by Alana Lorens
The police officer who came to the ER had been less stern and more skeptical. “How old’s this kid?” he asked.
“Almost fifteen.”
“And he did this? You’re sure?” He held his pencil in midair, not even taking notes anymore.
Suzanne bristled. “If my daughter says he did this, then he did. Would you like my card? It says attorney on it. I wouldn’t waste your time with anything I didn’t believe was true.” Jerk, she added silently.
She debated calling Nick, but he certainly had enough on his plate. She could manage pressing charges by herself.
“All right, well, I’ll give the Morgans a call, see what they have to say.” The officer shrugged and eyed Riviera like she was a hysterical attention seeker, which couldn’t have been farther from the way she’d conducted herself. Suzanne was actually proud of Riviera’s quiet acceptance of her treatment and the honesty she’d displayed talking to both the doctor and the police officer.
“And then you’ll file the assault charges.”
He turned his intent stare on Suzanne. “If the evidence bears it out.”
“You’re looking at the evidence, you idiot!” She regretted the words as soon as they were out. The officer dismissed her and left the curtained area Riviera had been assigned. Chagrined and flustered, she forcibly reined in her irritation and put on a more upbeat face. “Guess calling the officer an idiot was a little much, huh?”
Riviera managed a ghost of her usual smile. “You think?” She slid off the bed and hugged her mother.
Suzanne felt her heart breaking that she’d had any hand in causing this injury to her own daughter. Rocking the girl who was nearly as tall as Suzanne herself, she smoothed her hair and kissed the top of her head. “I’m so sorry, Riv. We’ll handle this.”
“I know, Mom. You handle everything.”
That little expression of confidence did what it could to assuage Suzanne’s feelings. Action was what would help her get back on the horse.
Action was what she intended to take, now that it was the next day and she could see her way a little clearer. She called the precinct to follow up, but the officer had gone off shift. She was assured by some minor functionary that her complaint would be taken care of in the ordinary course of events, and that she shouldn’t worry.
Which, of course, started her worrying.
She debated the utility of filing a restraining order against Greg and Joshua. If the assault charges went through, one of Joshua’s bond conditions would be that he wasn’t allowed contact with the victim, so that would do the job for them. That wouldn’t keep Greg Morgan’s long reach from interfering with Suzanne’s life, but it would be a start.
Besides, getting a restraining order against Greg would be harder, since she’d have to prove that Greg was behind the attack. She couldn’t imagine that the son would voluntarily admit that his father had put him up to it. The publicity that could be generated by the press finding out she’d filed it could help her case. Or it could backfire against her if he bought that judge, too, and threw out her case because she had no hard evidence it was him. So she was in the same place that Nick was, knowing something in her gut that she had no way to convince others was true.
All that day, she spent making sure Riviera had ice packs for her face and all the little treats she liked to eat. She even made grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches, one of Riviera’s favorites. The three of them played board games and even watched soap operas together. As she sat between them on the couch, she realized it had been some time since they’d had a day like this, just the three of them talking and spending time together. Did she really work so hard that she slighted the girls? Ever since she’d been left with them on her own, she’d obsessed about having enough money to remain independent, to take care of her girls, and she’d devoted herself to that goal. Working in the office till six or later, bringing files home, delegating “family time” to her parents, she’d absorbed herself in her work.
And now my work has come back to haunt me.
She’d have to do better. She couldn’t let the girls get so far out of her sphere of influence that something like this could happen. Not again.
Once the shock of the incident with Riviera wore off, Nick’s predicament crept back into her thoughts, too. While she hadn’t contacted him about what had happened, she tried to call him just to check in. He didn’t answer his phone. Ha! He’s probably doing the same thing I am, protecting me from the troubles he’s going through. Aren’t we a pair?
She didn’t hear from him till the next day. Making chocolate chip cookies with the girls, she grabbed the phone when it rang, her sticky fingers leaving a glob of dough on the receiver. “Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Nick?” A smile came to her unbidden. She wiped her hands on the worn yellow dishtowel and ducked into the other room. “How are you doing?”
A hesitation. “I’m fine. I was just calling you back. Everything all right with you?”
“Sure! We’re all good.”
“Well, that’s good.”
A silence fell on the line. My God, we’re both bad liars. She tried to fill the awkward moment. “Any news?”
“No, not really.”
“Oh.” Another long pause. “Have you talked to Roy?”
“I did.”
When he didn’t go on, she prompted, “And?”
He sighed. “Not much he can do till IA is finished with their investigation. He said he hasn’t seen one go on this long. Ever.”
“Did you tell him you thought Morgan was behind it?”
Conversation in the kitchen behind her had stopped. She glanced around the corner to see both girls watching her.
Nick replied, “I did, but he discounted it as too hard to prove.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
Riviera gestured to the phone. “Ask him to come to dinner.”
Hope chimed in. “Yeah. We need a man around here.”
Suzanne made a face, and both girls smiled. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. The girls want you to come for dinner tonight. We’re making cookies this afternoon. They’re delicious. Can’t resist them, I promise.”
He didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know, Suzanne. Maybe it’s not a good idea.”
She hated the despair in his voice and resolved to chase it away. “We insist.”
“I’m not very good company.”
The girls hung on her every word, making puppy-dog eyes. Suzanne grimaced with mock exasperation. “I don’t think they care. You’d better come or they’re going to hound me.” That broke the girls into giggles.
He didn’t answer, and Suzanne added, “Pretty please?”
She didn’t take offense at his hesitation. Sometimes people just needed to deal with things in their own way. All the same, she was a lawyer. Lawyers lived to solve problems. It was the pinnacle and result of all their education and training. Why wouldn’t he let her help?
“You don’t understand the implications of my situation, Suzanne. This could be just someone at IA yanking my chain, or this could get serious. If some pistolino gets it in his head to bring me down, the district attorney could file a sexual assault charge like that.” He snapped his fingers next to the phone receiver. “The press gets hold of it, it’ll be in all the papers, and you’ll start hearing the whispers, see the fingers pointing. Then that taints everyone around me. You’re better off being as far away as you can be. You and especially your girls.”
“That’s bull,” she shot back. “I know you didn’t do this—”
“Oh, counselor. Come now. We both know that the justice system has very little to do with truth.”
Suzanne struggled a few seconds for a comeback, then chose the line he’d used on her that very first time. “Come on, Nick. No hassles. Just dinner.”
“I’ll think about it. Thanks for making the effort.” She heard the line go dead.
The sound burned her like a hot match. What more could she do? She�
�d tried everything. He clearly didn’t want her help. It sounded almost like he didn’t want her, either.
That realization brought her up short.
All along she’d been trying to convince herself that she didn’t need him, that she didn’t want him in any serious way. But now that he was pushing her away, it hurt.
The girls studied her, her expression apparently giving her away. “He’s not coming, is he?” Riviera asked.
“He’s got a lot on his mind with work,” Suzanne said. She hadn’t explained the situation to them. Anticipating that it would be handled quickly, she’d never guessed this investigation would tie up all their lives for three weeks. “Maybe next week.”
“Yeah, that’d be good,” Hope said, going back to spooning cookie dough onto the metal sheets. But something in the way she looked at her mother made Suzanne think she knew there was more to it than work. “We’ll be fine, babe. Don’t you worry,” she said, slipping an arm around her daughter’s shoulder for a hug. Riviera insisted on being included, and she hugged them both.
She meant what she said. How many times had she insisted she was just fine on her own? She could take care of herself. She’d cared for Hope and Riviera for all their lives. If Nick felt like he didn’t want them to be part of his life, she’d just have to adapt. What could she possibly need from him that she couldn’t get herself?
****
Christmas came and went with Nick still playing the martyred hermit. Suzanne and the girls had a warm family weekend at her parents’ house, where all of them were duly spoiled. She hadn’t told her parents about Riviera’s injuries. The girls had stayed home the first weekend after the incident, and the bruises faded by the time they’d visited again. Riviera didn’t want them to know, ashamed she’d been taken in by Joshua Morgan, and Suzanne could understand that. So far there was no hint of danger to her parents from this web of fear that seemed to be closing in on Suzanne and Nick.
And it better stay that way.
When she hadn’t heard from Nick for a few days, it was time to be pushy. She called Roy White and asked him if they could have a strategy session. She mowed down his objections that he couldn’t discuss his clients with her and just set a time and place, an open-all-night greasy spoon in Millvale, on the city’s north side. Suzanne invited T.R. Fries, a longtime friend and reporter at the Pittsburgh Press, who’d done a little informal research and digging around at the department, at her request. She’d even overcome the criminal defense attorney’s natural suspicion of news reporters, since T.R. was a pretty stand-up guy.
The only point on which they all agreed was that the situation was out of control.
“It's a tough break, Nick,” the scrawny, balding reporter said, after they’d looked through all the paper Roy had been able to get out of IA, which wasn’t much. He pushed up the nosepiece of his wire-rim glasses for the tenth time. “Who'd you piss off?”
“I’m not sure,” Nick said. He and Roy exchanged glances.
Suzanne frowned at her colleague, a compact package of intense energy, his wiry frame not appearing any more relaxed in his jeans and sweatshirt than he did in his suit at court. They must have decided to keep the Morgan connection quiet for now. No sense in stirring up more trouble.
T.R. stared into the screen of his laptop. “There's a story here, that's for sure. I just don't think it's the one they're trying to sell me at the station house.”
“What does it sound like to you?” Roy asked T.R.
“I'm not sure yet,” the reporter said. He kept staring at his screen. Suzanne wondered if he was trying to draw them out, to get more information for his own story. Or was he hiding something?
“Come on, T.R.,” Nick said. “I can take it.”
“It's not that. The stories are too slick. Everyone gives the same details. The exact same details.”
“Hmm,” Roy said, raising an eyebrow.
