by Harry Kraus
“It was the night I saw you kissing Conner Miles.” He stopped and looked up. “I’m not blaming you. This is my fault.
“I left the McDonald’s pretty upset. I bought a six-pack and was going to head out to Reddish Knob. But I stopped at the Seven-Eleven near Deer Run when I saw Claire. She was sitting on the back of a pickup with Tommy Gaines, Shelby, and Grant Williams.
“I had a couple beers with them. I think Grant was slippin’ Claire something heavier, ’cause she got very drunk, very fast.
“I went in to buy another six-pack and Grant had Tommy pull around back. When I returned to the truck, I saw that Grant was getting pretty aggressive with Claire. Before I knew it, he practically had her undressed.
“I told him to ease up, but he told me to mind my own business, that I hadn’t been invited to his party anyway. Claire was too drunk to resist him, and it was obvious he wasn’t going to stop with stealing a kiss. When he started loosening his belt, I let him have it. I punched him in the nose and pulled Claire from the back of the truck.”
“How’d you get away?”
“Grant was drunk, all bravado. He swore he was going to kill me, but Tommy Gaines held him back. I just shoved Claire in my car and got out of there.”
“Kyle, you saved her. So why — ”
“I’m not done,” he interrupted. “When I got to your folks’ place, everything was dark. I helped Claire get her shirt buttoned. She was so sauced that she flirted with me. ‘Margo’s lucky,’ she said. ‘You took Margo away. Why not take me away, Kyle?’
“I had to carry her to bed. Your parents were sleeping.” He stopped and shook his head. “I don’t know why I did it. I guess at that point I didn’t care if I hurt you. I was so angry.” He stood up and looked away, unable or unwilling to face his wife. “I touched her, Margo. I didn’t have sex with her, but I touched her where I shouldn’t have.
“I snapped to my senses when I heard Wally get out of bed. He met me leaving her room. He yelled at me, told me to get out. I told him he didn’t know what he was talking about, that I’d saved his daughter and I was just putting her to bed.” He turned to face Margo. “It was me, Margo, don’t you see? Claire thinks her father came to her that night, but she was drunk and doesn’t have a clear memory.” He sat down and dropped his head in his hands. “When she started talking about being abused, I tried to tell her Wally wouldn’t do such a thing, but I was afraid to admit what I’d done.”
“That’s why you got so upset when I talked about that night. You weren’t upset about Conner Miles, were you? You were reminded of what you’d done.”
He nodded without speaking.
“My sister? It was you?”
“Yes.”
She felt anger rising from within her. She raised her finger to berate him, but when she saw his brokenness, she halted. What had she just said? Love bears all things. She wrestled with conflicting emotions. After a moment, Margo moved to the floor and knelt in front of him. She took his hands in hers.
He looked up and asked, “Can you ever forgive me?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m not going to tell you that I’m happy about it, but I share blame too. You’d never have been there that night if it wasn’t for me. And though I don’t like it, I understand. She was my sister, so she was off-limits.” She searched his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“I was afraid you’d despise me. Or her. She’s always been so competitive, going off, having a career in medicine. I didn’t want you to have one more reason to be jealous.”
She sighed. “I don’t despise you. I love you. And that’s what’s going to get us through this.”
“I’ve ruined her life. She thought Wally abused her, so she overdosed him.”
“We don’t know that, Kyle.”
“You heard the tape.”
“I know my sister. Sure, she thought Dad abused her, but she loved him. She forgave him. That’s what love does. ‘Bears all things,’ remember? I think you underestimate her. I think you underestimate the power of love. In fact,” she said, standing up, “after listening to what you thought my reactions might be, I think you underestimate the love of all McCall women.”
At Saturday breakfast, Claire gave advice to Raynelle on her endometriosis, looked at a mole on the back of Trish’s right arm, counseled Sophia on ways to manage her diabetes, and taught one of the guards about treating her gastroesophageal reflux with diet restrictions. For Claire, the chance to give a little to her new peers made her feel useful and staved off the boredom. Tamika thought differently about Claire’s charity and wanted her to exact a fee in cigarettes, money, or both, but in the end, Tamika relented, and Claire kept dishing out free advice to keep the days more interesting.
But mostly, day followed night in a cycle of routine. She made a few friends, finding a link as they compared their dysfunctional families. And instead of despair, she found herself in the wonder of thankfulness, understanding that by the grace of God, she’d been given a chance to succeed. The line that separated her background from many of the other women was thin, and by an apparent mercy, Claire had fallen to one side, and most of the women to the other.
She sighed as a guard led her to the little locked conference room where she would get to speak to her attorney. She hoped that today, her one-week anniversary of marriage and incarceration, would bring good news. But it seemed that each time she took a step forward, she fell two steps back, so today, she braced for the worst.
She spent ten minutes alone, examining the small concrete cubical where she could consult with her attorney. Her room was empty except for a small counter and chair. Over the counter was a single window into an identical adjacent room. The window was framed with metal. There was a row of circular holes in the wall in the window frame to allow sound to travel around the window and into the next room. There was a small slot below the window for passing paper back and forth between the two rooms. The atmosphere was jail drab. No pictures, beige paint. When she heard an electronic lock snap, she looked through the window to see William Fauls enter the next room and sit facing her.
