Miscarriage Of Justice

by Bruce A. Borders

  The only place to offer sanctity was the small shed he’d hidden in before, but it was over twenty feet away on the other side of the open drive. Without taking time to wonder if he should chance it, he hurried across the well-lit lawn and the exposed area of the driveway. Swinging the shed door open, he scampered inside, quickly pulling it shut behind him.

  And there he stayed until Mariana left for work, all the while wondering if she would discover his car, with the body in the trunk. But, he thought, breathing a little easier, at least he’d parked on the side away from town and the car should be out of sight from the normal traffic on the road. So, maybe she wouldn’t see it.

  The wait in the shed provided him ample time to devise a new plan of what to do with the body, since her car was no longer an option. The stately old farmhouse seemed to beckon, offering its services. He smiled. That seemed like a perfect alternative.

  When Mariana had finally driven off down the driveway in a cloud of dust, racing the Corvette toward Cedar Springs, Ethan eased out of his hiding place and made a beeline for his car. Though he hadn’t been able to see much from the shed, he’d kept a close eye on the road and, as far as he could tell, no one had stopped. Still, he was in a hurry to move the vehicle. All he needed was someone to phone in a report of a broken down motorist or abandoned vehicle and have the Sheriff’s Deputies show up.

  Climbing into the driver’s seat, he drove directly back to Mariana’s drive and up to the shed where he’d now spent several hours of his time. Backing up to the door, he popped the trunk release and stared in shock at the massively bloated body. The cold, clammy stiff would be twice as difficult to maneuver now, and it hadn’t been all that easy the night before.

  Ethan scowled, that meant the house was definitely out. Gazing expectantly into the open shed, he searched for something, anything, he could use to help remove the body from his car. All he saw was a sizable length of braided rope. If it wasn’t too rotten, he thought it just might do the trick. And if it didn’t...

  He’d worry about that when the time came.

  The problem reminded him of Shag again and he laughed. This wouldn’t be a problem at all if his old cellmate were there.

  The name Shag was an unusual one, but then Shag was an unusually sort of individual. Contrary to the obvious image of a dirty, longhaired, unkempt guy the name conjured up; he was clean-cut, well groomed, and well mannered. Shag was not the name given by the man’s parents, rather it referred to how he’d been caught by the cops and what had ultimately led to his conviction.

  Serving time for murder, Shag had been in the middle of a routine burglary, when the disgruntled homeowner had surprised him with a shotgun. The startled Shag had freaked out, pulling his own weapon. In the ensuing firefight, the homeowner had ended up dead. In his haste to get away, Shag had walked through the pool of blood, leaving several well-defined footprints permanently etched in the carpet.

  Investigators arriving at the scene hours later, had easily followed the bloody tracks all the way to the bar, blocks away, where they’d found a quite inebriated Shag, more than willing to talk.

  When he’d first heard the story, Ethan thought it had been a stupid mistake. But he later learned it was nothing compared to what some of the less mentally endowed criminals did. Criminals, he came to realize, are not the brightest individuals. At the very least, they should be able to avoid being caught so easily, especially by their own idiotic mistakes. But evidently, that wasn’t the case, as later he discovered that over half the inmates at any given prison were there because of their own stupidity and not due to any fancy police work.

  A few however, were nothing short of geniuses and he wondered how they’d ever wound up in prison. Maybe the same way he had, he’d decided. Although Shag was definitely not one of the geniuses, Ethan didn’t think he was as dumb as his bungled burglary attempt suggested either. The guy was definitely a one-of-a-kind person, and strong as an ox. Ethan had once seen the man rip a wooden fencepost right out of its concrete footing. Of course, he hadn’t seen him for a week afterward, while Shag paid for his outburst locked away in solitary confinement.

  He’d heard many other tales of Shag’s amazing feats. No doubt some were exaggerated, but knowing Shag, most of them were probably true. In any case, lifting the dead body out of the trunk, bloated or not, would not have posed much of a challenge. But, Ethan lamented, Shag wasn’t here, and the laborious chore was up to him.

