Retribution

by T. K. Walls

  He enjoyed watching her move about the kitchen. Her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and she was wearing an old ratty robe and slippers. It didn’t matter; he still found her sexy. She was an amazingly talented cook, and whatever she made, he loved. He didn’t remember having ever seen her use premade mixes or boxed meals. He sat at the small island bar, sipping his coffee, and watched her crack the eggs and fry the bacon—one of his secret bad habits almost no one knew about.

  “I made reservations for us at the new hotel off the river,” Rachel said. “Oh, and I already reserved a car. It will be waiting for us at the airfield. I also made dinner reservations for the second night at Eddie’s. You remember Eddie’s, right? That’s the place with the glass wine elevator. I thought the last night we could all go to a play. I was thinking of a holiday play or a holiday movie. What do you think?”

  “Well, honey, you always plan the perfect trips, and this is about the family, so whatever you and the kids want to do, we do. This is the one time of the year my office absolutely will not call me for anything. One of my partners will take all my calls. And I don’t have any business scheduled for Krannert.” Brad got up from the table and placed both his arms around Rachel’s neck, pulling her toward him. “The trip is all about us,” he said, softly kissing the nape of her neck. He loved his life and his family, and he was looking forward to this trip.

  * * *

  Rachel had planned everything perfectly. Brad flew the family from Krannert to Cedar Valley, a small independent airstrip outside of New York City. Just as Rachel had arranged, the rental car was waiting for them when they landed, and the annual holiday trip began. Brad made certain everything Rachel and the children had planned and wanted to do took place. The family even stayed an extra night so they could attend a Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert. The following evening, they headed back to Cedar Valley Airport. True to his word, Brad had made sure everyone had enjoyed the perfect holiday trip.

  Before leaving the hotel, Brad checked the weather report. Visibility was low, but not low enough to stop or delay flights. The skies were dark and cloudy, but he would be able to fly above the storms. Brad and Rachel loaded the hull of the plane with their purchases. As usual, the kids fought over who was going to sit where in the cabin. Stephanie, one of the twin daughters, ended up sitting in the row directly behind her dad. Her sister, Elizabeth, sat behind her mother. The boys sat in the last row of seats. Within minutes, all the kids had their ear plugs in and were either listening to music or playing games with their iPhones. Brad performed the final safety check and cleared his flight plan with air traffic control. He climbed into the cockpit, checked the instruments, turned on the engine, and just before heading down the runway, leaned over and kissed Rachel, believing his life was truly perfect.

  Given the low visibility and darkening night skies, Brad knew he would need to navigate using the instruments. Barely thirty minutes into the flight, all the kids were asleep. Rachel had started off the flight reading a book, and soon she too was sound asleep. Brad settled in for a quiet three-hour flight.

  Over time, visibility gradually became worse, and in the dark of the night sky, Brad didn’t immediately realize how low to the ground he was. He didn’t see the runway lights of Krannert until it was too late. Suddenly he realized he was only a few dozen meters above the ground and not the distance he needed to safely pull the plane up. “Jesus, no!” he yelled.

  Rachel jumped at the sound of his voice and immediately realized the danger they were all in. Crying out in panic, she turned around to wake up the children. But it was already too late. The plane was tilted almost completely on the right, with the wing skimming the tall grasses next to the airstrip.

  “Brad!” Rachel managed to cry out before the right side of the plane hit the ground and flipped over on itself.

  When the plane finally came to a stop, it erupted in flames. Brad managed to crawl out of the pilot’s seat and jump through a side window, with no choice but to leave Rachel strapped in her seat and screaming. Within seconds, the plane was engulfed in flames, and his beloved wife finally stopped screaming. Frantically crawling from the flames, Brad stopped to look back and saw Stephanie lying on the ground, several feet away, having been thrown clear during the landing from her seat directly behind his. He crawled to where she lay, assuming the worse. Just before he lost consciousness, he heard sirens.

