Love Remains

by Zrinka Jelic

  The young woman dragged her feet across the polished vinyl floor then threw herself onto the empty chair. She squared her jaw and put on that I-don’t-give-a-crap expression. Could she be picking up an attitude in prison?

  “Un-cuff her,” he ordered. The guard woman shot him a look of surprise, but obeyed all the same. She quietly withdrew to the back of the room, taking her spot by the door, hands on her wide waist. For a moment he contemplated insisting she wait outside, but he’d be conducting the interview in Croatian so the prison guard wouldn’t understand a word.

  Braced on his elbows, he leaned over his papers on the table. “How’re you doing, Mar — ”

  “I spent the last two days in solitary confinement. How do you think I’m doing?”

  Yep, the girl had fallen under some bad influences. Three months ago, she’d been a frightened little mouse and he’d worried she’d die in prison before her trial date. Seemed she could hold her own now. But he knew her kind — all phony and easy to break under pressure.

  He exhaled slowly before he continued. She should be on her best behavior instead of getting into more trouble than she already was. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

  “They took the picture of my boy away.” Her voice cracked and veins on her neck popped. She swallowed and straightened. “The guards on duty are known to turn their backs. I was afraid of Fat Bertha … ” And indeed fear flashed in her wide eyes. She tucked a loose lock of her sandy hair behind her ear. “I haven’t seen my boy in almost a year. He’s with my mom and my sister. I haven’t sent them any money since I’ve ended up here.”

  Tom’s insides mellowed. He flipped to the blank page of his note book and made a memo to himself. At least he could take one worry from her. “I’ll send them a few bucks.”

  As if a load of bricks fell from her shoulders, she slumped. Tears freely poured down her pale cheeks. “Mr. Medar, it’s nice of you, but you really don’t have to do this.”

  Tom nodded, pressing his lips into a tight smile. The girl had chosen the lesser of two evils, between being taken advantage of by an inmate and the safety of isolation. “It’s alright, Maria. No trouble at all.”

  “None of this is alright.” She spat. “I believed I’d find a better life in this country.” With a heavy sigh, she leaned back in her chair. “Did you know a roll of toilet paper has more value than my degree in economics?”

  His heart sank. Many had fallen prey to same trap. They’d read someplace about honey and milk awaiting them in a foreign country, only to find a different fate. They gave up the last bit of possessions to secure a plane ticket and maybe a bit of cash. Maria, more than likely, had more to lose here than in Croatia. “I understand diplomas from other countries are often not recognized here.”

  She twisted the cuff of her sleeve. “Had I known that, I never would’ve left home. I was shocked at first, but I needed a job and so I chose Mr. Baldwin’s domestic employment.”

  “Was there another choice?” He twirled the pen between his fingers.

  Redness spread over her face, indicating she wasn’t comfortable with what she was about to disclose. Her voice was barely audible when she said, “Stripper.”

  “You chose wisely.” The gravity of his words hit him as he said them.

  She let out a shrill laugh “Look where it got me.”

  Now rolling the pen between his palms, he arched an eyebrow. “Worse things can happen in the strip joint. I’ll get you out of this and you must trust me. I’m your only friend now.” Paper crinkled when he pulled out a copy of a report. “You need to be honest with me and tell me everything you know, no matter how insignificant it seems.”

  Maria switched her glance from him to her hands resting in her lap. “Yes, Mr. Medar.”

  Better, she was back to her soft self. Maybe now she’d be willing to talk. “Mrs. Baldwin caught you in his room, sniffing her husband’s underwear.”

  Maria didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she cocked her head, her lips curled downward, her glance slid to the side. “I didn’t.”

  “So you were in his room when she caught you.” He shifted, trying to get Maria to look at him. Knowing the girl’s traditional upbringing, he understood she was conditioned to stare at her feet during hard questioning.

  “Mr. Baldwin sent me to fetch him some clean clothes.”

  Tom stared at her, gesturing with his hand to continue.

  “He spilled his drink on his shirt during their fundraising barbeque.”

  “Why did you grab his underwear?” The girl was hiding something. Though her eyes seemed to light up when she spoke of Mr. Baldwin, she avoided looking at Tom and he couldn’t read her face.

  Clearing her throat, she shrugged. “I … don’t know. Just did.”