“Hi,” she said.
“Morning, Claire,” he said. He opened his briefcase and met her gaze, apparently content to study her for a moment. “How are you?”
The genuine manner in which he asked showed her it was more than a passive greeting. His eyes glistened, and for a moment, the professionalism dropped, and a gray-haired grandfather took its place. He leaned forward and spoke with his voice etched with concern, “Really.” Attorney had been replaced with pastor, legal counsel with the empathy of a friend.
His compassion was disarming. The shell that had formed after her first week in jail began to crack, showing itself as only a pseudo-toughness she kept up in front of the inmates. She felt a surge of emotion, a sudden urge to cry. She pressed her hand against her lips. “I’m okay,” she said, not wanting to bare her soul. “I want to talk to John. The isolation from my family is the worst.”
“I talked to the phone company. They promised to set up the connection so you can call John or your mother. It should be ready Monday. You can make calls from the commons room. It’s not cheap, so you may want to talk fast. Five bucks a minute, collect.”
“Monday? That’s another two days!”
“The good news is that you can see John tomorrow during visiting hours.”
She sighed. “How’s he taking this?”
“I think your whole family is pretty much shocked.” He opened an accordion folder and pulled out a legal pad. “It’s time for a heart-to-heart, Claire. I need you to be completely honest with me.”
She didn’t like his statement. “I have been.”
“Truth is the foundation of the attorney-client relationship. If I’m going to know how to play this out with a jury, I need to know everything.”
“I thought we weren’t going to trial, remember?”
“True, but I have to be ready.”
“I’ve told you everyth
ing already.”
He tapped a silver pen on the legal pad. “Evidence has been piling up.”
“Evidence?”
“Why don’t you tell me about what happened with Tyler Crutch-field.”
“What’s he got to do with this?”
“Just tell me what happened.”
Claire huffed. “He tried to rape me. I shot him. He escaped from my office. I’m sure you read the story in the paper.” She stared at her attorney. “That has no bearing on what you should be working on, which is getting me out of here.”
He shook his head. “He raped you, didn’t he?”
“I told you, he tried.”
“So what happened, Claire? He attacked you again, so you fought him off. You stabbed him with a knife.”
Claire pushed her chair away from the table. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do. What I don’t understand is why you would put his body in the back of your car.”
“Wait a minute! Tyler Crutchfield was the dead man found in my car?”
“You didn’t know who attacked you?”
“He didn’t attack me!” She stood up and began to pace. Four steps, wall, four steps, wall.
Willaim Fauls held up his hands. “This isn’t getting us anywhere, Claire.”
“So stop playing twenty questions and tell me what you’re talking about.”
He sighed and patronized her. “A man’s body was found in your car.”
She nodded.
“A dead man. He was stabbed.”
She nodded again.
“But you know all that, don’t you?”
“So far.”
“The man was Tyler Crutchfield.”
She shook her head. “No way!”
“Yes way. He was masquerading as Sol Diaz, working at Pleasant View Nursing Home.”
Louder, Claire repeated, “No way!” It was too incredible. “Sol Diaz? The man who bought my stolen mower from Tyler?”
“The disguised man who claimed he bought your mower from someone.” He leaned forward. “Did you ever see this guy? White beard, dark complexion, short, white hair?”
“Once or twice from a distance at the nursing home.” She picked up her pacing again. “I’m not believing this. You’re saying that this guy was really Tyler Crutchfield?” She smacked her fist in her hand. “Don’t you see it? Crutchfield promised he’d retaliate. So he killed my father and set it up to look like I did it.”
“So how do you explain his body in your Volkswagen?”
She was at a loss for words. She held up her hands, palms up. “You tell me.”
“The medical examiner has found more evidence, Claire. It looks like he was in a fight. It looks like he’d raped again.”
“He deserved to die.”
“I don’t doubt that, Claire. So why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“Evidence on his body points to you. Your hair was mixed with his beneath his underwear.” He paused. “Now will you tell me what happened?”
Claire felt her cheeks flush. “I am telling you the truth. You need to believe me. I can’t explain what you are telling me. The lab’s wrong.” She threw up her hands. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t have time for games,” he said, pocketing his silver pen. “Was John involved? Was this a team effort? Did he come to your rescue and Crutchfield ended up dead?”
“Why do you think of John?”
“Who else could have recognized Crutchfield? I’m just trying to figure this out. Maybe he recognized Tyler at the nursing home. Maybe you baited him so John could finish him off.”
“This is insane. You were hired to help me.”
Her attorney folded his hands on the desk. “Maybe you don’t understand what I’m supposed to do for you. I need to take the evidence the prosecution pulls up and explain it in a way that makes the jury feel sympathy toward you.”
“I don’t think you understand. I don’t need sympathy. I’m innocent. And the last time I checked, I am here because they think I killed my father, not because I’m accused of killing Tyler Crutchfield.”