  SEVEN

  EMILY FOUND HERSELF THINKING OF THE BODY FLOATING IN THE SURF. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something about him was familiar. She arrived at her office earlier than normal. In this sleepy beach town, the office she purchased had regular business hours, much like a bank. However, she was accustomed to arriving by eight in the morning and leaving around six in the evening. This particular morning she arrived around seven, made a pot of coffee, and put a bagel in the toaster.

  In Boston, she had been not only a successful prosecuting attorney but also the local television station’s legal analyst. She gave commentaries on pending criminal cases around the country as well as local cases. The only cases she was unable to comment on were cases she herself was prosecuting. But that didn’t prevent her from speaking when her cases were over, after the juries had deliberated and given their decision or after the defendant had accepted a plea bargain. She loved the camera, the attention and notoriety. It gave purpose to her life, made her feel important. She would have stayed in Boston, married Eric, kept the job, and continued with her life if it weren’t for the James case and losing her friend Rachel.

  The sound of the toaster popping out the bagel brought Emily back to reality. There was a killer out there who had disposed of a body on the beach, a body she had found. She was a witness. Still deep in thought, she gathered up her bagel and coffee and went back to her office to review her schedule of client meetings.

  Her paralegal, Toni, would be in soon. Emily had inherited Toni when she purchased the law practice. Toni was cheerful, pleasant, and knew all the clients’ cases inside and out. She was a natural at making clients feel comfortable, which was essential in aiding Emily’s efforts to take over the practice. Russell White had practiced law in this town for close to forty years. He was well respected. In assuming his law practice, Emily knew she would need Toni’s skills to help her succeed.

  Toni entered the office’s reception area, cheerfully calling out to Emily that she had brought lunch for the two of them and had already confirmed Emily’s appointments for the day.

  “So what is for lunch?” Emily said, relieved to see her.

  Toni answered her while organizing her desk and turning on a space heater. “I made meatloaf last night—too much, as usual. I also made English toffee. I know we agreed to no sweets, but it’s getting colder outside, and the candy makes the office more like home. When Mr. White was here, I always had a bowl of candy next to the coffee pot. He would have a piece of candy every morning with his coffee.”

  “I think the candy should remain part of the coffee routine,” Emily said. “I can’t wait to try the meatloaf, but first I think I should try a piece of the toffee with my coffee.”

  Toni eagerly opened the tin of candy and held it out for Emily to try. It was then Emily knew she had found a place she would enjoy coming to every day, and that she had a paralegal who would become more than just a valuable asset to the business. The women munched on toffee and drank the coffee Emily had made. But instead of talking about work, Emily shared the events of the evening before and explained that she thought the floater looked familiar, but she just couldn’t remember why.

  * * *

  Emily stayed late at the office that evening reviewing files of current clients to familiarize herself with the cases. She reviewed the upcoming court schedule and made a list of what was needed to prepare for each hearing. When she was done, she went over the current billing and expenses. Toni had everything well organized and documented. When she was satisfied she was done for the evening, she headed home.

&nbs
p; Emily had not wanted to draw attention to herself when she relocated to her new town. Wanting to fit in with the locals, she had traded her Mercedes SUV for a Toyota Camry. Her car was parked behind her office building. The lot was usually well lit, but tonight the lights near her car were off. In Boston, she would have had security walk her out, but not here.

  As she walked toward her car, she used her key fob to unlock her car and turn on the lights. Tossing her briefcase onto the front passenger-side seat, she slid into the Camry, slowly sighing as she settled in and glanced at the windshield. Placed neatly underneath one wiper blade was a small white envelope, the type a bouquet of flowers might have. She glanced around the lot, suddenly afraid. Seeing no one, she locked the doors and slowly backed out of the space, scanning the area in front of her car to ensure no one had been hiding beneath it. When she was convinced she was alone, she parked and jumped out of the car, grabbed the envelope off the windshield, and hurriedly got back inside, locking the doors. She drove home holding the envelope.

