by Julie Frayn
“I can get it.”
“Nonsense, let me. Dory, how about you, refill?”
Dory glared at him and handed him her cup. He smiled at her and turned to Mazie. “Double cream and two sugars, right?”
She nodded.
“Coming up.”
~~~~~~~~
Mazie’s fingers soon shredded the keyboard. The speed and accuracy of her younger years improved with each passing day. Smiling came easier, and she could barely contain herself when she got home. She had to tell Ariel of her daily accomplishments, the stories spilling from Mazie’s lips and onto her daughter’s increasingly bored ears.
Dory continued to freeze her out, didn’t acknowledge Mazie’s presence, walked right by on her way for coffee without so much as a smile, let alone offering to fill her cup.
Within a week, Norman had asked Mazie to assist with research for the case of the battered woman. The case that got her this job. The case of perfect irony.
The woman, with the sweet-old-lady name of Betty Wardell, still wouldn’t speak to him. Wouldn’t speak to anyone, except one particular nurse. Just sat in the sunroom in the loony bin, staring out the window.
Mazie searched for precedent on law websites and pored over dusty old books in the library. She read of a woman in Hamilton who’d killed her husband and faced murder charges. Was found not guilty. She had entered a plea of self-defence. Her lawyers brought forward mounds of evidence proving years of the severe abuse she’d suffered at the bastard’s hands.
Not guilty. Of murder. Not in jail. But confined to the mental ward of a local hospital all the same. She’d never recovered. Not from the abuse. Not from the broken heart. She missed her husband, regretted her actions. Despite the regular beatings, the near-death traumas he inflicted, she still loved him. Looking in life’s rear-view mirror, the woman had come to believe the abuse was his way of showing affection. That he really did love her and she’d killed him for it.
Mazie stared at the screen, at the words that seemed so ridiculous, so unbelievable. So familiar.
In the last month, glimpses of happy Cullen popped up unexpectedly amidst nightmares of the hell he’d wrought. The Cullen she’d longed for. The handsome, young, fun Cullen. Those moments were like the first bloom of spring breaking through the weight of a May snowstorm. He was the Canadian prairie weather. Stormy, with just a hint of sunshine. Ice cold for weeks, with brief Chinook winds bringing warmth and relief. Oppressive like the heat of a late August day, cooled by the lovely evening chill of the looming autumn.
She missed him. The truth of it was a punch in the head.
Was he affected by weather? Could he have been cured, fixed — normal — if they’d moved to a temperate climate?
She shook her head. That was absurd. He was just as abusive in winter as summer. Just as thoughtless and violent in spring as in fall. Red flags had slapped her upside the head almost as hard as he did. But in the beginning she’d missed them all. Or chose to ignore them.
“Charlie? You all right?”
She looked up into Norman’s face, all scrunched up in that endearing, inquisitive way he had.
She straightened her spine and rolled her neck. “Fine. Just taking a typing break.” She rubbed her wrists and placed her fingertips back on the keyboard, searched the faux-mahogany desktop for her work. But she hadn’t been typing. She’d been doing research. She slouched back in her chair. “Sorry. This is just a bit overwhelming.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and dug his thumbs into her aching muscles.
She groaned and rolled her head forward.
“You’re tense as hell. Why don’t you take a real break. Get out into the sunshine.” He dug his wallet out of his pocket and peeled a twenty and a ten from the fold. “Maybe grab us some lunch?”
~~~~~~~~
“Things have really chilled. I haven’t seen a cop in two weeks.” Rachel raised a glass of white wine toward the webcam. “Cheers to this being well on the way to the cold case files.”
Mazie raised her plastic tumbler of five ninety-nine shiraz. “Do you really think so?”
“Well, can’t guarantee it, but it’s been quiet. No more interviews, no more showing up on our doorstep at all hours. I’m sure the file’s still open, but shit, there was a murder this week, two shootings last Saturday and a knifing downtown just last night.”
“In Calgary? What are we becoming, Toronto or something?”
