Molly: House on Fire

by R. E. Bradshaw

  Before Molly could speak, she heard Brad’s voice outside the door. “If y’all don’t mind, I’d like to come in there with you, as a friend and not a cop.”

  A female voice answered, “I’m sure Joey would feel better with you here.”

  Leslie Walker appeared in the doorway. The woman Molly saw in the hospital, wearing a running suit with her hair in a ponytail, bore little resemblance to the one standing in front of Molly now. If the skirt and silk blouse were not enough, her dark hair hung down just below her shoulders, and was tucked behind her ears. She was wearing small rectangular glasses that accentuated her deeply violet-blue eyes. Molly was surprised that she had not noticed how beautiful Leslie was the other night, but then she was preoccupied with some pretty heavy thoughts at the time. Now, under different circumstances, she found herself staring. When Leslie made eye contact with her, Molly quickly looked down at the table.

  Leslie misinterpreted Molly’s move as a sign she was not welcome. She crossed the floor to Molly. “I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot last night. I’m here only to assist you in communicating with Joey. I think you’ll find things go a bit better, if I’m able to help you understand his unique way of viewing the world.” She turned to Joey. “Is it okay with you if I stay, Joey?”

  His tapping never faltering, he answered, “Yes.”

  “Eye contact, Joey,” Leslie said.

  He turned to her, no expression on his face, and answered in a clear voice devoid of emotion, “Yes, it may be advantageous for you to be here. As you are aware, I have difficulty in social settings, particularly with strangers. I have studied Asperger’s and clearly this is the most challenging aspect of the syndrome I face.”

  Joey would have continued to expound on his communication difficulties, if Leslie had not cut him off. “Thank you, Joey. I’m sure Ms. Kincaid would like to hear about Asperger’s at another time.”

  Joey simply stopped talking and turned back to the window. He was not disappointed at being interrupted. He showed no emotion whatsoever and the soft tap-tap continued. As with Molly’s other client with Asperger’s, Joey was articulate and intelligent. She would have to listen carefully for clues, unable to rely on social cues or inflection, because Joey would not use or understand them. Molly was about to introduce herself, when Brad entered the room, assisting a stooped, white-haired old man leaning heavily on a cane. Molly recognized him as the man who shuffled out of Judge Whitehall’s office building. The deputy exited, leaving the six of them packed into the tiny room.

  Leslie pulled out the only remaining chair. “Here, Judge, sit next to Joey.”

  Randy stood and offered his chair to Leslie. “Please, take mine.”

  Molly introduced them. “Randy Ransom, this is Leslie Walker. She’s a psychologist working with Joey and a friend of the family. Ms. Walker, this is my law partner, Randy Ransom.”

  Leslie grinned at Molly. “I see you’ve done your homework and please, call me Leslie.” She turned to Randy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you — may I call you Randy?”

  Randy poured on the charm. “Please do, Leslie, and the pleasure is all mine.”

  Molly watched as Leslie shook Randy’s hand and smiled up at him. She had the urge to tell Leslie, Mr. Pretty Boy with the thick blond hair, brown eyes, and year-round natural tan was a flaming homo, and not to waste her time. Just as quickly as that thought crossed her mind, Molly wondered why she cared that this woman was seemingly taken with Handsome Ransom. Before she could process that, Brad stepped forward, hand extended to Randy.

  “Hi, I’m Brad Dawson.”

  Molly snapped out of her self-analysis. “I’m sorry. I should have introduced you. Randy, this is Tammy’s husband, Brad, the deputy I told you about.”

  Randy shook Brad’s hand. “Your wife is very sweet. Thank you for having us in your home.”

  “Molly made an offer we couldn’t refuse. We’re just glad you’re here to help.” Brad turned to the old man. “And this is Joey’s lawyer, Judge Whitehall.”

