The Night Swim

by Megan Goldin

  Pastor Fleming told the court that he’d known Scott since he was a child. He described Scott in glowing terms and insisted there had never been any suggestion that he behaved inappropriately with girls, including when he was the water polo coach for the girls’ team while in high school. “Those girls couldn’t say enough good things about that boy,” said the pastor.

  The second character witness, Tom Tarant, had been a coach at Neapolis High for well over nineteen years. He was a well-known figure in the town. He had the heavyset build of a former athlete who’d beefed up in middle age with a head so bald that it reflected the lights above the witness stand. “I wish all the kids I coached were like Scott. He was a pleasure to teach,” he told the court. “Believe me, I’d have a lot more hair on my head if they’d all been like him,” he said, prompting titters from the jury.

  “Mr. Tarant,” Alkins said when it was his turn to cross-examine the coach. “From your testimony it sounds as if the defendant was an exemplary student. If I may say, he sounds almost too good to be true. Surely the defendant wasn’t perfectly behaved all the time? He must have done something wrong at least once in the time you knew him?”

  “Can’t think of anything,” said Coach Tarant.

  “What about hazing?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” said the coach hesitantly.

  “Was the defendant ever suspended from school for hazing another swimmer?”

  “There was a prank that went a little out of control,” the coach admitted. “Don’t think it can be called hazing.”

  “Can you tell the jury about this prank?” Alkins asked, sitting on the edge of his table with his arms crossed.

  “It was some t-t-time ago,” the coach stammered. “I’m not sure if I recall it clearly.”

  “Let me refresh your memory,” said Alkins. “Isn’t it true that the defendant brought a pair of scissors into the pool and, while two other swimmers held the arms of a freshman swimmer behind his back, the defendant cut the boy’s Speedo off his body? He and his friends then lifted the boy, stark naked, out of the pool, and they called over girls to see the boy’s genitals.”

  “Kids do dumb things,” said the coach. “Look, everyone apologized and there were no hurt feelings.”

  “Do you recall what happened to the swimmer in question?” Alkins persisted.

  “He left the school,” said the coach stiffly.

  “Indeed,” said Alkins. “He did leave the school. After he tied a weight around his feet and tried to drown himself in the school pool. I believe you were the one who pulled him to the surface and gave him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. You saved his life, Coach. I’m surprised you don’t remember.” Gasps rippled across the courtroom as heads swiveled toward Scott Blair.

  During the midday recess, Rachel bought a sandwich and a coffee at a food truck across the street from the courthouse. She ate it while on a bench in the shade of a giant oak on the southern lawn as she read over the email from Hannah Stills that Pete had forwarded her that morning.

  When she was done, Rachel walked back across the plaza immersed in thought about how she could get a few minutes alone with Alkins to ask him again about Jenny Stills. It took her a moment to register that her name was being called. She spun around to see Detective Cooper standing in the middle of the plaza with his hands in his pockets and an amused expression on his face as he watched her walk, oblivious to his presence. “You were calling my name, weren’t you?” Rachel said, embarrassed.

  “You literally walked right past me,” he joked.

  “I’m so sorry. I was thinking about the trial. It’s not looking great for Mitch Alkins right now.”

  “Is it that bad? I haven’t been following it that closely. I’m going to listen to your podcast tonight. I heard that Nath Shaw is riled up about it. Figure it has to be good if it got him all steamed up.”

  “Nath?” Rachel said. “I didn’t know you were on nickname terms with the judge.”

  “I’ve known Nath since I was a kid. We lived next door to each other,” said Detective Cooper.

  “I thought you were from Rhode Island.”

  “I lived there for a long time, but I grew up here,” he said.

  “If that’s the case then you must have known Mitch Alkins when you were growing up,” Rachel said, spotting an opportunity to get information. Ever since the morning she’d seen Alkins lay flowers at Jenny’s grave, she’d wanted to push her way into his orbit and demand that he tell her about his connection to Jenny.

