Miscarriage Of Justice

by Bruce A. Borders

  Propping the table back up with the broken leg, he picked up his computer. Surprisingly, it didn’t appear to have been damaged by the fall. Turning it on, he waited for everything to load. To his relief, it all seemed to be working fine. “It’ll probably break now, a day after the warranty expires,” he grumbled.

  Worn out from the whole ordeal. Ethan laid back down on the bed. Sleep seemed a long way off as his mind continued whirling at full speed. No matter how remote, the possibility did exist that the incident was somehow connected with his time in Granite Hills. In his fifteen years there, he’d made a few enemies. Not intentionally, but given the climate and the timbre of the men inside those walls, the result sometimes was inevitable. It was simply impossible to consistently keep everyone happy—anywhere, but especially in prison. Living in close quarters with that many criminals, rubbing shoulders with them every day caused many rifts and quarrels. Tempers flared and feelings were hurt.

  However, he could point to no single incident, which would have been of such importance or magnitude that the grudge would survive long enough to lead to any kind of attempt at retaliation. Most of the malcontent was forgotten rather quickly, and if it wasn’t, the matter was settled on the inside. So, while he had to allow for the slim chance that this had something to do with his time at the state penitentiary, he instinctively knew it wasn’t the case. He also knew, or was reasonably sure, with whom the responsibility lay, one Mariana Clark!

  He shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d spent several months now antagonizing and harassing the woman in every way imaginable. She was well aware that he was behind the letters, the calls and everything else. It was only natural that eventually she would reach a breaking point. That she would attempt some form of retaliation or striking back should have been a foregone conclusion. Still, he’d been caught off guard. But, now that he was duly warned, he would be prepared. Like a Boy Scout, he’d be ready and waiting the next time, should there be a next time. Sleepily, he pulled the covers up over his head. He’d be ready just as soon as he was over the flu!

  Morning brought a welcomed change for the ailing Ethan. His legs were still shaky and he easily ran short of breath, but the fever and dizziness both were gone. For the first time in more than a week, he walked to the corner diner for breakfast.

  Feeling his strength coming back, Ethan returned to his room. Time to pack up and move.

  Carrying his few possessions down to the car, he wasn’t exactly sure where he would go, except that it would be away from this place. Careful not to overexert himself, he made several trips. The ride up and down the elevator supplied him with much needed rest in-between each trip.

  Not having many possessions, the job didn’t take long. In less than an hour, he’d loaded the TV, computer, dishes, his clothes and a few other items into the backseat of the car. By ten o’clock, he was standing in the hotel lobby informing the desk clerk, the same grizzled old man who’d rented him the room more than five months earlier, that he was leaving.

  They hadn’t spoken more than a half dozen times since that first day, but Ethan soon discovered the old man hadn’t changed.

  “I’ll have to check the room before you can leave,” the man droned in a near monotone.

  Ethan was thinking that if he wanted to, he could just walk out, without waiting on the old geezer. He didn’t need this guy’s permission to go anywhere. But shrugging, he said nothing, and followed the clerk to the elevator. Watching as the grumpy old man inspected the room, he was amused by the incompetence the guy demonstrated. Making only a show of inspecting, the desk clerk nodded curtly and then satisfied, marched back to the elevator.

  Smiling smugly, Ethan tagged along behind. The old man hadn’t even noticed the six nail holes in the wall!

  Neither spoke on the ride down. Reaching the front desk, the clerk asked, “Do you have a forwarding address?”

  “No,” Ethan said dryly. Was the guy an idiot? In all the months he’d been a guest in the hotel, he’d never once received any mail. That was by design. So, why would he need a forwarding address?

  Walking out the door and down the steps to his car, Ethan still wasn’t sure where he was going. He drove aimlessly, not giving any thought to his direction. Nearly an hour later, he noticed he was heading down the freeway toward Cedar Springs. He shrugged and kept driving. “Might as well find a place there. After last night if anyone wants to find me, they obviously can.” Besides, he thought, Cedar Springs was home. And, he’d be closer to the action, namely, Miss Mariana Clark.

