Stitched Together

by Carol Dean Jones

  “The two of us?” Sophie asked eagerly.

  “No, I’m sorry. Just Mrs. Parker and the Parkers’ attorney.”

  “I hate to leave you here alone, Sophie.”

  “I’m starving,” she responded. “I’m going to walk across the street to that little sandwich shop. If I’m not here when you come out, I’ll be there, okay?”

  “Of course. I hope we won’t be long.”

  “I hope you stay as long as it takes. I want Charles to be in that car when we go home.”

  But Sarah and Sophie went home without Charles. Sophie drove the car because Sarah couldn’t stop sobbing. When she got home, Sarah called Martha and Jason to let them know what was happening. Martha had been at work and knew nothing about the arrest; Jason heard it on the 5:00 news and had left numerous messages on Sarah’s machine.

  Sarah took a shower and tried to eat a bowl of soup, but her throat immediately tightened up as she lifted the spoon; she poured it back in the pan and stuck the pan in the refrigerator. Maybe later, she told herself. She wondered if Charles had eaten.

  Around 9:00, the phone rang and she jumped. She felt the anxiety in her stomach as she hurried to the phone.

  “Sarah? It’s Graham. How are you holding up?”

  “I can’t even answer that question, Graham. I must be in shock; I can’t seem to think straight.”

  “That’s normal. You’ll have to take this moment by moment. I just left him, and he’ll have the night to rest up. They won’t be bothering him again until morning. They’ve scheduled his arraignment for 9:00 in the morning.”

  “What does that mean, and can I be there?”

  “The prosecutor will read the charges, and Charles will plead not guilty. Sarah, I’ll be there with him, and you wouldn’t be able to speak to him. I would suggest you not put yourself through it.”

  “What if they let him out?”

  “I’ll be asking for bail, but he may not get it.”

  “But if they do, I want to be there to bring him home.”

  “I understand. Do you want me to pick you up?”

  “No. I’ll call my son. Thank you, Graham. I know you’ll do what’s best for him.”

  After they hung up, she dialed Jason and told him about the arraignment. Before she had a chance to ask him, he said he’d pick her up at 8:15.

  Not able to face any more of the day, Sarah went to bed, knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She played back the meeting at the police station in her mind, wishing she had known what to say to raise Charles’ spirits.

  Charles looked haggard in his orange jumpsuit. The sight of handcuffs made Sarah want to cry, but she held back for his sake. She and Graham sat across the table from Charles, and when he reached for her hand, the guard started to move. Graham gave the guard a pleading look, and the guard shrugged and moved back against the wall. Charles and Sarah held hands throughout the meeting.

  “So what’s this all about, Graham?” Charles asked. “What do they think they have on me?”

  “They have your prints on the murder weapon.”

  “The stillson pipe wrench, right?” Charles asked.

  “Right,” Graham responded, looking worried. The specifics of the weapon had not been released.

  Charles told him about the day he helped Larry tighten the pipe. “What else?”

  “They have several witnesses who identified you during that lineup earlier. They saw you in a heated dispute with Coleman, and they heard threats being made.”

  “Threats? There were threats all right, but Coleman threatened me! Not the other way around!” Charles was getting heated, and Graham assured him they would be going over every detail of the evidence and his responses.

  “Right now, just let me tell you what they have.”

  “Sorry,” Charles said contritely. “Go on.”

  “The county building inspector reported that you seemed to be out to cause problems for B&H.”

  “What?”

  Graham raised his hand, indicating that Charles should wait and listen. “We don’t have much time, Charles.” He went on to say that there were other reports of ill feeling between Charles and Coleman, “but the main issue is the murder weapon, and we need to confirm where you were the day he was murdered.”

  “Sarah?” Charles said, looking toward his wife. “Do you remember where we were?”

  “I taught that one-day class at the quilt shop. I think you went to the lumberyard to get materials for the doghouse, didn’t you?”

