All I'll Ever Need

by Harry Kraus

  “The police didn’t say much. They acted like we knew something about it already. I asked the detective, but they showed up one minute, and the next, they were carting Claire away.” His voice cracked. “Dad, I’m not even sure where they took her.”

  “Must be the county jail. Can you meet me there?”

  “I don’t have a car, remember?”

  “Right. Mom and I will pick you up. And I’ll call our attorney. After defending you against Ami, Bill Fauls is getting used to sorting out this family’s troubles.”

  “I can put up the honeymoon money for bail.”

  “Don’t worry about that. We’ll make sure she doesn’t have to stay.”

  The front lobby of the Green County Jail was spacious by Apple Valley standards, as Brighton, the county seat, boasted the largest population from Roanoke to Winchester. It was there, to their dismay, and in spite of their fatigue, that the McCall clan joined the weekend crowd. Harried parents of a partying teen argued about their son’s access to their liquor cabinet. A police officer assisted an intoxicated man through a set of double doors. A young mother tried to quiet a screaming child. And in the midst of it all, William Fauls, the Cerellis’ attorney, approached the reception window.

  To call it a reception window was an irony, Della thought, as nothing about the décor spoke of receptivity.

  Mr. Fauls was flanked by John and his parents. Behind them stood Della, Grandma Elizabeth, and Margo. Mr. Fauls tapped on the window.

  A deputy, a clean-shaven man appearing about twenty-five, looked up. “May I help you?”

  “I’m William Fauls, retained counsel for Claire Cerelli. I understand she was arrested earlier tonight.”

  The man typed something on a keyboard in front of him and scanned his eyes across a monitor. “Yes, sir.”

  “Where can we go to pay the bond?”

  The man shook his head. “I’m afraid she’s being held without bond, Mr. Fauls.”

  Grandma Elizabeth pushed her way to the front. “Young man, my granddaughter will not be staying in this jail! Name the amount and I’ll post bail.”

  The man frowned. “It’s not a question of amount.”

  John was about to join the protest when Mr. Fauls silenced the family with a stern gaze.

  The deputy seemed to understand the family’s frustration. “It’s out of my hands,” he said. “If the magistrate issues a warrant for arrest, there had to be enough evidence to believe a crime has been committed.”

  Mr. Fauls loosened his tie. “Let me speak to the magistrate.”

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Robinson is gone for the night.” He paused and stood from behind a desk.

  “Call him back in,” the attorney responded.

  “Mr. Fauls, with all due respect, you know that in charges of first-degree murder there is a legal presumption against bond. Even if I get Mr. Robinson out of bed, it won’t get your client out of jail.”

  John nudged Mr. Fauls and pleaded quietly, “Tell him we just got married. Tell him it’s important for me to see my wife.”

  The deputy overheard. “Sorry, sir. Visiting hours for female inmates is Sunday morning.”

  John looked at his watch. “It is Sunday morning.”

  “Ten a.m.”

  William Fauls rubbed the back of his neck and looked at John. “Look, I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do right now. Claire will be given a hearing before the judge on Monday. Perhaps I can convince him to let her out on bond.”

  The family slumped. John voiced their surprise. “Monday? She has to spend all weekend here?”

  “ ’Fraid so.” He placed his hand on John’s shoulder. “That gives us one day to figure out exactly what they have on Claire and see if we can come up with an alternative explanation for the judge. Otherwise — ”

  John leaned forward. “Otherwise what?”

  The attorney took a deep breath. “Otherwise, Claire will stay in jail.”

  “How long?”

  Mr. Fauls cleared his throat.

  John repeated, “How long?”

  “John, these cases take time. It could vary.”

  “How long?”

  The attorney shook his head and stared at the family. “For a murder charge, the judge will set a preliminary hearing date one to three months away.” The group gasped as he held up his hand. “That’s not the trial, just a hearing to determine probable cause and see whether the judge will certify the case to a grand jury.”

  John looked away. “And she stays in jail the whole time?”