  He leaned forward, shooting her his most uncompromising glare.

  She buried her face in her hands. “I can’t tell, Mr. Medar. Please, don’t make me.”

  “Maria.” He reached for her wrists and pulled her hands down. “It is admirable you’re keeping Mr. Baldwin’s secret, but you have to understand. The evidence is mounting against you, and I have nothing to refute the charges.”

  Her eyes reddened and she swiped at the fresh tears. Sandy blonde hair fell over her face when she shook her head. She clamped her lips tight.

  Frustration seized all the muscles in his back. He wouldn’t be able to defend her if she didn’t tell the truth. “Don’t be daft, Maria. Mr. Baldwin’s secret will stay safe. I can be discreet.”

  Still, if she said she grabbed her boss’s underwear in error or he’d requested she bring him the fresh pair, Tom would have to investigate.

  She wiped her tears with the sleeve of her orange jumper and heaved. “Are we done here?”

  “No, we’re not. Sit.” Irritation made his voice harsh. OK, the girl wasn’t about to let her tongue loose. Time to redirect. “Did you have an affair with him?”

  Her face crumpled, but she returned to her seat and said a firm, “No.”

  An affair between an older man and a much younger woman, eighteen years, wouldn’t make the evening news. He shook his head, expecting her to continue. When she remained silent, he banged his hand on the table. She flinched and shot him a scared glance. “Care to elaborate?”

  “It’s nothing like that, Mr. Medar.” Her high-pitched voice indicated her throat was closing in again.

  He took a calming breath. It would do no good if he lost his temper, but damn it, the woman challenged him. “Then shed some light on how it is. To the world, it seems exactly like that.”

  “He was like no man I’ve ever seen. You know how the guys are back home, wearing the same pair of jeans until they disintegrate on them.” She sniffed.

  “At least they wouldn’t put you behind bars.” Hopefully his firm tone would tell her she had crossed her line and fallen for a man way out of her league.

  “No, they’d do worse. Knock a girl up and split.” After a short pause, her face mellowed. “Mr. Baldwin, he smelled nice, always in fine clothes, he was kind to me. Understood me.”

  Interesting. He leaned over the table. Mr. Baldwin would’ve been the first gentleman Maria had encountered. She could’ve mistook his kindness and caring for something more. “Has he ever touched you … inappropriately?”

  “I wish he had. He only talked to me, told me about his life and … ” She frowned as in disgust. “His loveless marriage. Poor man.”

  So Mr. Baldwin poured his heart out to Maria. And if Mrs. Baldwin suspected, or worse, had known about her husband’s innocent yet deep connection with Maria, she would act out of jealousy. No wonder the lady fought to keep Maria behind bars for good. He wouldn’t forget her cold and plastic appearance — too much Botox and not enough brains. He straightened. “If the staff stayed in their own building, why were you in the house the night of shooting?”

  “Erich, I mean, Mr. Baldwin asked me to meet him in his study. He said he had some great news he wanted to share with me.” She lowered her head,
her shoulders shook and a wail ripped out of her mouth. “That’s when I found him on the floor in the pool of blood.” Her voice was raspy as she continued after drawing in a long breath. “I screamed and grabbed the gun. Stupid, I know, but it was an impulse. The next thing I know, Mrs. Baldwin came down yelling. Calling me names. Oh, Mr. Medar, it was awful. I didn’t know what to do.”

  Okay, Maria had made a big mistake by grabbing the gun, but she had not pulled the trigger. The prosecution was trying to account the lack of gun residue on her hands with the gloves theory, but she wasn’t stupid. Why would she dispose of gloves then incriminate herself by placing her fingerprints on the weapon? Besides, she wouldn’t have the motive, not when she obviously harbored some strong feelings for the victim, unless she’d mistaken Baldwin’s kindness for love. As for opportunity, that was something Tom would have to prove she didn’t have.

  He slipped the pawn receipt under her nose. “Care to explain why your signature is on the purchase of the gun?”

  She raised her glance at him, her mouth agape. “Mrs. Baldwin drove me to this shop. Gave me the piece of paper and said to show it to the man — Steve, she said his name was. He gave me a box and pointed where to sign. That’s all. I swear.”