“Right. If you have ten cops involved in the same bust, a couple of them will know the background, some know the perps’ histories, others have information about the consequences and follow-up. As far as Sansone goes, from public information officer to sergeant to street cop, they all know exactly the same thing.”
Suzanne absorbed his opinion and took a sip of cooling coffee. “Do you get any feeling for how far they're willing to go? Are they pursuing this to the bitter end?”
“No one's making commitments,” T.R. answered. “But the distinct dark tone to the comments convinced me they’re really serious.”
That silenced the group. Each fidgeted with the detritus of the coffee and munchies on their respective plates. Concentrating on possible new directions to take, Suzanne jumped when T.R.’s cell went off. He read his message, then started packing his things away.
“Gotta go. Dead body in East Liberty.” he said.
Roy smirked. “Another hot Thursday night in the big city.”
“If I hear anything else, Suz, I’ll call you.”
“Thanks, T.R.” She watched him walk out, feeling like every road in this case would end up a dead end. The three of them sat in silence until her patience finally snapped. “Damn it, there’s got to be something we can do!”
Roy shook his head. “Nick’s in the best position to gather the dirt from his brothers in blue. He’s had three interviews. Haven’t you been able to dig up anything or even figure out where they’re going?”
“I really haven’t pressed them,” Nick said with a shrug. “The instigator could be one of several people. If it’s inside, someone who steps up to help would be in the line of fire. I don’t want to jeopardize anyone else.”
The lawyer frowned. “I usually hear bits and pieces, and there are a couple officers who tell me things.” At Nick's surprised look, Roy said, “Even lawyers get the lowdown somewhere.” He waved at the waitress to bring more coffee. “But even those officers are shut tight.”
“What are we going to do?” Suzanne said, more downcast with each moment. “You can’t just sit around and wait until the magic fairy pops in and takes care of the problem!” She turned to Nick. “Whether those sergeants set you up or even if it was Gr—”
Nick’s hand covered her mouth before she could say the councilman’s name. “This isn’t any different than any undercover operation. If you’re going to catch the big man, you have to let the scenario play out.”
“And in the meantime? What? Everything goes to hell?”
Her words floated in a thick pool of silence. The two men brooded and didn’t look up from their cups. Her frustration with self-appointed domestic terrorist Greg Morgan bubbled up to the boiling point and just ran over.
“That’s it then? We just concede to the bad guys?”
Roy took a deep breath, then eyed her. “When is the last time you slept a full night?”
Where did that come from? “I don't need you to be my mother,” she snapped.
“Of course not, Suz,” Nick interceded. “But you do need to be a good mother. You’re really stressed out here. How can you take care of the girls if you're not taking care of yourself?”
“So you're ganging up on me?” Suzanne looked from one to the other, realizing she was being “handled.” The recognition annoyed the hell out of her. She was a big girl; she didn’t need them to tell her what to do.
“We're not ’ganging up’ on you, Suzanne. There’s a lot going on, and we need each member of the team to be at his or her best,” Roy said. “You and I both know the legal system has flaws. If we’re going to get to the bottom of this, we’ll have to be ready to investigate any possibility, however unexpected.”
Irritated, despite the knowledge their concern was sincere, she looked at her watch. It was late. She didn’t want to leave the girls alone too long. “Fine, I’ll go home.”
“Want me to walk you out?” Nick asked.
“No, I’m just right outside. Call me tomorrow?” To Roy she added, “If there’s anything I can do, let me know.” He nodded.
She got int
o her car, watching them through the diner’s wide front window. The two of them began an intense conversation as soon as she turned the ignition key. There was something she wasn’t privy to. Nick must be “protecting” her again...
She growled and fought the tiny voices of exasperation which crept into her head by placing a Doobie Brother’s greatest hits CD in the slot and turning it up. “China Grove” started to play and she sang along, slightly off-key, as loud as she wanted. Screw them both. She had her own network of contacts. Someone would have the information she needed. She’d find a way to help Nick, even if she had to sneak behind his back, just to spite him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The holidays passed, and the children returned to school as if their lives hadn’t been turned upside down. While Suzanne was preparing red beans and rice for the family dinner one evening the first week of January, Hope brought her a plain white envelope with no return address, just a carefully-inked “Attorney Taylor” on the front.
“I almost forgot to give this to you. Some guy gave it to me in the parking lot at school. Said he was one of your clients, and he didn’t have time to get to your office today.”
“Really? Thanks, honey.” Hope headed upstairs to her homework, and Suzanne just studied the envelope. Odd. She couldn’t remember ever getting something via her kids before. And who would know she had a child at the high school?
She knew who.
Better see what’s inside.
She gingerly opened the envelope and drew out the dog-eared piece of notebook paper inside. At the top of the paper was a blotch of red, inartfully drawn to represent a bloodstain. The writing underneath was bold, black, and terrifying.
I’ve been busy, bitch, but I haven’t forgotten about you. I can get this close to your children. If you love them, you’d better leave my children alone!
The words echoed in her head like a chanting locomotive, speeding faster along its inevitable track. Close to your children, close to your children, close to your children.