Mother reached across the table and took Claudia’s hand. “I didn’t deserve his love and forgiveness, but he made the choice to stay. And we’ve survived for thirty-five years.”
Claudia sighed at the thought. “I need to tell you something.”
“Something else?” Mother smiled, and Claudia allowed her the attempt at humor in this new phase of their relationship.
She nodded. “I overextended our finances dramatically.”
Mother frowned—the concerned sort of frown rather than the scolding one. “Do you need money? We have some savings.”
Shaking her head, Claudia waved her hand to dismiss the notion. “No. But I was planning an elaborate anniversary dinner for you and daddy and seventy-five of our closest friends, family, and staff.”
“How thoughtful.” A gentle smile touched her mother’s lips and Claudia went on quickly, knowing her next expression would be disappointment. “Here’s the thing. I overextended to the point that I had to call the event planner and cancel the dinner.” Claudia held her breath, waiting for her mother’s reply.
“I’m proud of you, Claudia.”
Claudia couldn’t help but expel an ironic laugh. “How could you be?”
“Because you took a hard look at what you could do and made the right choice. Even if it meant disappointing a few people.”
“So what about your anniversary? The staff deserves some sort of celebration of ministry.”
“We’ll figure it out. You did the right thing.”
She and her mother hugged before she left. It was a small start, but at least they were moving toward healing.
Victor
Vic and Casio sat across from the retired forensic pathologist. Sweat beaded James Farraday’s brow, and Vic had a feeling they were about to hit pay dirt. The autopsy report sat on the table in front of Dr. Farraday, whose mouth moved while reading the words.
“I remember this case,” Dr. Farraday finally said. “It wasn’t solved, was it?”
Casio snorted. Clearly he had no problem playing bad cop again. “I’m not in the mood to play patty-cake with you, Farraday. We know you suppressed evidence about Miss Remington’s pregnancy. What we don’t know is why.”
Farraday’s face blanched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about and I resent the accusation.”
“Spare me the outrage,” Casio shot back.
Vic raised his hand to silence the argument brewing between the two men. “Dr. Farraday, we don’t want to accuse you of anything. We’ve reopened the case because evidence has surfaced that Miss Remington was pregnant when she died. We couldn’t find anything about a pregnancy in your autopsy report.”
“Then how did you find out?” The man’s question proved Vic knew the truth. He only needed to ask the right questions and it would come out.
“There’s no question that you suppressed the file. We found the pages you left out of your final report.”
Farraday released a slow breath. “I want immunity.”
“You’re not under arrest, Dr. Farraday,” Vic said, although the man most certainly would be.
“And I plan to keep it that way.” His face had turned to stone and Vic knew the man had him. There was no way to prove he had suppressed the information.
After a call to the DA to confirm the deal, Vic waited for Izzy to type up the agreement. Thirty-five minutes later, they were back in business. This time with a video camera to record the confession.
“Okay, Dr. Farraday,” he said. “You’re on.”
The retired pathologist nodded. “It’s true. I handed over the file—with the pages that later went missing—to Detective Hightower. Afterward, when I found out they had not been included in the report, I assumed he’d shredded them.”
“Hightower is my dad.” Casio’s gaze narrowed as he stared at the man. “Why would you give him those pages?”
“He didn’t tell me why he wanted the information to go away, but my son was about to go to Berkeley.”
“He paid you?” Vic asked, frowning.
Shaking his head, Farraday fingered the report still on the table in front of him. “My son was something of a partier during those days. The department was investigating a drug ring and he was part of it. The detective made a deal to leave my son alone if I handed him the part of the report that mentioned the girl was pregnant.” He met Vic’s gaze for the first time. “I never knew why he wanted the information suppressed. I just knew that if my son was arrested and convicted of a felony, he’d lose his chance to go to college.”
Casio’s face was red with anger. When Farraday left the room, he practically exploded. “So my dad was a crooked cop!”
“Looks that way.” Vic steadied his gaze on the officer.
“He couldn’t have killed her. I saw the guy, I tried to tackle him right before he shot me. It wasn’t my dad.”
“In light of this new information, I think we’re going to have to have a chat with your dad.”
Casio expelled a breath and slicked back his hair. “Let me talk to him alone, okay?”
Despite his misgivings, Vic nodded. After all, this was Casio’s dad. He couldn’t blame him.
“Get to it quick and let me know.”
Eighteen
I believe in miracles. I always have. Even during the lean years of no spiritual input from anyone in my world, I had faith that God was there, was bigger and smarter, and most of all, that He was pulling for me. Perfection wasn’t the requirement for His attention. He knew my heart.
In these last few minutes, I realize that miracles aren’t always the blind seeing, or the deaf hearing, or the lame walking—Jesus kind of miracles.
I find it miraculous to know Gabe is a foot away, and I have no desperate need to feel him holding me. Twenty minutes ago, I’d have taken a bullet for him. Ironically, I no longer would.
A miracle.
Grace.
If I were going to live, I would break things off with him and immediately surrender my life to God in such a way that everyone would see that I am changed. That’s the problem with living for yourself. Sometimes miracles come too late to save the body. We have to be content to save the soul.
