#7-9--The O’Connells

by Lorhainne Eckhart

  “You hear what I said to you, girl?” PJ said. “I asked you nicely. You and I both know that you know who supplied what drugs, and you know what my son took and who it was from. I want the names of the kid and the parents responsible for that drug, and I will have them!”

  Marcus had his hand on the man’s solid arm. “PJ,” was all he said, and he didn’t know why, but the man relented.

  Marcus shoved his cuffs back in his pouch and led PJ away, over to the sidewalk, where his vehicle was parked at an angle, the door open. “You can’t be taking matters into your own hands, showing up here and scaring the hell out of that girl and her parents. This has to stop, PJ. I know you want answers, and I understand the answers you want,” he said.

  The neighbors were still staring, their phones up, likely videoing everything he was doing. “Hey, you all! Show’s over. Go on home now,” he snapped. He was so tired of people standing around, gawking and taking enjoyment in the misery of someone who had lost a son. “Look, you can’t be doing this,” he continued. “We talked about this.”

  PJ was leaning against his car, his arms crossed over his massive chest. He was the kind of man Marcus would never want to go any rounds with, not anywhere. Cop or not, he never wanted to be on PJ’s bad side. He was well aware people were still watching and listening despite his orders.

  “You’re telling me to stay out of something that is very much my business?” PJ said. “My son is dead because of a bunch of snot-nosed, privileged rich kids pushing their parents’ drugs. Jackson wasn’t into drugs. You know that. He was a good kid. What happened was murder. You know it, and I know it, and everyone who’s responsible knows it. I told you I wouldn’t sit on by and do nothing. I want answers for everything, and I’ve yet to get them. The DA tried to blow me off—and then there’s you, Marcus. You know what I’m talking about. If the roles were reversed, I doubt you’d rest until you knew who did what. I want names, and I’m not asking anymore.”

  What the hell was he supposed to say to that? The man was completely right.

  “Even if I agree with you, you know my hands are tied,” he said. “Come on, PJ. This isn’t the way. She’s just a kid…” A stupid kid, he thought but didn’t add. He needed another word with Harold to find out what was going on.

  “She’s not a kid,” PJ said. “You and I both know the only reason she’s scared now is because she was caught. You think she really gave a shit as she stood there and watched my son drown as he asphyxiated? She ran and lied, did everything she could to cover it up and save her own skin, just like every other kid who was a part of Jackson’s death. He was dragged into a closet and left there, yet what’s happening to the kids responsible? A slap on the wrist, or a few weekends spent picking up garbage. What about the kid who supplied the drug? You know who it was. What the hell are these parents doing, anyway, with all these drugs in their houses, the kind of drugs that can kill a kid?”

  Marcus rested his hand on the roof of his cruiser. He didn’t have to look over to see that most of the onlookers had moved back, but they were still there, listening to way too much and likely creating their own spin on what was going on.

  “Look, between you and me, you’re saying the same things I’ve said,” Marcus started. “But there’s a process, PJ. Justice will be served. You have my word…”

  PJ looked at him with intensity and angled his head. “Bullshit, Marcus. If you’ve been following what’s going on, you know that isn’t justice. You have any idea who’s getting time and who’s walking? I’ve sat in that courtroom to watch thirteen kids go before the presiding judge, and you know what I heard? Eight of them, with their fancy high-priced lawyers, basically bought their way out.

  “That pompous judge said, and I quote, that they were misguided kids who’d made a few bad choices. He said because they have great futures ahead of them, he wasn’t about to penalize them and ruin their lives because of one mistake. He said a few other undesirable kids, kids that had come from broken homes, had clouded their good judgement.

  “I’m not kidding. He came right out and said these snot-nosed kids have good families, intact families, with a mother and a father, and because of that, they would see the error of their ways. I’m not sure why he didn’t come right out and say that he was letting them off easy because they’re privileged, considering I’ve never heard such unapologetic bias before in my life!”

  For a moment, Marcus didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t had a chance to find out everything from Harold because the situation with PJ had come up. He had to remind himself to remain objective. So that was what Harold had meant when he said Marcus would want some background before finding out which kids got which sentences.

