Black Rainbow

by J. J. McAvoy

  He placed a thick blanket over me, and left a cup of hot chocolate on the coffee table, for whenever I was ready to drink. He sat down in front of the couch, watching the news in silence.

  “That’s my dad,” I whispered, and he looked between me and the television, at the Asian man speaking.

  If I could, I would have laughed.

  “No. Down at the bottom of the feed, Ben Walton, the murderer, who tried to kill himself. That’s him. That’s my dad.”

  He understood me now. “My dad was a corn farmer before he became a Governor.”

  “Thank you,” I said, as I wiped my eyes.

  He wasn’t making fun of me, he was simply trying to tell me he that didn’t care.

  “They say he killed Levi’s ex-wife’s mother.”

  From there it all just spilled out of me… everything from when I was a child, to my step father’s alleged crimes, to that last moment with Levi, the moment where it felt like he had stabbed me through the heart with a smile.

  LEVI

  It was my third time walking past the office. She should have been in there, but she wasn’t. I had seen all of my students with the exception of her… Three days; that was the last time I had seen her. Neither she nor her sister had answered any of my calls, and at this point, I didn’t even know if she was okay.

  “You can stop walking by, she isn’t coming in today,” Atticus said to me, with his tie over his shoulder as he changed the light bulb.

  “So you’ve spoken to her?”

  “Kind of hard not to, what with her crashing at my place and all… I’m already out of cereal,” he replied, stepping down from the ladder.

  I felt my hand curl into a fist just seeing the smug look on his face and I had to force myself to relax.

  He was a student. He needed to learn to not be involved in my personal life.

  “What is the percentage of cases that are plea bargained and settled outside of court?” I quizzed him as calmly as possible.

  He straightened up quickly; “Less than five percent.”

  “And this from Levi Black and Associates?”

  “Three—No. Three and a half times as many.”

  “Why?”

  He paused trying to think.

  Too slow.

  “Because a great lawyer isn’t afraid of court. Courts are your arena. This was a simple question, Mr. Logan, and not one you will be likely to come across again, especially on your final. You’re slipping.”

  He nodded, and I could see him kicking himself.

  Much better.

  I only managed to get three feet away before I turned back. I just had to know, I had to ask. “How is she?”

  “She is Thea,” he replied, “and just so you know, I’m gay. She’s the reason that I can tell you that… that I can tell anyone that now. So you don’t have to worry about me being around her.”

  He didn’t linger, he just moved on with his work.

  “When you’re done, Mr. Logan, she might need a friend to check up on her once she sees the news,” I said, kicking myself as I walked away.

  This is what she’d meant when she said that it was impossible for them to physically be together… his orientation…

  “Don’t even say it, Betty,” I told the older woman who sat behind her desk. She pretended to zip her lips, but her eyes were talking… laughing actually.

  In my office, I sat at my desk checking my watch.

  “You have an hour until the story breaks,” Tristan said, as he came in.

  “I’m going to meet my mother and let her know in person before then. You coming?”

  “To that slaughter? No thank you, I have over a thousand pages of case notes to look through. When will we start assigning people?”

  “Tristan, they will try to bury us in paper work and red tape. Believe me when I say we are going to need every last person on this. Once this news breaks, we will feel a backlash like we’ve never felt before. You can still back out.”

  “O Captain! My Captain!” was his only reply.

  “Wish me luck?”

  “From the man who believes you make your own luck?”

  Too bad I didn’t feel like that man anymore.

  THEA

  “Ladies and gentlemen good evening, tonight we have breaking news out of Boston Massachusetts, where top criminal attorney, Levi Black, has now taken on the case of convicted murderer, Ben Walton.

  “Seventeen years ago, Ben Walton was charged with the kidnapping, rape and murder of Boston socialite Savannah Van Allen… A charge that Mr. Black now wishes to overturn. In a statement to KYLM, Mr. Black says, ‘there is no doubt my mind that Ben Walton is an innocent man who did not receive a fair and just trial, as is his constitutional right, this is due to not only the blatant incompetence of the police, who did not follow basic protocol regarding the evidence, and but also his own legal representative. We are calling for a new trial and anyone who wants the truth and see due process done right should not be against this.’”

  My phone rang nonstop, but I just couldn’t believe my ears as I listened to the radio. He was still going through with this?

  “Hello?” I finally picked up the phone.

  “Put the cereal down. Get out of your sweatpants, and get to the office now, this place is about to become a battlefield and it’s time for you to serve. This is why you wanted to become a lawyer, right? This is your big moment, so don’t be selfish and let your emotions get in the way of helping your dad. That is what you want, right?” Atticus yelled into the phone over the ruckus in the background.

  “I’m not at your place. I needed to make a stop. I’ll be there by in a few hours—”

  “Thea, where in the hell could you be going that’s more important than this?”

  “I’m going to visit my father,” I said, hanging up on him just as the police officer and his dog came up to my car window.

  I gave him my pass, and he waved me through.