So, in this moment, while I lie where I’ve fallen, blood staining my new white shirt, Mama on one side, sweet Claudia on the other, angels nodding to each other in their respective corners of the bus, I don’t just see a miracle. I’m about to experience one.
Life to death to eternity.
SUNDAY
Casio
If he got her voice mail one more time today, Casio was going to go ballistic. Harper was supposed to call him today and confirm his appointment with the counselor. He jammed the phone in his pocket and downed the last of his beer. She made him act like a total idiot. All she had to do was answer the phone. Women loved to play mind games.
He nodded at Burt for another beer.
Gabe flicked the ashes from his cigarette into the glass ashtray on the counter, took another puff. “What’s your problem?”
“That’s my business.”
Burt set another draft in front of him.
Gabe shook his head and gave a low chuckle. “She left you, boy. What does she have to do to convince you she wants to be left alone?”
“I’m not talking about Harper with you of all people.” He just needed to get the guts to tell his dad what that stupid file he’d given to Casio had opened up. The old man wasn’t as smart as he thought he was.
“Well, just listen then. I might be off the force, but I still have my contacts there. You beat her up bad. You’d be in jail right now if you weren’t a cop.”
Casio slammed his fist on the bar. “Shut up.”
“You watch how you talk to me, boy.”
Casio sneered. “Considering what I know about you, I suggest you watch how you talk to me.”
Gabe yanked the oxygen tubing from his nose and, in a fluid movement, stood, grabbed Casio’s shirt, and hauled him from the bar stool through the bar
and out the front door. The night had turned fall-crisp, and cars lined the parking lot, but that didn’t stop Gabe from taking the upper hand and slamming Casio against a blue Ford Focus. “Listen to me, kid. I don’t know what you think you know, but don’t ever threaten me again. You got that?” His breath, labored and heavy, reeking of booze, slithered across Casio’s face, threatening to make his stomach turn over.
Casio wouldn’t be bullied. Not by anyone, and especially not by his drunk dad. He leveled his gaze. “You know we’re looking into who the father of Miss Remington’s baby was. I remember you rushing to her side that night, Pop. Maybe I’m sick of protecting you.”
“You were in shock that night. Your memory’s playing tricks on you. I was off duty, but a police officer is always ready to do his duty. I was just doin’ my job and trying to keep her alive until the EMTs got there.”
Even in his half-drunken state, Casio could appreciate the desperation his father must be feeling. “Believe me, I remember perfectly. It was touching. You gathering your pregnant mistress in your arms. I guess that explains why Mom left.”
“Your mom left because she had better things to do.”
“Yeah, right. It had nothing to do with Miss Remington and the little bun you two had in the oven.” Casio hadn’t seen his mother in years. She’d left one day, without warning, and had never contacted him or Gabe in ten years.
“You shut your mouth. Hear me?”
“Or what, Dad? You going to kill me too?”
The belligerence dropped from Gabe’s face so fast that Casio thought maybe he’d been wrong about his father: maybe his dad cared more about him than he’d thought.
“You think I killed BJ?” He unclenched his fist around Casio’s shirt as though he’d lost strength. “You think I shot the bus driver in cold blood, shot BJ, and then shot my own son?” His voice rose with bewilderment. “All these years … that’s what you thought? That I was the one who shot you?”
The door opened and a couple staggered past them. Casio waited until they got into a pickup and started groping each other before he turned back to his dad.
“No. I don’t think you held the gun.” He hesitated then just decided to go for it. “But Vic has some questions about that autopsy report, Pop.”
Gabe clenched his fist and Casio thought for a second his dad might be about to punch him. “What’s that ADA have to do with this? What did you do? You told about the file?”
“No, Pop. I didn’t tell him you gave me the file. He thinks you hid it in the evidence room, and I found it while I was cleaning.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“We interviewed James Farraday.”
“The forensic pathologist?”
“He gave you up, Pop. Told us about his son’s drug problem and the deal you made with him.”
Gabe’s shoulders slumped. “It ain’t what you think, son.”
“You know what?” Casio shook his head as headlights flashed into the parking lot, making Gabe squint against the glare. “I’m too drunk to think about it tonight. But you best get your story straight. If you have any defense at all, start pulling it together because Vic is going to want to talk to you tomorrow. And I’d be ready to give up a DNA sample if I were you.”
“Not without a court order.”
“Well, that pretty much says it all, doesn’t it Pop?”
Gabe shook his head and walked away, his shoulders rounded as though all the fight had left his body. He opened the door and walked back into Burt’s. Casio watched him go, his gut churning.
He leaned against the nearest car, fighting off the effects of sucking down six drafts in an hour. He definitely didn’t like this feeling of not being in control. Folding his arms across his chest, he closed his eyes and the images of that night flooded back over him, relentless, threatening to drown him once more in fear and shock.
The bus could have easily made it over the tracks before the train arrived. The guys needled Mr. Montrose, the bus driver, for being such a weasel. Any one of the football players would have gunned it and made the train, if they’d been driving.
