Spilled Blood

by Brian Freeman

  Talk to your daughter.

  Olivia emerged from behind the frosted window of the women’s bathroom. She wiped her mouth and rubbed her fingers on the denim of her jeans. She looked pale and fragile. Her chestnut hair hung straight down in long, dirty strands.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  ‘I threw up.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  His daughter slid down onto a bench and laid her head against the wall. He sat down next to her and slid an arm around her back, which was so skinny he could feel her bones. The sweet, sickly smell of vomit clung to her. She folded herself into his shoulder the way she used to do as a child. Her eyes were vacant as she stared at the ceiling. They sat next to each other in silence, as if there were nothing to do but wait for a flood to carry them away.

  First-degree murder.

  The courtroom door opened again, and two people slipped through the doorway. Their footsteps on the hardwood floor sounded hollow under the high ceiling. Chris recognized them. He tensed, expecting a confrontation that he didn’t want at all. Not now.

  It was Florian Steele. The CEO of Mondamin Research was accompanied by his wife, Julia.

  Chris knew Florian. They weren’t friends, but they were both alumni from the University of Minnesota Law School, two years apart. They’d served together on the editorial board of the Law Review. He hadn’t spoken to him in fifteen years. He remembered Florian as a law student whose interest was corporate law: public and private offerings, securities, and mergers and acquisitions. Even then, Florian was all business, which made him a rarity. Most law students were either idealists, like Chris, who figured law was a way to change the world, or they were litigators who thought they would spend their careers in court. Florian saw law as a means to an end. Start a business. Acquire capital. Grow. Make money. Sell.

  He’d followed his plans precisely.

  Florian’s eyes roved the hallway like a cautious tiger and found the two of them on the bench. Seeing Chris, he reacted the way a father would react, spotting an enemy to his family. His face darkened with anger and suspicion. He saw Olivia, too, and Olivia saw him, and Chris grabbed his daughter’s shoulder as he felt her muscles harden into knots. Her teeth actually bared.

  Florian wasn’t a particularly handsome man, but he had the charisma that comes with wealth and success. He was as tall as Chris, with a high gloss on his balding head and prominent ears that grew sideways out of his skull like two halves of a severed heart. His black eyebrows were thick, straight smudges. His jaw was squared; his face was long. He had the gaunt look of a fanatical runner, someone who watched every milligram of salt and fat and measured his own HDL and LDL. Everything about him screamed of self-discipline, and Chris remembered that Florian had maintained a rigid work ethic even in law school, when Wednesday beer parties were typically as important for most students as Morrison’s constitutional law.

  His wife, Julia, was a different story altogether. She was blond and small, like a golden doll. From the photos he had seen of Ashlynn, Julia was an older portrait of her daughter. She looked born to money, wearing her gray silk dress like a runway model, with hair up and her skin powdered and perfect. Black pearls wound around her neck and hugged her earlobes. She was the kind of woman who had always mystified Chris, because she was supremely unapproachable, like a museum sculpture protected behind glass. Hannah was the opposite. His ex-wife wore every emotion on her sleeve and never censored what was in her head, whether it was fury or passion. Julia Steele was beautiful, but she radiated no sexuality at all, and her emotions were carefully masked. Even her grief didn’t seep through her makeup.

  Chris pressed down gently on Olivia’s shoulder to keep her on the bench, and he stood up.

  ‘Hello, Florian.’

  ‘Chris.’

  Florian didn’t offer to shake hands. There was no small talk to make. They had been classmates once, and now they were adversaries and parents, one with a dead daughter, one with a daughter accused of murder.

  ‘This is my wife, Julia,’ Florian added.

  Chris didn’t smile or pretend that they were pleased to meet each other. ‘I’m very sorry about Ashlynn,’ he told her.

  The ice woman’s eyes didn’t melt. Her stare had the hardness of diamonds as her gaze flicked between Chris and Olivia. She said nothing at all. Olivia, on the bench, smoldered. Like her mother, she couldn’t hide how she felt. Florian held his wife’s hand, as if protecting her, but she didn’t seem like the kind of woman who needed protection.

