by N L Hinkens
Once again, Bryan Miller was waiting for them on the courthouse steps. He was smartly dressed in a gray suit and pale blue tie, but his expression was more strained than usual.
“Is everything all right?” Bridget asked.
“Let's hope so,” he replied. “The media hasn’t put a favorable spin on Henry's role in all of this. Still, the judge is a professional. I have to trust he’ll assess the case objectively.”
Bridget and Henry followed Bryan into a waiting room with several rows of padded chairs. A bailiff stood by the door leading into the courtroom. Bridget counted six other minors, with their parents and counsel, waiting to be called in.
“Each case will be heard individually, so we may have to wait a while,” Bryan told them. “All hearings involving minors are confidential.”
As it turned out, it was almost one o'clock before Henry's name was called. Bryan stood and gave Bridget a curt nod. “All right, let’s do this.” They followed the bailiff into the courtroom and sat down at the desk assigned to them, glancing nervously around. Bryan handed Bridget a sheaf of stapled pages. “This is a copy of the petition. It details the charges Henry’s facing, or the allegations, as they’re referred to here. The judge will likely allude to the petition at various points during the proceedings.”
Bridget set down the paperwork and glanced apprehensively around the room. The court reporter was in position, poised to begin typing.
“All rise,” the bailiff announced. “The third district juvenile court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Ryan Peterschick presiding.”
Bridget watched as the judge entered the courtroom and took his seat at the bench. Bryan had assured her that in juvenile court a judge’s first priority was rehabilitation, but it was still a terrifying proposition to find herself in front of one with her fourteen-year-old son.
“Mr. Hartman,” the judge began, “do you understand the allegation of tampering with evidence that is being brought against you today?”
Henry glanced uncertainly at Bryan who leaned over and whispered something to him.
“Yes,” Henry mumbled.
“Speak up, son,” the judge said.
“Yes, your honor.”
“And do you admit to disposing of the deceased’s body, one Jen Carson, into a dumpster in the area of Glenwood Lane and Pine Street at two-thirty-seven on the morning of January fourteenth?”
Once again, Henry glanced at Bryan before responding, “Yes, your honor.”
The judge rested his chin on his hand, perusing the paperwork on the desk in front of him for a moment or two. When he was done, he removed his glasses and addressed Henry again. “There are several rehabilitation options available to me. I will consider all of these carefully before the disposition hearing at which time I will inform you of my decision. However, due to the serious nature of your crime, and the fact that your father is allegedly a fugitive from the law, it is my belief that flight risk is a high probability in your case.”
Bridget dug her nails into the palms of her hands, dread rising up from her gut.
Bryan got to his feet. “Your honor, my client is extremely remorseful for his actions. He has no knowledge of his father’s whereabouts, nor any desire to emulate his actions. I don’t believe him to be a flight risk in any shape or form.”
“Duly noted, Mr. Miller. However, due to the public outcry about this crime, it would be in Mr. Hartman’s best interests for his own safety that he be detained in a juvenile facility until the disposition hearing.”
“No!” Bridget jumped to her feet. “Please, your honor, he—”
Bryan yanked on her arm. “Sit down!” he hissed.
The judge ran a disapproving eye over her. “I hereby order Mr. Hartman to be detained at the regional juvenile detention center until the disposition hearing on Friday. Perhaps, Mrs. Hartman, the public will be safer that way too.”
Before she could respond, he slammed his gavel down and dismissed the case.
32
Bridget watched in horror as a bailiff with a holstered weapon on his waist approached Henry and handcuffed him before escorting him out of the courtroom. “Can't you stop this?” she implored, her voice rising as she grabbed Bryan by the arm. “File a petition or something?”
He grimaced. “I can't overturn the judge’s decision. But the detainment’s only until the disposition hearing. It doesn’t mean it will be part of Henry’s sentencing.”
“But it doesn't bode well for the judge’s decision, does it?” Bridget cried. “What if he sends Henry to juvenile hall until he's twenty-five or something?”
“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” Bryan soothed. “That’s an unlikely scenario. It’s not as if Henry’s being sentenced for murder.”
Bridget pressed her fingers to her face. “If the judge puts Henry away, this will follow him for the rest of his life.”
Bryan’s expression softened. “Not necessarily. There's a possibility he can go back to court and have his case sealed, which means it would be removed from his record. First things first, we have to concentrate on getting through the disposition hearing.”
“Can I at least visit my son between now and then?” Bridget choked out.
“Absolutely,” Bryan replied. “There are visiting hours every other day. You'll need to verify the schedule. And feel free to call me anytime if you run into any problems. I'll see you both here again on Friday morning.”
Back in the privacy of her car, Bridget leaned her head on the steering wheel, moaning as the adrenaline that had carried her through the hearing slowly leaked from her system. This was not how she’d envisioned things playing out. If anything, she’d been hoping the judge would throw out the case, recognizing that Henry had no other motive than wanting to protect his father.
After a moment, Bridget drew herself up in the seat, squaring her shoulders. She couldn’t allow herself to go down this path of despair and hopelessness. She wouldn't give up now. She had to keep fighting for Henry—putting one foot in front of the other until this was over. Somehow she’d get through the next few days.