  “I can see you’re having some trouble here, Marcus,” PJ said. “I didn’t miss how that judge, that asshole, sat up there and alluded to the fact that my Jackson was nothing more than white trash…”

  He could see the emotion in PJ’s face. Marcus had to remind himself that fair was fair, but it was sounding as if things were going sideways. “You and I know that’s not true, PJ,” he said. “We grew up on the same side of the tracks, so you know I don’t believe all that. Look, give me some time to look into this, to find out why and how…” When PJ went to interrupt, he pressed his hand to his shoulder as he looked up at him. “And I promise I will look into it. You know me, PJ. I don’t agree with what you heard. Let me talk to the DA, find out what’s what, and I’ll get back to you. You have my word.”

  A moment passed between them as he let his hand drop and took in a father who had every right to feel the outrage he was feeling.

  “Come on, PJ,” he continued. “You and I both know that Jackson didn’t deserve what happened, and I will do right by him…”

  PJ seemed to consider his words for a second, then pulled in a deep breath that sounded raspy. “You just make sure you do, Marcus. The clock is ticking, and I’m not a patient man. I want answers, I want justice, and…” He paused but didn’t pull his gaze. His voice was low, but in each word, Marcus heard his determination—and a promise that he wouldn’t be blown off by anyone. “I will have the names of who supplied those drugs.” He lifted his gaze and went to take a step, then gave everything to Marcus again. “Am I under arrest?”

  Marcus wasn’t sure it was a question. He knew PJ wouldn’t fight him, and he understood that he meant every word he’d said. All he could do was shake his head. “No, but I can’t have you showing up at people’s houses. Belinda is having her day in court, and I’ll handle this. You have my word.”

  He took in PJ, unsure of what he was thinking. The man turned and walked toward an older-model pickup, rusted out on the sides, that was parked in front of Harold’s cruiser. He climbed behind the wheel, the engine rumbling and the wheels squealing as he pulled away.

  Marcus turned to Harold, who was walking his way, taking in the truck driving off.

  “So you’re not taking him in?” Harold said in a low voice.

  “No, he’s been through enough,” Marcus replied. “I think you need to fill me in on exactly what went on in that courtroom. I promised PJ I’d look into it. From what he said, it sounds like the judge is showing favoritism.”

  Harold turned and glanced over his shoulder at the Lees, who were by the front door, talking, still upset. “Sure. That was why I was coming in to see you. But at the same time, what do you want to tell the Lees about PJ?”

  Marcus considered it for a second. “Nothing. Just tell them it’s been handled. PJ will leave them alone. But he’s a father who lost his son, and their daughter has some responsibility there, so they should show some understanding, some remorse, and maybe some empathy.”

  Harold only nodded as he glanced up the street to where PJ’s old rust-bucket of a pickup was still driving away. “Fine, I’ll tell them, and then you and I can sit down, and I’ll bring you up to speed. Then you can level with me. I mean it.”

  All he could do as Harold started back up the driveway to handle the L
ees was climb back behind the wheel of his cruiser. He considered it for just a minute before starting the car, pulling away, and calling his sister.

  It rang only once. “Hello?”

  “It’s your brother. Look, we’ve got a problem.”

  There was silence for a second on the other side before Suzanne sighed. “You’re talking about Harold.”

  He shook his head. She knew exactly what he was getting at. “The one and only. He’s demanding to know what’s going on, considering you suck big-time at keeping a secret. He was already suspicious, and now Rita Mae’s lawyer is making noise…”

  “Marcus, look. Let’s just get it out in the open. This is Harold, and I love him, and it’s killing me, having this secret. So, yeah, I vote to just tell him.” She sighed again. “I told you all from the start that I can’t do secrets, and I don’t want to keep a secret from Harold. I can’t. It’s coming between us. I mean, are you okay keeping this from Charlotte?”

  What the hell was he supposed to say?