  “The whole time.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  John woke at 4:30 and stared at the little green numbers on the alarm clock. Instead of sleeping at the Omni, he’d collected his things and gone home with his parents. Of all the places he wanted to be on the morning following his wedding, this was probably last on his list.

  The night had been a blur. There was so much he didn’t understand, so much that didn’t make any sense. He dressed, drank black coffee, and called the airline to cancel his reservations. He didn’t mention that his wife was in jail. He thought it only prudent to say he needed to cancel because of a death in the family.

  By 6:30, he was on the road over North Mountain heading for Stoney Creek. By 8:00, he was standing in the nursing supervisor’s office in Pleasant View Home.

  With gray hair pinned under her nursing cap, a wrinkled smile, and soft, plump hands that were perfect for soothing a crying child, Sally Weathersby looked like anyone’s grandmother. But today, the smile was gone and her hands were planted on her hips. “I’m sorry, John. Nursing home legal counsel has made it clear. We are not to talk about this to anyone.”

  “But Claire is in jail!” He shook his head. “You’ve got to tell me something. We didn’t even know Wally was dead until the police came and arrested her. What made them think it was Claire?”

  Sally pointed at a chair before planting herself behind her desk. “Have a seat, John,” she said softly. “This must be horrible for you.”

  John huffed at her understatement. He didn’t feel like sitting. He wanted information, and so far, there seemed to be a tight seal on anything helpful coming out of the nursing staff. He looked twice at the chair before conceding. “Just help me out here. Claire is going to stay in that jail unless we can convince a judge to let her out on bail.”

  Sally nodded slowly and leaned forward. “I’ve known Claire since she was a little girl. I have no question about her heart.” She paused. “And I’ve seen Wally suffer for the last few months. It must have been agony for Claire to see him this way.”

  John stiffened. Mrs. Weathersby didn’t understand. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that no one who knew the situation as we did would ever question Claire’s motives for — ”

  “Claire didn’t kill her father!”

  “John, I understand your difficulty with all of this — ”

  John stood. “The only difficulty I have is with you! You assume Claire helped Wally die. Did you see her?”

  Sally leaned away from John as he towered above her. “Listen, John, it won’t help to yell at me.”

  He took a deep breath and raised his hands before forcing himself to back up a step and sit again. “There has to be another explanation. If you tell me what you know, perhaps I can figure it out.”

  Sally bit her lower lip and glanced toward the door. “You need to see this from our point of view, John. A man has been found dead in our facility, with evidence that he has been euthanized. If this gets out, it will be very, very bad press. We may even have to close our doors.”

  “Claire wouldn’t do this.”

  “I’m sorry, John, my hands are tied.”

  “I’m going to find out eventually. Why can’t you help me?”

  She shook her head. “Talk to the police. Maybe they can help you.”

  “Fat chance,” he muttered, standing again. “Fat chance.”

  If anyone understood Apple Valley politics
, it was Detective Randy Jensen. He frowned as he looked at the stack of pizza boxes on his desk. It was the spillover from the night crew who often ate as they worked.

  He looked at the wastebasket, overflowing with evidence of Chinese takeout and Dunkin’ Donuts. “Evie, can’t these slobs even empty the trash?”

  His secretary laughed. “They need a mother.”

  “Can you find Garland Strickler’s number for me?”

  Evie tapped her computer keyboard and wrote down the number. “Calling the commonwealth attorney on Sunday morning?”

  Jensen smiled. “For this, he’ll want his weekend interrupted.”

  Evie held up the number. “Isn’t he up for re-election soon?”

  He nodded. “Yep.” He reached for the note, allowing his fingers to rest on hers for a moment, just long enough to test her interest.

  She looked away, but not before he saw the hint of a smile. He let his eyes linger on her full figure before clearing his throat.

  “I think I’ll ask for his endorsement.”

  She smiled. “I’d like to be the secretary to the county sheriff.”