  ‘I’d appreciate a few minutes of your time, Florian,’ Chris told him. ‘Maybe later today?’

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘I’d like to learn more about your daughter.’

  Florian took his time to formulate a reply. ‘You don’t expect me to help you, do you, Chris?’

  ‘No.’ He didn’t bother arguing Olivia’s innocence in front of two people who would never believe it. ‘We’re lawyers. This is discovery. I’ll do my best to make it as painless as I can, despite the circumstances.’

  Florian acquiesced with a glance at his wife. ‘Three o’clock at Mondamin.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  Florian tugged on his wife’s hand to pull her with him, but Julia Steele remained rooted in place. She and Olivia stared at each other. Her expression was inscrutable. When she spoke, her voice had a dark, sad music to it, which was the first hint of her emotions. ‘Is there anything you want to say to me, Olivia Hawk?’ Julia asked.

  Chris held up his hands immediately. ‘Olivia, don’t say a word. Mrs. Steele, I’m sorry, but my daughter can’t talk to you.’

  Julia Steele didn’t acknowledge him. She held Olivia’s eyes like a magnet as the silence dragged out between them. He was afraid his daughter wouldn’t be able to control herself and that she would blurt out whatever she was feeling or thinking, but Olivia finally pushed the hair out of her face and turned her eyes down to the floor. Florian’s wife treated it like a victory, shaming Olivia into looking away. She allowed her husband to lead her toward the exit from the courthouse. Neither of them looked back.

  Chris watched them go. He realized that Florian and Julia Steele looked as out of place in the town of Barron as he did. They were like royalty, elevated above the crowd. The King with his Queen. That was a title that Chris had never wanted. There were people who bowed to the king, but there were plenty of others who wanted to cut off his head.

  It had to be lonely. Florian had his work to fill the void, and he wondered what Julia Steele had for herself. Arts groups. Hospital board meetings. Fundraisers. He didn’t think that was enough for a woman like her, and the answer jumped to his mind immediately.

  She’d had a daughter. A child to bring meaning to her life.

  But not anymore.

  7

  Chris dropped Olivia at Hannah’s house in St. Croix, and his daughter retreated to her room to sleep. He let her go without asking more questions. She wasn’t in any condition to talk, and he wanted to know more about Ashlynn and the feud before he confronted her again. Hannah promised to stay with her during the day. She also offered to make dinner for the three of them that evening. He was surprised, but he said yes. It was a tiny glimmer of what his life had been like in the old days, when they were a family in Minneapolis.

  With that thought in his head, Chris drove back to Barron. He stopped at a shop on the main street to buy new clothes to replace what he had lost at the motel, and then he set out to find the local high school, which stood on a bluff above the river valley. The school drew students from the entire region, including St. Croix. The sprawling, one-story brick building was surrounded by acres of athletic fields that butted up against rutted rows of corn fields to the west and the tree-lined residential streets of Barron on the east. During the warmer months, the fields would be lush green, but the grass was brown and yellow now, flattened by snow and soggy from the early storms.

  He parked in the crowded lot and went through the glass
doors into the school lobby. Inside, he was surprised to find metal detectors and a uniformed security guard screening visitors. He gave his name, showed identification, and asked to see the school principal. He waited, smelling fried food in the cafeteria and hearing the thunder of basketballs in the gymnasium. Five minutes later, a middle-aged black woman arrived past the rows of red school lockers to greet him.

  ‘Mr. Hawk? I’m Maxine Valma. How can I help you?’

  She was slender and tall, with graying hair cut in a short, practical bob and a dark ebony complexion to her skin. She wore a burgundy pants suit and heels, making her look even taller than she was.

  ‘I assume you know why I’m in town,’ Chris said.

  ‘I’m Olivia’s father.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’d like some information about the young people around here.’

  Valma’s lips pursed with concern. ‘I’m not sure what I can tell you, Mr. Hawk. School records are private unless you get a court order, and I can’t let you talk to any of the students on campus unless you have parental permission.’

