by N L Hinkens
For a long moment there was silence, broken only by the rustling of papers and the tapping of fingernails on keyboards. Then, the judge cleared her throat. “I’m willing to keep this case in juvenile court given the extenuating circumstances your lawyer has outlined, Mr. Hartman. Your court date will be one week from today. You are not to leave the state, you will stay out of trouble, and you will appear for your court date as directed. In addition, you are to have no contact with Mr. Carson or any other members of the victim’s family. Is that clear?”
“Yes your honor. Thank you, ma’am.” Henry mumbled.
Bridget passed a trembling hand over her forehead, a torrent of relief rushing through her. Her heart was racing so fast she feared she might pass out. She glanced across at Bryan and mouthed her thanks. Whatever Henry’s fate, at least he wouldn’t have to face the full fury of an adult court judge and jury.
Her husband, on the other hand, was a different story—whenever his day came, a jury of his peers would not look kindly on a murdering coward.
27
“Well that went as well as we could possibly have hoped for,” Bryan remarked when they convened outside the courthouse afterward. “Next step will be the adjudication hearing.”
Bridget furrowed her brow. “What does that entail?”
“That’s the trial, so to speak. The judge will read the prosecutor’s petition and I’ll present our case. I'll need to meet with you ahead of time to prepare for that. Call my office and set up an appointment sometime in the next day or two.”
“What's going to happen to me after the trial?” Henry asked.
“I can't speculate on that,” Bryan replied. “It's up to the discretion of the juvenile court judge. He could give you a reprimand, or order you to complete community service, or he could elect to detain you and send you to juvenile hall. I’ll do my best to convince them to dismiss the petition. In the meantime, I'm going to advise you not to give any interviews to the press and, should your father return, I strongly recommend that you distance yourself from him until your trial is over. The more you’re associated with an alleged killer, the less sympathy you’re going to elicit from the judge or the public.”
“Okay,” Henry responded, sounding uncertain.
“Thank you,” Bridget added. “I’ll call your office later on this afternoon and make that appointment.”
With a final wave, Bryan strode off to the parking structure elevator. Bridget and Henry made their way back to their car on the lower level.
“I’m glad that's over,” Henry said, sinking down in the passenger seat.
“Me too,” Bridget agreed, turning the key in the ignition. “Time to focus on something else now. Let's swing by the store and pick up those sundae supplies for Harper.”
“And some cookie dough ice cream. Grandma only ever has vanilla,” Henry said, pulling out his phone.
Bridget’s lips twitched in a melancholy grin as she veered out of the parking structure. Her son really was still just a big kid at heart.
As she drove, Henry scrolled through his apps for several minutes before letting out an aggravated gasp. “You gotta be kidding me!”
“What's wrong?” Bridget threw him a scant glance before returning her attention to the road ahead.
“I’ll show you once we're stopped,” he said, sounding dejected. “You're not gonna like it.”
“Just tell me what’s going on, please,” Bridget insisted, anxiety beginning to swirl up from her gut again. “Are kids saying mean stuff on social media?”
“They’ve been doing that for days,” Henry retorted. “But now they've taken it up a notch.”
Bridget swung into the grocery store parking lot and pulled into the first empty spot she found. She switched off the engine, turned to Henry, and held out her hand for his phone. “Let me see.”
He sighed and passed it to her. “Scroll through all the pictures to the end.”
Bridget stared at the first image on the screen, her stomach muscles clenching at the distressing sight. Their house had been egged. Dozens of close-up pictures were being shared and liked all over Instagram. The front door was stained with yoke, and remnants of shells were scattered all over the steps and down the pathway leading to the sidewalk. Hardened egg trailed down the windowpanes like bird poop, and sodden cardboard egg cartons were strewn across the lawn. Bridget grimaced as she continued scrolling through the pictures. The house and yard were a complete mess. The whole front of the house would have to be hosed off—possibly power washed. It remained to be seen if the back had received the same treatment.
With a beleaguered sigh, she returned the phone to Henry. “Do you know who did this?”
He kept his eyes forward, his expression rigid.
“Henry! Do you know who’s behind this?” Bridget repeated.
“A bunch of kids from school,” he muttered angrily. “They've been threatening to do something like this, but I didn’t think they’d go through with it, so I didn’t say anything. I'm pretty sure Quinn was in on it, too.”
“Quinn?” Bridget gawked at him, horrified. “Are you sure? Why would he do that after everything we’ve done for him?”
Henry studied her, his face twisted in pain. “You mean like kill his mom? It kind of wipes out everything we've ever done for him, don’t you think?”
Bridget opened and closed her mouth before turning away and looking out the window at the shoppers bustling to and fro with overflowing carts and screaming kids in tow. Of course, Henry was right. Egging their house paled in comparison to what they had put Quinn and his family through. What Steve had done was unforgivable.
Wearily, she reached for her purse and pulled the keys from the ignition. “I thought you said Quinn hated his mother.”
“He kinda did because she didn't pay him any attention. But he still loved her.”