  “With Garland’s help, it could be a reality.” He winked and picked up his phone. In a moment, he heard Garland’s voice.

  “This had better be important, Jensen.”

  “How’d you know it was me?”

  “Caller ID. Besides, who else has the gall to call me at home on a Sunday morning?”

  Randy chuckled, hoping to lighten the bear’s mood. “I know you’d want the heads-up about this. I know how important a successful high-profile case is for a commonwealth attorney up for re-election.”

  “Okay, you’ve got my attention.”

  “We arrested Claire McCall last night.”

  “The doctor?”

  “Stoney Creek’s one and only. You know, solved the mystery of the Stoney Creek curse, nearly killed the Apple Valley’s serial rapist last year, the first woman to — ”

  “I know, I know. You arrested her?”

  “Murder.” Randy let the word hang.

  “Murder?”

  “It appears she gave her debilitated father an overdose of morphine.”

  “Jensen, are you sure?”

  “Come by the office. She’ll be in front of the court Monday morning. You’ll want to see the evidence before then.”

  “Okay.”

  Randy listened as the attorney sighed. “What’s wrong?” Randy asked.

  “She’s an Apple Valley jewel. Prosecuting Stoney Creek’s starlet could be a political minefield.”

  “Handle this right and you’ll have all the pro-lifers in your camp. They don’t want legal euthanasia in Virginia, even if it comes from the hand of a hero like Claire McCall.”

  Randy turned at the sound of the door opening and saw John Cerelli enter the little office.

  “Listen,” Randy continued. “I’ve got to run. Someone’s here. Can you come by at noon? We can grab a pizza.”

  “It’s Sunday, Jensen. My wife and I eat at the country club. I’ll be there at 11:00.”

  The phone line clicked. Evidently, Garland Strickler wasn’t into niceties such as “hello” and “good-bye.”

  Randy set the phone down and motioned for John to come on in past Evie’s desk.

  John didn’t smile. “I guess you know why I’m here.”

  Jensen shook his head. “Not really, but I need to ask some questions, so I’m glad you came by.” He pointed at the chair. “Coffee?”

  “No, thanks.” He sat. “Why did a county detective arrest my wife last night?”

  Jensen smiled. “I said I needed to ask you some questions.”

  “I’m afraid I know nothing of value to you. I found out last night, when my honeymoon was so rudely interrupted, that my father-in-law was dead.” John folded his hands in his lap. “So what can you tell me? Why arrest Claire?”

  “You knew nothing of Wally’s death?”

  “Not until the arrest.”

  “Can you verify your wife’s whereabouts yesterday morning?”

  John shook his head. “I’m sure she can tell you that. She stopped at Della’s. She had her hair done. She stopped at Pleasant View Home to show Wally her dress. She came to the church for lunch, then dressed and had pictures taken. We got married. We had a reception.”

  “Did she tell you about her visit with Wally?”

  John paused for a moment. “She said he cried when he saw her dress.”

  “What time did she show up for lunch?”

  He shrugged again. “About 1:00, I guess.” John put up his hand. “Look, Claire would not have murdered her father.”

  “I understand your concern. But perhaps you’re not the one with an objective viewpoint. She is, after all, your wife.”

  “And what makes you think Claire did this? What evidence do you have?”

  “Mr. Cerelli, I’m conducting a criminal investigation here. Certainly you understand it’s not my place to discuss this with relatives of the accused.”

  John’s face reddened. “So how can I refute your evidence if I don’t know what it is?”

  “With all due respect, that’s not your job.” Randy opened a box on his desk and inspected a cold piece of pepperoni pizza. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed before sliding the tip into his mouth. He wiped his chin and continued, “Why don’t you talk to your wife? And hire a good attorney.”

  “My wife knows nothing about this.”

  Randy stood, still chewing the congealed cheese. “Perhaps you don’t know your wife as well as you think you do.”

