Healing Sands

by Nancy Rue

  “You know what?” Sully said. “I want a lawyer.”

  “You sure?” Baranovic spread his hands. “A confession might be the best thing for you—make the DA go easier on you. You’re an upstanding citizen. No record. We couldn’t even find a parking ticket. This was obviously a crime of passion, committed by a famous Christian—a ‘professional’ Christian.”

  “I said I want a lawyer.”

  Baranovic looked almost sadly at the folder before he brought his gaze back up to Sully. His eyes held the first glint of last night’s compassion. “There’s no way you murdered that woman in cold blood, and yet the evidence doesn’t lie. You had motive, means, opportunity. We have a witness who puts you at the scene. We have others who report you’ve been on the victim’s trail for twelve months. You were just in Mesilla the day before the murder asking about her. The neighbor feels pretty bad that she all but gave you the address.”

  He waited, like a therapist, Sully thought crazily. This whole thing was insane.

  “You seem like a heck of a nice guy, Dr. Crisp. If I could pin this on anybody else, I’d do it in a heartbeat.” He shook his head. “I like it a lot better when the bad guys are gangbangers and crack addicts.”

  Again he waited.

  Sully shook his head. “I want an attorney.”

  “That’s your right.” Baranovic stood up, picked up the folder, smacked the table with it. “I hate it. I really hate it.”

  When he walked out, something pounded the silence he left behind. Moments passed before Sully realized it was his own heartbeat, trying to drive him mad.

  He leaned back in the chair and searched the ceiling. He didn’t even have a lawyer here—he was going to have to contact Rusty Huff. Healing Choice Ministries had an attorney, but he wasn’t in criminal law. What ordinary citizen retained a defense attorney?

  Sully fell forward and dropped his face into his hands. It was absurd. There must be something he could say to wipe the suspicion from the detective’s face, a different way to explain his fingerprints on a knife he’d never seen. Couldn’t he just call Baranovic back in and go over his alibi once more, until he no longer saw it as a thin veil to cover lies? Sully couldn’t leave them believing he had slit a woman’s throat.

  He pulled his hands away and found tears in them. They would only look like tears of remorse if he said another word. For right now, there was nothing he could do but pray.

  I was packing up to leave work when Frances came out of her office, eyes bulging.

  “I want to give you the first shot at what just came in.”

  I resisted the urge to look at my watch. I needed to get to Alex.

  “They’ve gotten a grand jury indictment on that guy they picked up for last night’s murder,” Frances said. “They’re taking him over for booking.”

  “What’s his name?” I said.

  She glanced at the sheet in her hand. “Sullivan Crisp. Look, I know you’ve got a lot going on—”

  “I’m there,” I said.

  By the time I arrived at the downtown precinct, Levi Baranovic was already standing at the sally port, wearing sunglasses that did little to disguise his contempt for the television cameras and barking reporters clustered around him. I avoided him like a plague of locusts, as did the rest of them when a police cruiser pulled in. While they all surrounded the car, only to be herded back by an officer, I took the steps leading to the door they’d be moving their arrestee through. I’d been there before.

  “You’re here for the booking, detective?” Ken Perkins called out. “Isn’t that unusual?”

  You know it is, moron. I focused the camera on the back door of the patrol car. I could barely see Dr. Crisp’s profile, but the look was there—the baffled sense that this could not possibly be happening.

  “Is it because this is a first-degree murder charge?” Perkins said. “Is that why you’re here—to make sure it sticks?”

  I had to hand it to Baranovic. Perkins could have been speaking Dutch for as much attention as the detective was giving him. He turned to the cruiser and nodded to the uniform standing at the door. Sullivan Crisp’s head rose above the bevy.

  The questions shot from all directions and wound up in a snarl in the air. They wanted the facts, they said.

  They wanted blood, that was what they wanted, and it sickened me. They couldn’t have cared less that Sullivan Crisp was innocent. That my Jake was innocent. That anybody was. They just wanted a story— something grisly and titillating that would give people a jolt stronger than their coffee tomorrow morning when they opened the paper.