He sighed. “Not yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sit down, Claire. Calm down.”
She sat with a thud onto the chair.
He sat back and let an uncomfortable silence hang between them. When he spoke again, she heard the same compassion he used before, but this time it sounded condescending. “You’re not on trial for Tyler Crutchfield’s murder. But Garland Strickler is looking at this very closely. He is hinting that he’ll look the other way on the Crutchfield case if you confess — ”
“Confess what? That I killed my father? That’s crazy.”
“I know all about the abuse, Claire. This wasn’t straightforward euthanasia, was it? You wanted him to die because you thought he deserved to be dead after all he did.”
“I am not believing this! You are supposed to be defending me, not accusing me!”
“I can’t get you off unless you tell me the truth,” he said. “Give me something to work with and we’ll slant it to make it look reasonable.”
She slapped her hand against the window separating them. “There is nothing to slant! I’m innocent. Period.” Claire popped to her feet again and glared at the man hired to represent her.
“Look, Claire, how about if I get someone in here for a psychiatric evaluation? It would be helpful to document your troubled state of mind.”
“My mind is only troubled by you.”
“I’ve worked with Joanne Phillips for a long time on cases like yours. Can I have her evaluate — ”
“Cases like mine?”
“Abuse cases. Girls who retaliated against their abusers.”
Claire shook her head. “No. We’re not going there. I’m innocent. I don’t need a psych evaluation, especially by Joanne Phillips!” Claire pointed at him. “She was the one who started all this talk of abuse in the first place!”
“I take it you know her.”
“I’ve already been through her counseling,” she said. “Go ahead, get her opinion. She’ll tell you I’m not crazy.”
“Claire, listen to me. I’m not saying — ”
She leaned forward over the table and locked eyes on his face. “No! You are the one who needs to listen to me! I keep telling you the truth, but you don’t seem to get it.”
He leaned away from her and cleared his throat, “Dr. McCall — ”
“It’s Dr. Cerelli!” she screamed. “Mr. Fauls,” she said, imitating his sudden formalness, “you’re fired.”
“Be reasonable, I’m trying to help you.”
She glared at him without speaking and walked to the door. There, she pounded it loudly and yelled, “Guard!”
The guard replaced Claire’s shackles and walked her back to her cell, unspeaking. Her mind pulsed with anger. Why wouldn’t anyone believe her? Was someone framing her? Why?
She lay down on the bottom bunk. Trisha was braiding Tamika’s hair into cornrows. “ ’Sup, girl?”
“I need a new attorney,” she groaned.
Claire curled up and stared at the wall. Why would there be evidence that Tyler Crutchfield raped me?
The idea made her shiver. She’d heard of women that shut away terrible deeds in their subconscious after significant trauma. Could it be possible that I don’t remember? Am I cracking up? Instinctively, she placed her hand over her lower abdomen. Could I be suffering some weird post-traumatic amnesia as a defense mechanism?
The next thought sickened her more. I’m the only link between Wally and Crutchfield. Both were men who abused me.
Could John have killed Tyler Crutchfield?
John picked up the phone after the first ring. “Hello.”
“John, Bill Fauls here. I’ve got some bad news. I just met with Claire to talk to her about some of the new developments.”
John listened to an uncomfortably long pause. “What
is it, Mr. Fauls?”
“Claire didn’t respond well. She thinks I don’t listen to her.” He sighed. “She fired me, John. She was pretty mad.”
“Just like that?”
“I provoked her. I wanted to see if she would break down and tell me something, see if she was hiding anything from me.”
“I can imagine that went over well.”
“I’ve been wondering if I’ve just completely misjudged her. I asked her if she’d be willing to have a psychiatric evaluation.”
John groaned and whispered, “Great.” He paused while his eyes fixed on a picture of Claire and Clay on their thirteenth birthday. “I just don’t understand,” he began slowly. “I know what I heard on the tape. I just don’t understand why she would choose our wedding day to confront Wally about their past.” He shook his head. “It makes no sense. And it doesn’t necessarily follow that she killed Wally, does it?”
He listened as his attorney blew his breath into the phone. “I guess not, but it’s pretty damning evidence. This must be hard for you, John.”
“So how did she respond?”
“She pretty much told me I didn’t listen and that I was fired.”
“Now what? How do I get a new attorney?”
“Look, John, I was a bit harsh with her. I’d like another chance to help. Maybe you can talk to her for me. I don’t know how to make things add up. I think it would be helpful if she’d submit to a psych evaluation.”
“She’s not going to like it.”
“Just talk to her.” He paused. “I need to ask you something.”
John massaged the back of his neck and listened.
“Has she ever lied to you before?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Kyle crawled from bed, his head pounding. He looked in the mirror and groaned before pulling open the medicine cabinet and chugging two Alka-Seltzers, three ibuprofen, and two extra-strength Tylenols.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Margo said, handing him a cup of steaming java.
He inhaled the aroma and muttered, “Thanks.”
He sat on the side of the unmade bed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Did I just imagine it, or did you almost get run over by a train?”