  “I’m the sheriff,” he replied. “I don’t tell her everything, and she doesn’t ask. She knows I can’t tell her some things.” He knew he wasn’t really answering. Every time he looked at Charlotte, he wondered what she’d say if she knew. “Fine, but if this goes sideways…”

  “It won’t, Marcus,” Suzanne cut in. “This is Harold. If you want, I can tell him.”

  He was already shaking his head again. “No, you’ve done enough. I’ll talk to him,” he said, then listened to the silence on the other end.

  “I’ll see you at Mom’s tonight?” Suzanne added. Ahead of him, PJ’s pickup was stopped at the stoplight.

  “Yeah, I’ll see you later,” he said, then hung up, seeing City Hall ahead, where the DA’s office was. He knew exactly what his next stop needed to be.

  He was still sheriff—that was, until all hell broke loose and he was forced to resign because he had helped cover up a crime.

  In the meantime, as PJ turned right to head to the property he had just at the edge of town, an older rundown home, Marcus was stuck on what he had said about being white trash. It was the same label Marcus and his siblings had fought while growing up, never feeling good enough or equal, always feeling as if everyone were looking down on them.

  He pulled in and parked at City Hall. He should wait to have a word with Harold first, but there was just something about all of this, and he feared it would end with the town being turned upside down by a man bent on vengeance.

  Fair was fair, and so was justice, but it didn’t seem as if either were going PJ’s way. The last thing he wanted was PJ Moore ending up on the wrong side of the law or, worse, one of the kids involved ending up hurt or dead.

  It seemed someone, namely the judge, from the sounds of it, was too interested in following the old adage about justice not being equal for all.

  Chapter Three

  Marcus tapped on the open door of the assistant DA’s office. Eileen’s dark hair was short, and her dark complexion was free of makeup. Her normally long nails, painted with the deep red she was known for, were cut short. She had on a cream-colored cardigan, and the way she leaned back with that look she had, he knew she had a thing or two to say to him.

  She pulled off her reading glasses and tossed them on the desk after closing up the file that had been open in front of her. “Sheriff,” she said. “Didn’t expect you, but I’m glad you stopped by. Saved me from having to track you down. Shut the door, please.”

  He gestured to her when she went to stand, her expression unsmiling. “Don’t get up,” he said as he shut the door behind him, taking a second to gather his thoughts before she could start in on him about what Rita Mae’s lawyer was accusing him of, misconduct, destroying evidence of another crime.

  He realized he was walking right into the lion’s den, so to speak. Maybe he should’ve taken a minute or a day before talking with her, but no one had ever been able to accuse Marcus of being a coward. He could feel the tightness squeeze in his chest as he turned around and took her in.

  “I was just at the Lees,” he said. “We were called in because of PJ. Should I give you two guesses as to why? Or maybe you already know why he decided to pay them a visit. He’s not getting justice. I can understand his demand for answers about who the opioids belonged to. What the hell is going on, Eileen? Harold started to fill me in on how the sentences for these kids are all over the map, and then PJ tells me something about the judge showing favoritism. Even my deputy was trying to wrap his head around it.”

  This time, Eileen did get up and started around toward him. He took in her flat shoes and black pants as she leaned against her desk and crossed her arms but didn’t pull her gaze. She wore a ring on her finger. Apparently, he hadn’t heard that she’d gotten married.

  There was just something about the way she could look at him as if seeing right through him. He never knew whether she was angry or just didn’t like him. Then there was the fact that he was positive she knew his secret. It was unnerving, not something Marcus had ever experienced from a woman.

  “Well, that’s unfortunate,” she said. “I do empathize with Mr. Moore, but he’d better get his head screwed on straight, because that won’t be tolerated. You brought him in?”

  For a second, he didn’t think she was serious. Maybe his face showed his surprise. “On what charges? Hell, no. I’m not arresting him. He’s a grieving father who lost his son, and he’s getting a very clear idea of how screwed up the justice system is. Nothing about it has brought justice for his kid. Remember that’s what this is about, Jackson Moore, who never even had a chance to live. From where I’m standing, I’m starting to agree with PJ. Did the judge seriously say that he wouldn’t ruin those kids’ lives because they came from good families? Did he actually insinuate that the choice they made to take part in that grad prank wasn’t on them because of who their parents are? Are they automatically being given a pass? Are we still playing that game?” He gestured toward her, and he could hear the sarcasm in his voice.