  ‘I understand. I’m not asking you to violate any privacy laws. I was just hoping to find out what’s going on in this town.’

  ‘I see. Well, I’ll share what I can. I feel terrible, not just for Ashlynn and her family, but for Olivia, too.’

  She gestured for him to join her, and Chris accompanied her down the school corridor. Two teenagers passed them going the opposite direction, and he saw their eyes lock on his face and heard them whispering as they passed him. He heard Olivia’s name.

  It was just as Marco Piva had told him: there were no secrets here.

  ‘I didn’t expect to find metal detectors,’ he told the principal.

  Valma nodded. ‘Sad, isn’t it? I resisted for months, but the weapons problem was getting out of hand. We had knife fights. Students were bringing guns. I can’t keep the feud out of the school, but I can try to keep them safe while they’re here.’ She pointed at the freshly painted lockers. ‘We keep running to stay ahead of the graffiti. We no longer assign individual lockers, because too many were being vandalized.’

  ‘Hannah says it’s like gang violence.’

  ‘She’s right. Gangs give kids who have no future a sense of purpose, and that’s what the feud does here. It’s not about the cancer cluster or the litigation anymore. It’s about hatred, which has become the defining theme for the children in both towns.’

  ‘So how do you stop it?’

  ‘If I knew, we would have done it months ago.’ The principal shook her head. ‘I thought that Ashlynn’s death would be a shock to everyone’s senses. I hoped the kids would see that it’s gone too far. That doesn’t seem to be true. If anything, passions are even more inflamed.’

  She led him into the school cafeteria, which was mostly empty in advance of the lunch crowd. White-uniformed workers cooked over hot grills behind the counters. The smell of burnt oil was pungent. He saw another security guard near the door.

  ‘Coffee?’ Valma asked.

  ‘Please.’

  The principal poured two cups from a silver urn, and they sat across from each other at one of the long cafeteria tables. Her strong fingers curled around the foam cup, and her nails were painted red.

  ‘Have you been principal here for long?’ Chris asked.

  Valma waited as steam curled out of her coffee. She blew on it, making an “o” with her lips. ‘Two years.’

  ‘Are you a native to the area?’

  ‘Do I look like a native?’ she asked.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘No,’ she agreed. ‘My husband got a job here, and I came with him. I’ve been in education my whole career, but I never imagined my experiences in the St. Louis schools would be quite as useful as they’ve turned out to be.’

  ‘What does your husband do?’

  The principal hesitated. ‘George is a research scientist at Mondamin.’

  ‘What does he research?’

  ‘I could tell you,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘But then you’d have to kill me?’

  ‘Right.’ She added, ‘Seriously, Mr. Hawk, the employees all sign nondisclosure agreements. They don’t talk to anyone.’

  ‘It sounds like the company has something to hide.’

  ‘They do. It’s called intellectual property.’

  Like anyone with a spouse in a secretive profession, Maxine Valma had mastered the art of politely saying nothing. ‘Does it cause problems for you at school, having a husband who works at Mondamin?’ he asked. ‘Students from St. Croix must see you as the enemy.’

  ‘Your daughter certainly did.’

  ‘Olivia?’

  ‘Yes, I worked hard to convince her that I was scrupulously neutral, but I’m not sure she believed me.’

  ‘This is an odd question,’ he said, ‘but what can you tell me about Olivia? We talk a lot, but it’s not the same when you don’t see each other every day. She’s changed. I need to get to know her all over again.’

  Valma smiled with sincere warmth. ‘Olivia is smart. She’s booksmart, yes, but she’s people-smart, too, which is relatively rare for teenagers. She’s a natural leader. Outspoken. Passionate. Sometimes reckless.’

  ‘That’s her mother,’ he said.

  ‘I know. Hannah and I are good friends, despite what my husband does. The women’s center she runs is invaluable in this region. It’s a resource for children and adults who face some truly desperate situations. She is an angel, Mr. Hawk, or at least that’s how we feel about her.’