  I could scream at them all the way I wanted to. Or I could make pictures of the truth. God, give me the story I’m supposed to tell.

  The media were being moved back so Sullivan could be brought up the steps. I raised the camera as he straightened his shoulders and met Baranovic eye to eye. I shot the lack of anger in his gaze. The quiet set of his jaw. I shot until the tears blurred my view and an officer approached, waving me away.

  I moved before he had to say a word. I didn’t want Dr. Crisp to see me. He had enough humiliation ahead of him.

  Sully now knew why arrested suspects kept their heads down when they passed through the gauntlet of reporters. It was the impossibility of keeping shame from their faces whether they were guilty or not. The handcuffs alone made Sully feel as if he’d committed a crime, but he kept his face up.

  He felt something close over his arm and looked down to see Baranovic’s hand.

  “Vultures,” he muttered near Sully’s ear. “Ignore them.”

  He wanted to. But all he could think was that Tess would be seeing this on a screen or a front page. At least she wouldn’t see what went down beyond the metal door. A sheriff ’s deputy searched him for weapons and left him in a holding area with men who were drunk or drugged out or used to being there. The court commissioner set bail at $500,000, high even for murder, because Sully wasn’t a New Mexico resident. Another deputy took more prints, electronically this time, a ten-print and palms. A mug shot was made, his clothes taken from him and replaced with an orange jumpsuit. When he was left with nothing but a property receipt, he was finally allowed to make a phone call. When he did, Rusty didn’t answer. Sully had never felt emptier.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  I barely made it to the jail for the four o’clock meeting with the attorney, and I was still shivering inside and out when the guard showed me into an abbreviated version of the room I’d visited Jake in before. There was a small divided table in this one, with Jake on one side and Dan and an African-American man on the other. I was still so addled I didn’t realize the guy was our new lawyer until he put out his hand to me and introduced himself as Will Yarborough. He dispensed with any other pleasantries, and I appreciated that. All I wanted to do at the moment was look at my son.

  Jake looked cleaner today, and calmer by a degree. He wasn’t picking at his mole or jiggling his knees back and forth, and I thought I knew why. Will Yarborough was a big man, and soft-spoken, and he didn’t bother smiling at what was a decidedly unhappy situation. I was feeling calmer myself just being in his presence.

  But after I searched Jake’s face and made sure he showed no evidence of internal injuries or shell shock or pinkeye or any of the other things I’d visualized happening to him in there, I surveyed Yarborough with caution. So far no one in the legal system had listened, and I didn’t want to expect too much.

  “We have a lot to talk about before Monday,” he said.

  “What’s Monday?” Dan said.

  “The first day of the trial. You weren’t notified?”

  Dan and I looked at each other. The skin around his lips was blue.

  “No,” we said in unison.

  “It doesn’t give me much time to prepare,” the lawyer said, “so I’d like to start by asking Jake some questions.” He looked over the divider. “Are you up for that?”

  Jake’s eyes sprang open, and for a hopeful instant I thought he was g
oing to let it all out. But he looked down at his hands and muttered, “No.”

  “Jake, please,” I said.

  But Yarborough shook his head at me and folded his hands closer to the divider.

  “We’ll get back to you, then.” He looked at Dan and me. “I’ve read the file. Is there anything either of you can tell me that might help with Jake’s defense?”

  It was Dan’s eyes that startled open this time. “You’re actually building a case?”

  A strong eyebrow shot up into Yarborough’s deep-brown forehead. “Why wouldn’t I? There were no witnesses. No one seems to be able to explain exactly how this all happened. My job is to create reasonable doubt.”

  I thought I might cry. I turned to Jake, ready to renew my plea, and stopped. His lips were moving soundlessly.

  “Did you want to say something, Jake?” Yarborough said, with a warning glance at me.

  “There was a witness,” he said.

  “Who was it?”

  “Miguel,” Jake said.