  His mind worked in time with the fast tapping of his foot. If the Mrs. was trying to pin the shooting of her husband on the hired help, she was doing a lousy job. It was time for her to go from a person of interest to a suspect. “When Mrs. Baldwin caught you in her husband’s bedroom during this barbecue, was she alone?”

  “No, she had a man groping her all over, shameless hussy that she is. They both laughed when they barged into the room. She said she loved fucking on her husband’s bed or it would never see any action.” Then, as if startled by her words, Maria gasped. “You didn’t hear this from me. Please, she can have me deported. She did it to one maid. Sent something called La Migra after her.”

  He raised his hands. Poor Maria had heard one too many stories. “You can breathe easy. There’s no immigration police in Canada. Do you know this other man?”

  “He came to the estate often, mostly when Mr. Baldwin was away. The staff called him, uh … it sounded like Hill Torn. It was a silly name, I thought because he was so curt.”

  “Hiltorn?” Tom’s pulse quickened. Olivia’s boss? From what his wife had described, the man was rude and abrupt in manners. This was something worth looking into. How could he prove Mrs. Baldwin’s infidelity?

  His cell vibrated. He pulled it out of his pocket. The message on the screen was from his intern. Baldwin out of coma, doctors will allow a brief questioning. Meet you at St. Michael’s.

  • • •

  Tom stomped his feet on the black carpet in the hospital’s lobby, shaking fresh snow off his boots. He’d made it from the women’s correctional facility at the outskirts of greater Toronto to the downtown’s St. Michael’s Hospital in record time. It was a miracle the police hadn’t pulled him over for speeding and unsafe lane changes. His intern ceased his frantic pacing and approached him. “Finally.”

  “Sorry, Alex, traffic was a murder.” Tom tapped the young man on his shoulder, nudging him onward. “Fill me in on our way.”

  “Mrs. Baldwin is here trying to stop the interview.” Alex disposed of his empty coffee cup in the nearest trash bin and pushed his fashionable eyeglasses up his nose.

  “I was afraid she might.” Tom sped down the long corridor. The squeaking of his wet soles sounded in time with his strides. At least the noise took the edge of sharp disinfectant stinging his nose. A small group of journalists gathered in front of Mr. Baldwin’s room, guarded by a uniformed officer.

  “Preposterous,” Mrs. Baldwin’s voice boomed in the narrow hallway. “My husband barely opened his eyes.”

  When she spun in Tom’s direction, not a strand of her hair moved. “Ah, here comes the shooter’s lawyer.”

  Reporters flocked to him, thrusting microphones at his face. He shielded his face from the blinding flashes of their cameras. They all seemed to shout the same question. “Mr. Medar, any new development in the case?”

  Damn, how did the media get a hold of this? Good thing he’d grabbed the moment and called Olivia on his way down. From the look of it, he wouldn’t have a chance to talk to her any time soon. He missed her and the kids already. They were supposed to be enjoying their holidays. After a wild night of loving in the luxurious Vancouver hotel, the peck on her cheek he’d given her this morning seemed inadequate. But he would make up for his absence when he got home this evening, if the day’s events didn’t drain his last ounce of strength.

  As if waiting for his permission to speak, he raised his hand. When the reporters continued to shout, he hollered over the clamor, “No comment.”

  He pivoted on his heel, nodding to the cop, and with Alex on his heels, slipped inside the hospital room, leaving the media to the mercy of Mrs. Baldwin.

  Two doctors kept keen eyes on the machines surrounding the raised hospital bed and monitoring the patient’s vitals. The detective on the case acknowledged his arrival with a single nod. Mr. Baldwin’s lawyer, decked in his Armani suit, tore his frowning gaze from Tom, leaned over the frail body barely visible beneath the tubes delivering fluids and medication and whispered in Mr. Baldwin’s ear. Tom knew his corporate type. What would this guy know of a criminal case?

  Tom glanced down at his faded jeans and snow boots. Well, he really must learn to keep a suit and a pair of nice shoes in his car. But for now, his casual attire would have to do, despite the attorney’s disdain.

  Alex flashed open the page of his notebook. Tom scanned over the bullet points, nodding to his intern. He had to admit, the youngster would make an excellent lawyer one day.

