people have where they shout out cuss words? You know what I mean? It starts with a t and it’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t seem to spit it out. The one where people are sitting in church or at their doctor’s office and say things like ‘fuck you’ to no one in particular.”
“Tourette’s Syndrome,” Vernon said. “I had an aunt with it.”
“That’s the one.” Radhauser flipped on his computer. Once it booted, he read everything he could find on Tourette’s until he stumbled on something he couldn’t wait to tell Kendra and her father. Now, all he needed was confirmation that Henry Evans was treated for Tourette’s.
A half hour later, Radhauser stopped in front of Vernon’s desk. “How you coming with that list?”
“I only found one Dr. Durham who is a psychiatrist. His office is here in Ashland. Maple Street, near the hospital.”
There was no way Dr. Durham would release Henry Evans’ medical records without a court order or subpoena.
Radhauser called and left a message for Kendra. Perhaps she, or the great Kendrick Huntington Palmer, III could get Judge Shapiro to grant another subpoena.
* * *
When court resumed on Monday, Kendra called various witnesses to the stand. An emergency room physician in another Medford-area hospital testified that, in his professional opinion, at least fourteen of the twenty bruises on Skyler’s body could be accounted for by attempts at resuscitation.
A forensic pathologist from another state interpreted the autopsy report, stating his contention that Skyler Sterling’s fall down the concrete steps could be responsible for the other bruises as well as the ruptured hepatic vein. Kendra called him in to testify in an attempt to establish doubt in the jury’s mind.
One of the paramedics at the scene attested to the broken globe of the oil lamp, the overturned coffee table, and Bryce’s valiant efforts to administer CPR with his index finger clamped between Skyler’s teeth.
Kendra called the director of the preschool Scott and Skyler attended and she testified that the boys’ attendance, behavior, hygiene, and attitude actually improved after Dana moved in with Bryce.
The Director of Volunteers at Ashland Hospital where Bryce spent a few hours every week rocking infants testified to his reliability and his gentle nature with the babies.
When Marshall finished his final cross-examination, Judge Shapiro addressed the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen. Due to the lateness of the hour, we’ll adjourn for the day. We’ll begin closing arguments tomorrow. I think we’ll have this wrapped up by noon and then you can start your deliberations.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
After the jury filed out, the guard escorted Bryce back to the holdin
g room. As had become their daily custom, Kendra followed and they spent a half-hour sitting across from each other at the small conference table, reviewing what had happened in the courtroom that day. “Don’t look so worried,” she said. “Everything is going to be okay. I’ve got a very good feeling about tomorrow.”
Despite his nervousness, Bryce pulled an envelope from his breast pocket and handed it to Kendra before he lost his nerve. “I wanted you to have this before the jury reaches its verdict.”
She reached out and took the envelope. “What is this, anyway?”
“It’s your payment. Not much, but the best I could do.” Bryce shifted his gaze to the wall as she opened and read the poem he wrote.
This Brightness
For Kendra
All night I stood waiting
for sun to fill the cell’s small window,
the glass still black where I pause
looking out as if for a signal
and remembering how dawn
releases the trees, mountains and each
fence from its shadow.
Still holding the nightfall between my hands
I whisper, “it will come.”
The dark yields slowly and this day
might have traveled here from the other side
of the earth, might have first lit the sky
over Europe, an avenue in Warsaw and a house
where a man has paced since midnight
the musty stillness of his attic, thinking
each time a board creaked that soldiers
moved on the stairs and imagining
that these would be his last moments.
Words like moths kicked up
from the tall grass could
trace his story back to its ink.
He knows the meaning of all time is words—
those small unstoppable sounds
that fold, finger by finger,
across our bodies.
He would understand morning
is a kind of reprieve, its slow coming
A River of Silence Page 29