Fortunate Son

by E. A. Copen

  “I was just wondering if maybe I should apologize to Chad. I don’t want to make things worse, and no matter what, nothing’s going to happen to him, is it? Maybe things would be better if I’d just apologize and keep my mouth shut next time he picks on me.”

  I stood, uncaring that several papers fluttered from the coffee table to the floor, and went to him, wrapping my arms around his head and holding him tight. “Oh, Hunter. Silence won’t work, honey. All it does is teach him what he’s doing is okay. He’ll just move on to someone else.”

  Hunter’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, but it won’t be me, and you won’t lose your job. Let him be someone else’s problem. I’m tired of it.”

  I put my hands on the sides of his face and made him look up into my eyes. “He will never be someone else’s problem. If you turn away and let bad people do what they like to other people, you’re just as guilty as them. You know it’s happening, whether you’re the victim or not, and once you know, you have to make a choice. Either you object and intervene, doing everything you can to see that justice is served, or you become complacent in the act. Choosing not to act is the same as assisting evil, Hunter. You have to act. No silence, not anymore. Not ever again.”

  Hunter threw his arms around me and squeezed.

  I held him tight, but turned my eyes back on the papers that had scattered to the floor. If I turned my back as Doran had done, as everyone else in the department wanted me to do, I might as well have put the gun to Katie’s head myself. Whatever the cost, I had to pursue Baron Grahm or he’d just do what he did to Katie to someone else.

  I WENT TO BARON’S RESIDENCE the next morning. He lived in Theta House with the other frat boys. It was a tall, two-story white building near campus with polished white columns out front. The outside was clean and well-maintained with no sign at all of the parties that were supposed to have been legendary. It was early on a Saturday morning, meaning that anyone who had been drinking the night before was probably still plenty hung over. I made sure to knock loudly.

  The door jerked open and a pretty brunette girl answered. She wore a short, blue dress that stopped at the knees and had a collar. A white apron rested over it, the words ‘kitchen bitch’ written on the chest in permanent marker. She wore heavy makeup that almost covered the bruise under her left eye. “Yes, can I help you?”

  I showed her my badge and watched her face pale.

  She leaned back as if to call into the house, but stopped when I put a hand on her shoulder.

  “I’d actually like to talk to you first,” I said and pulled her gently forward.

  She stepped awkwardly out onto the porch and pulled the door closed behind her as an afterthought. “I don’t know why you’d want to speak to me. I’m just the maid.”

  “You like being the maid at Theta House?”

  She chewed her bottom lip and nodded. “Pays better than work study at the library.”

  “Do you know Baron Grahm?”

  “I’m not really supposed to talk to the police. It’s in my contract.”

  “How about taking a beating from a bunch of frat boys?” I asked, pointing to the bruise on her face. “That in your contract, too?”

  She touched her fingers to her cheek. “Marching band accident.”

  “Sure it was.” I sighed. “How about you take me to Baron Grahm’s room? Quiet would be better.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Or,” I said, tapping my foot, “I could bring you downtown for questioning.”

  The maid nodded and opened the door.

  I followed her through a well-kept house with upscale furniture and all the trappings of college boy life. The trash cans were full to bursting with red silo cups and cracked ping pongs. Posters of half naked women and fast cars decorated the walls right alongside pictures of distinguished looking men in frames. Alumni, probably.

  On the stairs, I stopped in front of one and studied it. The man in the photo was handsome, young—at least, when the photo was taken—and sporting a smile that could have won him the world. A plaque under the picture named him: Senator Seth Grahm. Baron’s father.

  At the top of the stairs, we made a right to go down a hallway with doors on either side. Some doors remained open a crack, revealing half naked or completely naked boys snoozing in impossible positions on beds, sofas, and hammocks. Laundry piled up all around them, threatening to topple and bury them alive.

  The maid showed me to a room near the end of the hall where the door was cracked open.

