“How would you feel about that?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if nothing happened. Guys like that get to do whatever they want.”
“What would you like to see happen?”
Chelsea shrugged. “I wish it would just go away. The only reason I filed a report in the first place was because my friends made me.”
“How do you feel about what those men did to you?”
“I was asking for it. I drank too much to say no.”
Charlotte set her tablet aside and leaned forward, trying to talk not only as a psychiatrist, but as one woman to another. “Chelsea, no one asks to be raped by seven young men while she’s practically unconscious. You were violated, and you have a right to be angry.”
Chelsea wiped her eyes. “I just want you to sign the paper that says you talked to me and I’m okay.”
Charlotte leaned back and folded her arms. Chelsea was going to have more trouble dealing with herself than with the rapists, but she needed help all the same. “I tell you what. I want to see you again in a week. You think about how you want to feel about this a year from now . . . five years from now, and we’ll talk some more.”
The girl nodded and stood, clearly eager to get out. “Next week . . . same time?”
“That’s fine. And take this, in case you want to talk.” Charlotte handed her a card, knowing it would end up in a trash can outside.
“Thanks.”
Charlotte followed her out and was surprised to see a man waiting in the lobby.
“Dr. Blue, this is—”
The man didn’t wait for Joyce’s introduction. “Dr. Charlotte Blue?”
“Yes.”
He handed her a folded piece of paper. “Consider yourself served.”
Brandon came out of his office. “What’s that all about?”
Charlotte opened it and confirmed her guess. “I’ve been expecting this. They’re taking depositions in the case against Glynn Wright. I’m being called to answer questions about Sebby’s intake and to turn over copies of my records.”
“Whose intake?”
“Her son, Sebastian. They call him Sebby. I’m sure it’s just routine.”
The summons required her to call the district attorney to set up an appointment for a deposition within five working days. Michael had advised her to complete it as soon as possible so they would know if Glynn’s using her house for a respite would pose a conflict for their defense. He didn’t expect Charlotte to have anything material for the DA’s case, but had lost his motion for restricting her files.
She returned to her office and closed the door to make the call. Ten minutes later, her appointment was set for three thirty the following afternoon.
It would be strange going home tonight to an empty house. Though Glynn had left most of her things just in case she changed her mind, she was planning to brave the press tonight at home after returning to work. If today’s news was any indication, the media would be camped out at Alvin Baxter’s house instead.
On Michael’s advice, they had completely avoided the topic of Sebby since their first night together, so as not to color Charlotte’s testimony during her deposition. Instead, they had cooked together, played backgammon, watched movies, and talked about their families and their time overseas.
Several times over the last few days, Charlotte had tried to imagine whether Glynn had intentionally killed her husband. She couldn’t fathom the possibility under any circumstances. Michael had seized on the idea of sleepwalking as a defense, but wanted to wait until he had deposed Sebby to make his decision on how to proceed. It wasn’t enough to exonerate Glynn by introducing reasonable doubt, he said. A not-guilty verdict was vital to satisfy even the strongest skeptic, or her career as a congresswoman would be over. Worse than that, anything short of proving her innocence might leave an insurmountable wedge between Glynn and her son.
“Thanks, Roy,” Glynn said, closing her phone. “He says the coast is clear.”
Tina turned onto Glynn’s street and stopped at the curb in front of her house. “It sure was nice of Alvin Baxter to help us out.”
Glynn chuckled. “You know, that video wasn’t made yesterday. It’s at least a couple of months old, so someone has been sitting on it.”
“Whoever it was, his timing couldn’t have been better for us.”
“Agreed.” She got out and leaned her head back in. “Thanks, Tina. I don’t know what I would have done without your help this past week.”
“You can always count on me, Glynn. All of us are in your corner.”
“That means a lot.”
Tina waited at the curb until she had entered her house and locked the door. The moment she turned on the lights, the phone rang. No one but her staff knew she was here.
“Congresswoman Wright?”
The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “Yes.”
“This is David Pender from the Washington Post.”
Glynn recognized the name immediately, and regretted having given her home phone number to Pender, who was the education reporter to whom she had spoken several times about the preschool program and her other legislative goals. “Hello, David.”
“I apologize for calling you at home. You gave me this number when I was writing the preschool story.”
“Yes, I remember. It was so we could talk about the preschool bill. Is that why you’re calling?”
He paused as though apologetic. “Actually, I was hoping we might talk about the charges against you. I could give you the chance to get your story out there.”
“That’s a very generous offer, David, but my office already put out a press release with all the pertinent information.” “Any chance I could get a quote or a comment beyond that? I can promise you I’m not interested in any sort of exposé or speculative piece. But if you want to present your side of things, I hope you’d consider talking to me first.”
“You want the exclusive.”
“I’d like to think our past relationship has been good, and that you’d trust me to be fair.”
David was right on that count. His coverage of the education beat had been fair and thorough. “Have you had much experience on this sort of story?”