Bridget rubbed her aching forehead. In a convoluted way, that made perfect sense. Volatile teenage emotions could swing from love to hate and back again in half a heartbeat.
“What are we going to do about our house?” Henry asked.
Bridget twisted her lips. “I’ll have to hire a crew to clean it. I’ll report it to Detective Wright first. Technically, it's vandalism. It’s hard to believe no one saw it happen with the amount of people who've been hanging around our place lately.”
“They did it in the middle of the night,” Henry said. “A few kids posted about it.”
“You need to screenshot all those posts so I can turn them over to Detective Wright.”
Henry scowled. “I’m not gonna do that. They’ll just take it out on me if I do. Anyway, most of the posts were on Snapchat and they’ve already been deleted.”
“All right, we’ll just send the Instagram pictures.” Bridget pulled out her phone and dialed Detective Wright.
He answered after the first ring. “Hi, Bridget. Glad to hear you found Harper safe and sound. Is she all right?”
“She’s fine, thanks. But I’m calling about something else. My house was egged last night. It’s all over social media. Henry says it was a bunch of kids from his school. Some of them have been bragging about it.”
“Do you want to press charges?” Detective Wright asked.
Bridget hesitated. “I don't think so. Henry's worried about the repercussions if we do. I just want to make sure it’s on record in case the harassment doesn't stop, and we have to take action later.”
“Fair enough. Send me any photos or screenshots you have, and I'll start the process. I assume you’re not planning on going back home any time soon. If you want to get any stuff out of your house, I can send Officer Lopez around to meet you there.”
“That would be great—I do need to pick up some things. How about this evening, maybe around eight or so? Hopefully, the crowd will have dispersed by then.”
“Sounds good, I’ll put in a request.” After a moment’s pause, he added. “I assume you haven't heard anything from Steve?”
“Not a breath,�
�� Bridget replied. “No leads on your end either, I take it.”
“I wish I had better news, but no luck so far. We're still working on the Audi tip. I’ve got a couple more dealerships within a hundred-mile radius to call. I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, keep trying to reach your husband.”
“I will, thanks.” Bridget hung up and stashed her phone in her purse before turning to Henry. “Come on, let's go get those supplies for your sister.”
Armed with everything they needed to make ice cream sundaes à la Harper style, Bridget and Henry returned to her parents’ house. Harper greeted them at the door, a huge smile stretched across her face. Bridget was heartened to see that she seemed to be back to her usual cheery self, even if it was only a temporary reprieve. She’d warned Henry not to mention what had happened to their house. She’d tell her parents about it later, but her daughter had enough on her small shoulders for now.
For the next half hour or so, Harper was happily occupied making exotic concoctions for every member of the family and proudly carrying each one into the family room to surprise them. “Yours is a get-well sundae, Grandma,” she announced, as she handed Elise a glass dish piled high with three different flavors of ice cream and covered in gummy bears. “Those are your vitamins, so you have to eat them all.” Harper hovered at her grandmother’s side, eagerly waiting for her to take a bite.
“Mmm, this is delicious,” Elise said. “You make the best ice cream sundaes.”
Harper let out a dramatic sigh, her little chest rising and falling. “Daddy makes the best ice cream sundaes and the best pancakes.”
Bridget gritted her teeth. Despite the best diversionary tactics, Steve was never far from his daughter’s thoughts. This was not going to be an easy road ahead for them, no matter how things played out.
When Harper had finally finished dishing up the sundaes and presenting each one with a flourish, she disappeared into the kitchen to begin cleaning up her mess.
Bridget set down her napkin and turned to her parents. “Our house was egged last night. Henry showed me the pictures on social media.”
Elise blinked across at her, a perturbed expression on her face. “Egged? You mean, people threw eggs at your house?”
“That’s exactly what they did,” Bridget said. “They’re all over the windows and front door, and the shells are scattered across the pathway. And they even dumped the empty cartons on the front lawn.”
John jerked his chin at Henry, his face creased with concern. “Let’s see those pictures, son.”
Henry pulled them back up on his phone and handed it to his grandfather. He reached for his reading glasses and studied the photos for a long moment before passing the phone to Elise. She pursed her lips and shook her head in disbelief as she peered at the pictures. “I can't believe the cruelty of some people. Who would behave in such a vindictive way?”
“It was kids from school,” Henry said. “They've been threatening to do something like this. I think they talked Quinn into getting on board.”
“Can't you have a word with him and put an end to it?” Elise asked. “He's your best friend, after all.”
Henry shot Bridget an uncertain look. “I’m not supposed to talk to him until after my trial.”
She gave a small shrug. “It doesn't mean I can't talk to him. I’ve half a mind to go around to his house myself. Maybe if I apologize to him and explain how distraught we all are over his mom's death, he might tell the kids to back off.”
“Are you sure that's wise?” John asked.
“I don't know if it’s wise,” Bridget conceded. “But it would be a step in the right direction. Maybe I'll even get a chance to talk to Keith while I'm there. I feel awful for suspecting him.”