  I stopped outside the door and peered in. Three bodies lay in the bed with half the blankets thrown on the floor. I assumed the one in the middle was Baron, as it was the only one of the three that didn’t look female.

  The two girls curled up on either side of him stirred when I pushed open the door. One opened her eyes.

  I pressed a finger to my lips and unhooked the handcuffs from my belt.

  She gave a slight nod and shifted away from Baron.

  I didn’t have a warrant for his arrest. With all the evidence I had, I could get one by that afternoon. In the meantime, I could let him stew in questioning and go through processing like everybody else. Sure, the captain would be mad. My superiors would rip me a new one from here to Washington, but once I had him going through the system, it’d be too late. They couldn’t stop the system once it got going. All the evidence, everything he’d done, would come to light and Baron’s fate would be in the hands of a jury of his peers, not a bunch of frat boys and corrupt officials. All I had to do was put those cuffs on him, read him his rights, and march him out the front door.

  “Baron Grahm,” I said, closing on the bed.

  His head moved and he made a slight groan, but didn’t wake. At least not until I grabbed his arm and yanked it behind his back. His eyes snapped open. “What the hell?”

  “Baron Grahm, you’re under arrest for the sexual assault of Katie North.” I tightened the cuffs around his wrists. The clink of metal sliding into place around the guilty never sounded so sweet.

  “Who the fuck is that?”

  I jerked him out of bed, forcing him to stumble to his feet, and leaned in close to his ear. “She’s the werewolf you raped behind the dumpster six months ago. Remember her now?”

  His dark eyes widened. The muscles of his face slackened. The look of realization lasted only a moment before his face twisted in rage. “That bitch! I’ll kill her!”

  I turned him around. “A little late for that. She’s already dead because of you.”

  “When my father hears about this—”

  “I hope he does,” I said, pushing him toward the door. “I’ve got a few choice words for your dad, too.”

  “You could at least let me put on some clothes! Come on, man! You can’t!”

  I pushed him into the hall. He’d been loud enough that some of his frat brothers had woken up and started stumbling into the hall, pulling their pants on. I didn’t stop for them, didn’t slow down when some of them tried to catch my attention and ask me what was happening.

  Word traveled fast on a college campus. By the time I marched Baron Grahm outside, naked and handcuffed, a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. The onlookers gawked, giggled and whispered. Maybe it was wrong, but that felt more like justice than arresting him ever did.

  CAPTAIN GLEAVES SWITCHED the channel on the television and crossed his arms, tucking the controller against his chest. The news broadcaster on this channel was a redhead with dark blue eye shadow and cheekbones that probably hurt if she bumped into you. She sat with her hands folded on the desk, smiling as she reported what I’d done. A grainy video of me marching Baron Grahm through a small crowd of onlookers played in the corner of the screen. They’d blurred out the nudity, of course. This was daytime TV. The headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen read, Senator Calls for BSI Agent’s Dismissal After Arrest SNAFU. A creative spin that neglected to mention that Baron was a rapist and all-around scumbag.

  “Look at this me
ss,” the captain growled. “Half the news stations in the country are covering how you paraded a naked boy through the street on an unauthorized arrest. CNN called and asked for an interview. CNN, Judah. What am I supposed to do with that?”

  I shrugged. “You’ve got media specialists for this sort of thing, don’t you?”

  “That’s not the point.” He turned and slammed a fist down on his desk. “This is a PR nightmare for the department, Black.”

  “I bet living with the trauma was a nightmare for Katie, too.”

  “That’s not the point!”

  I jumped out of my seat, fingers curling into fists. “Excuse me, but isn’t it? Aren’t we here to put criminals like Baron behind bars?”

  “We’re here to enforce the law. That’s not what you did. You didn’t even have a warrant!”

  “You can hold him for twenty-four hours while I get one.” I crossed my arms. “Baron needs questioned. He needs arrested. Give me five minutes with him and I’ll get you a confession.”

