Every Dark Place

by Craig Smith

  I recalled she had asked me once early in the preparation for trial if she would be able to say what she wanted. I had answered, ‘ You bet, honey! ’ The issue had never come up again, and no one had bothered to ask her what she might actually want to say. But suddenly it was a question the prosecution cared deeply about. Garrat stood quickly, ‘Your Honour, the state has asked all it cares to know from this witness. If the defence has no questions I hardly – ’

  Griswold rose. ‘Actually the defence would like to ask one question. With the court’s permission, of course.’

  Judge Wilson looked at both attorneys, then at the forlorn child who wanted to speak but could be swatted to silence with the crack of his gavel.

  ‘Objection, Counsellor?’ the judge asked Garrat.

  Garrat did not care to fight too hard. What did she have to hide, after all? This jury had made up its mind. You had only to look at them to see their rage: what sort of man would leave a beautiful young girl like this?

  ‘No objection, Your Honour.’

  ‘Proceed with your question, Mr Griswold.’

  Griswold gave the girl an encouraging smile. ‘What is it you would like to say, Tabitha?’

  ‘Objection!’ Garrat answered. ‘Improper cross, Your Honour.’

  ‘Your Honour...’ Griswold lifted his hands, a soft pleading for judicial discretion. What did it matter? Let the child speak if that was what she wanted!

  Judge Wilson considered the thing, then nodded. ‘I want to hear this,’ he said finally.

  Tabit look terrified, and Griswold had to calm her with that honeyed voice of his. ‘It’s okay, Tabitha. Tell us what you want to say.’

  ‘I don’t want Will to die.’

  Len Griswold nodded. When it was clear Tabit had nothing more to say on the matter, he asked, ‘Why is that?’

  For better or worse, Garrat resisted another objection. Tabit’s eyes flitted nervously toward Garrat. ‘Because I think... I think we should try to be better than that. Miss Garrat has her reasons for wanting to take Will’s life, the same as Will had reasons when he asked Penny to kill her father and Tammy, but they’re just reasons... just words. Put it all together and it still isn’t worth a human life.’

  Griswold gave the jury a thoughtful look, then told the judge he had no further questions.

  Chapter 102

  Tuesday 4:25 p.m., December 13.

  I FOLLOWED GARRAT across the plaza at a comfortable distance a few minutes after Tabit Merriweather had made her plea for mercy. Court was finished for the day, but Garrat had called an impromptu meeting. She hadn’t said it but her face read clearly enough. Damage assessment.

  Irene Follet was at my side, amused. Her job at the library was going to be there whether or not Will Booker was executed, and I felt just a touch of irritation that she wasn’t as committed to the death of Will Booker as the rest of us.

  ‘The kid made a point, huh?’

  ‘Not a popular one,’ I answered. I was thinking about how many times we would have to hear the echoes of Tabit’s speech before the trial ended. And every time the jury would remember our most tragic witness begging for the life of her tormentor.

  ‘You want to know something?’ Irene asked.

  ‘Would it hurt your feelings if I said no?’

  ‘The jury ate it up, Rick.’

  I found myself nodding. ‘The kid made us look like killers.’

  Irene took my arm affectionately, ‘ And you’re better than that, aren’t you?’

  ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

  Irene nodded in the direction of Garrat and Massey, who were doing their best to look calm and relaxed. ‘She won’t give it a second thought, will she?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Give Tabitha Merriweather what she asked for?’

  I laughed.

  ‘It’s a shame,’ Irene said.

  I looked at her in surprise. ‘You think we should let this guy live?’

  Irene kissed me on the cheek. ‘You’re such a man sometimes.’

  I stood stock still trying to comprehend what she was saying. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I’ll see you in the Shamrock when you’re done here.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me what you’re talking about?’

  She took both my hands and looked at me affectionately. ‘It’s hard for men to understand that not everything is about winning and losing.’

  IN GARRAT’S OFFICE Massey was shouting angrily, ‘The kid is a teenager, Pat! And she’s a preacher’s kid! What’s she supposed to say? Burn him!’

  Garrat grimaced. ‘Merriweather did.’

  ‘The kid’s weak. Hate to say it, but she is. Physically and emotionally. The jury will discount it. My bet is the media slept right through the thing. I’m betting Merriweather is the story in tomorrow morning’s paper. That’s the damage we ought to be worried about!’

  ‘I’m not worried about the media. It’s Griswold who won’t let the jury forget this.’

  ‘Griswold is out of ammunition. The guy is going to start tossing rocks pretty soon.’

  Garrat looked at me. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘What are your options?’

  ‘Prosecution rests… or we bring Clint Doolittle in.’

  ‘I thought you ruled him out.’

  Garrat smiled. ‘A little of Clint Doolittle’s brand of Christianity in the witness stand doesn’t sound half-bad about now.’

