by Rich Foster
Wednesday, he picked Sarah up from school. Together they drove over the mountains to Beaumont. Sarah nervously chattered as the miles rolled by.
“What am I supposed to talk about? I haven’t seen her in a year. We used to be friends. June was a year behind me. Her sister, May, was a year ahead. We rode the same school bus. And, we did have fun at church. But, the Haskells lived up the hill, so we never got to play together after school too much.”
Lucas understood her nervousness, he was nervous too.
When they entered, June looked up excitedly asking, “Did you see my daddy?”
“Yes I did. He sends his love.” This was a bit of an exaggeration. Goodman’s exact words were, “Tell her, her old man says, hi.”
June noticed Sarah. Her eyes grew dark.
“Your dad killed my sister and mommy with his bus.”
Sarah’s eyes flashed back. “Well your father is a killer. He shot Ruthie!”
Sarah exploded in tears. June was not far behind. Lucas worried about what he had done, but he had great faith in children’s ability to be emotionally honest.
“It was an accident. The church bus broke. It wasn’t his fault!”
“Well the church cheated my daddy! He said they didn’t even care that they killed them.”
“Oh yea, I bet your dad doesn’t care that he killed my sister!”
An angry silence fell on the room, broken only by muffled sobs and sniffling of noses.
Lucas spoke softly. “This wasn’t the fault of either of you. It’s the fault of grown ups. You’ve both lost family members who you loved. Why don’t you talk about that?”
He waited through one of the most difficult silences of his life. If it were grown-ups, mutual recriminations would undoubtedly prevail, but children live in a world that is both more resilient and forgiving.
“I miss my sister.” June stammered. “It’s lonely in here.”
Sarah looked at the June, lying on her bed, her legs in braces. She understood her loneliness. For months her mother had been withdrawn. Ruthie was gone. “I miss my sister,” she said.
“I also miss my mom. She was always so nice. She protected me when daddy got mean and drunk.”
Sarah never knew a father who was either mean or drunk. “I never had that problem, but I miss my dad. It hasn’t been the same since he went to heaven.”
Lucas gave silent thanks for the grace of children. They might be mean and spiteful at times, but when it came to forgiving and moving on with life they were miles ahead of the grown-up world.
He slipped out of the room, leaving the girls talk. Outside the door, he listened long enough to be certain of the girl’s peace, then left for the cafeteria. When he returned ten minutes later, with ice cream cones, Sarah was sitting on the edge of June’s bed laughing.
It was dark outside when they left. Sarah promised to come back as soon as she could. June promised to write. During the drive back to Mason Forks, Sarah chatted gaily about her friend.
*
Dr. Urvadi okay-ed Calley’s medical release one week after the opening arguments began in Robert Goodman’s trial. She wanted out. Personally he would have retained her, but without a court order that was impossible. Besides, fiscal constraints dictated that patients be shown the exit door as quickly as possible. Regrettably, the psychiatric department seemed forced to function on a level of good enough, rather than geared toward full recovery.
Calley was on new medication. The anti-depressants were elevating her mood. She was less sullen. Dr. Urvadi urged her to attend A.A. meetings, for lack of a Narcotics Anonymous group in Red Lake. He gave her a list of referrals to local psychiatric services.
An orderly pushed her obligatory wheelchair through the hall. Waiting for the elevator, Calley dropped the referral sheet and her anti-depressants into a convenient waste receptacle. She had no use for either. She had other plans.
They rode the elevator down. Moving through the lobby, Calley saw Grace waiting outside in the traffic circle. They were almost to the door when the Miles Corning, the hospital’s administrator hurried over. He handed Calley a white envelope and walked away. Calley opened the envelope. The enclosed letter read,
Ms. Haskell, you are hereby suspended. You have the right to a hearing by the Hospital’s Standards and Practices Committee, if you so choose. If they find against you, you will be fired. I would suggest you avoid the embarrassment and submit your resignation.
The second sheet was a color photo of Calley, caught so to speak, “with her fingers in the till.” Silently she seethed. Once again, she thought, “This is all Goodman’s fault.”
Grace observed the silent interaction on the other side of the plate glass.
“Trouble?” she queried, when Calley came out.
“No.” Calley lied. “Just some paperwork.”
They arrived home to a spotlessly clean house and a homemade banner welcoming her return. The excited hugs of her children mollified her simmering anger. Clearheaded and clean, she interacted with her kids more than she had in months.
“Mommy’s back!” Caleb continually cried out, as though she were returned from an extended voyage.
Over meatloaf and potatoes, Sarah told of seeing June at the medical center in Beaumont. Calley’s eyes instantly flashed hatred. “You’re not to see her again.”
“But Reverend James said he would…”
“Not again, did you hear me?” Calley cut the child off.
Sarah lowered her eyes to her plate. The happiness escaped the room like helium seeping from a balloon. The rush to talk ceased. The children’s answers became terse. Calley internally fumed that Lucas had the nerve to take her child to see that killer’s daughter. Finally she rose from the table in disgust.
“I don’t want to keep you, Grace. Thank you for everything you have done.”