  I could feel my heart slamming against my chest as I parked and got out. Over the last couple of months, I had written him over two dozen letters and had never heard anything back. I figured that he didn’t want to see me… and I was too scared to go see him.

  I had a vague image of the man that was once my father in my head, and I didn’t want that image of him to be gone as well. Would he still smell like aftershave? Would he still eat purple skittles with me? It was dumb, and I knew I was holding on to false hope, but it was all I had left. I was being selfish though, not seeing him all these years because I didn’t want to lose my happy memories.

  “Who are you here to see ma’am?” the guard at the desk asked me.

  “Ben Walton. I called.”

  “Some ID please?”

  Handing him my driver’s license, he scrolled down a white clipboard his shaking his head at me.

  “I’ve got a Thea Walton on the list. No Cunning. The names have to match. He should have filled out a new visitors sheet for you, this one hasn’t been updated in years.”

  Obviously he never expected me to come either.

  “I have an old ID,” I said as I opened my wallet and took out the old college ID; the school had messed up and put my old name on it. I had gotten a new one, but couldn’t bring myself to throw it out. He took it held up to my face and then looked at my license.

  “Step over there, we need to search you,” he said, as he handed them back to me.

  “Thank you,” I replied, as I walked to where he pointed.

  “Do you mind if I check for any foreign objects in your hair and on your person?” a woman asked when I stepped up.

  She asked, but I don’t think it was a question.

  Nodding, I turned around. She patted a little hard but I didn’t say anything. It felt like a never-ending line of checkpoints before I was finally taken to the visiting room. On TV, I had always seen the glass with the telephones on both sides, but in real life, it looked more like a cage.

  The guard signaled for me to sit, and
when I did, the door on the opposite side opened. I held my breath as he walked in, his hands, feet and waist chained. He was just as tall as I remembered, with skin as dark as mine, and grey hair. His faced looked hard, like he had taken so many hits to the face that it was almost stone. I noticed the large white bandage wrapped around his neck, and the method of his suicide attempt became apparent. I held my breath, fighting against the surge of emotions that had welled up within me. He sat down, but they didn’t unchain him.

  “Who are you?” he asked as soon as he picked up the receiver.

  His voice was deep and scratchy and his eyes looked me over emotionlessly.

  Wiping a tear from my eye, I tried not to let it bother me. “It’s me, Dad. Thea Bear? Remember?”

  His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t speak.

  “You’ve been getting my letters right? Selene’s too?”

  Again silence.

  “You haven’t written back so…”

  “You shouldn’t have come here,” he said to me, as he hung up the phone.

  I slammed my hand against the glass, causing the guards to come forward from their place at the doors.

  “Sorry,” I said to them quickly, and turned back to him. I motioned for him to pick up the phone again.

  He cracked his jaw, as he once more picked up the receiver. “What do you want?”

  “I came to see you, it took me two hours to get here—”

  “I didn’t ask you to.”

  “Well, you should have!” I snapped at him. “You should have asked us to come. You should have written us back. And you sure as hell shouldn’t have done that to yourself. We are family—”

  “We are not family. You do not know me.”

  “I know you didn’t do it, and I know you are my father. I don’t need to know anything else. I don’t care about anything else. You’re getting out of here.”

  He shook his head. “How much is this new lawyer costing you? I met him. He looked like something I can’t afford. You’re all wasting your time and money… I’m tellin’ you they do not care. I’ve acce—”

  “If you say ‘accepted’, I swear to God, I’ll lose it. This isn’t something you accept, and don’t you dare say that to anyone here. Levi is different. This is different. If the money bothers you, then the moment you get out, we’ll sue the state and then you can pay it all back. But right now I need you to tell me you didn’t do it.”

  He leaned in. “So you don’t believe me after all.”

  “I do believe you. I just need to know if there’s any more fight in you. I’m here, I will walk the line, but I need to know that you’re walking it with me, Dad.”

  He put his hand up against the glass as he looked at me. “I was prepared to die knowing in my soul that I didn’t do anything wrong. That I would leave this world an innocent man. The appeals that failed didn’t matter no more. Then you and you sister had to go and complicate everything with your letters. It was easier when you didn’t speak to me.”

  “Just because something is easier, doesn’t mean it’s better. Now is there anything you can tell me that can help us? Please, Dad, I need you to just try.”

  LEVI

  “Get out!” she screamed, as tears ran down her face, “I have no idea what possessed you to do this, but until it’s over, stay away from me.”

  “Mom, I know you’re angry, but if this man—”

  “If? If? You are putting this entire family, not to mention the Van Allen family, through this all over again, and you have the nerve to say ‘if’?”

  “Fine. He didn’t do this, and he does not deserve to be behind bars. The person who killed Savannah does, but not him. How do you not see that? Especially with the way his case was handled!” I yelled back at her.

  “Get him out of here,” she yelled at my father. “Get him out or I will say something a mother shouldn’t. Get him away from me.”

  “Don’t bother, I’ll see myself out. Whether you like it or not, I am going through with this case,” I called out to her, but she wouldn’t look at me.

