“Mr. Veil, this is the D.C. police department calling from the Crossroads Rescue Mission.”
“Yes?”
“It’s about Patrick Miller. He’s dead.”
7
“Mommy, can we go to the movies, or the arcade or something?”
“No Jessica. We’ve already discussed it and the answer is still no.” Fiona Patrick felt bad confining her daughter to the yard. The weather finally shifted and the sun stayed out all day. Perfect, except for the federal agents watching her house.
“We suggest you and your daughter keep close to home, until the Bear is apprehended,” they told her.
In all her years as a lawyer, prosecutor, public defender, and now, federal judge, she’d never been frightened or worried, despite dealings with some of the worst murdering gutter-scum in the world. Drug dealers, bank robbers, child molesters, and gangsters stood before her bench, sometimes promising death, and she never once so much as flinched. However, she didn’t have Jessica for most of those years, and her husband John stood by her. Now, with him gone, life demanded she handle things differently.
“Honey, why don’t we go inside and play video games? How about a little Play Station?”
“No! I want to go out!” Jessica shouted, her bottom lip poking out.
“We haven’t been anywhere for almost a week!”
“I know honey and I’m sorry. It won’t be for much longer.” I hope .
“This is no way to treat an eight year old. I’m almost an adult.” Jessica stomped her foot like a horse counting out numbers at a carnival sideshow, arms folded defiantly across her chest.
“Well, I don’t know about that, but tell you what. If you’re good and change that attitude, we’ll go out to dinner later, maybe even the arcade or the movies. In fact, let’s do it.”
Fiona kissed Jessica on the cheek. Normally she’d punish her for such an outrageous outburst, but she was a little stir crazy herself.
Getting out would give them both a break, and they were going no matter what the federal stiffs said. She didn’t like living in fear.
Tonight we’re going to have a normal night out, I don’t care what the Secret Service says.
“Okay mom,” said Jessica, a look of great satisfaction on her face.
“Deal!” Jessica ran off into the yard, jumped on her bike, and sped away-her lips spitting motorcycle bursts.
“Be careful honey, it’s still a little slippery out,” Fiona shouted.
Jessica disappeared without a word.
Several trucks filled with yard workers and equipment pulled through the gates. With spring finally peeking through, she thought it a good idea to have her flower gardens tilled. Just the therapy I need. I’ll ask Fernando if we can plant the rose bush bulbs I flew in from South America.
The crew unloaded the truck. Fiona took a cleansing breath. She loved the therapy of working in the garden. She and John often worked in it together, and he loved it as much as she did, maybe more. She smiled, remembering the night Jessica was conceived there, and ached for John even more.
She watched two Secret Service agents, on loan to her from the White House, speak to Fernando, her head caretaker. The agents finished, and the Guatemalan landscaper made his way to her, all smiles and waves.
“Good afternoon Fernando,” she said, smiling and shaking his hand.
“I’m sorry about the inconvenience. I hope they won’t be in your way.”
“No ma’am, don’t be sorry. I read about the crazy man that’s killing judges and I worry about you. Don’t be sorry.”
“Thank you Fernando. Do you think it’s too early to turn the soil and plant rose bulbs?”
“Not too early for the soil, but we should wait a bit longer for the roses. I checked the ground and it’s plenty soft enough to turn. I brought the big tiller just in case. We’ll turn what we can, put the equipment in the shed, and come back tomorrow if the weather stays nice.”
“Thank you Fernando. I’m going to start on the main flower garden in the back. If you can spare one of your men, can you send him around to assist me?”
“Don’t worry Lady Patrick, I’ll take care of everything. I’ll send someone as soon as we get settled.”
Fernando went back to the truck and Fiona’s heart sank a little.
Despite the momentary lift, being cooped up in the house depressed her.
She sulked over to a patio chair and plopped down, arms folded across her chest. A second later, she burst into laughter. So, that’s where she gets it.
Most of the snow melted away in the afternoon sun, revealing more than a few dead flowers and weeds. Fiona picked up a garden hoe and chopped the withered foliage into pieces. She hummed as she worked.
The music lifted her out of her funk. Then, as quickly as it came, her good mood floated into a dense depressing fog.
She mourned her close friends, Judge Weiss and his wife Emily.
When the FBI informed her they’d been killed, she thought she’d pass out right in front of them.
She forced the agents to describe the murder scene, playing the hard and seasoned magistrate. The grizzly details turned her legs to rubber, like the day John died. Her breathing labored, she felt dizzy and sat down. It wasn’t that she couldn’t deal with the images, she’d seen and heard much worst. Judge Weiss and Emily, however, were her friends, and hearing how they’d been mangled and killed hit her harder than she anticipated.
Fiona wondered what kind of demented monster could do such a thing. As rapidly as the question ran through her mind, the horrifying answer stabbed at her. The kind who could kill a little girl. She stopped working and shut her eyes. Her teeth chattered. Her body trembled.
She shook it off, determined not to give in. A nervous resolve replaced her depression and ghoulish fear. Tomorrow she’d call her good friend and mentor, Barbara. She’ll know what I should do next.
“Mommy come play with me. Push me on the swing,” Jessica bellowed from across the yard.
Fiona gathered herself, wiping the pools from her eyes. “Just a second baby,” she called back, her voice scratchy, weak.
Her focus cleared. A landscaper working on the other side of garden startled her. She didn’t hear him walk over, and hoped he hadn’t seen her tears.
The sandy-brown haired man with a push-broom mustache carefully chopped and cleared the soil like he’d done it since birth. Smiling, he seemed to enjoy the work.
“Excuse me,” said Fiona. “I didn’t hear you walk up. I hope I wasn’t rude.”
“No ma’am, not at all,” the gardener answered, in a thick Australian accent. “I saw you were occupied and didn’t want to disturb ya. I hope that was okay.”
Fiona removed her gloves, walked over, and introduced herself.
“Pleased to meet you mum,” he replied, his mustache rising as he smiled.
“Mommy, you said you’d push me,” interrupted Jessica, creeping up behind, and hugging her mother’s leg.
“I was about to, hun, but I wanted to say hello to this nice man first.
Introduce yourself.”
Jessica marched over like a soldier, gave the man a brisk handshake, barking out name, rank, and serial number.
“My name’s McPhee,” he said. Stephan McPhee, but you can call me Mick.”
“You talk funny,” said Jessica, giggling, her hands playfully covering her mouth.
“Jessica,” said Fiona, embarrassed. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”
“I was only kidding,” answered Jessica, her hands on her hips.
“Not a problem mum,” said Mick, his smile a little wider. “Where I’m from, you’re the ones who talk funny.” All three burst into laughter.