  Claire looked at her fingers and wondered how long it would take for the black dye to wear off. Being photographed and fingerprinted was only the beginning of her humiliation. That morning she’d been given a bottle of lice treatment and forced to shampoo in front of a female guard. She was then introduced to her new wardrobe. One-piece canvas may be nice for a hunting trip, but it did little to complement her figure. And orange was definitely not her color. She was a summer, and women with summer hair and complexion coloration do not do orange. But after spending the night in her wedding gown and sleeping without a blanket, the one-piece orange canvas jumpsuit was at least warm.

  She was escorted to her new quarters in the female pod on north wing. Fifteen rooms opened off of a central common area that had a couch, a card table, and some chairs. A TV hung from the ceiling in one corner. Each room had two metal bunks and a single metal commode.

  The guard unlocked the door in the metal bars that formed the front of her cell. The room was inhabited by three other women. Two African Americans lay on the top bunks. A Hispanic woman leaned over a sink in the corner. In spite of the orange jumpsuit, Claire could see that her abdomen was swollen with pregnancy. “Listen up, ladies,” the male guard said. “You’ve got a new roomie.” He pointed to the women in the beds first. “Trish. Tamika.” He pointed across the room. “This is Maria. And this,” he added, ushering her into the room, “is Claire.”

  Claire mumbled “hi” to the blank faces before looking around the room, wondering where to sit.

  She leaned down to sit on one bunk when she heard, “That’s mine.” Maria spat into the sink.

  Claire selected the other lower bunk. Here at least the mattress had a thin fitted sheet. She ran her hand over the bed. It had a plastic mattress cover that reminded her of Wally’s. There was no blanket, but she noticed that Maria’s bed had two.

  The girls ignored her. There was no introductory exchange. She wondered how to start. What are you in for? Murder? Drugs? Prostitution? She sighed and lay down on the bed. She didn’t feel like talking anyway. Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could sleep until Monday and her time before the judge.

  She slipped off her rubber slippers, letting them drop to the floor.

  “That’s my side,” Maria barked.

  Claire complied and scooted the slippers under her bunk.

  She stared at the wall and tried not to cry. It was going to be a long
time until Monday.

  John drove back over the mountain toward Brighton, angry and dejected over his lack of progress. By 11:00, he was back in Brighton and standing in front of the reception window at the Greene County Jail. “I’m here to visit Claire Mc — , er, Claire Cerelli.”

  The deputy didn’t look up. “Name?” she asked.

  “John Cerelli.”

  She tapped on the keyboard in front of her. “Sorry, sir, your name’s not on the list.”

  “What do you mean? What list?”

  “The inmate must submit a list of visitors who will be coming in advance.” She shrugged. “There’s no one on this inmate’s list.”

  He shook his head. “Does she know this? She just came in last night.”

  The deputy yawned. “Sorry. That’s the breaks. Inmates have until Friday to submit names for their visitor list. Relatives and spouses only.” She held up her hands. “Policy.”

  “Look, we just got married yesterday. I need to see her.”

  “That’s real sweet, sir, but I really can’t help you.” She offered a plastic smile. “Maybe she will put you on the list and you can see her next Sunday.”

  John slapped the glass with his hand. He watched as the officer pressed the button on the side of her handheld radio. “Danny, I’m going to need some help in the lobby. Potential disruptive visitor.”

  John glared at her and turned around. He started toward the door. He didn’t know who Danny was, and he had no intention of sticking around to chat.

  Sunday lunch in the female pod meant cold metal trays, macaroni and cheese, soft peas, and applesauce. The only eating utensil allowed was a spoon, so the prisoners could only dream of something firm enough to cut or stab. Claire scanned the room and carried her tray to a vacant spot at the end of a long table. The food reminded her of the fare for the edentulous at Pleasant View.

  She sat across from a woman with graying hair and a spider tattoo on the back of her right hand. “Hi.”

  The woman lifted her head and chewed while she talked. “Stay away from the African sisters. Don’t go into the showers alone.”

  Claire studied her macaroni for a moment. “Thanks.”