Rachel snorted. “Christ, I hope not. But they’ve got fresh meat to worry about.”
Mazie took a long gulp of wine, then swirled it in the glass. A flash of Cullen’s mutilated skin skipped through her head.
“You getting enough sleep? You look tired.”
“Not really. Can’t shut off my brain.” Mazie rubbed under her eye with one finger. “But I get these nice bags as a reward.” And a few extra crow’s feet.
The weekly Skype-and-wine date with Rachel had become a lifeline to home. She always knew the latest news, the juiciest gossip. And was always easy with her laughter and her friendship.
“How’s your cutie-pie lawyer man?” Rachel flashed her eyebrows up and down.
Mazie rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Like that’s what I need.” She wiped dust from the tablet with her index finger. “I mean, he’s sweet and all. But shit, how would that work? I haven’t even figured out how to get fake ID. The school is after me constantly to get them Ariel’s birth certificate. Or Clementine’s. How could I have a relationship? You’re supposed to be honest and be able to trust each other. I can’t do either.” She slouched down in her seat. “I just want to come home,” she whispered.
“I get that. But you can’t. So get your shit together, woman.”
She could always count on Rachel to tell it like it is.
“Surely your lawyer dude knows some shady characters. Don’t you ever get to meet his clients?”
Mazie laughed. “No. Not yet. I’ll keep your sneaky idea in mind though.”
“Look, I need to tell you something. We’ve been opening some of your mail.”
“Oh?”
“Paying the utilities and all.”
“What? You don’t have to do that. I don’t know when I can pay you back.”
“You don’t have to pay it back.” Rachel sipped her wine. “But there was another letter from the bank today. Final notice. I bet it’s your mortgage. It has been a few months. Should I open it?”
“Yes. I have no secrets from you, Rach. Like, not a single one.”
Rachel tore into an envelope and unfolded the paper inside. “Yup. They want payment tout suite or they’re threatening to foreclose.”
“Shit.” Mazie drank the rest of her wine and poured another glass. “Let ‘em. I don’t ever want to set foot in that house again. They can have it.”
“Are you sure you want to do that? There’s gotta be equity in there. You could sell.”
“How? I don’t exist, remember?”
Rachel pursed her lips. “Right. Sorry.”
“Mom, can I talk to Polly yet?” Ariel yawned.
“Rach, gotta give the computer up for the girls. Talk to you next week.”
“Keep your head down. Love from George.”
~~~~~~~~
The office sat in pure and eerie silence. No ticking of fingers on keyboards, no huffing and snorting from Dory’s jealous nose. No reassuring timbre of Norman’s gentle voice on the phone or over Mazie’s shoulder.
Dory had taken the afternoon off — thank God for small mercies — and Norman was at a client meeting.
The phone receiver was cool in Mazie’s hand. She put it to her ear and cradled it against her shoulder. Fresh pain in her knotted muscles coursed down her arm. The mouthpiece smelled of cabbage and coffee, a scent that wafted through the office each time hurricane Dory rolled through.
Mazie took a deep breath and punched ten digits on the number pad. “Saint Lawrence Psych.” The woman’s clipped voice reeked of efficiency.
Mazie cleared her throat. “I’m looking for a patient.”
“We have patients. Lots of ‘em. Do you have a name?”
“Elizabeth Wardell.”
The woman put her through to a nurse’s station and Mazie repeated her request.
“Betty Wardell?” The nurse snickered. “She doesn’t talk much. You a relative?”
“No ma’am. I work for her lawyer.”
“Ah. Mr. Day. He’s trying a new tack? Didn’t the written answer thing work?”
“He — he told you about that?”
“Told me? It was my idea. I see her scrawling notes and thoughts all over the place. Sometimes it’s gibberish, sometimes it’s just her husband’s name. Once she did permanent marker on the sunroom wall. A heart with BW plus TW. I think all those beatings he gave her knocked the sense right out of her.”
Mazie winced. “Well, in your line of work, you ought to know how devastating the lasting effects of long-term abuse are. Maybe a bit more kindness and understanding are in order.” She put her hand over her eyes. Did she just scold a mental health professional?