  “No. I didn’t go that day. I remember now; I was tired, and I took a nap in the afternoon and watched the game off and on.”

  “Alone?” Graham asked.

  “Yes. Alone,” Charles responded. His shoulders dropped, and he looked defeated already.

  “We’re going to beat this, friend,” Graham Holtz said as he stood. “Hang in there. Hopefully you’ll be at home this time tomorrow night.”

  Sarah returned to the present time with a start, noticing by the bedroom clock that it was now 4:00 a.m. She got up and made a pot of coffee, knowing that sleep would not be coming to her that night. The phone rang just as the coffee was ready. Sarah looked at the clock and saw it was only 4:20. Her heart sank anew, fearing what else might have happened.

  “Hi, kiddo. Why are your lights on so early?”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Neither can I. I’ll be right over.”

  Chapter 22

  The judge looked at Charles and raised one of his bushy eyebrows. “Detective Parker. I never expected to see you at the defense table.”

  “This is a good sign,” Jason whispered to his mother. “The judge knows him.”

  Over the next few minutes, the prosecution presented their charges, and Charles responded not guilty.

  The prosecution recommended setting bail at $500,000. Before the defense attorney could speak, the judge roared, “Nonsense. Detective Parker has served this county with honor for several decades.” He turned his head toward Parker’s attorney and again raised his eyebrow.

  “Thank you, your honor,” Graham Holtz said. “Detective Parker is indeed a decorated officer, now retired from the MPD. He is not a threat to the community, and he is not a flight risk. Being newly married and in the process of building a new home, he has strong ties to the community. I might add that all evidence against Detective Parker is circumstantial. We request that Detective Parker be released on his own recognizance.” Taking his lead from the judge, Graham began referring to Charles as Detective Parker.

  “Well, that’s perhaps going too far in the other direction considering the severity of the charges. I’m setting bail at $100,000. Good luck, Detective Parker,” he added and pounded his gavel. “Next case.”

  Sarah looked at Jason, somewhat confused. “Is this a good thing?”

  “I think so. I just hope this judge hears the case if it goes to trial.”

  Sarah caught Charles’ eye just as he was being led from the room. She hurried toward Graham, but he put his hand on her back and directed her out of the room and into the hallway.

  “Well,” he said. “That’s the first step. I’ll help you arrange for bail, and we’ll get your fellow home. Then the real work begins.”

  * * * * *

  “I wrote this verse for Sarah. If I could draw, I’d make her a card,” Higgy announced proudly.

  “I have some cards that are blank inside,” Sophie said, reaching for her box of cards. “Show me your verse.”

  Sorry your guy has landed in jail,

  Without even the chance of bail,

  But don’t you fret,

  Things’ll get better yet,

  And he’ll be home eating kale.

  Sophie moaned. “Perhaps we should just tell her how we feel, Higgy. Besides, he’s out on bail now.”

  “I know, but that doesn’t rhyme.”

  Sophie started to slide the blank card back into her desk, but he stopped her.

  “No. Don’t put that away. I’ll
write my verse on the inside, and you can give it to her.”

  While he carefully penned his atrocious verse, Sophie shook her head, wondering where this man got the idea he could write verses.

  Later, while they were having lunch, she nonchalantly asked, “How did you get started writing verses, Higgy?”

  “Well, it’s an interesting story. I had this girlfriend when I was in high school. She didn’t really know she was my girlfriend, but that’s another story.” Sophie wondered about that other story.

  “One day she came to school and her eyes were all red. I was embarrassed to ask her what happened; I’d never really talked to her. But later I heard her talking to her friend. Her dog was dead. Got hit by a car.” He stopped and looked up at Sophie, as if that were the end of the story.

  “Well that’s too bad, but what does that have to do with verses?”

  “Oh. I wrote my first verse that day.” Again, silence.

  “And …?” she asked impatiently.

  “Well, it went something like this: Roses are red, apples are too. It makes me sad when you’re so blue. Boo-hoo.”

