A Judgment of Whispers (9 page)

Adam could tell by his parents' acidic tones that they were still in the ranks of those convinced that Zack Collier had killed Teresa Ewing. Though nobody could prove it, it was the only theory that made sense. The boy had been a teenager playing with much younger children. With a hair-trigger temper and his hormones in full flower, Zack Collier simply had to be the one who killed that girl.

“He's not a monster, Dad,” Adam replied, defending his childhood friend. “Or at least he wasn't when I left.”

His mother huffed up. “We didn't say he was a monster, Adam. He's just so big and—I don't know—strange. You should have seen him going after those tapes.”

“He always liked to watch tapes,” said Adam. “Movies, cartoons, anything you could put on a screen.”

His mother refilled her wineglass, sloshing a little on the table. “Do you want me to call his mother and buy them back?”

“No, I might stop over there. I'd like to see Zack again.”

“There's no need for that,” said his father.

Adam shook his head. “I want to see everybody once more. Butch, Kevin, and Zack.”

“What on earth for?” cried his mother.

“Just to say hello,” he replied, wishing that his heart was brave enough to say why he really wanted to see them.
I want to tell them I'm sorry. I want to tell them I'm not the chickenshit they think I am. I want to tell them that I didn't even know I was leaving town until we were halfway to the airport.

Twelve

Grace Collier's hand shook
slightly as she held out the pills for her son. Sertraline for depression, Geodon for seizures, and Abilify for anxiety. Zack scooped them from her hand and gulped them down with a glass of orange juice. “Where's Clara?” he asked. “She usually gives me the pills.”

“She took the day off,” said Grace. “Remember? You and I are going downtown today.”

“To the bakery?” Zack never forgot any place that dished out sweets.

“Sure, we can go there.”

She'd agonized over telling him the real reason for their trip and had decided to spool out the information, slowly chumming him along with treats. By the time he was scheduled for the DNA test, the Abilify would have taken effect. He would be nervous, but not terrified. And Mary Crow said she'd arranged for him to get special treatment at the police station. Grace could only pray that was true.

“Ready!” Zack finished his juice.

She held out his escape from the world, a portable DVD player. “You want to watch a cartoon or just talk on the way?”

“Cartoons,” he said, plugging in the ear buds. “You smackertalk too much.”

She nodded. Sometimes his hearing was so acute that he couldn't tolerate even the sounds of vocalization—the hissing of s's, the percussive smacks of b's and p's. Though the enforced silence of their life often made her want to scream, today she was relieved. She could listen to a podcast on her iPhone and not think about what was to come.

Amazingly, she found a parking space in front of the bakery. As she turned off the engine, she looked up and saw the Palladian windows of Mary Crow's office. She knew Mary was waiting for them, but she had to stop by the bakery first. Reneging on a promise to Zack was never a good idea.

“Come on, buddy,” she told him. “Let's go see what they've got.”

He withdrew his ear buds and followed her inside. The cases were filled with éclairs and cookies, tarts and pies. A few people sat at the little tables, talking over coffee. They would take no notice of him until he started to speak. Then they would look at him, then her, and share a knowing glance with their companions.
A mentally challenged adult. His soon-to-be-old mother. How sad. How noble.
If Zack behaved, they would think no more about it. If Zack went off the rails, then the bakery would empty in a heartbeat. She'd gone through it too many times not to know what would happen.

She walked over to stand at Zack's elbow. “What would you like, honey?”

“That.” He pointed to a bear claw, then a crème horn, then a cherry turnover.

“Choose two,” she said. “You can have one now, and another later.” She held her breath, waiting. If the drugs had kicked in, he'd be happy with two; if they hadn't, he might want everything in the place.

He pointed to the cherry tarts and the crème horns. “I want one of those, please,” he told the girl behind the counter. “And one of those.”

Grace felt a wave of relief. Two was going to be enough.

She paid for the pastries, then they left the bakery through a back door. A sign for Ravenel & Crow pointed upstairs, so she started up a wide interior staircase. “Come on, Zack. Let's go see a friend of mine.”

“Who?” he asked, his mouth already full of cherry tart.

“Mary Crow. She came to our house the other day. She's nice.”

They walked into a small reception room. A diminutive woman in a pale blue business suit sat behind a desk decorated with a vase of fresh flowers and two miniature flags—Old Glory next to the Union Jack.

“Good morning,” she said, her accent sounding straight off the BBC. “May I help you?”

“We're here to see Mary Crow,” Grace replied.

Smiling, the woman checked her schedule. “Mrs. Collier, then. And Zachary?”