  “Mitch is a few years younger than me, but, sure, Mitch and I go way back,” Detective Cooper said, his tone cryptic. “Why the interest?”

  Rachel hesitated over how far she should push it but figured she had nothing to lose. “I heard that when Mitch Alkins was young, he was close to a girl who was murdered.”

  Detective Cooper looked at her oddly. “Where did you hear that from?”

  “The murdered girl’s sister sent me a letter,” said Rachel.

  “And she named Mitch in the letter?” Cooper asked, a catch in his voice.

  “No, she didn’t,” Rachel admitted. “But I heard from an old-timer here that Alkins knew the girl.”

  Detective Cooper was about to say something else when his phone rang. He took the call, moving away from her as he spoke while gesturing with his hand that she should wait. He obviously wanted to continue the discussion. His call dragged on and Rachel reluctantly went up the stairs into the courthouse.

  Court was already in session by the time that Rachel slipped in and made her way to her assigned seat. She didn’t pay any attention to the witness who was being sworn in on the stand until she was settled into her usual place. When she did, she gasped.

  It was the man who had frightened her at the Morrison’s Point jetty. In the bright light of the courtroom, Rachel was able to see him clearly for the first time. Jagged scars slashed across his cheekbone and forehead, marring what might have been a pleasant face for a man his age, which Rachel put in the mid- to late forties. His muscular arms and the hint of neck tattoos peeking out of his collar seemed out of place against his formal court attire. He wore a pressed suit, a white shirt, and a striped tie that looked a tad short as it hung over his protruding belly, which chafed against the tight fabric of his polyester shirt.

  “Mr. Knox, can you tell me how you met Scott?” Quinn asked.

  “It was a good three years ago, around the time I moved to Neapolis. I was at the surf beach south of town when a family got in trouble in the water. Tourists,” the witness said, as if that explained it. “They were pulled out to sea by crosscurrents. I swam in. Managed to pull one kid to shore. I tried to help the mother. She was fighting. Scratched and kicked me. Wanted me to leave her and get her other kid who was drifting further out and panicking. Worst thing you can do! If I’d left her, she would have drowned for sure. I didn’t know what to do. Next thing, a teenage boy swam out to the kid thrashing in the water. He grabbed the kid and brought him to shore while I helped the mother.”

  “Is the teenager who rescued the drowning child here in the courtroom?” asked Quinn.

  “Yes,” said the witness.

  “Can you point him out for the court, Mr. Knox?” Quinn pushed, trying to hide his frustration with his own character witness, who needed to be prompted for every detail.

  “He’s sitting over there,” the witness, whose full name, Rachel gathered from when he was sworn in, was Vince Knox, nodded toward the defense table, looking directly at Scott Blair.

  “Is it your testimony that Scott was a hero? That he bravely risked his life to save the life of a drowning child?” Quinn prompted again.

  “… He won a bravery award, so I suppose that makes him a hero,” Knox said after a prolonged hesitation. “Not too many people have the guts to risk their life for a stranger. Got to give credit where credit’s due,” he added in a flat voice that hardly sounded enthusiastic. His faint praise of Scott’s brave act struck Rachel as strange, but she s
upposed it fitted in with his gruff manner.

  Quinn was visibly annoyed by his own witness’s terse answers. He’d obviously hoped for a far more enthusiastic account of Scott Blair’s courageous feat, diving into treacherous seas and risking his life to save a child from almost certain death. Quinn wrapped up questioning quickly. He’d elicited enough testimony to paint Scott Blair as a hero, a virtual Boy Scout who’d shown great courage by diving into the sea to save a drowning stranger.

  Alkins opted not to cross-examine Vince Knox, though he reserved the right to recall him to the stand. Rachel figured that Alkins saw no upside in rehashing the defense witness’s testimony about Scott Blair’s bravery.

  As Vince Knox left court, Rachel left her seat and followed him out of the courthouse, even though it meant missing Quinn’s next witness. Knox went down the steps and crossed the southern lawn. Rachel did so, too, holding back so that nobody would notice that she was following him. There was something about Knox’s testimony that bothered Rachel, and she wanted to ask him a few questions once he’d left the vicinity of the courthouse.