  Sophie gulped. “I see. So that’s how she found out she was your girlfriend?”

  “Oh no; I never told her that. But I started writing verses everywhere—in my notebook, on the edges of my test papers, on napkins, wherever there was a place to write. My mom said I was an artist with words. I loved hearing that, and I just kept writing.”

  “Your mother liked your verses?” Sophie thought about that, realizing that some mothers were totally blind to their children’s shortcomings. “So that’s the whole story?”

  “Yes, that’s about it. I kept writing them, and after I retired I decided to sell them. I had five boxes of verses by then. A couple of years ago, I pulled up a list of greeting card companies on the internet, and I started sending the verses to them.”

  “And you haven’t sold any?”

  “Not yet. These things take time, you know.”

  Sophie marveled at his persistence, but her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up across the street. She hurried to the front door and was overjoyed to see Charles getting out of the car, along with Sarah and her son, Jason. “Thank the Lord,” she whispered.

  * * * * *

  Jason shook Charles’ hand, wishing him luck, and kissed his mother on the cheek. As he was leaving, he saw Graham Holtz pulling up to the curb. “Your lawyer’s here,” he called over his shoulder.

  Sarah put the coffeepot on and started slicing ham for sandwiches. She hoped to get their home life back to a semblance of normal as quickly as possible for Charles’ sake. “Come on in,” she called to Graham when she heard him tap on the screen door. “We’re in the kitchen.”

  While she prepared lunch, the three refrained from talking about Charles’ arrest. Instead, Graham asked about the new house and Charles drew a quick sketch of the layout. “It’s perfect for the two of us, and we can even accommodate an occasional guest.”

  Barney had been holding back; he was still worried about the tension in the air. Boots, on the other hand, seemed happy to have everyone back home and was enthusiastically attacking Graham’s shoestrings.

  After lunch had been cleared away, the three remained sitting around the table, and Graham pulled a yellow pad and a file out of his briefcase. “Let’s take their so-called evidence one at a time.”

  Starting with the fingerprints, Charles retold his story about helping Larry tighten the fittings using the stillson pipe wrench. “Have you seen other people using the wrench?” Graham asked.

  “Not when I was there. I think you should talk with Larry about that. It’s his wrench, and he would know who’s used it. I only know he’s protective of it; it belonged to his grandfather.” Graham made a note to talk with Larry.

  “Now. How about that argument? Who was involved and what was it about, from the beginning.” Charles again, but in minute detail this time, told how he discovered the mud in the trenches and what happened the day he arrived and found that they were pouring the concrete footings anyway.

  “What about threats?”

  “As I recall, my only threat was that I would contact the authorities. Coleman said something like, ‘Come back on this property, and I’ll be waiting.’ I’m really not sure of the exact words.”

  “No specific threats of bodily harm were made?”

  “None. I don’t know what Coleman might have said to his crew after I left.”

  “That’s a good point. That might be where the so-called witnesses heard threats. I’ll explore that possibility with them. If they weren’t made in your presence, they’re irrelevant to the trial. I’m concerned that you don’t have an alibi for that day.” He waited for Charles to speak.

  “What can I say? I was home alone. I don’t have any way to prove that.”

  “I’m not too worried,” Graham said as he was picking up his papers an hour or so later. “Everything is circumstantial. What we need is another suspect. Any ideas?”

  “Not off the top of my head, but then I really didn’t know the man well enough to know if he had enemies. He could be pretty nasty and probably ticked off a lot of people. Are the police still investigating?”

  “You know the answer to that better than I do. But in my experience, once they have a suspect locked up, they don’t go looking for more.”

  “My experience, too,” Charles agreed, looking discouraged.

  “I don’t have to tell you how important it is that you stay away from the witnesses, right?”

  “Right,” Charles responded without much conviction.