Grace nodded.

“Wonderful. If you'll take a seat, I'll tell Mary you're here.”

Grace was backing toward the sofa when Mary herself opened an office door on the other side of the room. “Thanks, Annette,” she told her secretary. “I'm ready.”

“Shall I bring tea?” asked Annette. “Or coffee?”

“Nothing for us, thank you.” Grace smiled.

“Then come on in.” Mary held her office door open. “Welcome, Zack,” she said softly as he lumbered into the room. “I'm Mary Crow.”

“Nicetomeetyou,” he mumbled.

They walked into a soft yellow office that overlooked Main Street. Law books lined the walls, interspersed with Cherokee baskets and a carved bear mask. Behind her desk hung an intricate tapestry woven in rich greens and deep, vibrant blues.

“Uwodu
,” Grace said, admiring the tapestry.

“Thanks,” Mary replied. “From my
agiji.”

“Your mother's very talented,” Grace said. “Does she work locally?”

“No,” said Mary. “She passed away, some years ago.”

“Of course,” Grace said, noting the sadness in Mary's eyes. “You mentioned her at the breakfast the other day. I had no idea she was such a gifted artist.”

“She had an amazing sense of color,” said Mary. She nodded at the two armchairs that faced her desk. “Please, sit down.”

Grace took one of the armchairs, but Zack remained standing. Finally he asked, “Mama, can I sit by the window?”

“That's a good idea, Zack,” said Grace. “Mary and I need to talk.” She'd hoped he'd plug in to his cartoons. If he heard the words
police
or
detective,
things could get dicey. She relaxed a bit when he flopped down beneath the window and re-inserted his ear buds.

Mary came over and sat on the edge of her desk. “I know he doesn't like loud talking. Is this okay?”

Grace nodded. “Perfect.”

“Okay. Here's the deal—the police need Zack to give his sample in their lab to keep the chain of evidence clean. But Cochran's willing to let him come through the back entrance, so it won't seem like he's going to jail. It's only a cheek swab, so it won't be nearly as traumatic as before.”

“Will Detective Whaley be there? He just sends Zack into a panic.”

“I can't control who's there. But Cochran promised to remind Whaley that he's got a special needs suspect. Shall we ride over together?”

Grace knew that Zack got nervous when strangers were unexpectedly introduced into his equations. “How about we take two cars and meet you there?”

“That's fine,” said Mary. “I'll have Annette call Cochran's secretary and let her know we're on the way.”

Zack remained calm, at least until they pulled into the Justice Center parking lot. Grace had hoped he would keep watching cartoons until they parked, but he looked up as they passed the black-and-white squad cars in front of the building.

“No!” he cried. “I don't want to go here!”

“Its okay, Zack,” she told him as he hurled the DVD player at the dashboard. “It's not going to be like the last time.”

“No! I'm not going!”

He unbuckled his seat belt and started fumbling with the door handle as she sped to the back of the building. Careening sharply into a vacant parking space, she tried to get a grip on him. “Listen to me! We have to do this. We don't have any choice!”

“Smackertalker! Smackertalker!” he bellowed, batting at her with his hands.

She fended off his blows, wanting to scream. She was afraid to give him another Abilify, but if he went inside the building like this, they would tase him or put him in jail. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed his chin and pulled his face toward hers.

“You remember Caillou? On TV? Remember how Caillou always trusts his teacher? Even when he's scared?”

Zack just looked at her.

“Well, today you need to be like Caillou, and trust me. I know you're scared. I know you hate those policemen. But this won't be like it was before. They won't hurt you. That lady Mary Crow promised me that.”

“I want to go home!” yelled Zack.

“I do too. And we will. But first they need to rub a Q-tip on the inside of your cheek. It won't hurt.” Grace prayed she was right; prayed there wouldn't be fingerprints and mug shots.

“How long will it take?”

“Five minutes.” Again, she lied. She had no idea how long this would take.

“That's all?”

“Yes, honey. I promise.”

He sat forward in the seat crying, rubbing his forehead on the dashboard. She watched him, looking at the strong arms that might have, in a different life, thrown a football or escorted a girl to a prom or even held a baby of his own. She was reaching to touch his shoulder when someone tapped on her window. She turned. Mary Crow was standing there.

“Ready?” she asked.

Grace held up one finger and turned to Zack. “Come on, Zack. We need to go. Mary Crow is waiting.”

He lifted teary eyes toward Mary. For a moment Grace couldn't tell what he was going to do, then he wiped his nose and said, “Okay.”

