I didn’t know what I expected this Peter Lawson to tell me. I guess I wanted a reason, some sort of motive or logical explanation. I wanted something that would help me accept that my father was a murderer and that my mother still cared for the man that had killed her father.
I went back to school the Monday following my birthday. I wanted things to seem normal so my mother wouldn’t suspect that I was making plans to visit Detective Lawson.
He lived in North Carolina about 50 miles away from Catolby prison, so I decided I would stop by before my next visit with my father.
I rang the doorbell of the Lawson home but wasn’t sure if it sounded or not, so I knocked as well.
“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” someone grunted from inside. “I’m old! You’re gonna have to be patient.” A few moments later, an old Caucasian man with a walker opened the door. “Who are you and what do you want?”
His abruptness startled me somewhat. “I’m Garrett…um..."
“Do you have a last name?”
I actually didn’t know how to answer that. I wasn’t really Garrett Anthony, but was I Garrett Whitman or Garrett Baker? I wasn’t sure so I just said. “Are you Peter Lawson?”
“Yeah, what of it?”
“Um, you knew my mother, Holly Jane Whitman. I was just wondering if you remembered her.”
Mr. Lawson stared at me intently. He squinted his eyes making the liver spots on his face draw together and unite. He scrunched his lips and grunted, then turned his back to me as he moved slowly back into the house pushing his walker in front of him.
I waited at the door not knowing what to do. Maybe he hadn’t heard me.
“Ya feet got glue on ‘em or somethin’? Get in here!” I stepped through the door into his living room. A collection of orange and brown furniture from the seventies and a musty smell assaulted my senses.
I stood in the middle of the room as Mr. Lawson maneuvered himself into an arm chair. He seemed to be having difficulty so I offered him a hand.
“I can do it myself!” he snapped. After a few more moments he had won the battle with the chair and sighed with relaxation. “That’s the worst part about getting old, not being able to do seemingly normal things anymore. That, and the hemorrhoids.”
I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not, so I gave an awkward smile and took a seat on the dusty orange sofa.
“How old are you, son?”
“Sixteen…um… 17.”
“Well, which is it?”
“Seventeen, I just had a birthday.”
“December 10th, no…ninth, right?”
“Yeah, how did you-”
“They say you never forget your first case and your last case. I’d have to agree. I was 65 and ready to retire when I was thrown into the Whitman family.” He folded his hands across his chest then leaned his head back reflectively.
“I’m glad to hear that, sir, because I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“About what?”
“About my grandfather’s murder.”
“Your mother never told you nothin’?” I shook my head as a response.
“Yeah, I’d expect she wouldn’t. Your mother was never really good at facing the truth.”
Mr. Lawson began shuffling things around on the table next to his chair.
“Louise! Where are my chocolates?” he yelled in a frustrated tone.
“You’ve already had too many,” came a female voice from the kitchen.
“I haven’t had any today.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to bring me my goddamn chocolates when I goddamn ask for ‘em!” Mr. Lawson swung his fist in the air as if he were punching the disembodied voice of Louise. “You see, Garrett, that’s the worst part about getting old, not being able to eat your chocolates when you want to.”
I let out an uncomfortable chuckle then stared down at my hands.
“Do me a favor, son, and look under that couch. There should be a box.” I obeyed and dove my hand under the couch. After grabbing a few fistfuls of dust and cat hair, I felt the box and pulled it out. He gestured for me to bring it to him. Inside were miniature Hershey bars. He ate three with unabashed ecstasy before returning his attention to me.
“You look just like your daddy,” he said with a mouth full of chocolate. “Except for the hair and the eyes. I guess you get that from Holly.
Not knowing what to say, I nodded like a tongue-tied idiot.
“I was there the day you were born, you know.”
“You were? Why?”
“I just had to see you for myself. I gotta tell you. I ain’t never been so happy to see a black baby come out of a white woman in my life.”
“Excuse me?” I asked a little startled at his frankness.
“You heard me. I was happy you came out black. I probably did a little jig right there in the hospital.”
“But I don’t understand. Why?”
“Because it meant you were Greg’s son and not Thomas’.”
“Who’s Thomas?”
“Boy, she really didn’t tell you anything.” Mr. Lawson ate another chocolate before he said, “Thomas was Holly’s father.”
My throat tightened and my body tensed. A wave of nausea gripped me. I hoped I misunderstood what Mr. Lawson was saying. I hoped he wasn’t telling me that he suspected my grandfather impregnated my mother.
“Are you saying that my grandfather…” My voice trailed off. I couldn’t even say the repulsive idea out loud.