  Emily had purchased a small cottage off Hampton Beach, New Hampshire. It was in a quiet neighborhood, and most of her neighbors were of retirement age. She pulled into her garage and closed the door. Steadying her nerves, she carefully got out of her car and sprinted for the safety of her laundry room door. With the envelope still in her hand, she slammed the door shut behind her and flipped on the lights. Sighing in relief, she allowed herself to relax and finally looked at the envelope. Leaning against the door, she turned it over, examining the front and back. Nothing was written on it. She carefully opened it and pulled out a tattered, old picture of a young boy. Written in small block letters with black marker at the bottom of the picture was the name JAMES. Emily dropped the picture, watching it float to the floor.

  EIGHT

  IT HAD BEEN A LITTLE OVER A WEEK SINCE EMILY HAD ASSUMED RUSSELL WHITE’S PRACTICE, JUST UNDER A MONTH SINCE SHE HAD LEFT BOSTON, AND JUST ONE WEEK SINCE SHE HAD STUMBLED UPON THE BODY. She hadn’t expected finding the body would create a problem or even cause her to feel stressed. She had seen numerous dead bodies in her career, so many that she had lost count. Death never bothered her. In fact, she saw death as a relief. The dead were no longer lonely or in pain. As far as an afterlife, she figured she would find out eventually. She didn’t hold to any actual belief, other than the belief that some type of hell had to exist. Dante’s vision of hell satisfied the demons that haunted her. Wandering upon this dead guy soon after moving to what she thought and hoped would be a quiet little town away from the garbage of her prior life had thrown her a curve ball.

  It was close to three a.m., and she was wide awake, staring in the dark at the ceiling. Lately she had started taking Ambien to help her sleep. It worked great at first; she’d been able to sleep a few hours. But now she found herself doubling up on the dose and waking after only a couple hours of sleep. Since she was awake again now, she decided to go for a walk.

  Emily lived close to the beach, actually very close to where the floater had been found. In spite of the time, the moon was full and bright, and the sky clear. She could see very well without a flashlight. She walked toward the beach, engrossed in thought, trying to convince herself the floater hadn’t looked familiar. The coroner hadn’t identified him yet.

  No one from her previous life knew where she had moved, not even Eric. She had deleted her Facebook account and blocked every connection from her phone. Even her former coworkers knew little to nothing about her personal life, and she wanted to keep it that way. Leaving Eric was the hardest part of leaving Boston, but she had to go. After the accident, she couldn’t face him without thinking that he was somehow involved.

  She met Eric during her last year of law school, during a Moot Court competition. They both competed for their schools. He played the part of opposing counsel for his school, and she was on the defense team. She was instantly attracted to him. He was adorable, with his sandy-brown hair and blue eyes, but when he spoke he went from adorable to absolutely sexy. He had a slight Midwestern accent, and his voice carried nicely in the courtroom. Outside the courtroom his voice was softer, almost as if a different person were speaking. What attracted her most to him was that he was brilliant. He had been a child prodigy. He completed college and law school in record time and passed the bar exam with very little prep, when she had to study for hours. He not only knew the material but could also correctly apply it for the benefit of his clients.

  Emily and Eric were inseparable during the competition, and afterward their relationship continued to grow. Once they both passed the bar exam, they moved in together and settled into a nice routine. The eventual plan was to get married and start a family; however, they were both busy focusing on their careers. She was hired by the prosecutor’s office and eventually became a legal correspondent for the local news. Eric immediately started a private law firm and spent the bulk of his free time learning to fly at Krannert. He soon became business partners with his flight instructor, Brad.