It was a dismissal. Grace went without protest.
After dinner, Calley thumbed through the mail. A registered letter from the state licensing board stood out among the junk mail and bills. It tersely began,
Your license is hereby suspended,
until such time as…
Calley didn’t finish, only dropped the letter in the wastebasket. She went to the kitchen and poured herself a drink. Long after the children took themselves off to bed, she sat alone drinking and thinking about Ruthie, her lost job, the future, and the source of all her troubles.
Grace came by the next morning to see if she could help. Calley snored on the sofa. An almost empty whiskey bottle lay on the floor. The children were in the kitchen where Sarah played the role of mother despite the younger children’s protests.
They had missed the school bus. Grace put the bottle away, put a blanket over Calley, and drove the children to school. Once they were started on their day she returned home and walked next door to Lucas’s house.
“It can’t go on like this, Lucas. She’s not fit to be a mother anymore. What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“If this keeps up, it’s just a matter of time before Children’s Protective Services comes knocking. I can’t stand the thought of the kids going into foster care.”
“I’ll go see her. Maybe things will settle down when she has been home for a day or two.”
*
Sheriff Gaines was scheduled to testify. He spent an hour sorting his day’s duties at his office and then left for the courthouse.
The trial was expected to be over within a week. He followed the case via the news reports. A solid line of witnesses retold the same story over and over. Robert Goodman gunned down five unarmed people. He was an animal. He was sick. They did not know how anyone could be so depraved. Universally they wanted him to die.
Gaines despaired for humanity. He despised what Goodman had done, but he knew vengeance was fleeting. It never remained sweet, rather quickly turned bilious in the mouth. He suspected many of the witnesses used the stand as a way of putting down the shame they felt from that night.
If they made the man sound sick enough, other people might not realize how sick with fear they themselves had been.
He parked behind the courthouse near the rear entrance. A familiar face caught his eye in the parking lot. He changed course for the jeep. Calley Haskell appeared extremely startled when she looked up to find the sheriff at her car window. She also looked very sick. He rapped lightly on the glass. Calley lowered the window.
“You shouldn’t go in there, Mrs. Haskell. There’s no point in putting yourself through it. I’ve no doubt, Goodman will be convicted without you being there.”
Calley did not argue, but sat mutely staring at the purse in her lap.
“Go home. You have enough trouble without coming here.”
Still she said nothing.
“Mrs. Haskell, I’m trying to help you. The hospital filed a complaint about the narcotics. They decided not to press charges at my urging. Please, get help. You sure won’t find it here.”
Calley mutely nodded and started her car. Gaines watched as she backed away and then pulled out of the parking lot. He knew what his testimony would be. Even though she was in the church at the time of the killings, he had no desire to repeat it with her present. He entered the courthouse.
A block away Calley pulled to the curb in front of a coffee shop. When she got out, she went into the bar next door. She needed something to steady her nerves.
*
After Grace left, Lucas drove to the church. On the way he made a short detour to the Haskell house. Her jeep was not in the driveway. From the front porch he peeked in the living room window, the sofa was now empty, too.
This was Calley’s first day out of the hospital, free to go where she chose. Lucas feared where she had gone. It was a mistake. She shouldn’t be at the trial. She was too fragile. Though perhaps politically incorrect, his masculine ego wanted to protect her.
He turned to leave. Crossing the porch he kicked a small cylindrical object. It rolled across the floor and down the stairs. He recognized both the familiar shape and the color of brass. Bending down he picked up the 38-caliber bullet.
On the way to Red Lake, Lucas slammed the Porsche through its gears as he tore up the miles toward the courthouse. His better judgment urged him to call the police and warn them of the danger. But what if he was wrong?
A straightaway lay before him. He eased the car into the passing lane, picking up speed, eighty, ninety, nudging one hundred as he passed two cars before he slowed for the coming curve. Soon he was on the edge of Red Lake. He forced himself to slow down, but the tires still chirped as he down shifted around corners. Minutes later he parked in a yellow zone in front of the courthouse.
Lucas took the steps two at a time. Trotting down the hall looking for the correct courtroom he realized there was no security, no metal detectors. Several trials were in session. He glanced through the plate glass doors. No crowd and no Goodman. A bailiff came out of the last courtroom.
“Where’s the Goodman trial?” he asked short on breath.
“Upstairs Room 202”
Lucas climbed more stairs. He found 202. Familiar faces lined the bench in the hall, church members waiting to be called as witnesses. Through the glass door he saw Sheriff Gaines on the stand. At the defense table he saw the top of Goodman’s head. Lucas eased the door open and slipped in. He quickly scanned the crowd, relieved that Calley was not there. His eyes and Gaines briefly met, before he turned away.
In the hall he asked if anyone had seen Calley Haskell that morning. In the hushed tones of the courthouse, they murmured, “No.”
He went downstairs, more slowly than going up, catching his breath and telling himself he had been foolish. He was glad he hadn’t called. It would have created an unnecessary scene and perhaps chaos. Outside he started the Porsche, his hands yet trembling from the adrenalin rush. While he caught his breath, large drops of rain began to fall on the windshield.