  ‘Pat, they’re going to convict,’ I said.

  ‘That isn’t the issue, Einstein,’ Massey answered. ‘Griswold can’t find enough doctors in the world to convince this jury to let this guy go to a hospital. He knows it, we know it, and the judge knows it.’

  ‘The problem is,’ Garrat interjected, ‘the jury likes Griswold. They are going to want to toss him a bone, and Tabit Merriweather just gave them the excuse. When it comes to the penalty phase I don’t want them giving him life without parole. I want this monster executed.’

  ‘What do you really get with Dcan aet oolittle.’

  ‘A reminder that Will Booker scalped one of his victims, and I don’t rest my case with the last witness comparing me to Will Booker!’

  ‘She didn’t do that.’

  ‘It felt like it.’

  ‘During the sentencing phase,’ Massey offered, ‘you can discredit the girl by going through the psychological counselling she’s had. The emotional distress Will has caused her.

  Nothing overt, just a little seed of doubt as to her judgement and stability.’

  ‘What happens if you give it away?’ I asked. ‘Offer Griswold life without parole… and we all go home?’

  Garrat laughed at me. ‘Then it’s welcome to the private sector!’

  Massey shook his head. ‘Great idea, Rick. World class, buddy. Do you want to know what the media will do to her? They’ll say Pat Garrat lost her nerve in the middle of the biggest case of her career. They’ll ask what the seven dead people would have wanted.’

  Garrat shook her head. ‘Not to mention the rest of the survivors. These people suffered, Rick! Tabit Merriweather is not alone in this. Benny Lyons lost both legs!’

  ‘I’m just saying it’s something to think about.’

  Garrat held her hand up, shutting Steve Massey off before he could insult me again.

  ‘You’re serious? You think this is a viable option?’

  ‘Well, it’s the one move no one expects.’

  ‘Give us five minutes alone,’ Garrat said.

  Chapter 103

  Tuesday 5:06 p.m., December 13.

  WHEN THE DOOR SLAMMED shut, Garrat stood up and walked to the window. The winter’s twilight seemed to fascinate her. ‘Steve’s right about one thing,’ she said after a time. ‘If I so much as blink there are people who are going to say I lost my nerve.’

  ‘But you’re thinking about it anyway?’

  ‘Tabitha Merriweather, in her own quiet way, just turned me into another Will Booker.

 
I’m holding out a bat for the jurors to grab. I’m telling them all they have to do is take a swing and everything will be fine.’

  ‘The difference is you’re not lying to them.’

  Her eyes cut to me, her expression inscrutable. ‘Are you sure about that?’ I left her question unanswered. She turned back to look at the city. ‘There were some important people at the farm this weekend,’ she said. ‘They basically told me that if I take Len Griswold to the mat on this, I can be governor in two years.’ She didn’t look at me, and I realised the promise frightened her. ‘They weren’t talking about a conviction. That’s a foregone conclusion. They were talking about getting the death penalty.’

  ‘Is that a bad thing?’ I asked.

  ‘It didn’t seem to be at the time.’

  ‘But today?’

  ‘Today it feels like a bargain with the devil.’

  ‘You’re not Will Booker telling the jury they have to swing the bat,’ I said. ‘You’re Missy Worth. You’re the one holding the bat.’

  Garrat finally turned away from the window. She offered a sardonic smile. ‘I can’t say I’ve ever been called worse.’

  ‘I’m serious! All you have to do is swing that bat and you can have your heart’s desire!’

  ‘You could say that about any big case for a prosecutor.’

  ‘You’re missing my point, Pat. The minute you fall for that lie and swing, you don’t get anything. You take a life. If it’s the reason you become governor and you don’t absolutely believe it was the right choice, you’ll sleep with Will Booker’s ghost.’

  ‘It’s my job to go after people like Booker.’

  ‘How many killers like Will Booker do you know?’

  She had no answer for this, but after a long pause she asked, ‘What do you figure the old man would do?’

  ‘The Governor?’ I smiled fondly, almost seeing her father in the youth we had both shared once upon a time. ‘I think most people would tell you he’d fight it out to the bitter end.

  He was a fighter, same as you are, but I’m not sure he’d fight this one – not at this point anyway.

  You see your daddy was the smartest politician this state ever produced. In a situation like this, I think he’d realise the opportunity Tabit Merriweather just handed him.’

  ‘You call this is an opportunity?’

  ‘A crisis of conscience is always an opportunity.’

  ‘I guess I’m missing something.’

  ‘Up until an hour ago, you had to explain yourself to fewer than a hundred thousand voters. Tabit Merriweather just gave you a chance to go national.’

  She laughed, but there was no humour in it. ‘Do you know what they’ll do to me on national TV, Rick? I’m on record as being for capital punishment. Especially for this guy! If they put a camera on me the first thing they are going to ask me is if I lost my nerve.’