  Knox turned a corner, putting him out of Rachel’s line of sight as she straggled behind him. She sped up so as not to lose him. When she turned onto the street where he’d disappeared, she immediately saw him standing by the curb, talking to a man in a black Lincoln. The car window was all the way down, and the engine was running.

  The two men’s voices were slightly raised, as if arguing. The man in the car passed something to Vince Knox, which the latter stared at for a moment and then almost reluctantly stuffed into his pocket. The electric car window slid shut and the car drove off. Rachel glimpsed the driver through the windshield glass as his car slowed to turn at a traffic sign near where she was standing.

  He had thick light gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Rachel had seen him before, but she couldn’t recall exactly where until she reached the courthouse and remembered that she’d seen him walking with the Blair family from their car, across the plaza, to the courthouse stairs on the first day of the trial. He’d been in a sort of security detail to protect the family from protesters. Rachel was certain that the man in the Lincoln was on the Blair family’s payroll.

  When Rachel reached the courtroom, the enormous polished doors were firmly shut. She was loath to annoy Judge Shaw by walking into court during witness testimony for a second time that afternoon. She settled herself on a bench by a window overlooking the plaza and texted Pete to ask him to pull information on Vince Knox. Then she read Hannah’s email again.

  42

  Hannah

  I’m sitting here on the jetty at Morrison’s Point. My feet are hanging over the edge. The water is rough. The wind is wild. The light is fading. I can’t believe that it’s been twenty-five years since Jenny died. I’ve been throwing daisies picked from the field near where our old house used to be into the waves to mark Jenny’s death. She would have liked that.

  As I look out at the familiar coastal landscape of my childhood, I find it hard to believe that I am sitting here on the creaking timber of this old jetty, a grown woman, while my big sister will be a teenager for eternity. I’ve tried to live my life for both of us. Not always wisely. A trail of broken relationships. I’ve had issues with prescription medication. And alcohol. I never came close to fulfilling the potential they said I had when I won first place in a national award for promising young artists and was given a full scholarship to art school in Paris. There were such high expectations.

  I tend to run away from success. It’s guilt, I think, if I were to self-diagnose. I live my life plagued by guilt. Jenny never had the chances that I’ve had in life. She never had the chance to love or to be loved, to find her way in this world. To discover her talents and passions. To travel. She never ventured beyond Neapolis. I find it impossible not to blame myself for what happened.

  I’ve been fortunate. I’ve had a blessed life, thanks to my adoptive family. Kitty is in a wheelchair now. Her health is failing. She’s always been devoted to me even though I haven’t been the best or most attentive of daughters. When Kitty first took me in, I was resentful. She did everything she could to try to bring me around.

  One time, she took me to see a movie. As the opening credits flashed on the screen, I pushed past her and rushed out of the theater. Kitty found me in tears in the lobby. No amount of candy or popcorn could get me to return.

  Kitty assumed I’d panicked when the lights were dimmed. The next day, she bought me a night-light. She told me that lots of children were afraid of the dark. I pretended to be grateful. I didn’t tell her that my terror had nothing to do with the dark. I didn’t tell her what happened when I’d last been in a movie theater.

  Mom had asked Jenny to take me to the movies on her next day off from work. It was supposed to be a special treat to make up for the long, boring days that I’d spent alone while Mom rested and Jenny worked at the supermarket. We took the lunchtime bus into town. We went to the drugstore first to get Mom’s prescriptions, and then walked two streets over to the theater to purchase our tickets.

  The Neapolis movie theater had old-fashioned upholstered chairs and a burgundy carpet covered with soda stains so deep they’d become part of the pattern. There was a traditional wood-polished box office and a glass-cased snack bar in the lobby. In the theater itself was a velvet brocade curtain with gold thread that opened to reveal the movie screen at the start of the show.