  “Charles, I mean it. Stay away from the jobsite and anyone associated with it. I know it’s your nature to want to investigate, but this is not the time for you to do it.” Graham added that he would have his own investigator look around.

  Charles saw Sarah’s eyes light up, and he knew what she was thinking. He didn’t want to bring it up in front of Graham, but he knew he would have to talk to her about not doing any of her own clandestine investigating. Whoever killed Max Coleman would willingly kill again.

  Chapter 23

  It had been almost a week since Charles’ release on bond. Sarah and Charles sat in the living room as they had most afternoons that week. Charles was in his recliner facing the television; the channel was set to one of his favorite sports, baseball. Sarah, sitting on the couch, thumbed nonchalantly through a quilting magazine. To an observer, they could be any couple quietly settling into married life.

  But closer observation would reveal that Charles, though appearing to be watching his favorite team play, was not responding when runs were made nor when his favorite batter struck out. And Sarah, although diligently turning the pages of her magazine every few minutes, was totally unaware of the words printed on the pages.

  Both were in their own worlds searching for answers, trying to come up with a plan, fearing the future, and feeling helpless and alone.

  Charles wanted to put on his badge and gun belt and head out on the streets like he did when he was a young officer. He wanted to track down and handcuff the man who killed Coleman and turn him into that arrogant young Detective Oarsman. He wanted to say, “See, kid? This is how it’s done.”

  Sarah wanted to go back to that time a few weeks before when she was a new bride and had an adoring husband, when they laughed and touched and planned. She wanted their life back, and she was willing to do whatever was necessary to get there.

  Where Charles may have been daydreaming, Sarah was devising a plan.

  * * * * *

  “Is there someone working here by the name of Larry?”

  “Who wants to know?” the man asked.

  “I’m Sarah Parker. My husband …”

  “Ah, yes! You’re Charlie’s wife. I was sorry to hear what’s going on with him. Is he home now?” Before Sarah could respond, the man added, “By the way, I’m Larry.”

  Sarah smiled a relieved smile. Larry appeared to be friendly
and easy to talk to. She’d been nervous about going to the jobsite after all the problems Charles had there.

  “Yes, he’s home,” she responded with a sincere smile. “And I need your help. I was wondering if you and I could talk sometime.”

  “I’m happy to do anything I can to help my buddy. He’s a good man.” Looking around, he added, “You know … things are pretty quiet around here right now. Why don’t I tell these guys I’m going to lunch with a pretty lady?”

  Sarah smiled and thanked him. She was determined to help Charles clear up this mess no matter what it took, and it looked like Larry just might be willing to help her do that. “Let’s take my car and go up to the Community Center. They have a nice lunch buffet there on Fridays. My treat,” Sarah said.

  “Well, well. That would be really nice. I’m pretty dirty, though,” he said looking down at his soiled jeans.

  “No problem. You can wash up at the Center, and the jeans don’t matter. You’ll see when you get there.” Sure enough, there were several men from B&H there already, as well as a group of very elderly women in bibs who were enjoying a field trip with their nurses.

  “I fit right in,” he said with a snicker as he headed for the men’s room.

  Once they filled their plates from the buffet and sat down across from one another, Larry spoke up, asking, “So how do you think I can help?”

  “The obvious thing is the wrench. That seems to be their primary piece of evidence.”

  “They talked to me about that, and I told them all I know. Charlie held it once, Donald my assistant uses it sometimes, and of course me. I don’t know of anyone else’s prints that should be on it. They wouldn’t tell me anything. Does it have other prints?”

  “Our lawyer said there are some other prints, but they’re smudged and unidentifiable.”

  “So why did they pick out Charlie? Why didn’t they arrest me or Donald?”

  “That’s because of the argument they had about the footings. I guess some of the guys you work with told the police that Charles threatened Max.”

  “He did no such thing,” Larry responded irately. “I was right there.” Larry shook his head and added, “Whoever said that was either mistaken or lying to cover for somebody. I’ll ask around and let Charlie know.”