  ‘I know what they’ll try to do. That doesn’t mean they get to have their way. Especially not if Lynn Griswold is sitting next to you.’ Garrat’s head tipped with interest. I’d just given her something she hadn’t quite grasped. ‘Between the two of you, you make Tabit Merriweather the story.’

  Suddenly she was shaking her head. ‘If I lose to Griswold at this point, I can work on a comeback in ten or fifteen years. If I give him the case now and I don’t sell it on national TV, my political career is over.’

  ‘If you don’t sell it, I expect you’re right; then again, if you can’t sell Tabit Merriweather you probably don’t have much a political career to lose. Your old man could have turned Tabit into political hay!’

  ‘You really think I should call Griswold and make an offer?’

  ‘I think you should drop the bat, the way Penny Lyons finally did. After that, I’m pretty sure things will work out.’

  ‘You make it sound easy, Rick.’

  ‘There’s nothing easy about it. If you don’t believe me, go ask Missy Worth.’

  Chapter 104

  Winter Twilight.

  A SNOW STARTED TO fall as I drove from the parking lot. Fat flakes slopping in front of my headlights.

  Garrat had called Griswold, wanted to buy him dinner, talk over some options. I wasn’t sure what would come of it or even if I really believed we should spare Booker’s life. But I felt contentment, and that was something that I hadn’t experienced for a long, long time. Like maybe I had let go of the bat, too.

  It was a beautiful snow, and I found myself watching the flakes and just smiling. By the time I reached the Shamrock the streets were covered. The quiet that comes with a fresh snow seemed to have settled over the whole town. I parked in front of Irene’s apartment house and walked back to the tavern, my footprints filling up almost as quickly as I made them.

  When I got to the front of the building, Irene was standing before the door waiting for me. She had left her coat inside and was shivering. I thought maybe she had a snowball for me, like a kid, but all I got was a smile when I took her into my arms.

  ‘What are you doing out here?’ I asked.

  ‘Waiting for you,’ she answered, her teeth chattering a little.

  ‘Any particular reason?’

  She cocked a shoulder prettily, ‘I saw you drive by. Thought I’d come out and catch a quick dance before all the other girls make their play.’

  ‘I thought you would want some insider information on the prosecutor’s plans.’

  ‘I wouldn’t turn it down.’

  I slipped my winter coat off and draped it over her shoulders, then took her hand for a slow dance. ‘You’re a wise woman,’ I said, ‘ and a great dancer.’

  ‘She’s listening to the kid?’

  I put my cheek against hers. ‘Making the offer to Griswold tonight.’

  We danced to music only the two of us heard, and then after a time Irene whispered, ‘You know, Rick, the last time we did this you ended up in jail.’

  ‘A crime of passion,’ I told her.

  Some people came toward us, stomping their feet and brushing the snow off their coats.

  They were laughing at us. Didn’t we know we were dancing in the middle of a blizzard?

  We ignored them, turning a neat two-step in the bright silence of the snow and smiling our way into a kiss.

  Acknowledgements

  First, to my wife Martha: love and gratitude for her continuing support of my passion. Thanks as well to Bud Palmberg and Shirley Underwood for reading and commenting on an early version of this manuscript. For his efforts in support of my writing enduring gratitude to my agent Jeffrey Simmons. Much appreciation as well to Ed Handyside and the team at Myrmidon.

  CRAIG SMITH lives with his wife, Martha, in Lucerne, Switzerland. A former university professor, he holds a doctorate in philosophy from the University of Southern Illinois.

  The Painted Messiah and The Blood Lance, the first of his novels to chronicle the exploits of T.K. Malloy, have received international acclaim and been published across the globe in twelve languages.

  In 2011, his last published story, Cold Rain, was one of five titles shortlisted for the CWA Ian Fleming Steel Dagger for Best Thriller of the Year.

  Cold Rain - Also by Craig Smith & Shortlisted for the CWA Ian Fleming Steel Dagger for Best Thriller 2011

  “I turned thirty-seven that summer, older than Dante when he toured Hell, but only by a couple of years…”

  Life couldn’t be better for David Albo, an associate professor of English at a small mid-western university. He lives in an idyllic, out-of-town, plantation-style mansion with a beautiful and intelligent wife and an adoring teenage stepdaughter. As he returns to the university after a long and relaxing sabbatical, there’s a full professorship in the offing- and, what’s more, he’s managed to stay off the booze for two whole years.

  But, once term begins, things deteriorate rapidly. The damning evidence that he has sexually harassed his students is just the beginning as Dave finds himself sucked into a vortex of conspiracy, betrayal, jealousy and murder. Unless he c
an discover quickly who is out to destroy him, all that he is and loves is about to be stripped away.

  ‘…an absolute gem of a surprise. This is good, solid writing piled with suspense and

  tension!’

  It’s a Crime! (or a mystery…)