  I couldn’t have deflated any further if I’d been a leftover party balloon.

  “Unfortunately, he can’t help us,” Yarborough said quietly.

  “I thought he was going to wake up and tell everything. Then I wouldn’t have to.”

  Jake looked up and moved his sad gaze to each of us in turn, like he was willing us to understand what he meant. I knew by now he wasn’t going to elaborate, and the frustration pumped again. Until I thought of something.

  I dug through my purse and pulled out the list I’d made on the legal pad.

  “I don’t know if this will help,” I said to Yarborough. “It’s just some thoughts. I tried to put things in chronological order.”

  He took it out of my hand, and I immediately wanted to snatch it back. This was ridiculous. The man was a professional defense attorney. He wasn’t going to use the desperate scribblings of a hysterical mother.

  As I sagged back in the chair, I could feel Dan watching me, probably waiting for me to turn the table over.

  “This is very helpful,” Yarborough said. “May I keep it for now?” I nodded.

  “One question—the parts in red?”

  “Oh, those refer to our younger son, Alex.”

  “Leave Alex out of this!”

  Our heads all whipped toward Jake, who scraped his chair back and stood up. The guard was already on his way from the door.

  “He doesn’t know anything!” Jake said. “You’re just gonna get him hurt. Leave him alone!”

  “Either sit down or you’re done,” the guard said behind him.

  “I’m done.” But Jake didn’t turn away. He looked at me with the same pleading I’d directed at him so many times. “Mom—no Alex, okay?”

  “I can’t promise that, Jake,” I said.

  He shook his head at me, slowly. He was still begging me with his eyes as the guard ushered him through the door.

  “Do you know what that’s about?” Yarborough said when they were gone.

  “Alex knows something,” I said.

  “He would have said so by now, wouldn’t he?” Dan rubbed his hands across the tops of his thighs. “Maybe he wouldn’t. I don’t think I know either one of them like I thought I did.”

  “Do you want me to talk to Alex?” Yarborough said. “Impress on him how important it is for him to tell the truth?”

  “Let me try first.” I looked at Dan again, waiting for him to disagree. He didn’t say anything.

  “Let’s talk outside,” Yarborough said.

  Dan and I followed him to the checkout counter. The female officer glanced up at me when I slid my badge to her.

  “One thing he’s got going for him,” she said.

  “My son?” I said.

  “He gets a lot of visitors. Keeps him from feeling isolated. Once they feel like everybody’s forgotten them, they start—”

  “A lot of visitors?” I looked at Dan, but he appeared to be as baffled as I was.

  “He had one right before you came.”

  “Who?” I said.

  “Can’t tell you that.” She looked, in fact, as if she shouldn’t have told me that much.

  As we moved away from the counter, I grabbed Yarborough’s arm. “Can we find out—”

  “I’ll work on it,” he said. “Listen, I have an obligation to bring this up, so let me get it out of the way.”

  He pulled at his tie, the first uneasy gesture I’d ever seen him make.

  “You’re going to talk about a plea, aren’t you?” I said.

  “The DA’s office has made an offer, and I have to discuss it with you.”

  I opened my mouth, but it was Dan who said, “No.”

  “You might want to hear it. It does involve some jail time, but definitely less than what he’ll probably get if he’s convicted.”

  I was still gaping at Dan when he turned streaming eyes to me. “What do you think?”

  Something in me let me say, “Tell me what you think.”

  He smeared his hand across his eyebrows. “I feel like I’ve failed him all this time. I thought he just wanted to take the consequences for a mistake, and I thought I could help him do that with dignity.” His voice caught. “But I think I was wrong. You never believed he was guilty, and now—I just want to give him a chance, even if he won’t give himself one.”

  Dan’s shoulders collapsed, and he moved away from us. I shook my head at Will Yarborough.

  “No deal,” I said.

  “Good,” he said. “Just had to ask.” He tapped his portfolio. “Let me work on this and I’ll be in touch, probably tomorrow morning.” “I’ll be available,” I said.