  First of all, Molly was not aware Joey already had a lawyer, and second, this man looked decrepit. Molly was not sure he was any more aware of his surroundings than Joey. The spontaneous tap-tap of the judge’s palsied fingertips joined Joey’s in a syncopated rhythm, but when he looked up and met Molly’s gaze, she saw an unexpected twinkle in his blue eyes. Molly sat down beside Leslie, as the old judge raised a shaky index finger in her direction.

  “You girl, are the spitting image of your mother.” His voice was clear and strong, unlike his frail body. “I remember you as a scrawny little thing, and look at you now. Rich, successful, Ms. Molly Kincaid. Your momma would have been very proud.”

  “Thank you for saying that, Judge. I appreciated the kindness you showed my mother over the years.”

  “My mother is dead,” Joey stated, with no emotion. “The police say I committed the murder. I did not.”

  Just as quickly, he went silent again, continuing to stare out the window, but the tapping sped up a bit. Molly looked at Leslie for a cue. Leslie nodded at the judge for Molly to continue her conversation.

  “That brings me to why I’m here, Judge. I was not aware that Joey had legal representation. I assumed, because he’s been in custody more than a week, the court appointed him an attorney for the arraignment, but I was under the impression he was without council at this time.”

  The judge smiled out of one side of his mouth, causing his wrinkled skin to close his right eye in a stagnant wink. “I am here simply as a formality. Joe asked me to step in until he could reach you. I saw the boy arraigned and filed the preliminary discovery motions with the court.” He pointed a shaky hand at the worn leather pouch he brought in. “Dawson, take that file out of there and give it to Molly.” Brad opened the pouch and pulled out a thick file folder. The judge continued, “That’s the evidence so far and ME’s reports for all four murders, crime scene photos, copies of the indictments, and the discovery motions I’ve filed so far. Still waiting on the witness list and a few other things, but you go through my motions and make sure I didn’t miss anything. From what I hear, you’re the best criminal defense lawyer in the state, hell, in the south to quote some people. I’m putting Joey in good hands.”

  “I’m sure he was in the best of hands before my arrival, Judge.”

  Molly took the folder and handed it over her shoulder to Randy. She did not want to take the chance of someone opening it, exposing an already traumatized kid to crime scene photos. Molly was still reeling from seeing her mother’s body hanging on a chain-link fence. She felt a bit of kindred spirit with Joey. As difficult as it was to process what she was feeling, Molly knew it was exponentially worse for her client. Joey could not express emotions or comprehend them the way the people around him did.

  Molly sat back against her chair and looked at her new client. “Joey, my name is Molly Kincaid. I was a friend of your grandfather, Joe.”

  Joey did not look at her. “Papa Joe is dead, too. He had cancer.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “If you were his friend, it is your loss too. Leslie says when people die, I should say, ‘I am sorry for your loss,’ even if I do not know them. It is polite, she says. I did not know those other women, but I told the police I was sorry for their loss.”

  Molly looked at the judge. “Did they question him without a lawyer?”

  The judge nodded, causing wisps of hair to rise and fall on his head. “Yes, they questioned him until Joe was able to get me to the courthouse. They had him for about an hour before I put a stop to it, then they charged him with his mother’s murder and locked him up. The other charges came the next day.”

  “Joey, would you look at me, please,” Molly requested. He turned and met her gaze for a moment, but he could not hold his eyes on her, and moved his stare to the tabletop. That was close enough for Molly. “Joey, I’m your attorney now. You are not to speak to anyone unless I am in the room and I tell you to answer the ques
tion.”

  Leslie interrupted. “Maybe you shouldn’t present that in absolutes. May I?”

  Molly, not used to being told how to talk to a client, said, “Sure, go ahead.”

  Leslie proceeded. “Joey, eye contact.” She waited until he was looking at her. “What Ms. Kincaid is telling you is that for now, not forever, you are to speak to no one about the day you found your mother, unless she is in the room. You may speak to anyone about anything else, but you mustn’t talk about that day.”

  “I have a right to remain silent. If I give up that right, anything I say can and will be used against me in a court of law. That is part of the Miranda rights.”