“Thomas Whitman was a perverted bastard that was able to hide behind his money. He had some sort of soap empire, you know. My only regret in life was that we didn’t catch him in time so he could spend the rest of his life in jail. But in the end, I guess he got what he deserved anyway.”
“Mr. Lawson, I’m sorry, this is a lot for me to take in. I’m afraid I don’t really understand. How do you know this?”
Mr. Lawson ate another chocolate and sighed. Then he got a distant look in his eye as he started to relate his tale.
“One day, I’m sittin’ in the police station and I see this pretty little blonde girl step through the door. She looks around real shy-like then flees back out. She does this two more times before finally she comes in holding hands with this massive black guy. So, I approach them, not really knowing what they could possibly want and ask what the problem is. Then, in this sweet little girl voice, she says ‘my father raped me.’ Well, I just about fell over. I was already old at that time and I’d hoped that I heard her wrong, but I didn’t. I took them both into a room and she gave me the whole story.” Mr. Lawson paused and looked at me. “I’ll save you the details and just give you a general overview.”
“Holly was 15 at the time,” he continued, “and she told me the abuse started when she was eight. I asked her what made her come forward now and she just looked up at her boyfriend. Well, that day, a squad car went out to the Whitman estate and arrested Thomas. We brought him in for questioning and of course he denied everything and since we had no physical evidence, we had to let him go. The next day, Holly came in with her mother, Frances, and retracted her whole statement. The Whitmans proceeded to sue the station for false arrest, defamation of character, and whole bunch of other bull hockey and they actually won.
Something in my gut told me Holly was telling the truth and that her mother made her lie, but there was nothing I could do. I tried to visit her once in a while and see if she was ready to face the truth, but she always just smiled and pretended nothing was wrong. After a while, I lost track of her. I didn’t see her again until about a year later, when the call came in that there had been a shooting at the Whitman estate.
When we arrived, Greg and Holly were calmly holding each other on the floor of the dining room, while Thomas’ body grew cold in the kitchen.
We took them in for questioning. Neither would talk. Then the Whitman lawyers arrived and prepared a statement on Holly’s behalf. Greg didn’t have a lawyer. Before I
knew it, Greg was confessing to pre-meditated murder and claimed to have acted alone. He told police that Holly had nothing to do with it and that she didn’t even know what he had planned. When I asked for a motive, he said that Holly was pregnant with his child and that Thomas wouldn’t let them get married.
I didn’t believe him for a second. I knew the murder had something to do with the abuse, but what could I do? I didn’t have any evidence and Holly wasn’t talking. I even suspected that the baby might be Thomas’, but I hoped I was wrong. Thankfully, I was.”
My hands were shaking and my mouth was dry. This was the reason, the logical explanation I’d been seeking, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. I knew there had to be some sort of terrible secret in my parents' past, but I never expected it to be as awful as incest. A gnawing pain grew in my gut. Pain from the guilt of how I had treated my mother and pain for the agony my mother must have gone through. I understood her so much better now. All her life she’d been trying to escape her father’s abuse by running into the arms of no-good men or by emptying bottles of alcohol and drugs. If I had known this, if I had known the truth, maybe I could have helped her in some way.
“Do you want something to drink, son?” he offered noticing my distress.
“No, I think I better…I think I’m going to…I have to go.” I had to get out of there. I couldn’t breathe. I bolted off the couch and headed for the door as Mr. Lawson offered words of consolation and invited me to stay for lunch.
I went outside hoping the cold December wind would keep the tears at bay, but it didn’t.
Chapter 22: Forbidden Love
When I arrived at Catolby Prison, my father was waiting in the visitor’s area pacing. I was an hour and a half late and he seemed genuinely concerned. I ducked behind a corner and watched him momentarily. He seemed so different to me now. The amount of love it took for him to sacrifice his life for my mother touched me. I just didn’t understand why he didn’t tell me the true circumstances of the murder earlier. I’ve grown up ashamed of my father and afraid I would turn out like him. Now I admired him. I wanted to run up, give him a hug, and call him ‘dad’ for the first time. I wanted to thank him for saving my mother’s life and giving her a chance for a normal existence. But I didn’t. I think the thought of such a public display of affection with my father embarrassed me. So, instead, I casually walked over to the table and began setting up the chess board.
“Where have you been? I thought you were in an accident or something. You know you really shouldn’t be driving Corbin’s car without a license.”
“I’m sorry I’m late. I…I had to make a stop.” Afraid my face would give away what I now knew, I looked directly at the board refusing to make eye contact with him.
“You had to make a stop where? Who do you know in North Carolina?” He continued to stare at me while I tried to arrange the pieces in the same places they were a month ago. I could feel his eyes drilling into my soul searching for the truth. He knew something wasn’t right. I decided I needed to change the subject.