  “You’ve done enough.” He turned his back on me and pointed the remote at the television. The screen shrank to a dot that quickly disappeared.

  “Captain, he practically confessed when I put the cuffs on him. He screamed he’d kill her. If you’d just let me—”

  “I’ll tell you what you’re going to do if you want to keep your badge, Black.” The captain turned back to face me, his face red. “I can’t save your position here, not and keep my own. The media and the chief will eat me alive if I keep you on staff.”

  I swallowed my heart as it crept up into my mouth.

  “But if you issue a formal apology at the news conference and offer to make amends privately with the senator, I might be able to keep your superiors at BSI from firing you altogether.”

  “Apologize for doing my job?” I shook my head. “If BSI wants to can me, let ‘em can me. I can find other work. Hell, I’ll work at the cash and go down the street before I’ll apologize to that lying, raping piece of shit!”

  “You’ll get out there and do what I tell you to do or you’ll never work in any police force in this country again!”

  I stared at the pointer finger he waved in my face and suppressed the animalistic urge to bite it. “You’re not my boss. I work for BSI, not you.”

  He smacked his palm to his forehead. “Dammit, Judah, I’m trying to help you!”

  “I’m not going anywhere until Baron Grahm is charged and stands trial! There’s too much evidence for anyone to let him walk now.”

  The captain turned his back to me.

  I leaned on to the desk, palms flat on the cool surface. “My neck’s already in the noose. Let me question him. Pull whoever’s on this one off and let me take it. I’ll take whatever’s coming, Captain. I know this is the right thing to do.”

  “That boy will never see the inside of a prison cell, not even with a full confession,” the captain said, shaking his head. “But hell, it’s your funeral and damned if you’re not right. Now that he’s been read his rights, an apology isn’t going to smooth things over. Best we can hope for is a conviction.”

  “There’s more than enough evidence for a conviction now. The grand jury is approving a warrant based on testimony and evidence right now. It’ll be finalized by noon.”

  He turned his head so that I could see it in profile. “I’ll give you until tomorrow morning to get a confession. An ironclad one, Black, and God help you when BSI decides to come down on your head for this.”

  I stormed out of the captain’s office with my sights set on the interrogation room where Baron waited. Everyone in the main workroom seemed to stop what they were doing and stare at me as I passed. When I got close, they flinched away and pretended to be doing something else. Arresting Baron Grahm had made me the pariah of the station. Good. I didn’t want to be associated with dirty cops anyway. Sure, there were good cops in the station somewhere, but they were vastly outnumbered by the bad.

  After a quick stop, I stood outside the interrogation room to peer in through the one-way mirror where a small crowd of officers had gathered. Baron Grahm sat next to a table, his posture relaxed, face bored, fingers wrapped around a white Styrofoam cup. Someone had found him some clothes. The orange jumpsuit looked surprisingly good on him. Other than the prison jumpsuit, Baron looked unperturbed. Like he was sitting at a red light, just waiting for it to change.

  The other officers finally realized I was there and moved away, clearing a path to the door without a word. I gripped it and pulled it open.

  Baron’s expression went from bored to annoyed. “You again?”

  “Me again.” I pulled the chair out and sat down across from him, saying nothing.

  Grahm shifted and pressed his lips together.

  I folded my hands and leaned forward, narrowing my eyes at him. “Does it even bother you that Katie North is dead?”

  “I barely knew her,” he said, shrugging.

  “You raped her behind a dumpster.”

  He rolled his eyes and offered a smug smile. “Says who? A bunch of immigrants who can barely speak English? Her jealous roommate?”

  “The rape kit I found in evidence and the DNA results.” I put the little plastic container I’d brought with me on the table. Inside was a cotton swab, the last thing I’d need to make a firm connection between Baron Grahm and Katie North.

  His smug smile turned into a toothy, perfectly white grin. “You must think I’m stupid. I don’t have to consent to a DNA test without a court order, which you don’t have.” Baron leaned forward. “I’m pre-law, by the way, and my dad has a law degree himself in addition to being a pillar of this community and a senator. You might want to think harder next time you want to arrest an innocent boy out of his bed.”