It had been a cloudy, dark night, sprinkled with drops of rain. Just enough so that hardly anyone else in town had ventured out—not like home games when the town lit up afterward, restaurants filled with game attendees. Miss Remington’s murder aboard the bus that night would have been impossible if the game had been played on their home field. But then the killer must have known the game schedule, known when BJ would be on the bus.
The train whistle blew from a block away. The crossing lights flashed as the bells signaled the train’s imminent arrival. The door of the bus swished open, but the action was barely even registered. The bus door—something kids are conditioned to ignore. And then two shots were fired. Screaming followed. Casio looked up from his portable CD player and yanked off his headphones as some of his teammates hit the deck.
The killer carried a pistol and turned down the aisle. He wore a mask and seemed to be searching the seats—it had not been a random killing. “Leave her alone!” Casio yelled. His voice cracked like a twelve-year-old. He’d been so ashamed.
The gunman turned toward Miss Remington and shot once, twice, three times, and four. Without thinking, Casio rushed forward, charging the guy. The gun went off. Pain seared his shoulder and the man stood over him. “You okay, kid?”
Casio tried to place the voice. His stomach tightened. He knew those eyes. The voice. He pressed his fist against his forehead. Who?
He shoved out a deep breath and walked back into Burt’s. He found Gabe back at the bar, a bottle of Jack Daniels in front of him. Gabe tensed as he straddled the stool he’d vacated a few minutes before.
“I’m surprised you want to sit next to a killer. A woman-killer at that.” He tipped the shot. Wrapping his fingers around the base of the bottle, he poured himself another glass.
Burt slid a drink to the guy at the end of the counter, then turned to Casio. “You want another beer?”
“No, thanks.”
The bartender scowled. “If you ain’t drinkin’, don’t be sittin’ at my bar.”
“Fine, give me another beer then.” He turned to Gabe. “Look, Dad. I know you didn’t shoot anyone on that bus. Vic’s determined to find the killer and he’s looking to find the father of Miss Remington’s baby, who, shock or no shock, I think is you. And this autopsy thing makes you look even worse.” He was afraid to ask outright. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know if his father was capable of orchestrating a murder to rid himself of a mistress and baby.
“So, the ADA is lookin’ to finger the father as the killer?”
“It’s a lead. And not a bad one. If you were investigating a case like this, wouldn’t you suspect the baby’s father?”
“Yeah. Why do you think I tried to bury the examiner’s report?”
“Anyway, what do you say we get you home so you can sleep this off and tomorrow we’ll go see Vic and fess up about the baby?”
“It’s a thought.” A fit of coughing overcame him for the next minute. Casio helped him reattach the tubing. He took a wheezing breath. “Do you have anything else? Any other DNA evidence?”
Surprised to feel such concern as his dad obviously declined physically, Casio took a swallow of his beer and gathered his composure. “A couple of things. We’re interviewing witnesses. We’re trying to find a missing bracelet she was wearing earlier that night but didn’t make any of the photos in the file. A couple of days ago we talked to Jesse Simpson.”
Gabe nodded, clearing his throat. “The garage guy? Why are you questioning him?”
“We thought he might have had a motive, but it didn’t pan out.”
“Easy come, easy go.”
“Yeah.”
“Tell you what. I’ll be a man about it. I don’t got anything to hide. So I was her baby’s father, we had a fling for a while. That don’t mean I killed her.”
Casio eyed Gabe from the corner of his eye. He remembere
d that night. It was more than just a fling his dad had carried on with Miss Remington.
His mother had left a month before the murder. It could only have been that she found out about Miss Remington. That didn’t explain why she would have left Casio, but he had come to terms with the loss years ago. Maybe it had been too painful.
“There’s something else you should know, Dad.” He swallowed hard, because he knew he had no right to judge.
“What’s that?”
“The medical examiner’s report also showed Miss Remington had bruises on her body.”
Gabe kept his gaze straight ahead as he slowly brought the glass to his lips, his expression never changing.
“They’ll be looking at you since you two had a relationship.” Still no response. “The report said the bruises were consistent with ongoing physical abuse.”
He downed his drink and turned to Gabe. “Take me home. We’ll go down to the station tomorrow.”
Casio knew he couldn’t safely drive after so much to drink. He was a lot of things, but a drunk driver wasn’t one of them.
“Sorry, Dad. I’m in no position to drive myself right now.”
“Fine.” Gabe staggered from the bar. “I’ll take a cab.”
“It’s a long way home. That’s going to cost a mint.”
“That’s my business.”
Casio rolled his eyes and watched his dad stagger toward the door. It opened before he could reach for the handle. Claudia entered, followed by Georgie. But it was Claudia that Casio zoned in on. She nearly bumped into Gabe, then she slowly looked up. Her eyes widened, and even in the dim lights of the bar, he could see panic wash over her face.
Casio slid from his bar stool and went to her. He slid his arm around her shoulders and leaned in close to her ear. “Breathe. It’s okay.”
“Hey, Casio!” Georgie’s pep rally voice sang, oblivious to Claudia’s impending meltdown.
He nodded to her. “Let’s get a table,” he said. He turned to Georgie. “Get her a drink.”
“Do I get to get me one too?” she asked with a pretty pout.
“Yeah. Whatever.”
The Crossing Page 20