“To tell you the truth, no. At least, not a story of this magnitude. I was a general assignment reporter in St. Louis before landing the education beat at the Post.”
Glynn sighed. She wasn’t ready to talk, but when she was, she wanted to sit down with someone friendly to her position. It made a lot of sense to use someone who knew her professionally. “I tell you what, David. My attorney doesn’t want me doing interviews right now, but if you’ll send me a list of questions, I’ll go over them with him and do my best to answer what I can.” “That would be great, Congresswoman.” He confirmed her e-mail address. “May I send them tonight?”
“Sure, but don’t expect a response right away.”
“I won’t, but I do hope you’ll consider an exclusive.” “I will if you’ll do me a favor in return. Don’t call me again at this number, and don’t give it out to anyone else.”
“It’s a deal.”
She kicked off her shoes. It was nice to be back home, but lonely after spending five nights at Charlotte’s house.
Roy had given her two briefs to read before her meetings tomorrow, but the most pressing item tonight was a meeting with Michael to go over Sebby’s deposition. She wished Charlotte could be there to hear about it, but Charlotte was probably home tonight luxuriating in her privacy. It was a lot to ask for her to give up her space for almost a week, and she had done more than enough.
Glynn pored over the briefs while she ate dinner, a tasteless microwave entrée. Michael arrived and dropped his topcoat over a chair in the dining room. Ever the professional, he was smartly dressed in a tailored suit.
She assumed her favorite position on the couch, bare feet tucked beneath her. “How did Sebby look?”
“This is hard on him, Glynn,” he said, sitting down and plac
ing his briefcase on the floor. “He was pretty nervous, and he kept looking at Mark like he wanted approval for his answers.”
Incredulous, she dropped her jaw. “You’ve got to be kidding. Mark McKee gets to be there and I don’t?”
“Mark was there as his temporary guardian. That was one of the papers you signed when he was admitted to Rawlings.”
Glynn stewed inwardly, regretting the naïve trust she had placed in Mark. “So how did Sebby act?”
“It was pretty obvious he was torn up about it. He started crying and even changed his mind twice about testifying, but they talked with him privately and he went through with it.”
“I thought there were rules against that kind of armtwisting.”
Michael sighed. “Those rules only apply if they’re telling him what to say.”
“Did he say why he was doing this?”
“It’s complicated, Glynn. Let me tell you his whole story first. Okay?” Michael pulled a leather-bound folder from his briefcase and looked over his notes. “I asked him to tell me everything he remembered, and said I would stop to ask questions. He was very polite . . . yes, sir . . . no, sir. So he began with you arriving home. He remembered meeting you at the airport, and that you rode home with him in the backseat of the car. He was very happy about that.”
Glynn felt the tears welling up as she remembered how excited they all were to see each other again. Bas was making jokes from the front seat about Sebby stealing his girl. “We were all happy.”
“He didn’t remember anything in particular about the next day.”
“It was a Friday. I took him to school and met his teacher.”
Michael shook his head. “He didn’t seem to remember that, but I don’t suppose it made an impression as much as you getting home or what happened the next day.”
“When Bas died.”
“Yes, he remembers quite a bit about that day. I have to admit, the details he recalls are pretty remarkable.” He folded over a page. “He said you went to the store in the morning because he wanted cookies. Do you remember that?”
“I do.” Charlotte too had been impressed with the clarity of Sebby’s memory regarding the cookies. “His favorite was chocolate oatmeal drop cookies. I didn’t have what I needed, so I went to the store. As soon as I got home, Bas left to meet his friends for football on the mall. He did that every Saturday.”
Michael made a note in the margin with his Mont Blanc pen. “I’m hoping somewhere we can establish that Sebby’s confused about things, that he claims to have seen things that didn’t happen. The problem with refuting his story about anything is that we have to put you on the stand to do that.”
“What’s the problem with that?”
“I like to avoid it when I can. Prosecutors are very good at making defendants look like defendants.” He flipped another page. “He remembers quite a bit about the cookies.”
“Charlotte said that too. She said kids remember things like that.”
“He says he stood on a stool to help. The stool was blue, with a picture of a fire truck on the top step, and he used it whenever he needed to get a drink of water by himself.”
“That’s amazing he remembers that. I got rid of that stool when we moved into the new house. That was . . . ten years ago.”
“He definitely remembers it. And then he says you made cookies and gave him some, which he ate at the table. You stayed in the kitchen, cleaning up or something.”
“That makes sense, but why is it important?”
“The DA wants to establish that Sebby finished eating the cookies in the kitchen. Is that how you remember it?”
“I really don’t, but I probably would have asked him to stay at the table. He usually had milk with cookies, and you don’t let a five-year-old take things like that to another room. And I remember that right after he finished, we took a nap together in his room.”
“That’s exactly what Sebby said. But he woke up when he heard his father come home from the football game. A few minutes later, he says he got up and realized his father was in the tub in the master bath. So he went back into the kitchen, got the stool again, and climbed up to get more cookies from where you had put them away.”