  Molly smiled. “Yes, Joey, that is correct. Did the police read you those rights?”

  He stared at the table again. “The policeman did not read them. He recited them.”

  “Did you sign anything before the Judge and Joe came to see you?”

  “No, I did not.” Joey said, and the tapping grew faster. “Papa Joe told me not to sign anything when they took me away. I did what Papa Joe said.”

  The judge spoke up. “There is a CD or DVD, or whatever they call those shiny discs now, in that folder. Any conversations the investigators had with Joey, before I arrived, were videotaped. They put them on a disc for me. As far as I know, there have been no further attempts to interview him.”

  “Joey, I’m going to have you sign a paper now, making it official that I will represent you against these charges. This gives me the authority to request information and gives me access to any pertinent medical history, court documents, and education records. I will of course inform you of any information I seek on your behalf.”

  Molly turned to Randy, who was already digging in his briefcase. She requested he bring several forms with him, and efficient as always, he produced the one she wanted. Molly took it and started to hand it to Joey, but hesitated. She looked at Leslie.

  Leslie smiled, a polite smile that said, “You’re kidding, right,” but aloud she said, “Joey is perfectly capable of making decisions for himself, taking care of himself, and filling in his address on forms. He is intelligent,” she paused and smiled at Joey, “strangely witty, a computer genius, and incredibly insightful about things most of us are too busy to notice. Do not mistake his social challenges for mental illness or retardation. He simply faces difficulties with his lack of empathetic response that few of us could fathom.”

  Molly almost smiled at Leslie’s feisty protection of Joey. He had a strong advocate in Leslie Walker. Molly admired her passion. She was caught in that thought when she felt Joey tug the form from her hand.

  “I will fill out the form, but I will not sign it. Papa Joe said not to sign anything.”

  Molly tilted her head to one side and raised her eyebrows to Leslie, in a silent, “Got an answer for that one, Miss Expert?”

  Leslie shot her a curt smirk. “Joey, Papa Joe did not mean forever. Unfortunately, he did not make that clear. He asked Ms. Kincaid to help you. I am sure he would want you to sign the form.”

  “Leslie, Papa Joe is dead. He cannot want anything.”

  Molly felt a tiny grin creeping into the corners of her mouth, but she admired Leslie, who did not skip a beat, proving to be practiced at redirecting Joey.

  “I will debate the different cultural theories of what happens after death with you, at some other time. At the moment, I need you to understand that this is your lawyer, she is here to help you, and you must sign that paper in order for her to represent you.”

  “I understand, Leslie,” Joey said. Brad pulled a pen from his breast pocket, handing it to Joey, who began filling in his name and address, with no further comment.

  Molly said to the room, but directed her statement to Leslie, “I need to go through the file and see what the prosecution’s case is built on. We have a lot to do before I can really sit down with Joey and go over what happened that day.” She hesitated and then asked, “Would you come back to Brad’s with us? I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  Joey spoke up. “What time is it?”

  Leslie looked at her watch and answered, “It’s one-thirty-two p.m.”

  Joey repeated her. “It’s one-thirty-two p.m.,” in almost a chant. He added, “Leslie, I have not run or lifted weights in seven days. I am losing muscle mass at a significant percentage per day.”

  Brad stepped up. “I’ll see if they’ll let me run you around the track in the gym downstairs, after Molly is finished with you.”

  “As soon as you’ve completed the form, we’ll be done for the day. Do you have any questions for me, Joey?” Molly asked.

  Joey signed the form and slid it across the table. He did indeed have a question, but it was not what Molly was expecting. She thought he would want to know how long he would be incarcerated. All her clients wanted to know that, but Joey asked, “What kind of computer do you have?”

  “A MacBook Pro,” she answered.

  “That is a fine product. I can optimize your operating system, if you would like.”

  Molly smiled and felt something for the big blond kid with his grandfather’s blue eyes. She knew right then that Joey Erickson did not kill his mother. She was not sure how she knew, she just did.