  Scrambling through the doorway, Ethan squeezed between the old tires and piles of junk, working his way to the back wall where the rope hung. Grunting his approval as he ran his fingers over the fibers, he gave it a good yank. Though discolored with age, it appeared strong as ever, and not rotten or frayed.

  Hurrying back outside, he quickly tied one end around the legs of a man in the trunk. Looping the rope around the neck, and then under the knees, he crisscrossed the body several times. Running the other end back through the doorway of the shed, he secured the rope to the post of a small workbench, anchored firmly in the concrete foundation. Finding three short two-by-fours, he wedged them beneath the body and over the edge of the trunk. The boards would provide a makeshift ramp for the body to slide up and out of trunk as he drove away. At least that was the idea.

  Back in the driver’s seat, Ethan started the car and crossed his fingers hoping for the best. Easing the car forward until the rope was taut, he nudged the gas pedal, keeping an eye on workbench in his left mirror. If the post didn’t hold, he’d have to find another way to unload his stowaway.

  Even over the strain of the car’s engine, he could hear the body flopping and thumping, as it worked its way up the boards. Then, all at once, he felt the resistance give way and the car shot forward. In the mirror, he saw the corpse lying in a heap on the ground. His strategy had worked!

  Quickly, he shifted the car into park and ran back to the shed. Untying the rope from the post, he braced his shoulder against the doorframe and pulled, dragging the hefty body through the entrance. Sweating and gasping for breath, Ethan continued his struggle until the man’s feet cleared the doorway. Removing the rope from the body, he tossed it in the corner, and then tore the black plastic bag from the man’s head, throwing it into an empty bucket. The face, grotesque and discolored, was sickening and Ethan turned away at the sight.

  Without wasting more time, he stepped from the building and closed the door. Leaning against the shed, he took a moment to catch his breath, glancing frequently at the road. So far, no one had driven past.

  Needing to get away as soon as possible, but feeling grimy and contaminated, he wandered around behind the house, finding the outside faucet. With no soap, he wasn’t sure how much good it would do, but he went through the motions of washing his hands anyway. On the back porch railing hung a bath towel and drying his hands, thoroughly, Ethan tried to scrub off what germs the water had missed. Replacing the towel over the handrail, spreading it neatly as before, he hoped it would dry before Mariana returned.

  “She might need this later,” he joked.

  Hurrying back to his still running car, he dropped the shift lever into drive and rolled out to the road. On the way to town, he tried to regain his composure. Still feeling nasty from the contact with the dead body, he stopped at the first store to make use of the antibacterial soap in the restroom.

  He’d planned to eat breakfast after disposing of the body, but he now seemed to have lost his appetite. Instead, he drove to a nearby glass store. A window needed to be fixed.

  Ethan only rented the house, so technically he could just call the landlord and let him worry about the window. But he’d rather not have to deal with a bunch of unwanted questions that would only raise suspicion.

  Arranging to have a 6x10 pane of glass delivered later that afternoon, he made a final stop before heading home—for cleaning supplies, including plenty of disinfectant.

  After a long shower, still trying to remove the lingering smell of the dead body, and convince himself tha
t he was clean, Ethan set to work on the mess created the night before. Sweeping up the outside, and vacuuming the inside, he turned his attention to the gaping hole that had once been a window. Removing the remaining jagged glass, and then the old frame, he prepared the opening for the new glass. He’d barely finished when the delivery truck drove up. In a good nature, he helped the driver unload the fragile pane of glass.

  “Your old one break?” the guy asked trying to be social.

  So much for his good nature. Ethan gave the man a disgusted look. No, I just wanted to spend two hundred dollars ’cause it was dirty and I didn’t feel like washing it. Biting his tongue, he grunted a simple, “Yeah.” No use making another enemy.