Her parents were flabbergasted when she relayed the news to them.
“But he's only fourteen-years-old,” Elise stammered, her hand fluttering nervously around her face. “How could the judge do such a thing to our Henry? He's no criminal.”
Bridget gave a melancholy shrug. “He committed a crime. That’s the definition of a criminal. Believe me, I’m devastated. But, in retrospect, I can’t fault the judge for doing his job. He felt Henry might be a flight risk with his father on the run.”
John frowned, scratching his scalp. “What are you going to tell Harper?”
Bridget sighed. “I’ll have to tell her the truth. She's going to hear it from someone, sooner or later. I don't want to lose her trust by continuing to lie to her about all of this.”
“She's going to take it hard.” Elise gave a sad shake of her head. “She's been very attached to Henry ever since Steve disappeared."
“I know,” Bridget agreed. “But she still has us. We’ll just have to make sure she gets plenty of love and affection over the next few days. The last thing I need is for Harper to run away again.”
John got up and wrapped his arms around her. “My poor Bridget. This is a terrible blow for you, on top of everything else. Just remember, your mother and I are here for you no matter what.”
Bridget wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thanks, Dad. I feel so bad that this is falling on your shoulders while Mom’s still recovering from surgery.”
“Now don’t be worrying about us,” Elise said. “We’re enjoying the company. Obviously, I wish it wasn't under these circumstances, but you know how much I love having you all here with me.”
Bridget got to her feet. “I’m going to have a talk with Harper. I can’t put it off any longer.”
She made her way back to the guest bedroom, dread gnawing at her gut with every step. She wasn't sure how much more Harper could handle. M
aybe she should take her to see a therapist. Considering what she’d been subjected to in the last few days, it was probably a good call. But, right now, it seemed like one more thing to worry about on her already overloaded plate.
“Hey honey,” Bridget said, knocking on the door as she turned the handle. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing, just playing.” Harper continued combing her doll’s hair. The remainder of her Barbies were seated in a circle in front of her with a pile of Cheerios in the middle.
Bridget grinned at her daughter. “Do you think they're going to be able to eat all those Cheerios, or can I have one?”
“They're not Cheerios, they’re donuts, silly,” Harper admonished her. “They’re having a picnic.”
“Got it! Well, it looks like fun.”
Harper gave a non-committal shrug. “I miss my room. You didn't bring all my stuff over.”
“I know, but Mommy could only bring so much. The rest of your toys will be waiting for you when we go back.”
“I want to go home now.” Harper tossed the doll’s hairbrush aside and folded her arms in front of her.
Bridget inhaled and exhaled softly. “We all want to go home. But we have to stay at Grandma’s and Grandpa's for a few more days.”
Harper scrambled to her feet. “I’m bored. I wanna go to the park with Henry now.”
Bridget reached for her arm and pulled her into her lap. “Honey, there's something I need to tell you.”
Harper looked up at her wide-eyed.
“Henry had to go away for a few days.”
Harper’s brow furrowed. “But why? He said he’d take me to the park. I don't want Henry to go away!”
“I know, and Mommy doesn't want him to go away either, but it's only for a few days.” Bridget’s stomach twisted even as the words fell from her lips. She had no idea how accurate that was. Henry might be coming home with them after the hearing on Friday, or he might be going to juvenile hall for years on end, or his fate might lie somewhere in between—some type of community service, perhaps. The truth was, she didn’t know how long Harper would be parted from her brother, and she couldn’t control the outcome.
“Did Henry put Quinn’s mommy in a dumpster?” Harper asked, looking Bridget directly in the eye.
She made an incoherent sound, as she fought to summon her courage. If she didn't tell her the truth, Harper mightn’t trust her going forward. She needed to come clean, and then handle her daughter’s reaction as best she could. “Yes, he did. He was very scared, and he made the wrong choice. He should have called the police, or told me, or another adult. He's really sorry for what he did.”
Harper blinked contemplatively. “But was she dead?”
“Yes,” Bridget said firmly. “She was already dead.” That much she could answer with conviction. She’d seen Jen’s lifeless body in her husband’s car with her own eyes. “I can promise you Henry did not kill Quinn’s mommy.”
“I know.” Harper leaned her head against Bridget’s chest. “Daddy killed her.”
Bridget’s breath caught in her throat. It was earth-shattering to hear her daughter utter those terrible words. And the worst part about it was that she couldn't refute them. She hugged her daughter close. Little children shouldn't have to grow up believing their parents were killers. It was unnatural to think the people they trusted most to protect them in this world, could actually turn out to be monsters.
“Let's go make some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch,” Bridget suggested. “How does that sound?”
Harper nodded. “Can I make some for my Barbies too?”
Bridget reached for her daughter’s hand as they got to their feet. “Of course, you can. Maybe you can take them outside, and they can have a real picnic in the backyard.”
She was rewarded with one of Harper’s winning smiles as they made their way to the kitchen.
Bridget had just come in from the backyard when Detective Wright called.