However, at the corner, instead of turning left, worry caused him to go right, circling the building toward the parking lot in back. He cruised up and down the aisles. The rain began to fall in earnest. The windshield wipers swiped at the water. He squinted through window shield searching for Calley’s jeep. It was not in the lot.
Then he saw a familiar back hastening up the rear stairs to the courthouse doors. He put the wheel over, sliding to a halt across two spaces.
Lucas sprinted through the rain. Lightening flashed, followed by thunder that reminded him of artillery shells. At the doorway, he was slowed by a group of departing attorneys who used the shelter of the portico to open their umbrellas. His heart pounded as he charged the stairs. On the second floor, Calley was already out of sight. Lucas rushed to the courtroom. Through the doors, above the seated crowd he saw Calley taking a seat in the row immediately behind the defense table.
As quickly as was possible without causing a disturbance that might be of concern to the bailiffs, he hurried down the side aisle. Two seats were vacant beside Calley. As he slid past the spectators abutting the aisle he saw Calley’s hand slide into her purse. It was probably his imagination, but later he would swear he could hear the click as she locked the hammer back.
Lucas dropped into the seat beside her. She raised her hand inside the purse, bringing it up to aim at Goodman’s back. He plunged his own hand into her purse. Her fist held a death grip on the butt of a gun. He wrapped his hand around the top of the gun and felt a stab of pain as the hammer snapped forward, pinching the flesh between his thumb and forefinger. He locked his fingers on the gun, in a vice hard grip. Calley tried to pull away but Lucas grasped her elbow with his left hand, squeezing so hard that he left purple bruises with his fingertips.
“Don’t do this,” he hissed.
She tried to struggle.
From the witness stand Gaines had seen them enter. The emptiness of Calley’s eyes caught his notice. Eyes like that always meant trouble. The anxiety on Lucas’s face increased his fears. He was unsure, but worried of what might be happening. Gaines’s eyes darted to the bailiff in back. It was an imperceptible nod, but the man noticed it. He moved down the side aisle toward the front of the courtroom.
“Let’s go.” Lucas’s words came out hard and bitten off.
He brought her elbow up forcing her to rise. Tears formed in her eyes partly from the pain of his grip but mostly in frustration. She tried to draw the gun out, again, but her strength was no match for his. With his hand buried in her purse he forced her toward the center aisle, putting himself between her and Goodman. They stepped on toes and bumped knees causing yelps of pain in the process.
Outside the windows there was a brilliant flash, followed instantaneously by an ear-numbing crack of thunder. The noise caused a convulsive gasp to run through the courtroom. Outside a hundred year old oak was riven. Rain pounded against the courtroom windows.
Lucas maneuvered Calley up the aisle, driving her toward the doors. From the corner of his eye he saw the bailiff retreating to follow them. He forced her through the doors. Fortunately, she had the good sense to stop resisting. She could not shoot Goodman from the hall and if they saw her gun she would be arrested. They hurried toward the stairs, pressed together, both of their hands still on the gun. Lucus’ heart hammered in his chest as they burst through the rear doors.
Outside a sleeting October rain drove under the portico roof, slashing at them. The wind tugged at their clothes, which were soon sodden.
“Are you crazy?” he shouted, while shaking her elbow.
]
“You’re hurting me!” Calley shouted back. Safely outside, Lucas softened his grip on her arm. He pulled the handgun out of her purse. The hammer of the pistol had pinched the skin between his thumb and first finger, a trickle of blood seeped down his hand. Seeing the blood, the fight went out of her. He eased the safety down and slipped the gun into his pocket. Then he led her through the rain to his car, away from the court, and from Robert Goodman who had unknowingly come so close to death.
In
the courtroom, Sheriff Gaines calmly continued his testimony, but he had sensed the danger. He could not prove it, unless Reverend James talked, but nonetheless he knew it was there.
Lucas drove slowly, trying to stem his adrenalin rush. His hand faintly throbbed. As the miles passed neither spoke. Calley was immobile next to him. He took her to his house.
“Come on in. We need to talk.” It took an effort to keep his anger and frustration from his voice. She followed head down, hands shoved in her pockets.
Momentarily letting his ire show, he commanded, “Sit,” while pointing to a chair in the living room. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Calley took the seat like a recalcitrant, but obedient child. Lucas went into the bathroom. He washed his hands with soap, applied antibiotic salve, and then bandaged it with gauze. He used the time to think about what he meant to say to Calley. On the trip home the adrenaline had kept him from thinking about it calmly.
He returned to the living room. At the coffee table he cracked open the gun’s cylinder and dumped the bullets into his hand. He snapped it shut and held it up.
“You were going to put this against a man’s head and execute him!”
Calley snapped to life, “He’s not a man. He’s an animal. He gunned down my daughter!”
“And how are you any different?”
Calley leaped to he feet as she shouted, “Because he’s guilty, Ruthie was innocent.”
“And what about Lisa and May Goodman? If Jason hadn’t died, would Robert be right to put a gun to his head and kill him too?” He was shouting despite his intent not to.
“That was an accident.” Calley was defiant.