Now that they were alone, Grace bent down by her ear and whispered, “If you’re going to steal my cuffs, there are far more fun things to do with them.”
“I didn’t steal your cuffs! You left them in my office the other day.” Elizabeth glared at Grace and realized that she was being played. “Are you going to help me?”
Without a word of warning, Grace reached down and yanked on her arm, freeing her captive hand.
“Ouch!” Elizabeth said in indignation at Grace’s rough treatment as she examined her hand to make sure all fingers were present.
After being helped to her feet, Elizabeth walked to the sink and began washing her hands. Grace stood behind her, watching her through the mirror. Even stuck in a public toilet, she was beautiful, and an ache of longing began to grow inside. They hadn’t seen each other since their kiss a few days ago. They had spoken, but Elizabeth seemed distracted, and the kiss was never mentioned, and that worried her.
With her task complete, Elizabeth regained her composure and turned to Grace, offering a soft smile. “Hi,” Elizabeth whispered, and that simple word was nearly Grace’s undoing. There were so many responses she had in her head, including “So about those cuffs,” but instead she just stared, speechless. She wanted to reach out and push a stray strand of hair behind Elizabeth’s ear, but instead she just stood frozen, uncertain.
After a moment of silence, Elizabeth turned to the door. “So, um…”
“Right, I guess you probably have to get back to work,” Grace interjected, embarrassed by her behavior. She watched Elizabeth peel off her jacket with a soggy sleeve, as she exited the bathroom, and an overwhelming loss filled her. She knew she wasn’t ready to let her go and followed to catch up. “So you want to tell me what this was all about?”
Elizabeth let out a quick laugh and seemed happy to have her company for a few more moments. As she went through her morning drama starting from the top with her failed alarm clock, Grace smiled at the story, but was more interested in the run in her pantyhose.
When they reached Elizabeth’s office, Elizabeth settled into her chair and completed her tale as to how she came to be stuck in a toilet. The easy banter loosened Grace up, and feeling emboldened, she perched herself on Elizabeth’s side of the desk, her leg brushing against Elizabeth’s arm as she settled herself. Elizabeth offered a coy smile and placed her hand on Grace’s knee, causing her breath to quicken as the warmth of Elizabeth’s touch sent electric currents up her leg and then some.
Leaning forward, Grace whispered, “So, about those—”
“Elizabeth, Mrs. Francis is here.”
Amy stood in the doorway, and Elizabeth stared at her dumbfounded, as though Amy spoke an indigenous language, and Grace winced in pain at the death grip Elizabeth now had on her knee.
“What?”
“Mrs. Francis, your ten o’clock appointment. She’s been here for about fifteen minutes, but you were, uh, indisposed.” Amy smirked.
“Right, will you bring her in?” Elizabeth asked with a distracted looked.
As Amy left, Grace stood and moved to the other side of the desk and leaned on the back of her guest chair.
“Sorry,” Elizabeth said with a look of true regret, which warmed Grace.
“So, how about din—” Grace was interrupted by the entrance of an elderly African-American woman. Seriously!
“Mrs. Francis, it’s good to see you again.” Elizabeth stood to greet her as a younger woman entered behind her.
After accepting her offered hand, Mrs. Francis turned. “This is my granddaughter, Camille.”
A fashionably dressed woman stepped forward. “Thank you for seeing us.” The woman, who Grace guessed to be in her mid twenties, stood with confidence and gripped Elizabeth’s hand, her caramel colored eyes never breaking contact. Camille loosened a brightly colored scarf that complemented her mocha skin, and looked around the modest office before landing her eyes on Grace and offering a small smile and nod in acknowledgement.
Grace returned a strained smile, already knowing the purpose of their visit. Although they didn’t know her, she knew them, as the lead detective on the newly opened Francis case. If this meeting went as she expected, the forecast on their fledgling relationship looked gloomy, at least in the short term. Lost in thought and not noticing Elizabeth’s approach, she flinched when Elizabeth placed her hand on her arm. “This is Grace Donovan.”
Grace went through the perfunctory greeting process before turning to Elizabeth with a guarded look. “I have to get going. I’ll call you later.”
Elizabeth tried to offer her a reassuring smile, but wasn’t sure that it reached her as she watched Grace walk out. What was that about?
She decided to save that thought for another time and turned to her guests. “Please have a seat.” She rounded her desk to return to her worn black chair, lovingly named Black Devil or BD for short, and stroked its top before sitting. “So tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s my grandson, Jackson. He’s been arrested. They say he killed a woman, but they’re wrong. I know that boy; I’ve raised him since he was five. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Elizabeth watched Mrs. Francis as she twisted the end of her sweater as she spoke. “My son Robert, he found a lot of trouble when he was young, and it finally got him killed. Their mama was nowhere to be found. That’s when they came to live with me.” She gingerly patted her granddaughter’s hand. “Camille was only eleven.”
Mrs. Francis fell silent for a moment as she seemed to gather her thoughts. “Jackson is a good boy. He wasn’t like his father. He wants to be somebody. He graduated high school, and he was learning to be an electrician.”
After waiting a respectable amount of time in silence to see if Mrs. Francis had completed her story, Elizabeth finally spoke. “So tell me about the arrest.”