Her heart lurched as she stared at the screen. Now what? She set down the paper plates she was carrying and took the call.
“Is this a good time to talk?” Detective Wright asked.
“Have you … found Steve?” Bridget’s voice faltered.
“No, not yet,” Detective Wright replied, “I wanted to call and give you a quick update on the investigation. As you know, we confiscated Steve's computers and phone when we arrested him. We've finished going through everything, and the Tech team has been comparing the emails between Keith Carson and Steve to the emails between Jen Carson and Steve, hoping they might shed some light on what was going on with the money.”
“Keith’s convinced Steve was helping Jen siphon money from his company and move it into a new account,” Bridget said. “He claimed they were planning to run off together—at least that's what he told Quinn.”
“So far the Tech team’s been unable to confirm that Steve moved any of the company’s money on Jen's behalf. It appears he was advising her against doing that before her divorce.”
“Yes, Steve told me the same thing,” Bridget replied. “But he said Jen ignored his advice and went ahead and hired some disreputable company to help her move the money offshore.”
“We're still trying to track down that money,” Detective Wright confirmed. “It was definitely transferred out of the company’s accounts, which in theory gives Keith Carson a motive to kill his wife.”
“But it still doesn't explain why Steve fled,” Bridget said.
“Which brings me to that lead from a couple of days ago.”
“What lead?” Bridget asked, her head spinning.
“The silver Audi that was parked outside your house the morning Steve disappeared.”
Bridget’s heart began to race, her thoughts flying in several different directions at once. Had they found it abandoned somewhere across the border? Or worse, wrecked at the bottom of a canyon? But then, Detective Wright said they hadn’t found Steve yet, so he couldn't be dead, could he? She needed to calm down and not get ahead of herself. “Do you know who the car belongs to?”
“We can't confirm it as we don't have a license plate number. But we did find out that Keith Carson’s company leased a brand new, silver Audi A3 last month.”
33
Bridget clapped a hand to the nape of her neck, trying to process what Detective Wright was telling her. It couldn’t be a coincidence. It seemed to indicate something she’d feared deep down but had been too afraid to voice—that Keith Carson and her husband were in cahoots with one another. The only question remaining in Bridget’s mind was to what degree blackmail had played into the crime. “So it could have been Keith who picked Steve up in the Audi?”
“We're looking into that angle,” Detective Wright said. “Especially now that we know about their clandestine meeting in The Muddy Cup the day after Jen's body was discovered.”
Bridget rubbed her brow, still reeling from the bombshell news. “I can't believe Keith held a press conference and accused me of knowing Steve's whereabouts and keeping it from the police.”
“A clever ploy to throw us off their trail,” Detective Wright conceded. “At this point, we’re going to explore the option that Keith and Steve were working together.”
“Are you going arrest Keith?”
“Not yet, we don't want to alert him to our suspicions. First, we need to locate the Audi. Interestingly enough, he hasn't been driving it around. Neither his son nor his housekeeper have ever seen it.”
Bridget’s pulse thudded in her temples as she tried to fathom the notion that Steve and Keith Carson had conspired together. What could have induced Steve to assist Keith in such a hideous crime? There had to be more to it. Keith Carson must have some kind of hold over Steve. Was it about money? After all, the accounting practice was floundering. Had Keith offered Steve money to dispose of his wife’s body?
Bridget grimaced. Maria had been right about Keith. He’d wanted his wife dead, and he’d got his wish—hardly a coincidence.
And if he had killed her, blackmailed Steve into disposing of the body, and helped him disappear while pinning the crime on him, then he was a very clever and dangerous man indeed.
“It’s odd that Keith would help Steve flee if he wanted him to go down for the murder,” Bridget said.
“He might have been afraid Steve would crack under interrogation and rat him out—nail him for Jen’s murder,” Detective Wright answered. “It’s all speculation at this point, we have a lot of unanswered questions. We still haven't confirmed it was Keith's Audi at your house. Officer Lopez and I are heading over to the Carsons’ company right now to try and track down the vehicle. I just wanted to give you a heads up on where we’re at with everything.”
“Thanks,” Bridget said. “I appreciate it.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as we find out anything more,” Detective Wright added. “If I don't call, it's because I don't have any news.”
Bridget hung up and sank down in the kitchen chair. Her phone buzzed again almost immediately, and she glanced down at it, frowning at the unknown number. She slid a shaking finger across the screen, wondering if it could possibly be Steve.
“Mom!”
“Henry!” Bridget’s heart jolted at the welcome sound of her son’s voice. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. They let me make a call. I just wanted to tell you not to worry about me.”
Bridget moaned softly. “I’m so sorry it came to this, Henry. I never dreamed the judge would detain you.”
“One of the corrections officers said it’s because it’s a high-profile case. Even though I didn't commit the murder, I helped cover it up. And the killer got away. So it looks bad, and the judge doesn’t know for sure how much I know. He can’t take a risk and let me walk.” He paused before adding, “I miss you, Mom.”
“I’ll come visit you tomorrow,” Bridget promised.
There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment. “Can you bring Harper with you, please?”