The Other Woman: A psychological suspense thriller

by N L Hinkens

  “We’re going to gather up our stuff and then head back home after we visit Henry,” Bridget said.

  “Are you sure about that, dear?” Elise asked dubiously. “Don’t you want to stay here for a few more days until you recover first. I hate to think of you having to deal with all those reporters when you can barely talk. I imagine it’s stressful enough, even if you can yell at them.”

  Bridget gave a small huff of amusement, taking care not to tax her throat. “I have Steve to do that for me. We need to go home and be together again. It's the best thing for Harper, too. I can't thank you both enough for everything you've done for us.”

  “Let me at least make you a cup of tea,” her dad said, getting to his feet. “I was just about to put the kettle on.”

  While Bridget sipped on a lukewarm lemon and honey tea, Harper enthusiastically helped Steve load up the car with their belongings.

  “Daddy's ready, Mommy,” Harper announced a short time later. “Time to go see Henry.”

  Bridget got to her feet and hugged her daughter. “Be good for your grandparents. We’ll be back to pick you up in a couple of hours.”

  Bridget kissed her parents goodbye and headed out to the driveway where Steve was waiting with the engine running. “When are you getting your car back?” she asked as she climbed in.

  “Not for another week or so. I’ll line up a rental in the meantime.” He turned to Bridget, a broad smile deepening the hollows of his cheeks. “Ready to see our son?”

  She nodded. “I’m ready to bring him home too.”

  The juvenile detention center proved to be every bit as inhospitable as Bridget had envisioned. She felt like a criminal herself as a hawk-eyed guard scrutinized her ID and subjected her to a thorough search before allowing her to pass through the security gate. Along with a small group of other equally uncomfortable-looking parents, they followed the juvenile corrections officer assigned to them through several more steel security doors, cameras tracking their every move.

  The officer took them into a large white room that resembled a school cafeteria. Round tables with benches secured to the ground dotted the space, most of them occupied by detached or sullen-looking teenagers. Bridget sucked in her breath when she caught sight of Henry, dressed in an orange jumpsuit and white T-shirt, seated at a table in the far corner of the room.

  Hand-in-hand with Steve, she wove her way through the sea of tables.

  “Dad!” Henry burst out, jumping up and enveloping Steve in a huge hug. “Where have you been?”

  “It's a long story,” Steve said. “The good news is that the police have dropped all the charges against me.”

  He seated himself at the table while Henry turned to hug Bridget.

  “It's so good to see you, son,” she rasped.

  A look of alarm flashed across Henry's face. “Mom! What's wrong with your voice?”

  His eyes swerved anxiously to Steve as Bridget sat down next to him.

  “Quinn's grandfather tried to strangle her,” Steve explained. “He's confessed to killing Jen too.”

  Henry’s jaw dropped. “What? Are you okay, Mom?”

  “I’m fine, just a little sore. How are you doing?” Bridget rubbed a hand over his orange jumpsuit. “This is colorful.”

  Henry twisted his lips. “The worst part is the used skivvies they give you when you arrive.”

  “That’s gross.” Bridget shot Steve a horrified look. The sooner they got Henry out of this place, the better. She didn't want to contemplate the sheer volume of germs that must be floating around a facility like this.

  “It’s not so bad here,” Henry said, wearing a bright smile, but not meeting Bridget’s eyes. “They have classrooms and a proper school, so at least I won’t fall behind on anything. And you get to decorate your room whatever way you want—Harper would love that. She’d have Barbies riding unicorns all over the walls.”

  Bridget hitched her lips up into a smile. She could tell Henry was trying hard to put a brave face on things while inwardly dreading the idea of spending any length of time here. “You won't be in this place long enough to start school,” she assured him. “Bryan’s confident the judge will go easy on you now that the charges against Steve have been dropped.”

  All too soon, visiting hours were up, and Bridget and Steve found themselves hugging Henry goodbye. Despite her best efforts, Bridget couldn't keep the tears from falling, and her throat from choking up. “We’ll see you on Friday, it will be here before you know it.”

  “Keep your chin up, son,” Steve added, patting him on the back. “You’re going to come out the other side of this real soon.”

  Bridget leaned her head on Steve's shoulder as they walked back to the car together, marveling at the stunning turn of events that had retuned her husband to her. As hard as the visit to juvenile hall had been, it was that much easier with Steve back at her side where he belonged.

  After they picked Harper up, they did their best to prepare her on the drive home for what awaited them. Bridget’s stomach churned as they approached the house and saw the vans camped outside again. No doubt they were more eager than ever for a story now that news had broken of Steve's return, and the arrest of the Carson father and son duo.

  “Brace yourself,” Bridget said to Steve as they climbed out of the car and into the instant melee swarming them.

  “Steve, how does it feel to have the charges against you dropped?”

  “Can you comment on the arrests of Jack and Keith Carson?”

  “Has your incarcerated son been informed of your return?”

  “Do you intend to sue the Carsons?”