They got out of the car and followed Mary to the back entrance of the jail. Though Zack shuffled his feet like an old man, he came more or less willingly. When they got to the lab, Mary opened the door. Grace's heart sank. Buck Whaley was sitting on a stool, chatting with a girl in a white coat.

“Well, look who's here,” he boomed. “Ol' Zack Collier and his mama. And Ms. Mary Crow, herself.”

“Put a lid on it, Whaley,” Mary warned.

Grinning, he rose from the stool and stepped toward Zack, putting a hand on his shoulder. By police brutality standards, it was nothing. By Zack's standards, it was horrific.

“Mama!” He shrugged off Whaley's hand and turned to Grace, tears again streaming. “I want to go home!”

“What are you cryin' about now?” asked Whaley. “I'm just trying to get you on that stool. Boy, I think you're puttin' on an act. I think you been puttin' one on for years.”

“Detective!” Mary stepped between Zack and the beefy cop. “My client is a special needs case. You need to proceed accordingly.”

“Shut up shut up shut up!” Zack screamed. “Quit smackertalking!”

Suddenly Zack pushed away from them both. Mary went flying into Whaley, the top of her head banging into his face. The two of them stumbled, knocking over the stool. The lab technician yelped. As blood began to spurt from Whaley's nose, he reached for his Taser. All at once a tall, skinny man appeared in the doorway. He wore jeans and a blue dress shirt, and his dark hair was curly and flecked with gray.

“You don't need to Taser him!” The man stepped in front of Zack. “Just quit yelling. He's got hypersensitive hearing.”

Whaley pushed Mary Crow to one side and pointed his Taser at the stranger. “Who the hell are you?”

“Next in line for a swab, Detective Whaley,” the man said calmly. “Name's Adam Shaw.”

“Adam!” Zack flung his arms around the man's shoulders. “You came back!”

“I sure did, buddy,” said Adam Shaw, still keeping his eyes on Whaley. “Just to see you.”

For a long moment, nobody moved. Then Whaley turned to Mary Crow, one great paw trying to staunch the blood streaming from his nose. “Can you control your client, Ms. Crow?”

“I can control him,” said Grace, “if you'll just speak softly and not touch him. He's terrified of you.”

“As well he should be.” Whaley reholstered the Taser and glared at Adam Shaw. “Since you two have this little bromance going on, I'll just watch while you work this out. But I need DNA from both of you.”

Grace took Zack's hand. “Come on … ”

“Wait.” Adam turned to her. “Let me go first. Zack can watch. We'll show Detective Whaley we're not afraid of him.”

“Yeah,” said Zack, thrilled to have an ally against the cop.

The lab tech handed Whaley a box of tissues, then filled out a new sheet of paperwork. As Adam took a seat on the stool, she donned a pair of latex gloves and pulled a long swab from a paper wrapper. She stepped over to Adam, but spoke to Zack in a soft voice. “Okay, Big Guy. You watch what I'm going to do. Your buddy's going to open his mouth and I'm going to rub the inside of his cheek with this. After that, it'll be your turn.”

Adam opened his mouth as Zack watched the procedure. After the lab tech sealed up the swab in a sleeve, Adam grinned. “Piece of cake, Zack. You won't even feel it.” He hopped off the stool. “Now you sit here and I'll keep an eye on Detective Whaley.”

To Grace's amazement, Zack complied. He got on the stool and opened his mouth wide, as if he were at the dentist's office. The lab tech saw her chance and quickly swabbed the inside of his cheek. Thirty seconds later, she was finished.

“Good job, buddy!” Adam gave Zack a high five, then turned to Whaley. “We should be done here, according to my attorney.”

“You are done here,” said Mary. “I am an attorney.”

“Then come on.” Adam grabbed Zack around the shoulders. “Let's go.”

The pair walked out the door. They brushed against Whaley, who was standing there holding a tissue to his nose. He started to say something, but Mary pointedly cleared her throat, her eyes hard on his. Aware of her presence, he said no more, but closed his mouth in a thin, angry line. Grace and Mary walked past him. When they got out into the hall, Whaley slammed the lab door shut behind them.

Grace leaned back against the wall, weak with relief. “Dear Lord,” she whispered to Mary. “Are you alright?”

“Just disgusted. I've never been that close to Buck Whaley before.”

“I'm so sorry,” she apologized. “Zack didn't mean to hurt you. Whaley just scares him so.”

“He scares me too.” Mary rubbed the spot where her head had connected with Whaley's nose.

“Zack panics when he's scared. Or frustrated. Or just doesn't understand what's going on. Thank God for Adam Shaw.”