  After her best friend Rachel’s death, Emily wasn’t able to get past a feeling that Eric either knew more than he was admitting or that he was somehow involved. This growing suspicion tore apart whatever attraction she once felt for him. In the end, the very sight of him made her ill. His voice was a constant reminder of how much her feelings had changed. The only thing she kept from their relationship was a chunky, twisted dark-gold bracelet he gave her after one of his charter flights to Italy. He told her he’d had it made for her out of a handful of gold nuggets he had purchased with his first paycheck from the charter. Leaving her practice and life behind was painful enough, but this bracelet was her last hold on her prior life and one she wasn’t ready to put away. It was a reminder of how good her life had been before she allowed her career and her choices to be influenced by money and greed.

  While she walked she played with the bracelet, remembering the times with Eric that had been decent, before her news anchor position, before his involvement with Brad, and before Rachel and the kids died. Eric wasn’t the only one to blame for their breakup. Emily had loved her dual roles as prosecuting attorney and as a legal consultant for the local news. She loved the limelight, being the center of attention, and getting requests for her opinions, as well as being able to verbalize her opinion without being asked. She thrived on the banter between herself as a prosecutor and the defense attorneys who also served as legal counsel for the television station. Soon she became a local celebrity, which she thoroughly enjoyed. But her opinions hadn’t always been factually correct, and she soon stopped caring if she was right or wrong. She was paid to give her opinion, and in law, one side always loses. Although rare, she’d had her losses, but her wins were what drove her. And when she won, she gloated.

  There was one case in particular that had gained national attention and for which she had been lucky enough to be the lead prosecutor. She had gladly and eagerly held press conferences regarding “catching the deviant and obtaining his voluntary confession.” After he was sentenced, she gave her opinion to anyone with a camera, but this time she was wrong. In fact, she had evidence that would have exonerated the defendant. But to her it wasn’t enough. It didn’t matter; she had a confession. She was completely caught up in the attention she was afforded as a celebrity.

  The defendant’s name was James Johnson. He was barely seventeen years old, a young, skinny white kid charged with aggravated rape of a minor. His IQ was around eighty, perhaps low but legally still average. He knew the difference between right and wrong; he knew what a lie was and that sex without consent was wrong. He even knew that sex with a minor was wrong. He admitted to all of this and was tried as an adult, found guilty, sentenced to twenty years, and placed in an adult maximum-security prison. Initially he was held in protective custody, but eventually he was moved into the general population. There he became a target and was brutally beaten, raped, and murdered. He was found crumpled at the bottom of a stairwell. His face was barely recognizable; he had numerous broken bones
, stab wounds, and lacerations. Several of the wounds were postmortem. Prison officials had no explanation as to how he ended up in a stairwell. Emily didn’t feel any guilt over his death; he was just one less inmate for the taxpayers to support and proof that there is justice, even in prison. But his death didn’t end the case. It was just the beginning of her fall from grace, leading to her eventual feelings of remorse.

  Still deep in thought about James, Emily found herself walking toward the location where the body had floated ashore. She stopped, looking across the water, and noticed how loud the ocean sounded in the silence. The water glistened in the moonlight. There simply wasn’t any way she could have known this man. There could not be a connection! Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something very familiar about him, that she somehow knew him. As she gazed at the water, it suddenly came to her. She did know him. Not personally, but professionally. He had been the police detective in Boston who had gotten the confession out of James. Or rather, he was present when James confessed.

  “Connard,” she barely whispered aloud. His name was Detective Connard! She did know him! She remembered when he had come to her with the signed confession. She had heard rumors that Connard was very good at getting confessions out of subjects. She didn’t care how he got the confession, just that she had one. She didn’t ask him about the details. She made it a point to never ask how a confession was obtained. That was the job of the defense. Once she had the confession, she quickly notified the media, held a press conference, and announced the state’s position on prosecuting the defendant. She stopped all further investigations of the case and pursued James as the only suspect, and eventually the only defendant. James’s entire trial, including jury deliberations, had lasted only two days. Sentencing was held thirty days later. James was found dead sixty-two days after that.