  Leaning the glass against the house, he convinced the driver to help him set it in place. Tacking a couple of small slats in the frame to hold it temporarily, he thanked the guy for his help. Almost as an afterthought, he pulled a twenty from his wallet and handed it to the guy to compensate him for his trouble. Eyes lighting up and with a big smile on his face, the beaming young man graciously accepted the generous tip and swaggered all the way back to his pickup.

  Finishing the job took only a mere twenty minutes and Ethan was done. The new window was in place and caulked. He took a step back, admiring his work. Other than the streak-free shine, nothing indicated the glass had been shot out the night before. “Not bad,” Ethan congratulated himself.

  Putting away his tools, he sat down at his new kitchen table and began phoning the remaining contractors on his list, setting up more appointments. After less than an hour of calling, he grew tired of the game and abandoned the idea. “That’s enough,” he muttered, pushing the paper to the back of the table.

  Altogether, he’d made more than fifty appointments. Most of them were scheduled for late afternoon, or weekends if the contractor would agree to that. He wanted Mariana to be home when they showed up if possible. The rest, he hoped, would leave a message to let her know they’d been there. For the next two weeks, she should have a steady stream of overweight, filthy and grimy old men beating a path to her door. The prank seemed rather meaningless, but if it would contribute to her insanity, it was well worth his time.

  A few minutes before four o’clock, Ethan placed another call to the District Attorney’s Office.

  “Yes?” came the obviously preoccupied voice of the D.A.

  Ethan wasted no time getting to the point. “As you can hear, I’m still very much alive, no thanks to you.”

  He heard her measured breathing on the phone and a long pause ensued before she innocently replied, “What do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean,” Ethan snarled. “You’re hired gun, didn’t have the brains of a starfish.”

  “I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mariana haughtily insisted.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Ethan replied. “Maybe this will help jog your memory. Check inside your shed when you get home.”

  “Why?” Mariana suddenly sounded suspicious, almost worried.

  “So you’ll understand the severity of the situation and what happens when you bite off more than you can chew.” Ethan hung up. Let her wonder about things for a while. He was betting she wouldn’t wait long to check the shed. The pompous D.A. was probably already on her way out the door in a panicked rush to get home.

  He could imagine the look on her face when she opened the rickety wooden door to the shed. The surprise, the shock, and the look of utter horror would be worth paying for. Too bad he wouldn’t be there, he thought. It would be nice to witness the effects of all his labor. The chances of ever getting a confession out of her were next to nothing, he knew. And, since he had little or no expectation of winning in a court of law, this was the next best thing.

  Ethan laid the phone on the counter and turned on the TV. Still receiving only one channel and uninterested in what it was showing, almost immediately, he switched the power back off. Halfheartedly, he set to work on the rest of the furniture that still needed to be put together. Unable to concentrate, or find much enthusiasm, he abandoned the project after a few short minutes.

  Restless and disconsolate, in a dour mood, he sauntered out to his car and drove downtown. Then past his old house. Once again, his thoughts drifted to Jenna and his boys, wondering where they were, how they were doing and wishing there was some way for him to see them. But as bad as he wanted that to happen, he knew it never would. That part of his life was over; a page that had been turned. Much as he disliked the idea, he had to move on. He’d have to find someone new, someone like Lacy, the girl at the clothing store.

  “It would be nice to start all over with her,” he mused. “And just forget all of this.” For a brief moment, he considered making a trip to Fulton and going to see her, but then shook his head. He was just an ex-con who had nothing to offer; a man condemned to a bitter life of loneliness. Though his body was no longer held in the cold confines of Granite Hills Penitentiary, he still wasn’t completely free. And he wouldn’t be until Mariana Clark had suffered enough. He didn’t know just how much “enough” was, but he did know she wasn’t there yet.