  The door behind me opened and a middle aged, gray-haired white man stepped in wearing a charcoal suit. “That’s enough,” he said. “I’d like to speak to my client alone.”

  Dammit, I hate lawyers.

  I shot Baron another suspicious glance as he beamed.

  “I called my lawyer. Don’t worry, Officer. I’m sure one of us will get what we deserve.”

  The lawyer held the door open for me on my way out.

  An hour passed and part of another. I remained outside the room, pacing back and forth. One by one, the other cops left me alone. I didn’t dare walk off to get a coffee or go to the bathroom. If the lawyer opened the door and I wasn’t there, someone else would get involved, someone who might not care as much as I cared about Katie North.

  The waiting was part of a power game. I knew because it was the first thing cops always did to suspects. Put them in the pen and leave them alone for an extended period of time in an uncomfortable room with nothing to eat or drink and no bathroom breaks. That kind of stress is gradual. For the guilty, there’s nothing worse than being left alone with your own thoughts.

  Unless, of course, you were a sociopath like Baron Grahm. I got the distinct feeling that the boy was incapable of experiencing guilt. Given half the chance, he’d put on a show of it and apologize with an expert attempt at sincerity. Deep down, he’d never feel what he’d done was wrong.

  The door opened and the lawyer stepped out, tucking his phone back into the breast pocket of his suit.

  At about the same time, the captain came down the hall and stopped beside me, arms crossed. Two more officers who had come behind the captain ducked into the interrogation room.

  “What’s happening?” I asked. “Where are they taking him?”

  “I just got off the phone with the district attorney,” said the lawyer. “She’s on her way down here right now.”

  “There’s more than enough evidence—”

  “Evidence?” The lawyer raised a white eyebrow. “There’s no need. My client is making a full confession.”

  I WASN’T IN A BETTER mood when I went home, despite the news. Baron’s confession meant a deal worked out behind closed doors, one that would lessen his sentence. I didn’t like it, but at l
east he’d get something. Baron would do at least three years behind bars and spend the rest of his life as a registered sex offender. The sentence paled in comparison to what happened to Katie, but it was something. I knew she’d haunt him until the day he died. No law career for Baron Grahm, no spotless record for the senator’s son. I should’ve been happy, but something nagged at me.

  Hunter and I ordered a pizza from the local pizzeria and sat on the sofa, eating in silence. He’d barely said two words to me since I’d gotten home. Maybe he could sense how tired I was.

  Suddenly, he lowered his can of soda, looked at me and said, “What do I do when I go back to school on Monday?”

  What he meant was, “What do I do about Chad?”

  I knew what I wanted to say. The kid needed a taste of his own medicine. He needed disciplined. But if I told my ten-year-old son to beat up another ten-year-old, it’d make Hunter no better than Chad and I’d probably have some serious explaining to do to the school administration.

  The school wasn’t going to do anything, and I couldn’t not send Hunter to school. I knew he couldn’t avoid the bully. That wasn’t how bullies worked. True bullies sought out their prey. They hunted it like a hawk hunted a field mouse.

  Hunter couldn’t just ignore him. The absolute worst thing he could do was ignore the problem because it was likely the abuse would escalate. Chad would see my son as an easy target. Ignoring a bully only served to reinforce his negative behaviors. Argue all you want about sticks and stones, words could cut deeper than any blade on a young mind. Enough ten-year-olds had killed themselves across the nation due to bullying to prove that point hundreds of times over.

  Somehow, Hunter had to show Chad that he wouldn’t be an easy target without becoming the monster he wanted to destroy. It was a delicate balance, and something I couldn’t do for him.

  “You have to be better than Chad,” I said. “You know who you are. If he says something about you that’s not true, trying to goad you into a fight, you can’t take him up on that offer, Hunter.”