has never been more true than now, when two of our children have been brutally taken from us. Now, when media people that had heretofore never heard of us shove microphones in our faces and ask us to proclaim our grief and anger.
“Mr. Carpenter has a job to do, a job we respect, but our citizens have no obligation to help him do it. We ask that you preserve our privacy by denying his request.”
It’s an impressive speech, but one that runs head-on into the law, which is firmly in our corner. Judge Morrison is thoroughly aware of this and rules in our favor.
The crucial moment for us comes when Drummond asks the judge for injunctive relief, which would consist of his delaying implementation of his order so as to give Center City time to appeal to a higher court. This would effectively negate our victory, since an appeals court would not act nearly as quickly.
The judge turns to me. “Mr. Carpenter?”
“We are absolutely opposed to that, Your Honor, and we believe the law could not be clearer on this. In the interests of full disclosure, I should point out that if there is a delay in our receiving these documents, we will be seeking a continuance in the Davidson case of the same length as the delay.”
Game, set, and match. There is no way that Morrison wants the Davidson trial delayed, and he turns Drummond down flat. He instructs Drummond to give the documents to the court clerk within seventy-two hours. The clerk will then examine them to make sure they comply with the order. Assuming they do, he’ll turn them over to us.
Drummond does not seem crushed by the news, and after Morrison adjourns the session he comes over to me and shakes my hand. “Nicely done, Mr. Carpenter, but ultimately futile.”
“How so?”
“We are what we are, and no court can change that. So now you will know our names, just as we know yours. And you will know where we live, just as we know where you live.”
That sounds vaguely like a threat, but I’m not at all sure. “Is that a threat?” I ask.
He laughs. “A threat? Certainly not.” With that he gathers his papers and leaves.
Calvin has overheard the exchange and comes over to me. “The scumbag was threatening you. You gotta tell the judge.”
“There’s nothing he can do. It wasn’t that overt.”
Calvin is incredulous. “ ‘We know where you live’ isn’t overt enough for you? He sounded like Michael Corleone.”
I decide not to tell the judge, since there’s essentially nothing he can do. He might help in providing police protection, but if I want that, I can go straight to Laurie. My going to the judge might also get back to Drummond, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he frightened me, even a little. Which he did.
Besides, I have Marcus, and I plan to ask him to watch over me even more closely from now on.
I spend the rest of the afternoon visiting Jeremy at the jail and then taking Tara for a walk. I briefly wonder if I’m being unfair to Tara by keeping her in Wisconsin so long. Maybe she misses home, the sights and smells, and the neighborhood dogs. Maybe I’m being selfish assuming she’s happy just to be where I am. I make a mental note to speak to her about it.
When I get home, I call Laurie at her office and ask if she’d like to have dinner tonight. She jumps at the opportunity but balks slightly when I suggest we go out to a restaurant. She’s still feeling uncomfortable with exhibiting our relationship publicly, so we compromise and decide on a restaurant in Warren, about twenty-five minutes away, out past Center City.
During the ride I bring her up-to-date on our progress, or lack of it. I have no qualms about doing so; she can be trusted implicitly. Besides, we basically have the same interest: If there’s a bad guy other than Jeremy, we want to catch him.
The restaurant is called the Barn and is just that, a fairly large, spacious barn converted into a cozy restaurant, with six wood-burning fireplaces positioned throughout and sawdust on the floor. I like it as soon as I walk in, and that feeling increases when I see the TV monitors along the walls showing basketball games. Add the jukebox playing U2 in the background, and it’s a fair bet that I’ve found my restaurant of choice in Wisconsin.
Laurie is staring at me as we walk in, watching my reaction. When I notice her doing so, she smiles. “Not bad, huh?”
There’s no way I’m going to admit that Wisconsin has anything worthwhile about it, so I say, “It’s not Charlie’s; I can tell you that.”
“That’s my open-minded Andy. Wait until you taste the hamburgers and fries.”
The waitress takes our drink orders and within minutes comes back with my Bloody Mary. It’s got three olives and a celery stick, not too spicy, exactly the way I like it.
I order a burger and fries, and as is my policy, I ask the waitress to make sure that the fries are not only well-done, but so burned that they would have to be identified through dental records. I do this because many places have an irrational resistance to serving their fries extra crispy, and it’s necessary to emphasize it in this way to overcome that resistance. It doesn’t always work.
It does this time. The fries are perfect, the burger is thick and juicy, the pickles crisp and delicious. Laurie continues to watch my reaction, loving every minute of it. “Admit it, Andy, this place is perfect.”
“Perfect? You must be kidding. It’s filthy… there’s sawdust all over the floor.”
But it really is perfect, and being here with Laurie makes it even more so. I can tell that she feels the same way, because we hardly talk through the entire meal. It’s a gift we’ve always had together, the ability to go long periods without saying a word yet remaining totally connected.
After dinner we drive back to my house, take Tara for a quick walk, then settle down with a glass of wine and a DVD of
The movie ends, and Laurie takes me by the hand and leads me to the bedroom. It’s the perfect end to a perfect evening, and in the moments after we make love and before she falls asleep, Laurie says, “Andy, is there any chance this trial can last forever?”
“I’ll just keep asking for continuances,” I say. “And even if we win, I’ll ask for a penalty phase, just for fun, to see what would have happened.”
She smiles groggily. “Good boy.”
• • • • •
THE PHONE WAKES us just before midnight. I answer it, and an official-sounding voice I don’t recognize asks for “Acting Chief Collins.” That’s quite a coincidence, since at this very moment I’m sleeping with an Acting Chief Collins. It’s a requirement for Acting Chief Collins and all other officers that they leave word as to where they can be reached at all times. It must be somewhat uncomfortable for her to have to leave my number, but she has done so.
I hand the phone to Laurie, whose voice sounds wide awake and does not betray the fact that she has been sleeping. “Collins here.”
She listens for a few moments, then says, “I’ll be right there.” She hangs up and immediately starts to get dressed. I like watching her get dressed; it’s my second favorite thing to watch, with her getting undressed maintaining a comfortable lead in first place.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Some kind of traffic accident. Car on Highway 11 went off the road.”
“And the chief has to go out to handle a traffic accident?”
She shrugs. “It’s a small town, Andy. And it must be a bad accident.”
Laurie’s out of the house within ten minutes, and I’m back asleep within eleven. As I doze off, I realize that I might not be a good chief of police. If I got woken up by a call informing me of a traffic accident, I would tell them to call AAA and I’d go back to sleep.
The clock says that I’ve been asleep for two hours when I hear Laurie come back into the house. She hadn’t said she was coming back, and I’m pleased that she chose to. I slide over to give her room to get into bed when I realize the person entering the house could be Marcus. I slide back, just in case.
I turn on the light and am relieved to see that it is Laurie entering the bedroom. That relief is short-lived when I see her face; I know this woman well, and I know that something is wrong. Horribly wrong.