  “What do you want me to say, Marcus? I was completely thrown by the judge. Thomas Root is known for his overt conservatism. As soon as I heard he was taking the bench, presiding over this shitshow with these spoiled brats, I knew justice wasn’t really going to be served. He has unapologetically used his influence to block de-segregation in the federal courts and the court of appeals with his brand of reach. You talked with all of the families involved, Marcus. You know which ones have the kind of money to afford a high-priced lawyer and buy their way out of trouble. They’ve likely donated a huge chunk of money to something the judge holds near and dear.

  “Added to that is that those kids have the right color of skin and background, the right family names. That means something to this judge. And yes, for the first time in my career, I have broken this case down into categories: skin color, privilege, broken homes, economic class, and prior records, including the records of their parents, siblings, and uncles—you name it. That’s all this judge is looking at. Do you want me to go on?” She was so matter of fact.

  He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. “Jackson Moore is white,” he said. “So does this judge care?”

  Eileen pulled in a breath and pressed her hands over her face, then pulled them away. “The Moores may be white, but they’re the wrong kind of white. You should know that, Marcus. At the same time, let me tell you, if Jackson had been a black kid who came from nothing, every one of those kids would likely be walking, because it seems no one is created equal.”

  He just stared at her, trying to get his head around what she was saying. “You know I wouldn’t have allowed that to happen,” he said. “I would’ve arrested and charged the kids the same way no matter who the victim was.”

  Eileen crossed her arms again and gave a heavy sigh before looking up to the ceiling as if he wasn’t understanding what she was saying. “And, again, the charges would’ve been tossed out by the same presiding judge. Anyway, there’s noth
ing I can do. My hands are tied, just like they were tied when the judge tossed an additional charge at Belinda Lee and Amanda Strickland, and six of the other kids. You know the Lees don’t have the kind of money to hire a fancy lawyer.

  “I don’t remember a judge ever overstepping before as Judge Root has. He sees me as just a black woman. There’s always been something with him. He’s pointed out to me in private in his chambers that I should know my place, and that’s not something I want to hear. If you’re here to debate racial superiority and the fact that a judge is using his position to push his agenda and his beliefs, I agree, but it won’t go anywhere. You can’t take on a judge and win.

  “You should know I already filed a motion to have Judge Root replaced for bias and prejudice, but you just missed my boss leaving my office after basically calling me on the carpet for daring to call out Judge Root as the racist prick he is. I was slapped back down. The motion was denied unanimously, and I was reminded that I had overstepped my authority by implying he’s biased without irrefutable evidence.

  “Everyone knows, by the way, that the man has spent a lifetime fighting to make sure courts remain all white, and he’s made no secret of his beliefs in racial superiority. He believes broken homes are a blemish on society, and the right kind of people are the only way to keep order in a community. He stays, and I’ll likely spend the foreseeable future handling bail hearings, being benched, and being pushed out. But, hey, it’s all in the name of progress, right?”

  Marcus didn’t know what to say. He glanced over to the window. “So what is this about additional charges being tacked on?” Maybe he should’ve gone back and read the file, considering the kids involved.

  “Well, other than a felony charge being added, I already know Belinda is looking at some hard time. The DA said the judge is likely going to give her five years. Six of the other kids, too. Your deputy has the details, but let me sum it up: Eight of the kids walked, with community service hours ranging from thirty to a hundred, with no probation. Six were given a felony conviction. Their only crime was not having the same last names and fancy lawyers as the others. They were given a ridiculous sentence, seven years, so two in the private juvenile facility before being sent for their last five in the adult facility. In case you’re under any illusions about where this is headed, those private facilities are for profit only, not rehabilitation. I guarantee you a kickback was given, likely to the judge. Can I prove it? No.”