She smiled at Sebby’s version of events. “That little sneak.”
“This is where it starts to get interesting, Glynn. He says he heard you yelling from the bathroom and went down the hall to see what it was about. He didn’t want you to see him, because he wasn’t supposed to be in there in the first place, and he thought you would be mad about the cookies.”
“What? Why wasn’t he supposed to be in there? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“He says he wasn’t allowed in your bedroom.”
“That’s ridiculous. We never told him that.”
Michael jotted something else in the margin of his notes. “He says then he squatted down behind the bed, where he had a clear view of the bathroom.” He handed her a diagram. “This is from the police report of the scene. Sebby’s right that he could have seen directly into the bathroom from there.”
Glynn studied the layout. The door to the bedroom was at a right angle to the one going into the bathroom, but they were only steps apart. It was certainly feasible that he could have seen into the bathroom, but not that he saw her kill Bas.
“He says you and Bas were arguing and you pushed the TV into the tub.”
She gasped and shook her head vigorously. “How could he even say such a thing?”
Michael held up his hand and continued with his meticulous notes. “He says he heard it pop and sizzle, then he ducked down behind the bed because you turned around and were coming out of the bathroom. He doesn’t remember anything after that until the police came.”
“Michael, Sebby woke me up after Bas was dead. None of that other stuff happened.”
He handed her another sheet of paper, pointing to a paragraph at the bottom. “This is a report from the scene, Glynn. The policeman wrote that he found two cookies on the floor behind the bed. It seems to corroborate Sebby being there like he said.”
Glynn sat stunned as the news sank in. “But . . .”
“And they also said they found his stool at the kitchen counter.”
“But none of that means I killed Bas.”
“No, but it gives Sebby’s story a lot of credibility. Once a jury hears this and gets a look at the police report, there’s a good chance they’ll buy it all.”
Since the moment she was charged, Glynn’s mind had wandered through all of the steps it would take to close this horrible chapter of her life. Not once—until right now—had she imagined it could possibly end in her being convicted of murder. She asked shakily, “What are we going to do?”
Michael closed his notebook and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m starting to think the sleepwalking defense might be our best bet.”
She snorted. “In other words, I killed him but I didn’t mean to.”
“Glynn, it’s the only explanation that makes sense. The one thing we have working in our favor is that the DA has no motive. Even Sebby said he remembers you and Bas being happy with each other. He doesn’t remember any tension at all in your home.”
“Because there wasn’t any.”
“So if you were happy, and Sebby saw you push the TV into the tub, you must have been sleepwalking. There’s no other explanation.”
“But what if Sebby didn’t actually see what he thinks he saw? If he can’t remember waking me up, maybe there’s something else he’s confused about. What if his real memory is some other time when Bas and I were playing around in the bathroom? I remember once I went in there and terrorized him about playing catch with his football that was autographed by all the Redskins, like I was going to throw it in the water.”
“I think it’s a reasonable argument, but here’s what we’re up against. Sebby’s version is going to have a lot of credence because of those damn cookies in the bedroom. The only thing we have is your word
against his, and the facts are on his side.”
Glynn was suddenly feeling boxed in. “Michael, if I claim I was sleepwalking, I have to confess to killing my husband. Do you really think the people back in Indiana want some sort of zombie murderer representing them in Washington?”
“You have to think ahead to how you want this to end. You told me what matters most is Sebby. If you go up against his story in court and can’t convince him you didn’t do it, he’s going to come away believing you murdered his father. Wouldn’t you both be better off if he thought it was an accident?”
Michael was right. What mattered most—even more than a not-guilty verdict—was healing things with Sebby. “You were going to tell me why he’s doing this.”
“I asked him that when we were finished because I wanted to make sure he wasn’t being coerced. He says you told him he had to follow it wherever it went, that whatever he found would be all right. He feels that you would want him to tell what really happened.”
Glynn shook her head in confusion.
Michael put his hand on his chest. “He started crying. He said he feels this all the time inside.”
“Feels it?”
“That’s right. He didn’t know what it was before, but it made him hurt every time he thought about it. He said you told him to let it all out, that it was okay. The most important thing in his mind was holding up his end of the bargain to get well, to not try to hurt himself anymore, because you said losing him was the one thing in the world you couldn’t bear.”
A wave of sadness swept over her as she pictured her son’s tears. He hated what he was doing to her, but in his mind, he was saving her the heartache of what he might do to himself. “Whatever you think is best, Michael. There’s nothing that matters to me more than Sebby.”
Chapter 15
Charlotte’s foot bounced on her crossed leg as she waited. She was losing patience with every minute that passed. Now forty minutes late for her deposition, the district attorney seemed to think his time was more valuable than hers. She was ready to walk out and leave it to them to reschedule when a tall, athleticlooking man appeared from the hallway.
Secrets So Deep eBook Page 16