Mrs. Francis took a deep, fortifying breath before she continued. “He was just walking to the store. A woman was killed, but he didn’t do it. He was only trying to help her.” Tears filled her eyes, and Camille wrapped a comforting arm around her before reaching into Mrs. Francis’s purse and extracting a manila envelope.
“This is the police report.” Mrs. Francis took the envelope from Camille and held it out.
Elizabeth reached forward and accepted the envelope, and Mrs. Francis made eye contact. “You have to help him.”
Elizabeth was conflicted. Although she knew little about the story, she suspected that the facts wouldn’t bode well for Mrs. Francis’s grandson. “I will talk to him,” was all she could offer, but it seemed enough for Mrs. Francis, who nodded in appreciation.
“Thank you.” Mrs. Francis stood and gathered her purse, and Camille silently followed her, but stopped before walking out the door and turned, her eyes filled with hope. “Thank you.”
Elizabeth sat staring at the envelope in her hands. “This isn’t going to be good.”
Chapter Two
Elizabeth sat quietly in the windowless room trying to ignore the incessant ticking of the clock on the bare gray wall of the detention center. Time almost seemed irrelevant in a place like this. The thick glass that separated her from “them” was deeply scratched with gang insignias and obscenities. A bang that reverberated through the confined space caused her to jerk her head to the origin of the sound. Jackson Francis stood on the inside of a heavy metal door, his head bowed, frozen in place. He tightly gripped the material of his orange pants that hung loosely on him. He remained still, and she sensed that he needed a moment to gather himself.
She rested her hands on the envelope containing the police report, which detailed how the nineteen-year-old was spotted standing at the entrance of an alley, acting suspiciously, and appeared to be holding a purse. When the police approached, he discarded the purse and ran. After apprehending him, the police returned to the alley to find an elderly woman dead with her throat cut.
When the young man finally lifted his head to acknowledge her, she offered him a small, reassuring smile, which she gu
essed might have been the first kind act that he had experienced since his confinement. He seemed to size her up to determine if she was friend or foe before he pushed himself forward and plopped down on the metal stool across from her. He crossed his arms in front of him, and she could see the tight grip he had on himself, as though he was afraid to let go. Elizabeth sat patiently until he lifted his head and faced her. Red streaks marred the whites of his eyes and dark rings were prominently displayed below. No words were needed to understand the toll that incarceration was having on the young man.
She grasped the phone on her left and gestured her head toward the receiver on his side. As he seemed to contemplate her request, Elizabeth glanced at the phone in her hand and wondered how many other hands had held that same phone before her. After remembering that it wasn’t that long ago that she had her hand in a toilet, she shrugged it off.
When he finally lifted the receiver, she spoke first and introduced herself. “Your grandmother asked that I talk to you.” He stared at her with no emotion. “I hoped we could talk about what happened.”
“What do you want to know?” he said barely above a whisper.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened from the beginning.”
He tapped the phone against his forehead, as though considering her request.
“Please, I am only here to help.” She wasn’t sure why she was encouraging him. She could simply pick up her things, walk out of this dreary place, and tell Mrs. Francis that she tried, but she didn’t. Instead, she sat and watched this helpless man, who appeared to be drowning in front of her. How could she walk away?
After bowing his head, he finally spoke. “I was going to the store. My grandma needed her prescription. My sister was supposed to pick it up, but she had to work late.”
He paused to look at her, and she smiled, hoping to encourage him to continue.
“I was walking past this alley when there was this woman. She was standing inside the alley, next to the wall, and she stopped me—said she needed help. She was old, you know, so I thought maybe she was lost…you know, that memory thing?”
“Dementia,” Elizabeth said.
“Yeah, that. So, I stepped in the alley and asked if she needed help, and she gave me her purse.”
“She handed you her purse?” she asked as though she hadn’t heard him correctly.
“Yes,” Jackson said defensively. “She shoved it at me and told me to take it and keep it safe. She said…” He paused momentarily and looked down as though replaying the conversation in his mind. “She said it’s the key to the castle and to be careful of the knights.” He tightly clasped his hands in front of him. “I didn’t want to take it, and it dropped to the ground. I bent to pick it up for her, but then she was just gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“I don’t know. I looked back up, and she wasn’t standing there anymore. I looked out on the street to see if she went that way and that’s when the police came by.”
“Then you ran?”
“Hell yeah, I ran.”
“Why? If she gave you the purse, why did you run?”
“Because I’m a black man holding a white woman’s purse.” Jackson looked as though he was going to cry and swiped at his eyes.
Elizabeth looked away in an attempt to give him some privacy and pondered his story. She was conflicted. He told a convincing tale, yet it seemed implausible, and to clarify, she asked, “She told you to keep the purse safe and that it had a key?”
“Yes, she said it was a key to the castle and something about watch out for the knights.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. I assumed she was not operating on all cylinders.”
“Do you remember anything else about what she said?”
“No, that was pretty much it, but…”
“But what?”
“There was something written on the outside of the purse in like a red marker.”
“What was written?”