  She leaned across the table and said softly, “Eye contact, Joey.” When she had his gaze, she did not give him time to look away. “I will do everything in my power to have you released, and when I do, I would be honored if you would take a look at my computer.”

  Joey dropped his gaze and the tap-tap returned. “I will wait for you to secure my release then.”

  Brad went to the door and let the deputy know it was time to take Joey away. Everyone stood, as Joey was led from the room. He stopped at the door and turned back to Leslie. “My mother is dead. Papa Joe is dead. When I go home, where will I go?”

  Leslie cleared her throat behind Molly. She could not see her, but Molly could tell Leslie was holding back tears when she answered, “It’s still your home, Joey. Papa Joe made sure you could stay forever.”

  “Is that real forever time, or a long time that eventually ends?”

  “That’s real forever time, Joey.” Leslie changed the subject out of fear that she would cry, Molly surmised. “I’ll bring you some more books.”

  “That will be fine,” Joey said, and left the room.

  Leslie sat down in the chair and wiped her tears with the handkerchief the judge handed her. She took off her glasses and exclaimed, “Dammit! I hate it when I cry.”

  Molly caught herself smiling at Leslie’s outburst and how cute she looked when she was mad. “Shit,” Molly heard her inner voice say, loudly. She packed her briefcase quickly and said her goodbye to the Judge, promising to meet Brad and Leslie at the house in about an hour. She hustled Randy out of the room so fast he was still stuffing the folder in his briefcase on the way out the door. Molly hurried through security and left Randy behind. He finally caught up with her, seated on the granite steps in front of Sam, and sat down beside her.

  “I saw that look,” Randy said.

  “What look?” Molly asked, already knowing the answer.

  “That ‘Oh, my God. I think she’s cute,’ look.”

  “I did not look at her like that,” Molly said, only half trying to defend herself.

  Randy chuckled. “I wasn’t talking about you. I saw her checking you out, but now that you mention it, you did haul ass pretty quickly.”

  Molly tried to steer him off course. “That room was claustrophobic. I had to get out of there.”

  Randy just smiled. “Like I said, when you least expect it.”

  Molly dropped her head in her hands. “This is the last place I’m going to be picking up women.”

  Randy patted her on the back. “Ran like a rabbit at the dog track. That’s a sure sign of trouble.”

  Molly did not lift her head, just turned it sideways and looked at Randy. “If I had my gun, I’d shoot you now, and save myself the infernal teasing you are goi
ng to embark on from this moment forward. I just know it.”

  “Wait ’til I tell the folks back home,” his teasing already begun. “The great heartbreaker, Molly Kincaid, ran like a scared little girl from the room.”

  Molly buried her face in her hands again and simply said, “I am in hell.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Molly was doing what she did when she needed to release some tension. She was not speeding, but she was taking the curves on the winding, two-lane blacktop at a pace most cars could not sustain. Molly dropped the LFA into a tight curve, downshifted the six-speed paddle-shift automatic, and punched the accelerator at the apex in the turn. The instant change in speed rocketed the car out of the curve, achieving a moment of weightlessness, as they crested a small hill. Molly heard Randy let out a childish giggle. She glanced at him. Randy’s face was ashen, but he was grinning over clenched teeth, his hands gripping the car’s leather interior wherever he could find a hold.

  Nearing Waitesville, the speed limit dropped to forty-five. Molly slowed the car, the automatic rear wing retracting when she dipped below fifty miles an hour. She felt much more relaxed than when they tore out of the parking space and headed out of town. Randy knew her well enough to be quiet. He pushed her buttons, but even Randy recognized the signs when Molly was not in the mood for his wit. He told her once that she had a certain expression, her jaw set tightly and eyebrows knitted, that screamed, “Fuck off.” He had evidently seen that look on the courthouse steps and chose to remain silent during their hair-raising jaunt through the back roads around Waitesville.