  “Listen here.” One of the doctors in crisp, white coat turned to them. The man raised his rimless glasses and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “You’ve a few minutes. Try to ask yes or no questions and keep your voices low.”

  Quiet nods followed the doctor’s announcement and Tom tiptoed to Mr. Baldwin’s bedside. Pen poised over the blank page of the notepad, Alex waited next to Tom.

  “Mr. Baldwin,” the other lawyer said “Detective Maloney is here.” He pointed to a mustached man and moved his finger to Tom. The corporate’s blank expression changed to disgust. “And the lawyer representing the accused, Mr. Medar, and his intern will be taking notes.”

  “Gentlemen, please.” Detective Maloney spoke, standing at the foot of the bed. “Mr. Baldwin, did you see the shooter?”

  Baldwin’s eyelids fluttered, but he steadied his gaze on Tom. “No,” he panted, but continued with a weak voice, “It was dark. Maria?”

  The question caught Tom unprepared. Had Mr. Baldwin cared about the young woman as she seemed to care about him? Tom cleared his throat, and stepped closer to the bed. “She’s held in the women’s correctional facility outside Toronto.”

  Fast beeping filled the room. Doctors rushed to the monitors in a flurry of white coats. After a moment, they faced the gathered crowd. “You will have to leave.”

  Baldwin tapped his lawyer’s hand. The snarky man’s bald spot glistened in the ceiling light as he leaned over the patient and listened. Then he tilted his head, settling beady eyes on Tom. He straightened and tugged on the sleeves of his jacket. “Are you sure, Mr. Baldwin?”

  Baldwin managed a small nod, his eyes closed. The lawyer pressed his lips in a tight line and succeeded in restraining his tongue.

  Tom turned for the door, following the detective and Alex.

  “Mr. Baldwin wants a word with you, Mr. Medar.” The corporate’s indifferent voice stopped him in mid-step. He turned to the bed, his eyebrows drawing closer.

  “Should I stay?” Alex’s whisper pierced Tom’s confusion.

  Tom locked the glances with the corporate’s cold eyes. “I need my intern here to take notes.”

  A grimace of disapproval appeared on the lawyer’s face, but to Tom’s surprise the man pointed his long, thin, finger at the chair and s
hrugged, as if it was all the same to him if the intern stayed or left.

  One of the doctors with glasses spoke. “Mr. Baldwin. This is highly unadvisable. You’re too weak to conduct an interview.”

  Baldwin’s hand twitched and he attempted to raise it, but the tube attached to the IV restrained his movement.

  Tom leaned toward the bed and spoke over the din of the buzzing machines. “Mr. Baldwin, do you have a question for me?”

  “Why … ” Baldwin rasped. “Why is Maria in prison?”

  “She is the prime suspect in your shooting.”

  “No.” Baldwin gave a weak shake of his head. “She’s innocent.”

  Baldwin confirmed what Tom knew all along, yet this confession would not clear her name, not when all evidence pointed to her. Still, he must proceed with caution and choose his words wisely, or this exclusive interview would be short. “We need to prove her innocence.”

  “My wife said I had an affair with Maria?” With a slow exhale, Baldwin squeezed his eyes tighter. His voice cracked. “There’s nothing funny about getting old, you know … and it’s even less amusing if you have to do it alone.”

  So, that was it: Baldwin was afraid of aging and he found Maria to confide in. He’d lost body mass while in the coma, but at forty-eight, he couldn’t be considered old. Well, for some, passing a certain age meant a death sentence.

  As if expecting a long confession, Tom lowered to a nearby chair. He sat motionless, allowing the weak man a moment of silence. The scratching of Alex’s pen mixed with the machines’ droning.

  Baldwin’s tired eyes met Tom’s. “Maria didn’t tell you?” He closed his eyes again and rolled his head, letting out a short moan of pain. “No, she wouldn’t say a word. She’s a good soul.”

  Tom pulled the chair closer to the bed, its metal legs scraping the tile floor. “Mr. Baldwin, she’ll be found guilty if she doesn’t speak. And whatever it is, I assure you, your secret will stay safe.”

  “No, my wife will sell the story to the first journalist if I file for divorce.” Baldwin tapped his fingers. He glanced at his lawyer and the man nodded, then his deep set eyes settled on Tom. “But, I did it anyway.”