“Look, lady, if you saw the shit I deal with every day, maybe you’d throw me a little kindness and understanding, eh?”
“I’m very sorry.” Mazie took a deep breath. “Can I please speak with her?”
“Hold the line.”
She was going to have to practice the fine art of drawing information out of the unwilling. Without pissing them off.
Mazie rifled through Dory’s drawer. Seven pencils with broken leads later she found one with just enough tip to write with. The pencil stood poised above the yellow lined pad of paper, ready to record every word Betty spoke.
The phone clicked, something rustled on the other end. And then breathing. Just breathing.
“Elizabeth Wardell?” No response. “Betty, is that you?” Mazie cleared her throat. “Betty my name is Charlotte Smyth. Charlie if you like.”
Betty remained silent.
“I work for Norman Day.”
Betty’s breath became heavy.
This wasn’t working. She didn’t need a lawyer, she needed a friend. A confidante. Someone who got it. Someone just like her.
Mazie twisted her head to one side until a loud crack relieved some pressure in her sore neck. “Look, Betty. I just want you to know that I understand. I’m sure a lot of people say that to you, right?”
No response.
“My husband beat the shit out of me for years.”
A huff of air was her reward for that confession.
“He choked me too. Usually during sex. Until I passed out. I thought he would kill me.”
A whimper. A sniff.
“So you see, I really do understand. Everything. I broke free too, Betty. Completely free. I get it. I understand.”
The phone went dead.
Mazie slammed the phone on its cradle. “Damn it.” She tapped the pencil against the paper, then pitched the yellow stick across the desk and covered her eyes with the heels of both hands.
The phone’s shrill ring sliced through the silence. She jumped and stared at the ancient handset. When Norman got back, she would insist he upgrade and get caller display.
She picked up the receiver like it might morph into a snake and bite her. “Hello?”
“Is this Norman Day’s office?” The gruff voice of the angry nurse bit her ear.
“Yes. This is Charlotte Smyth.”
“Well, Charlotte Smyth, I don’t know what the hell you said to her, but Betty, here, wants to meet you.”
“What, in person?”
“She hates phones. Must say, I’m impressed. She didn’t even write it down, whispered it right in my ear.”
Mazie reclined in the chair and pumped her fist in the air. “I’ll have to discuss it with Mr. Day and get back to you.”
“Shit, you don’t have to make an appointment with her or anything. She’s always available. Just drop in. Visiting hours are nine until four.”
Mazie hung up the phone, crossed her arms in front of her chest, grinned and nodded. Now how would she tell Norman she’d done something so bold and stupid?
~~~~~~~~
“So, that case in Kingston.” Mazie stood in the doorway to Norman’s office, her shoulder against the jamb, arms crossed.
He pulled his attention from whatever case he was enrapt with. Or maybe it was a porn site and he was into bondage. A flash of him slapping her face darted through her mind.
“What about it?” The arch of his eyebrow seemed familiar. Yet not at all.
“I spoke to her.”
He cocked his head. It was a habit, maybe a tick. It made her smile. He looked like a puppy trying to decipher its master’s words. “To Betty Wardell?”
“Yes.”
He pushed away from this desk. His chair rolled until the back of it hit the credenza. “Did she speak back?”
“No. Just a lot of breathing. But the nurse said that she wants a meeting.”
He inched his laptop cover shut, his eyes never leaving hers. “When?”
“It’s already after four. What is it, a two hour drive? So I was thinking first thing tomorrow morning?”
He leaned back in his chair, the ergonomic lumbar support squeaking as it accepted his thin frame. “I’ve been trying to get a meeting for weeks, but she keeps refusing.” He opened his calendar, flipped a couple of sheets, and ran his finger down the page. “I’d have to shift some meetings, but I can swing tomorrow.” He sat back, swivelled her direction and eyed her, stroking his chin with the tips of his fingers. “I should be pissed at you for making that call.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. That’s the kind of gumption this practice needs. I’m impressed.”