“I don’t know…I just noticed it when I bent to pick it up. I didn’t have time to read it,” he said with a bit of sarcasm.
Elizabeth wrote down some notes and returned her attention to him. “The police went into that alley after they arrested you, and they found the woman dead with her throat cut. Do you know how that happened?”
“No. Just like I told the police, I didn’t do it. She was alive when I saw her. I was just going to the store.” He hung his head. “You’re just like the rest of them. You think I did it.”
“I didn’t say that—”
“You don’t have to,” he interrupted. “Your face says it all. You can go tell my grandma that you did your job and you talked to me.”
Without waiting for a reply, Jackson hung up the phone, pushed himself up with considerable effort, and walked back to the metal door without looking back.
* * *
Burdened by her meeting with Jackson, Elizabeth stared at the ground as she approached the front entrance of SILC. She used her shoulder to push open the glass door and nearly fell forward as Raymond Miller yanked open the door from the inside.
“Elizabeth!” he exclaimed, grabbing her in a hug, unable to contain his excitement.
She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed until he squealed in delight. She was truly happy to see him; she missed him. He had become a permanent resident of her parents’ home, along with Charlie, her cat that her mother claimed to detest. When it came time to move back to her own home, she was forbidden to take the pampered gray cat.
Finally released from Raymond’s grip, Elizabeth turned to her mother and offered a more dignified hug. “What brings you here?” Which was a fair question because in all her years of working at SILC, her mother had never come to visit. It seemed that there was a line that her Mercedes wouldn’t cross, and SILC’s side of town seemed to be on the wrong side of that line.
“We were running errands and thought we’d swing by and say hello.”
Elizabeth found it unlikely that her mother was running errands anywhere near this neighborhood. “I missed you too, Mom. How about a tour?”
Her mother offered a weak smile and looked around the poor excuse of a waiting room dubiously. Nonetheless, she obediently followed Elizabeth to the heart of SILC where dutiful staff bustled about. Raymond trailed behind and touched everything in his path, and anything not bolted down was picked up for inspection.
“This is…” Her mother was at a loss for words because she was trying her best to be polite, but clearly, nothing polite came to mind. Suddenly, she brightened and walked ahead of Elizabeth, no longer in need of an escort. She opened doors and cabinets, poked her head in rooms where she didn’t belong, and inspected every inch of the legal clinic, including rolling a chair away from a desk, with the chair’s occupant still seated, to get a better perspective of the space. “Yes, that will work, uh-huh, tsk-tsk” were some of the phrases she muttered as she explored. Elizabeth didn’t dare stop her as the SILC staff tried not to stare at the nosy lady.
When she was reasonably certain that her mother had completed poking and prodding her staff, Elizabeth approached. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to redesign this place and make it look like a real law firm.”
“Uh, no, Mom, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Elizabeth could only envision her mother taking over the space.
“Don’t be silly, of course it is.”
“Mom, the clinic doesn’t have a budget for this.”
“Pshaw.” She waved her off. “It’s my treat.”
Elizabeth knew that she should be grateful for the generous offer, but instead a pit sat in her stomach. She was sure nothing good would come of having her mother at the clinic on a regular basis. It would be only a matter of time before she started giving out legal advice.
“Excuse me, Ms. Campbell.”
Elizabeth turned to find Danny standing a safe distance from her and her mother. Elizabeth was pleasantl
y surprised when he showed up for work the day after the bathroom adventure and equally thrilled that he proved to be a dedicated worker and valuable asset to the clinic. “Ms. Francis is in your office. I hope it’s okay that I put her there. She has been waiting awhile.”
“Thank you, Danny. I appreciate it.” Although she was not expecting Mrs. Francis, she was not surprised by her visit either. She had informed her the day before that she planned to visit Jackson. She turned to her mom. “I have a client.”
“Oh, don’t worry about us. We’ll see ourselves out,” her mother said as she pulled Raymond along with a bounce in her step and a mission in mind.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and offered a small prayer, Lord, give me strength, before she strode to her office. “Mrs. Francis, it is good to see you again.” She stopped abruptly inside her doorway as Camille stood and turned to face her. “I’m sorry. When they told me Ms. Francis was in my office, I assumed it was your grandmother.”
“Sorry, my grandmother couldn’t come. She’s in the hospital.”
Elizabeth approached her. “I’m sorry to hear that. Will she be all right?”
“It’s her diabetes. Her blood sugar goes out of sync when she’s stressed, and she hasn’t been taking care of herself since, well…you know.”
Elizabeth moved to BD and stroked it before she sank into the seat, guilt weighing her down. On her drive back from the detention center, she worked it out in her head how she would tell Mrs. Francis that she didn’t see how she could help and would recommend a public defender.
“Did you see my brother?”
“Yes,” was all Elizabeth said, still grappling with herself.
“Will you help him?”
“Ms. Francis—”
“Camille,” she said.
Elizabeth looked up in to beseeching caramel-colored eyes. “Camille, I—”
She sensed the impending rejection and broke the professional demeanor and pleaded, “He didn’t do it. I know my brother. I practically raised him. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Tears filled Camille’s eyes as she spoke. “Please, will you help him?”
Secrets of the Last Castle Page 2