  Steve smiled genially for the cameras, carrying Harper in one arm, the other draped protectively around Bridget. “It feels great to be back with my family. I have no other comments at this time.” With that, he ducked his head down and swept Bridget up the path to the front door.

  Safely inside, Harper darted off to her room. Bridget let out a sharp sigh of relief as she shrugged out of her coat. “How long do you think we're going to have to put up with that barrage of media?”

  Steve batted a hand dismissively through the air. “They'll be gone before you know it. They're like hound dogs always after a new scent. Tomorrow something else will pop up on their radar and they’ll hightail it out of here.”

  “Poor Quinn,” Bridget whispered. “I hope they’re not hounding him too. I wonder if he has any other family he can move in with.”

  Steve hung up their coats on the hall rack and led the way to the kitchen. “Jen has a sister, but I think she lives in Florida.”

  Bridget sat down at the table, drumming her nails. “We could offer Quinn a place to live.”

  Steve retrieved a couple of water bottles from the fridge and joined her. “You mean, ask him to move in with us long-term?”

  Bridget nodded. “I’ve always jokingly referred to him as my second son, and I know he loves being with our family. I would hate for him to have to leave all his friends behind and move out of state now that he’s lost both his parents.”

  “You’re serious about this?” Steve asked.

  Bridget fixed a solemn gaze on her husband. “Absolutely. Quinn saved my life—this is my chance to save him.”

  Steve took a long swig of water before answering. “I’m a lucky guy to be married to someone as big-hearted as you, Bridget Hartman. You always did put relationships before stuff, and I need to be reminded of that on a daily basis. If Quinn’s your second son, then he’s mine too.”

  37

  Bridget climbed out of bed on Friday morning and got ready for Henry’s disposition hearing under a cloud of apprehension. Despite Bryan's assurances, and Steve’s bravado, there was no guarantee Henry wasn't about to be sentenced to hard time in juvenile hall. She couldn't stomach the thought of making a weekly pilgrimage to that bleak building, waiting in line as correctional officers rummaged through her purse searching for contraband and weapons.

  Even worse, she couldn’t stan
d the thought of her son being confined within its walls, twisting and turning on a paltry mattress pad, and eating substandard food in a cafeteria that was a far cry from her standards of cleanliness. More than anything, she dreaded what any such sentence would do to Henry's spirit. Surely a child couldn't spend any length of time in an institution without it changing them forever, and not in a good way.

  And then of course there was Harper to think of. How would she be affected if her older brother was confined to juvenile hall for years on end? She would miss him dreadfully, for starters, and she’d be forced to endure her fair share of bigotry and ridicule from kids at school. Bridget’s brain ached as she contemplated the inevitable consequences her family would face. She might end up having to homeschool Harper, and that would mean giving up her job which would put them under even more financial pressure than they were already facing. But, as usual, she was getting ahead of herself. It was pointless to worry about any of it before it had happened. Today, she needed to put her best foot forward and maintain a spirit of optimism for Henry’s sake.

  After dropping Harper off once again at her parents’ house, Bridget and Steve headed for the courthouse. It was the third time Bridget had met Bryan at the top of the courthouse steps, and she fervently hoped it would be the last. The lawyer shook hands with Steve and introduced himself, before leading them both inside the building. “It's Judge Peterschick presiding again today,” he said as they entered the courtroom.

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Steve asked.

  Bridget whipped her head toward him. “He's the one who sent Henry to juvenile hall in the first place—he considered him a flight risk.”

  “All the more reason for him to show leniency today,” Bryan remarked tersely as he ushered them to their seats. “And it's good that Steve’s in the courtroom too. Juvenile court judges don’t like splitting up intact families.”

  Minutes later, Henry was escorted into the room by a bailiff and seated next to Bryan. Bridget leaned forward and smiled encouragingly at him. Steve gave him a thumbs up and he smiled tentatively in return.

  Bridget’s heart thudded in her chest as Judge Peterschick made his entrance and took up his position at the front of the courtroom. He positioned his glasses on the end of his nose and glanced over the paperwork in front of him.

  “Mr. Miller,” he began, “did you wish to present any information to the court.”

  “Thank you, your honor,” Bryan responded, getting to his feet. “I would like to remind the court that Henry pleaded guilty at the first opportunity, and that he is very remorseful for his actions. His parents are with him today to show how supportive they are of their son and how concerned they are for his future going forward.”

  “Mr. Hartman,” the judge said, shifting his gaze and addressing Henry, “do you understand why we are here today and what the purpose of a disposition hearing is?”

  Henry swallowed tentatively. “Yes, your honor.”

  “In your case,” the judge continued, “evidence of your crime in the form of CCTV footage has been admitted to the court, a crime to which you have confessed. Do you stand by that confession?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  Bridget pressed her knuckles to her lips, watching, with morbid fascination, as the court reporter’s fingers flew up and down on her stenograph machine, recording Henry’s fate. A surreal haze settled over the courtroom as Bridget felt her control over her son’s life slipping away.