  He shook my hand again, and before he turned away, he softened his dark eyes at me. “Jake’s lucky to have parents like you two.”

  Sully found out some things during his night in the Dona Ana County Jail. One, no one was swayed by his doctorate in psychology or his standing in the Christian community. He was surrounded by bangers, as Baranovic called them, who would have been more impressed if he had a tattoo and a scar or two. He also discovered that even without that, everybody who passed through thought he was one of them.

  And apparently if you were one of them, you were required to participate. Sully’s plan was to keep to himself and pretend to sleep, but nobody was having it. The savage next to him screamed obscenities at him. The one across the corridor spat green wads into Sully’s cell at regular intervals.

  The guard who came to investigate that cursed Sully doubly by referring to him as Dr. Crisp. “Can I get you anything, Dr. Crisp? How about a nice porterhouse? I hear you’re pretty good with a steak knife.”

  Another guard told that one to shut his mouth, but the damage was already done. For the next hour Sully was harangued with lewd questions and lurid requests for medical advice from the “doctor,” until he was on the brink of hurling back a few expletives of his own.

  When they finally wore themselves out, Sully was left with the glaring lights that were evidently never turned off and the relentless stench of everything heinous about humanity. Somewhere near dawn, it occurred to him that Ryan’s son must be in here somewhere and had been for days. He wondered how long it took for a kid living in this black hole to actually become “one of them.”

  Something they were passing off as breakfast was being delivered when the less mouthy guard unlocked Sully’s cell, put handcuffs on him, and led him down the corridor.

  “Your lawyer’s on the phone,” he said when they were beyond the cells. “We have to let you talk to him.”

  Sully didn’t mention that he didn’t have a lawyer. It didn’t matter, as long as this got him out of the fifth circle of hell.

  The guard took him into a small room with a chilly metal table and one chair that appeared to be bolted to the concrete floor. The guard shackled Sully’s ankle to it before he unlocked the handcuffs and took a portable phone from another guard.

  “Hello?” he barked into it. “Yeah, I got Sullivan Crips fo
r you.”

  “It’s Crisp,” Sully said as he put the phone to his ear. But he wasn’t even sure of that anymore.

  “Sully?”

  “Rusty.” Sully covered his eyes with one hand and hunched over the table with the phone in the other.

  “I am so sorry,” Rusty said. “I didn’t get your message until last night, and then I couldn’t get through to you. Are you all right?”

  “No,” Sully said.

  “I got you a lawyer.” Rusty lowered his voice. “I told the guy I just talked to that I was your attorney.”

  “Yeah,” Sully said. “Thanks. Listen, I’m worried about the clinic.”

  “I called over there and got Kyle Neering.”

  “You did? I thought he was out of town.”

  “He said he just got in. He’s blown away by all this, of course. He recommended the defense attorney that’ll be calling you. Harlan Snow is his name—Kyle says he has a great reputation in Las Cruces.” Rusty gave a dry laugh. “That Kyle’s a go-getter, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” Sully said. “Look, you can count on him for whatever you need.”

  “He was all over me because I haven’t gotten you bailed out yet. I’m on my way, Sully. You know the full power of Healing Choice will be brought to bear on this. We’ll get you out.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “I should be in by this afternoon. Kyle’s going to try to get in to see you.”

  “Tell him to stay there and keep things going at the clinic. And tell him to just leave Martha alone and let her do her thing. Olivia can—”

  “Sully,” Rusty said. “Don’t worry about all that. You’ve got to focus on getting through this.”

  Sully thanked him again and hung up. How were you supposed to get through something when your every move was locked down or cursed at or mandated by people who thought you were a cold-blooded killer?

  He watched the guard unshackle his ankle, and he put his hands out to be cuffed again. It chilled him that the routine was already becoming automatic, and yet the conditioned responses he’d been using for over a decade were failing him. He didn’t know what he would tell a client to do, except to pray. If God would even come into this place.