  Thinking of Mariana, Ethan scowled. Thanks to his bout with the flu, she had enjoyed an unexpected weeklong reprieve. He hadn’t even called her. Then he smirked. That could be easily remedied.

  Pulling out his phone, he dialed her house number. There was no answer, not even the machine picked up. Undeterred, he called her office.

  “Yes, she’s in,” the receptionist said sweetly in response to his question. “May I tell her who is calling?”

  “Ethan.” he said wondering of Mariana would be gullible enough to take the call.

  She was.

  “Hello?” came the hesitant voice of the D.A.

  “Hi!” Ethan greeted her cheerfully.

  Mariana’s whole demeanor suddenly changed. “Why are you calling me?” she raged.

  “Well, I’m at your house,” he lied. “Just wondering what time you’ll be home and if I should wait for you.”

  He hung up before she had a chance to reply. “That should plant a little worry in her mind,” he said.

  Tossing the phone onto the passenger seat, he drove the rest of the way to town, wondering why it had been so easy to get a rise out of her. If all this bothered her, perhaps she should have considered the ramifications of her trumped up trial sixteen years ago, he thought.

  As he rolled into Cedar Springs, he made a sudden impulsive decision. This time, instead of renting a hotel room, he was finding a house. A real house. “On second thought,” he mumbled to himself. “I could settle for an apartment. After all, there is only one of me.”

  One thing he was sure of, whether in Granite Hills or a hotel, his days of living in the confines of a one-room prison were over. This was his hometown, and now that he was back, he needed a permanent residence. A place that he could call home.

  After more than four hours of traipsing from house to house, viewing over a dozen apartments, walking up and down steps, all with an eager real estate agent by his side, he finally chose a small one-bedroom home. Located on the opposite side of town from where he’d grown up and then lived with Jenna and their sons.

  The house would afford him a bit of privacy. Not that he needed to hide out or mask his identity, but it lessened the odds of running into former acquaintances and having to answer all of their unwanted questions

  Moving in took no longer than it had taken to vacate the hotel. But unlike the hotel, the house, while partly furnished, didn’t come with a bed. Although it wasn’t that big of a deal, it did threaten to have a profound impact, and soon. He was getting too old to be sleeping on the floor!

  Immediately after unpacking the car, he made a quick trip to the closest furniture store. Without much thought, he bought the cheapest bed they had, along with a few accessories, bedding and such. When the store manager offered to make the delivery the next day, Ethan balked.

  “How about today?” he asked in a surly tone. “Unless you’re going to let me sleep here tonight.”

  The manager, it seemed, wasn’t too fond of that idea and begrudgingly agreed to deliver it himself later that afternoon.

  Ethan left the store in search of a suitable place to eat. The one drawback of leaving the hotel in Fulton and moving here was the absence of the Wagon Wheel Grill. He’d grown quite accustomed to the convenience and the tasty food of the corner cafe.

  The greasy spoon restaurant he found could not compare in any way to the diner. He’d keep looking. Later. Right now, he didn’t have much of an appetite.

&nb
sp; He arrived home just in time to meet the manager from the furniture store as the delivery van backed into the driveway. Minutes later, the bed was unloaded, leaning against the living room wall, unassembled.

  “Did you need some help setting it up?” the man volunteered.

  Ethan rolled his eyes. “I may not have a pickup to haul it, but I’m not helpless.”

  Duly chastened, the man meekly turned and without another word walked back to the van.

  Ethan watched him drive off and then set to work on the bed. Not having any tools, he belatedly realized, he should have taken the guy up on his offer. He shrugged. Too late now.

  Rather than make another trip to the store that night, he fastened the frame to the headboard, screwing the nuts finger tight, and then slipped the box springs and mattress into place. The bed was a little shaky, but it should hold up for one night. He only planned to sleep on it, not do jumping jacks.