  The judge adjusted his robes and surveyed the room. “I’ve studied the probation officer's report and recommendations and taken into account Detective Wright’s comments on the situation. Furthermore, Mr. Hartman, your attorney has requested leniency on your behalf based on new facts that came to light as recently as yesterday.” The judge leaned forward and peered over his glasses at Steve. “I understand all charges against you have been dropped, Mr. Hartman.”

  “That’s correct, your honor,” Steve replied.

  “It would appear Henry has plenty of support in the home environment, if he were to commit to a program of rehabilitation.”

  “Absolutely,” Steve said.

  The judge reached for a piece of paper on his desk and held it up briefly. “I’m also compelled to take into consideration a letter I received this morning from Henry’s schoolteacher, a Mr. William Barker.”

  Bridget’s eyes widened. Her pulse raced in trepidation of what was coming next. Surely Mr. Barker wasn't going to try and persuade the judge that it would be a bad idea to allow Henry back into the classroom. Her fingernails dug into Steve's arm as she waited breathlessly for the judge to continue.

  He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and began to read aloud.

  I am writing in reference to Henry Hartman who is appearing before your court on a tampering with evidence charge.

  It has been my privilege to be Henry's English teacher this year, and I can attest to the fact that he is a hard-working, conscientious, respectful, and intelligent young man. While I appreciate the serious nature of the crime he has confessed to committing, I would like to point out that this is completely out of character for him and was obviously done under great duress. The Hartmans are a loving, close-knit, and supportive family, and Henry was no doubt devastated at the thought of his father possibly going to prison for a crime for which he had been set up to take the fall. As the real criminals in this situation have now been apprehended and will serve time for their crimes, I would contend that justice has been adequately served. As a result, I ask for leniency for Henry and his family who have already been put through so much as a result of the despicable actions of Jack and Keith Carson.

  I have no doubt that Henry has learned from his mistakes. I would like to add that the school will do whatever it can to support him in any form of community service you might see fit to assign as a form of rehabilitation in lieu of a penalty that would deprive a good student like Henry of his current educational situation and a loving family, which he needs now more than ever.

  Sincerely yours,

  William F. Barker

  The judge set down the letter and peered down at Henry. “Evidently, you've made quite an impression on your teacher. It would be a shame to deprive you of such an intelligent and supportive educator going forward. I have given careful consideration to his comments and concur that your family has suffered greatly as a result of the vile actions of others. This whole situation came about because the perpetrators of Jen Carson’s murder tried to frame your father. While I do not wish to downplay the errancy of the course of action you chose to embark on, I agree with your teacher that incarcerating you any longer in juvenile hall has little value, and that a more suitable and proportionate disposal would be preferable. Therefore, I am sentencing you to one-hundred hours of community service at your local school in whatever form your teachers decide. In addition, I am placing you on a six-month probation, the conditions of which include a curfew, a victim awareness class, and counseling.”

  Bridget clapped a hand to her mouth, tears of relief billowing down her face. She fumbled for a tissue and mopped at her eyes, blinking through blurry vision at Steve who was smiling broadly at her.

  “Thank you, your honor,” Henry said, looking like he was about to dissolve into tears himself.

  The judge gave a curt nod in his direction and then slammed down his gavel.

  Bryan stood and turned to face Bridget and Steve. “That’s it, it’s over. You're free to take Henry home. We’ll pick up a copy of the paperwork on the way out.”

  Henry covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking. Steve stood and wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. Bridget bit her lip—it was the most beautiful sight she’d seen in a long time, her husband and her son safe, exonerated, and free.

  The ride back to her parents’ place was a very different affair to the sober drive they’d taken to the courthouse earlier that morning. Henry was both exuberant and incredulous. “I just can't believe it,” he
marveled, running his hands through his hair for the umpteenth time. “I was sure Judge Peterschick was going to send me back to juvenile hall. I thought I’d be spending years of my life in that place.”

  “Well, you'll never have to spend another night there, and I won’t have to see the inside of a prison cell either,” Steve said. “It's happy endings all around.”

  “Except for Quinn,” Bridget said, throwing a meaningful look Steve’s way.

  He raised his brows and glanced at Henry in the rearview mirror. “Your mother and I have been talking about offering Quinn a place to live, if you’re agreeable. He's almost fifteen now, so legally he has a voice in where he goes. He has an aunt who lives out of state, but I don't think he’ll want to leave all his friends behind.”

  “Is this for real?” Henry looked from Bridget to Steve. “You’d let Quinn come and live with us?”

  Bridget nodded. “You know I’ve always had a soft spot for him. The poor kid has never had things easy.”

  Henry’s grin grew even wider. He shook his head in disbelief. “I didn't think this day could get any better, but this is seriously the best news ever.”

  “Let's hope your sister shares your enthusiasm,” Bridget said. “She might be a tad jealous of Quinn coming to live with us. You know how much she likes to keep you wrapped around her little finger.”

  Henry's grandparents were overjoyed when they returned from the hearing with their good news. John hugged his grandson tightly, tears flowing in rivulets down the crevices in his wrinkled face. “I kept hoping for the best,” he said, “but I have to admit, it's been a tough few days on your grandmother and me.”