“Will you tell me how you and Holly met?”
The question instantly put a smile on my father’s face as he probably replayed the encounter in his mind. He looked off into the distance wistfully and thought for a while.
“The summer after I turned 15,” he began finally, “while all of my friends were out playing basketball, I got a job as a landscaper so I could earn some extra money. No, I didn’t want to buy my first car or anything. I wanted to go to space camp in Florida. God, I was a nerd.” My father chuckled for a moment. I smiled as well realizing I was more like my father than I’d thought. “Anyway, the company I worked for was doing this huge landscaping project for the Whitman family. It was scheduled to take five or six weeks to complete. My first day there, I notice this amazingly beautiful but sad girl staring down at us from her bedroom window. I asked some of the other young guys I worked with who she was and they said things like, ‘Don’t even think about it. She’s Thomas Whitman’s daughter, she’s rich and unattainable, and she never talks to anyone anyway.’
“But they completely misinterpreted my intentions. I didn’t want to hit on her or anything. I just wanted to make her smile. I thought a girl that beautiful should never be sad. So, after work, I took some of the flowers we had cut down and arranged them into a bouquet. I snuck up to her room and left them at her door. I did this every day for a week. Then one day she caught me. She seemed really suspicious and defensive at first as she asked me what I wanted from her. I told her that I didn’t want anything, that I only wanted to see her happy. She stared at me with utter confusion as I reiterated the fact that all I wanted was to see her smile. Then a slow, timid smile lit up her face. I gave a dramatic bow and thanked her for such an honor. She smiled even more brightly and giggled. As I turned to walk away, we both heard footsteps. She grabbed my arm and pulled me into her room, just as her father entered the hallway.”
My father stopped speaking then stared at the table for a while. The pleasant wistful look on his face disappeared at just the mention of Holly’s father. I wondered if he noticed something was wrong between them on that first encounter.
He cleared his throat and continued, “Before long, we were inseparable. We would meet in town and go to the movies, take long walks in the woods, have picnics by the lake. It was the best summer of my life.”
It sounded like my father wanted to end the story there, but I wanted to know more. I wanted to know when he figured out that Thomas was a molester. So I asked, “Did she meet Grandma Jean? When did you meet her family?”
My father got an uncomfortable look on his face. He rubbed his forehead as if he was getting a headache. He seemed to be weighing how much information he wanted to reveal to me. He was silent so long I feared he would cut off the conversation. Then he said, “I, of course, was nervous about introducing her to my mother. We were poor and we lived in a not so good neighborhood, but Holly said she didn’t care. She said she’d love me no matter what. And she did. In fact, she would come to our dingy little apartment quite often and just hang out.”
“What happened when you met her parents?” I asked.
“They almost had a joint heart attack when Holly brought me home for dinner one night.” He chuckled again, but I don’t think it was because he found the situation humorous. I think it was a defense mechanism. He wanted to hide how much their reaction probably hurt him. “They tried to be polite and pretend like my color didn’t matter, but I could tell it did. Pretty soon, Holly wouldn’t be able to see me because she had cotillion practice, or piano practice, or tennis lessons or she had to meet with a tutor. It was pretty obvious what was happening, but Holly wouldn’t stand for it. When school started, we would email each other all day. She even bought me a cell phone so we could keep in touch. Sometimes we would skip school and meet somewhere so we could be together. We felt like Romeo and Juliet.”
“So when did you find out that Thomas….” I didn’t quite know how to put it. I didn’t know how to come out and ask him when he realized my grandfather was a sexual predator.
“That Thomas what?” he asked with suspicion.
“That he…you know.”
My father paused and stared at me. He knew I knew something. Then it hit him. “You spoke to Peter, didn’t you?” He sighed as he rested his head in his hands. “I told her forbidding you to see him wouldn’t work.” He stood up from the table and paced the floor. After a while, he shook his head and sat back down. He must have realized it was fruitless to lie to me now.
“One night, we were in Holly’s room talking. Thomas came home unexpectedly and I hid in her closet. I saw him come in and…and kiss her like a father shouldn’t kiss his daughter. I froze. I didn’t know what to do. I should have jumped out of that closet right then and…” My father closed his eyes and shook his head as if trying to shake the memory from his mind. “But I didn’t. I didn’t do anything. I felt so…powerless. I hated myself.
; “Holly tried to deny what was going on, but I wouldn't let her lie to me. I’d seen the signs all along. Something inside me knew it wasn’t right the way he looked at her and touched her even when I was around, but I didn’t want to accept what could be happening when I wasn’t there. Now I couldn’t deny it any longer. After hours of convincing, she finally told me the truth and the next day we went to the police.”
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