  Jenny gave me our ticket stubs and told me to stand in line by the doors while she bought popcorn. I was shifting from one foot to the other, restlessly waiting for her to join me, when I heard a commotion. Everyone turned to look. A girl with long hair from Jenny’s school was standing next to the counter, calling Jenny horrible names.

  “Take it back,” shouted Jenny. The girl shook her head. “I said, take it back!”

  “Don’t tell me what to do. Slut.” The girl shoved Jenny, making her popcorn spill across the floor like confetti. Jenny walked back to me, holding the half-empty box of popcorn under her arm. Her face was scarlet. Her lips trembled. Everyone was staring. Whispering. Jenny kept her head up and her eyes straight ahead until an usher showed us to our seats. When the lights dimmed, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

  When the lights dimmed, Jenny wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. As the opening credits appeared on the screen, something soft hit me in the face. It was popcorn. Pretty soon we were being pelted by a combination of popcorn and ice shards from soda cups. Others joined in until it felt as if we were being attacked from all directions.

  “Stop,” I called out. Jenny tried to shush me. “Don’t say anything. Otherwise it’ll get worse,” she said. I was overcome with anger—at the kids taunting us, but mostly I was angry at Jenny for being so passive, for allowing us to be treated this way.

  “Let’s go,” Jenny said eventually, when someone began chanting, “Slut, slut.” She tugged at my arm until she was practically dragging me out of the theater and onto the street.

  Once we were on the bus home, we realized that we’d left the drugstore bag with Mom’s medications on the floor by our seats. Jenny had to buy them all over again the next day.

  Jenny went straight into the bathroom when we got home. When she emerged, her beautiful long golden hair had been chopped unevenly to her shoulders. Later, I found clumps of Jenny’s hair in the bathroom trash, all stuck together with pink gum. A boy sitting behind her at the movies had put gum in her hair.

  After that trip to the movies, Jenny retreated into herself. Mom noticed. She asked if I knew what was worrying Jenny. I said that she was probably bored like me and wanted to get back to school.

  I suppose I could have told Mom about how we’d fled the theater as kids pelted us, and about the terrible names they used. I couldn’t bear to do it. Jenny and I didn’t talk about that afternoon at all. It was almost as if we’d made a silent pact never to discuss it.

  Jenny returned to her routine of working and coming home in
the evening to make dinner, wash her uniform, and leave it to dry on the porch overnight. She would go to sleep while it was light, with the excuse that she had to wake early for work. I returned to riding my bicycle on the gravel road in front of our house. Backward and forward. The distant haze of the sea beckoned.

  The woman with the blow-dried hair and church dress came to our house again. This time, she came with another woman who was plump and carried a nurse’s bag.

  Mom was expecting them. She told me that visitors would be stopping by after lunch and when they arrived I should play outside. When I heard a knock on the screen door, I let them into the living room, where Mom was waiting in an armchair, wearing a colorful sundress. She’d even done her nails. Despite all her efforts to look well, the brightly patterned dress accentuated her skeletal arms and sunken chest and made her look sicker than ever.

  I looked through a window into the living room as the nurse took Mom’s blood pressure and listened to her chest with a stethoscope before taking blood samples with a syringe. When she was done, the other woman passed Mom documents. Mom leaned over and signed them with wet eyes.

  * * *

  After they’d gone, Mom was so exhausted that she fell asleep on top of her bed. I put a tartan blanket over her and went to wait for Jenny’s bus on the main road at the other side of the hill from our house.

  I was always excited to see what Jenny had brought home from work. The store manager often gave her leftover deli meat close to expiration and fruit and vegetables that were about to spoil. He knew how sick Mom was and I guess felt an obligation to help us out.

  To keep myself amused while I waited for Jenny’s bus to pull in, I walked along the white line on the shoulder of the road, pretending I was a gymnast on a balance beam. Down the hill, I saw the bus thundering toward me from a distance. It pulled to a stop near the bus stop sign. The hydraulic doors opened with a hiss. Jenny stepped out in her tan supermarket uniform, carrying two large grocery bags.