  Chris said nothing. Hannah was an angel, but she’d flown away from him, leaving a hole in his heart. ‘What else can you tell me about my daughter?’

  ‘I’m afraid you can be smart and still be naïve. Olivia is young. It’s easy to take all that passion and have it misdirected.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning she’s been one of the loudest voices against Barron and Mondamin. She’s convinced that a grievous injustice was committed, and she refuses to remain silent. That’s fine – commendable even – but Olivia doesn’t always understand the effect she has on others. She can be an instigator with her words, deliberately or not. Other kids look to her. They follow her. Sometimes they go too far.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘I’m not comfortable naming names, Mr. Hawk.’

  ‘Tanya Swenson?’

  Valma sipped her coffee and considered her response. ‘Tanya looks up to Olivia. I think she’d do just about anything for her. They’re both children of divorce, although Tanya was left alone with Rollie at a young age.’

  ‘Tanya and her father live in Barron, don’t they?’

  ‘Yes, but the Barron teenagers have largely shunned her because of the lawsuit.’

  ‘Does she bear a grudge about that?’ he asked.

  The principal’s brow knitted in annoyance. She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. ‘I know where you’re going, Mr. Hawk. In order to create reasonable doubt that Olivia shot Ashlynn, you need to create a cloud of suspicion around Tanya. That may be an unpleasant necessity of being a lawyer, but please don’t try to make me your co-conspirator.’

  ‘Olivia says she’s innocent.’

  ‘I’d like to believe that’s true, but it seems unlikely, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I think she’s telling the truth. That means someone else killed Ashlynn.’

  ‘Tanya? I don’t believe it.’

  ‘Anyone who can’t be ruled out has to be ruled in.’

  ‘I’ve said all I can say about Tanya,’ Valma replied. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Okay. Talk to me about Ashlynn.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘I’d like to know what was going on in her life.’

  The principal held the coffee cup near her lips, and he saw the smear of her lipstick on the rim. She stared at him without saying anything. She was obviously deciding what information she could safely share.

  ‘Florian
doesn’t need to know you’ve told me anything,’ Chris added. ‘I realize it’s awkward because of your husband’s job.’

  ‘Florian doesn’t scare me.’ She smiled. ‘If I were to be afraid of anyone, it’s Julia.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘She and Ashlynn were extremely close. If Julia thinks that Olivia is responsible for Ashlynn’s death, she’s likely to be a pit bull who wants to see her destroyed.’

  ‘Thank you for the warning.’

  ‘As for Ashlynn, there are certain young women who are obviously destined for great things. That was her. She was beautiful, confident, graceful, spiritual. It’s a tragedy to lose her.’

  ‘Was Ashlynn part of the Barron clique?’

  Valma shook her head. ‘No, Ashlynn was disgusted with the feud. She avoided the other students from Barron.’

  ‘Who did she hang out with?’

  ‘She kept to herself a lot, particularly in the last few months. She seemed different, actually.’

  ‘How so?’

  The principal tapped the table with her long fingernails. Like a lawyer, she picked her words carefully. ‘She was troubled. Upset. Her moods swung between highs and lows. That’s not uncommon with teenage girls, but Ashlynn had a seriousness about life that made it more worrisome. On some level, I suppose she took the guilt for the violence onto herself, simply because of her father. That’s nonsense, but try telling it to a teenage girl.’

  ‘Did she share any of her feelings with you?’ Chris asked.

  ‘No, I’m not sure she felt free to share her feelings with anyone. I felt bad, because it seemed to be getting worse.’

  ‘Worse?’

  ‘Yes, for the last month, she was very depressed. She looked like she was carrying the entire world on her shoulders. I saw her crying several times. I asked her about it, but she shrugged it off. I was concerned. Honestly, if you told me she’d committed suicide, I wouldn’t have been completely surprised, but I gather that’s not the case.’

  ‘No, that’s not what happened. You don’t know what was causing any of this?’

  ‘I’m sorry, no.’

  ‘Did you see her on Friday? The day she died?’