  Plugging in the TV, he found the one local channel came in great, but he wasn’t really interested in watching a documentary on the mating habits of fruit flies. “A satellite would be nice,” he complained, switching off the TV. Nice maybe, though not necessary.

  At the moment, he still had plenty of money, but with renting the house, and the added cost of everything that went along with it, he was mindful of the fact his cash would soon begin to dwindle away. That meant getting a job. The prospect of a job was most unappealing. He’d never been afraid of hard work, having done more than his share in the past but a job would undoubtedly put a damper on his harassment of Mariana.

  “Speaking of Mariana,” he said thoughtfully and looked at his watch. It was eight thirty. Grabbing his phone, he once again dialed her number. To his surprise, she picked up on the first ring. He couldn’t believe she still answered the phone every time he called.

  Must be a mental or psychological thing, he thought. She just can’t let a ringing phone go unanswered.”

  Waiting for her to say hello a second time before he spoke, Ethan whispered, “Goodnight dear.”

  “Stop calling me!” Mariana screeched. “You’re supposed to be…” she broke off her sentence mid-stream.

  “I’m supposed to be what?”

  The phone slammed down on the other end and the line went dead. Ethan laid the phone on the floor beside his bed. “I’m supposed to be what?” he repeated, to himself. Dead? That seemed to be the most logical answer. Then he shrugged. Whatever it was, it did seem to support the theory that the friendly hometown D.A. had been behind his mysterious visitor the night before. It also suggested that simply moving to a new house in a different city wouldn’t solve the problem. The intruder would be back. That was an unnerving thought and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do about it. Whatever he did, he vowed to not let up on harassing Mariana. For now, that was the single most important goal. It was what kept him going; to torment her, just as she’d tormented him for the last fifteen, almost sixteen years now. To make her think twice before again, so willingly, sending an innocent man to prison. Judging by her reaction, he apparently was doing a fine job, so far.

  And yet, he still couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of depression. It seemed to grow worse with each passing day. Was it guilt that plagued him? Did his conscience play a part in the dissonance he felt? Or, was he simply a victim of courting much too lofty expectations?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Wednesday morning, Mariana stormed into Arimante’s restaurant. Without waiting for the man to acknowledge her presence or send his cohorts away, she purposefully walked directly to his table at the rear of the dining area.

  Frankie Arimante could see she was perturbed and he knew why. The anger she displayed warned him of the coming lecture, and with a quick hand gesture, the two men seated with him made a hasty retreat into the kitchen area.

  Before they had disappeared through the batwing doors, Mariana launched into her heated tirade. “So much for your guarantee,” she railed. “Your week was up two days ago and yesterday Ethan called me, not once, but twice!”

  Meeting his eye with a vicious stare, she continued. “I thought you were a professional. Why is the man still harassing me?”

  Frankie almost laughed. The sassy little D.A. was so cute when she was mad. Trying to maintain a straight face, he calmly invited her to have a seat.

  Standing stubbornly in place, a hand on one hip, Mariana defiantly refused.

  Shrugging, Frankie spoke in a calm matter-of-fact tone. “I know I said a week, but it took several days to find him.”

  “That’s not my problem,” Mariana spat.

  “No, it’s not,” Frankie agreed. “We did finally locate him in a hotel in Fulton.”

  “So, what’s the hold up then?”

  Frankie seemed put off at being interrupted and needlessly challenged and questioned. He wasn’t used to anyone, much less a nagging woman, demanding he justify his every move. Trying unsuccessfully to mask his disgust, he took another breath. “We found him at the hotel, but one of my men, who I sent to verify the location, bungled the job. Ethan left the hotel and we’re trying to get a fix on him again now.”

  Frankie Arimante knew the wrath and scorn of a woman when he saw it and didn’t have to be told the woman in front of him was incensed. He could feel the steely eyes of contempt as Mariana stared hard, obviously unimpressed at the explanation. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll find him before the day is over.”