She looked at her feet. “What if I went?”
“You?” His eyebrows squished together. “Charlie, you’re not a lawyer. You don’t know what to ask, what to look for.”
“I know. But she said she wanted to talk to me. Maybe you’ve never been able to get a meeting because the last thing she wants is to speak to another man in authority.” She shifted her eyes back to her feet and waited for him to scold her, tell her she’s stupid to even consider it. That she’s not qualified and never would be.
“That could work.”
She jerked her head up to see if he was joking, but he wore his serious face, had reopened his laptop, and his fingers flew across the keyboard.
“Really, I can do it?”
He glanced up. “Yeah, I believe you can do it.” He pointed at his screen. “Let’s review her file, find parallels with the case you found in Hamilton.” He pulled a notepad from the top drawer of his desk and snatched a pencil from a cup overflowing with erect yellow sticks, all sharp and ready for action. “I’ll draft the questions so you have a guideline.” He glanced at his watch. “We might be here a while if you’re leaving early in the morning. Do you have a sitter for Clementine?”
“She’s thirteen. She’d be pissed at me if I got her a babysitter. I’ll just call and let her know. There’s leftovers in the fridge. She’ll be fine.”
“Perfect. You can take my car.” He stood, turned his chair, and swept his hand over it like a magician about to say abracadabra and pull a rabbit out of a hat. “Have a seat and start reading and making notes. I’ll order in Chinese and make a pot of coffee.”
She sat at his desk and looked at the huge monitor. Three different law websites, two depositions, email, and a spreadsheet. No porn.
Mazie scanned the files and scratched notes on the long, lined pad. Her life had some eerie parallels with Betty’s. They’d both married young. Both packed up and moved across the country — in opposite directions — to be with the men they loved. Men who would evolve from caring husbands to evil fiends, who’d turn their hate and anger and disappointment in themselves on their wives until they were forced to make a life-or-death decision.
The big difference was documentation. Betty’s abuse was all ov
er the police files. Restraining orders, nine-one-one calls, hospital reports. Betty didn’t lie about it when it happened. Hell, she told everybody what the bastard did to her. She just wouldn’t talk about it now.
Mazie sat back and crossed her arms, tilted her head and stared at the ceiling. Brown water spots stained the tiles. Gobs of greasy dust hung from the air-conditioning vent. She grinned. Just who cleaned this place anyway?
She sat up, her elbows on the desk. She’d kept her own abuse private. Hid it under makeup and clothing. Lied to the whole damn world. To Ariel. To herself.
Why hadn’t she done more to protect herself? Told the doctors the truth about her bruises and broken bones? Why hadn’t she spoken up the one and only time the police were involved and let him rot in jail? Maybe he’d still be there. Maybe she wouldn’t have sliced him to bits. Maybe her daughter could be home, in school with her friends.
Maybe they could quit being Charlie and Clementine.
Norman placed a cup of coffee at her elbow. “I ordered my usual. Hope you like Kung Pao chicken, dumplings, garlic veggies, and chow mein noodles?”
“I love all of it.”
He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Perfect.”
A palpable tension hung thick in the air. He didn’t move his hand. She held her breath.
She wasn’t ready for this.
She cleared her throat, swivelled the chair, and his hand dropped away. “So there are some similarities. A lot of documented abuse. Neither of these women hid their torment.”
He nodded. “Right.” He put his cup on the desk and pulled a monitor from the top of a filing cabinet. “Let’s plug into this, then we can see both cases side by side.” He connected the second monitor to the laptop, clicked the mouse with practiced confidence. The second screen flickered to life. He dragged one of the cases to the second monitor so they were side by side, then rolled the spare chair over and sat beside her.
They pored over the two files, made notes and devised questions until the jarring clang of the night bell announced that their dinner had arrived.
Mazie unwrapped chopsticks from their paper covers and pulled them apart to split the wood where they were connected. An old habit, she ran the two sides together as if she were about to start a fire.