“I’ll go with you,” John said.
Bridget shook her head. “I think it would be for the best if I talk to them on my own.”
“Then I'll wait in the car,” her father replied firmly. “But I'm not about to let you go around there by yourself. After what happened at your house, you should be prepared for trouble wherever you go.”
28
Shortly before seven-thirty, Bridget left her parents’ place to drive to her house and meet Officer Lopez. She’d made an extensive list of everything she needed to pick up for herself and the kids, fully aware that her mind was far too frazzled to think on the spot, and that it could be days before she made it back to her house again. For all she knew, they mightn’t be able to return at all. Vandals might not stop at an egging spree. They could decide to take radical action and burn the whole place down. She intended to take full advantage of Officer Lopez’ presence and protection while she had it and spend whatever time it took at the house gathering up as much of their stuff as possible.
As she drove, she tried calling Steve's disposable phone again. She had no real expectation that he would answer, but at least she could assure Detective Wright she was still trying to reach him. She desperately wanted Steve to turn himself in. As much as what he had done sickened her, the thought of him being shot to death in a stakeout with the police pained her heart. At the end of the day, he was still her husband and her children's father, and she couldn’t easily erase the lifetime of memories they had made together.
Bridget pulled onto her street at five minutes to eight, her stomach heaving in anticipation of what awaited her. To her relief, the news crews vans were gone. Only two unmarked vehicles remained. Of course, there was no guarantee they weren’t waiting to notify the news crews of her arrival. But at least she’d be able to get into her house without a circus erupting around her.
She swung into her driveway and sat for a moment in her car, wondering whether she should make a run for it or wait for Officer Lopez to arrive. The issue was resolved when the driver’s door to one of the unmarked vehicles opened and Officer Lopez stepped out. Bridget exhaled in relief. Thankfully, he’d had the sense to come in an inconspicuous vehicle. A squad car would have been a sure indication something was afoot and would almost certainly have attracted the reporters back for another feeding frenzy.
“Thanks for meeting me here,” Bridget said. “I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
“No problem.” Officer Lopez graced her with one of his perfectly calibrated smiles. “Let’s get this done and blaze a trail out of here before it gets too dark. That’s when troublemakers typically show up.” He kept an eye on their surroundings while she fumbled with the key in the front door, trying not to inhale the rotten odor coming from the dried-out eggs plastered everywhere.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside, looking around her home with fresh eyes. Signs of happier days and childhood memories in the making were scattered along the hall—a pair of dirty tennis shoes, an abandoned volleyball bag, a textbook, a lunchbox that had yet to be emptied judging by the all-too-familiar smell of an overripe banana wafting from it. It broke Bridget’s heart to think her children might never return to the only home they’d ever known.
Officer Lopez closed and bolted the front door behind them before turning to her. “What can I help with?”
She set down her purse on the console table and rubbed her arms as she contemplated how best to go about the packing job. “I’ll gather up a few boxes and plastic tubs from the garage to haul my stuff in. Maybe you can start putting the kids’ clothes in some black trash bags while I load up the other essentials.”
They worked steadily for the next hour or so, ignoring the repeated ringing of the doorbell that had commenced less than five minutes after their arrival. Bridget peered discreetly through the family room window and confirmed that a handful of people had gathered out on the street again, including a reporter with a microphone. A neighbor had been recruited to ring the doorbell, ensuring the reporter wasn’t breaking any laws.
Bridget dreaded the moment when she'd have to open her front door and start carrying the loaded boxes and bags out to her car. Despite Officer Lopez’s assurances that no one was permitted to step onto her property, he wouldn'
t be able to stop them from hurling abuse at her. Questions from reporters were inevitable, but she shuddered at the thought of enduring vitriolic taunts and disparaging comments aimed at her and her family.
After she’d packed her personal items, she went into Steve's office and took a quick look around. There was nothing here that she needed. She frowned at the empty spot where Steve's desktop computer usually sat. The police hadn't mentioned anything about the Tech team finding the emails between Keith and Steve. Maybe she should give Detective Wright a quick call and see what he’d made of them. She sat down at the desk and dialed his number.
“I’m at my house with Officer Lopez packing up my stuff,” she said when he answered. “I just wondered if the Tech team had found the emails between Keith and Steve on his computer?”
“As a matter of fact, I got a printout of them an hour or so ago,” Detective Wright replied. “Naturally, I'd love to be able to talk to Steve about the contents. So far, I’ve only got Keith’s side of the story.”
Bridget dragged a hand through her hair. “What did he have to say about threatening my husband?”
“He insists he wasn't threatening him, just spouting off—angry because Steve refused to admit he was having an affair with his wife and helping her siphon money from the company.”
“How did he explain Steve asking him what he’d done to his wife?” Bridget asked. “Surely that’s an indication Steve suspected Keith had harmed her.”
“Keith’s theory is that Steve had already killed Jen by then and was trying to throw everyone off the scent.”