  She held her hands to her face and cried, and in that moment, I hated myself for putting her though this again.

  Halfway out the door, my father called to me, “Levi, what are you doing?”

  “Getting a man, my client, out of prison,” I answered him.

  “You’ve worked so hard all your life. I have seen you build up a career for yourself, and now you’re about to blow it all up? No one will touch you after this. I just don’t understand.”

  “An innocent man is in jail… if you don’t understand that, I really don’t have time to explain it to you,” I said, already walking to my car.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  LEVI

  It had begun; the non-stop phone calls, the press gathering outside, the associates running around with their hair on fire. I needed something to tell them. I had gone over Ben Walton’s case at least four times now, and I had never seen such stupidity in all my life. Evidence wasn’t bagged, the scene wasn’t closed off, and one of the witnesses went missing after her statement, and did not testify… it was just one big clusterfuck.

  “Are you ready to give your speech?” Tristan asked, as he came into the conference room.

  “Why do I need to give a speech? They’re lawyers, and we are going to practice law, it’s that simple,” I said, even though I had just thought giving a speech.

  “So, you have no idea?”

  “Not even a little.”

  “You need a minute?”

  “No, bring them in.”

  This was going to be a long night.

  I didn’t have to wait long; it seemed like they were all waiting for me to call them in. My associates sat around the dark oak table, while the students gathered near the back.

  “Ben Walton, our new client,” I said, as I glanced over them.

  I placed a picture of Ben Walton and wrote his name on the large window that overlooked all of Boston. Then, I began my ‘speech’.

  “I was freshman in college when he was convicted. Which means most of you were in still in your preteens, but I’m sure if you’ve lived in the city, you know about the uproar that the death of Savannah Van Allen caused. As the story goes, Ben Walton kidnapped, raped and stabbed Mrs. Van Allen a total of fourteen times. She was later found in a motel room in Connecticut.”

  “Witnesses had placed Ben Walton outside of her home the day before, and his DNA was found at the scene of the crime. The case was spun to make Ben Walton seem like an infatuated stalker who preyed on Mrs. Van Allen.”

  “Makes sense,” Raymond spoke up, as he loosened his tie, “but why was he there? Why was his DNA in the motel room?”

  “Because they were having an affair,” a voice called out from outside the office.

  I would have recognized that voice anywhere.

  As she walked into room, it felt like she was a whole foot taller. She took of her jacket and gloves, and dropped them onto the chair. She grabbed a folder off the table before making her way over to where I was.

  “Is there any proof of that?” Vivian asked, as she rose her hand in the back.

  “Yes. Me,” she said. Then looking to me, “It’s your case, but can I brief them?”

  Could I deny her anything at this point?

  Nodding, I handed her the marker and took a seat at the head of the table near Tristan.

  “Ben Walton is my father,” she said, causing them to whisper, as she drew a timeline connecting to the photo on the window. “Unknown to many people, Ben Walton was once known as the fiction writer, Law Bonnet. He and my mother, Margaret Cunning, never formerly married—”

  “Law Bonnet? The writer for the weekly Boston Noble Magazine, how is that possible?” Atticus cut in.

  This was the first time that either of us had heard that bit of information.

  “To avoid a scandal, the Boston Noble employed a ghost writer to take his place,” she said, marking that date further down the timeline be
fore walking back to the beginning.

  “Each year the Boston Noble holds a large gala featuring anyone who had been on the cover. That year, Savannah Van Allen was not only on the cover twice, but she attended the gala. That was beginning of their six month affair.”

  She marked the date on the timeline and turned to look for Savannah’s picture on the table. Finding it, I slid it over to her and she tacked it unto the timeline, “However this was never brought up or mentioned by either the prosecution or Ben Walton’s own defense.”

  “Mistake on the line of the defense,” I stated out loud, and the students in the back wrote it down quickly.

  “On the weekend of Savannah Van Allen’s murder, my father took me to the Woodstock Festival… most likely as cover for his affair.”

  “You were what, probably six or seven at the time? No offence, but that’s a little young for you to be considered a credible witness or to provide him with a reliable alibi. Do you even remember that day? The prosecution will destroy you, and say that you either blacked out the memory of the murder, or that you were not aware when it was happening,” Vivian pointed out, much to her credit.

  It was valid point. Children were horrible witnesses.

  “You’re right,” she said, without even flinching. “For the most part, that day is a blur to me. I remember going to the fair, and I remember seeing the lights on the bridge as we were going back home. However, I wasn’t the only person there, so was Savannah Van Allen’s daughter.”

  What? I sat up suddenly.

  Taking a photo out of the folder she’d been carrying, she taped it up on to the window. Sure enough, there was my ex-wife, eleven, maybe twelve years old, posing for a picture with her mother at the fair.

  “Where did you get this?” I whispered. “How did you get this?”

  “It wasn’t the most legal of means, but when I went to see my father, he told me that Savannah had brought her daughter for the same reason he did, as an alibi and a cover up for their affair. I no longer have the pictures of that day, but I figured she had to have kept something.”