  Trouble was, he seemed to be losing interest in that as well. Sure he had his moments, like the adrenalin rush after he killed the intruder and then dumped the body but, once that was over, his interest nearly fizzled out again. He wished there was a way to end it—for good, and then get on with his life. But wishes rarely come true.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Tires squalling, horn blaring at anyone who dared get in her way, the sporty red Corvette raced through the streets of Cedar Springs, an extremely upset and agitated Mariana behind the wheel.

  Leaving her work piled on the desk and telling Miss Gooten she had some urgent personal business, the D.A. had rushed out the door the instant she’d hung up the phone. The voice on the line had plainly been Ethan’s, of that she was sure. Obviously, Frankie Arimante hadn’t come through on his end of the deal yet.

  Another thing of which she now was confident, she hadn’t been imagining things at the house that morning. Something, she still wasn’t sure what, had been going on.

  Sliding to an abrupt stop, only a foot away from her house, Mariana had the car door open before the engine spluttered out. Ethan hadn’t said which shed, but hurrying to the closest one, she pulled up short at the door, hesitating, afraid of what she might find. Tentatively, she tried the knob. The door made an eerie creaking sound as she slowly pulled it open. A startled gasp escaped her lips and instantly, she recoiled, involuntarily taking a step back when she caught sight of the dead body. The face wasn’t familiar, but she knew instantly who the man was, or rather, who he had been. Frankie’s man, evidently another buffoon. Ethan was still alive! And it didn’t appear he’d be leaving this world any time soon. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for the sorry sap on the floor in front of her!

  The ghastly sight was repulsive and sickening, but that wasn’t what weighed on Mariana’s mind. Her discovery now posed a much bigger and immediate problem than she’d had before—how to dispose of the body and leave no trail leading back to her. She certainly couldn’t just call the coroner.

  Common sense told her she’d never be able to lift the corpse, even if she wanted to, which she definitely did not! Staring despondently at the body, she racked her brain for an idea, any idea.

  Overcome then by the atrocious horror of it all, she suddenly bolted from the shed. Slamming the door shut behind her and leaving the car in its haphazard position, she fled into the house. Needing time to think, she paced back and forth in the kitchen. This had all become far more complicated than she’d anticipated. Too complicated.

  At her wits end, she called the only person in the world in whom she could confide, the only one she could trust—Jessi. Relating the latest events in gory detail, she said in an exasperated tone, “I don’t know what to do, this is driving me crazy! And now I have a dead guy in my shed. How am I supposed to get rid of that?”

  Jessi listened
apathetically as Mariana talked, raved deliriously. Just listened, not saying a word.

  “Ethan is still alive. And Frankie could tell what he knows,” Mariana wailed. “Either one of them has the power to ruin my career, and my life.”

  An “I told you so,” would’ve been easy for Jessi, but valuing her friendship with Mariana, she wasn’t looking to score points in a tit for tat debate. Gently she said, “Yeah. You’re really between a rock and a hard place. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No,” a discouraged Mariana answered. “I got myself into this, and it’s up to me to get myself out. I just don’t know how to do that.”

  “I can still come down,” Jessi volunteered. “If you want.”

  “Thanks,” Mariana said. “But I don’t want you in the middle of this. Now that things have escalated to this point, I think I am going to have to take some kind of legal action. That’ll probably seal my fate, but I’ve got to do something.”

  “You could always turn yourself in,” Jessi gently suggested.

  Mariana sighed heavily, but didn’t answer. She’d been thinking the same thing, but didn’t know if she was really ready to do that. Not just yet.

  “It would seem to be the best choice and would get both Frankie and Ethan off your back,” Jessi urged.

  “And create a whole new set of problems,” Mariana said. “Are you forgetting what you told me earlier about the treatment I could expect in prison?”

  “No. But maybe you wouldn’t have to worry about it. They might send you to the country club prison.”

  “I think there would be plenty of people there who are upset with me too,” the D.A. lamented.

  “How do you know you’d be sent anywhere?” her friend asked. “You are assuming you’d be found guilty. All you need to do is hire a good defense lawyer and you could get off. It happens all the time. You should know that.”