  “And I suppose you’ll send the same incompetent buffoon to take care of him again?”

  “The ‘buffoon’ as you say, has been ah, dealt with. Let’s just say he no longer works for me.” Frankie stood, signaling an end to their meeting. “Give me a couple more days.”

  Mariana got the distinct impression he was just placating her, and not at all serious. But, despite the brush-off, this was the best that she could do, her only hope of getting rid of Ethan. She didn’t really have much choice but to accept his explanation, and hope he’d find Ethan soon.

  Managing a show of being the one in control of the situation, she said, “I trust this time you can get the job done. Or,” she paused for what little effect it was worth, “our deal is off.”

  Frankie didn’t take well to being threatened, particularly by a woman. But this woman held a certain power and clout he could use, and he let it go. Still, it irked him. Silently, he cursed her as she walked to the door. This guy Ethan was close to taking his last breath, even if it meant taking care of him personally.

  Mariana knew she’d gotten under the man’s skin, as she had intended. Actually, knowing she hadn’t provided much information in the first place, she was rather surprised he’d found Ethan so quickly. But she wasn’t about to let Frankie know that.

  The fact Ethan had disappeared again was frustrating, but Mariana tried to think positively. Frankie seemed confident he could find the man again and she hoped he was right. With all the tracking of information by virtually every business on earth, it was next to impossible not to leave a paper trail these days, so maybe it wouldn’t be too difficult.

  Pulling up to her office, parking outside on the street as lately she’d begun to do, Mariana quickly forgot her woes. Engrossed in her work, she didn’t notice the phone ringing until her secretary said, “That’s your line.”

  Without having time to consider whether or not it would be Ethan, she answered the phone. After a brief pause, she almost hung up. Then she heard Jessi’s familiar voice.

  “What are you up to?”

  “Working,” Mariana said sharply. Then realizing she’d snapped at her friend, she said in a softer tone. “Some of us have to do that you know.”

  “Hey, I work,” Jessi insisted.

  “Yeah, right. Does your job now consist of calling your friends?”

  “Not really,” Jessi answered. “Only the ones I’m worried about, which at the moment is just you.”

  “Why are you worried about me?” Mariana asked innocently.

  “Because I haven’t h
eard from you since I was down there, and as I recall, you had a certain lunatic trying to kill you.” Jessi retorted.

  “I’m fine,” Mariana told her. “As you can see, or hear actually, I’m very much alive.”

  “Has Ethan called anymore?” Jessi pressed. “Or come to visit?”

  “Um…” Mariana hesitated, uncomfortable discussing the issue in the office setting. Glancing around nervously she said, “I’ll call you back.”

  As the rest of the day dragged on, she nervously chewed her lip and found herself frequently staring out the window, dreading the conversation she knew would be coming with Jessi. Her friend was pretty good at getting information out of people, while she herself was woefully incapable of not blabbing while being pressured by a friendly interrogator, especially Jessi.

  She decided not to mention Ethan’s visit while she’d been in the shower, or his other activities. And even though it had been her friend’s idea, she wasn’t about to bring up Frankie Arimante and the deal they’d struck.

  Leaving work early, at two minutes past four, she dialed Jessi’s number on her way home in the car. “Don’t say anything,” she reminded herself as the phone rang.

  As if she’d been sitting by the phone, waiting for it to ring, Jessi answered immediately. “Start talking,” the impatient nurse demanded. “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” Mariana responded evasively.

  “Uh-uh. Something is going on. The way you shut right up when I mentioned Ethan today.”

  “I just didn’t want to talk about the subject in front of everyone at the office,” Mariana insisted.

  “It’s more than that. This is Jessi, remember? I know you. I can hear it in your voice that something isn’t right.”

  “Honest,” Mariana continued her charade. “Nothing is wrong.”

  “Has Ethan called?”

  “Well, yeah, he has. But only a couple of times. That’s nothing new.”

  “Has he been back to your house?”