Beyond Justice (5 page)

She lifted her index finger.  "We’ll be leaving now."

As Pearson and her partner started for the door, Batey whispered, "Very sorry for your loss, sir."  I couldn’t get myself up to see them to the door. 
I gripped the arms of my recliner and nodded half-heartedly.

"Come on, Randy," Pearson droned and shooed him out the door.  She was about to close it behind her when she peeked back in.  "You might be hearing from the District Attorney’s office.  Try not to be so defensive."

Chapter Seven

  The initial forensic reports from the crime lab arrived.  Anita Pearson had her killer.  She knew it in her gut, which in her five years as detective, had never been wrong.  Almost never.  Yesterday's visit to Sam Hudson confirmed it.

Victim number one—Jennifer Hudson—died of multiple stab wounds.  There were signs of blunt force trauma to the head. 

Victim number two—Bethany Hudson—died of multiple stab wounds.  Traces of semen found on her along with pubic hairs from the attacker.  This was all it took for Anita to charge like a rhino into the D.A.’s office.

"We’ve got the right guy," she said to Thomas Walden.  "I knew it the moment I laid eyes on him."

"Hudson?  Come on, how’s it going to look going after the husband?  He just lost his family."

"How’s it going to look if you don’t get a conviction?  Hudson did it.  I need a search warrant."

"Anita, there’s this little thing called due process."

"He knows we’re on to him.  If we don’t hurry, he might just take a flight to Buenos Aires and fall off the radar."

"You closed the crime scene already."

"It happened in the man's home, for Chrissakes.  We searched what we could inside and around the house.  But I need to see his personal computer, his file cabinets."

"You want a warrant based on what, a hunch?"  The D.A. scribbled something onto his desk blotter-calendar.  Probably writing down a reminder to take his poodle to the groomer. 
Pig.

Without taking his eyes from his calendar he muttered, "You're risking a Probable Cause hearing." He finished scribbling and looked back up.  "Come back when you have something more solid."

"You want solid?  Go ahead and authorize the crime lab to expedite Hudson’s DNA samples—top of the list."  She fixed an icy gaze.  "And I’ll bring you probable cause on a silver platter."

"Oh, really?"

"But delay things, and this guy vanishes before we match him?  I’ll be serving you pie, your choice: humble or crow, either way it’ll be all over your face."

Three ridges creased Walden’s forehead.  He reclined in his leather chair, put his hands behind his head, leaned back, then smiled.  "Everything legit with the sample collection?"

"Voluntary...  more or less."

He lowered his reading glasses and cast her a doubtful look, exasperation rising like steam from a cow pie.

"It
was.
"

"Oh, all right.  I’ll get the warrant, but I won’t expedite the tests."

She stood up, rapped her knuckles on his desk. "This’ll be a slam-dunk."

"I'll have Larry draw it up."

"Oh, great."  Why'd it have to be weasely, ex-boyfriend Larry?

As she walked towards the door, Walden said, "Anita..."

"What?"

"I want this conviction as much as you do.  Same sides, right?"

Pearson turned around, opened the door and muttered, "Right." 

"Don’t you forget it."

She was already gone.

Chapter Eight

For the next few days, paperwork and drudgery dominated my life.  Death certificates, insurance forms, fending off reporters.  The mere act of getting out of bed seemed insurmountable.  Each day the sun rose and intruded through the window of the guest room.  I still could not bring myself to sleep in my own bed.  Though I had it cleaned, the chill of death still lingered.

Nearly two weeks passed.  Despite the fact I was living off of pizza, Chinese take-out, and all manner of high-calorie junk, I lost ten pounds.  Dave dropped by now and then to see if I was okay and to offer help in any way I might need.  Initially I declined, but by the third week, I was so overwhelmed that I tossed my pride and accepted.

"I'm not sure what I need," I said, letting him into my house, which looked like the bachelor pad from hell.  Boxes of stale pizza strewn everywhere, black garbage bags that should have been thrown out a week ago, and dirty laundry obscured the floor.  "I just don’t know."

"I think I might have a clue."

Later that day, Dave showed up with four people from Jenn’s Bible study group.  They arrived with brooms, mops, and other supplies to clean the house and dig me out.

"Oh, I couldn't—"

"You should go and see Aaron.  Take all the time you need." Dave picked my car keys and jacket off the floor and handed them to me. 

A white haired lady, holding a mop said, "Go on, Mister Hudson." She patted my cheek with a maternal hand.  "We'll just tidy up a bit while you're out."

It was hard to say no to a person that reminded me of Aunt Susan.  Even harder to refuse an offer to have my landfill cleaned.  Suddenly,  words began to fail.  "I just—I don't know what to…"

"It's okay, Sam." Dave turned my shoulders, facing me towards the garage.  "Go ahead and be with your son."

Aaron was stable, though still comatose.  The doctors had nothing new to report.  About all I could do was hold his hand, speak to him and just be there.    For about an hour I stayed with him, just holding his hand, talking to him, now that it was okay to do so.

"Remember that trip to Wild Animal Park we were talking about?"  I brushed a hand through his hair.  "Well, I'm taking you there.  We'll see rhinos, lions, you can chase the ducks all you want this time."  The words caught in my throat.  "You just need to wake up soon.  Okay Aaron?"  Tears filled my eyes.  "I miss you."

The nurse came in, apologized and turned away.

Wiping my face with my arm, I waved her back.  "It's okay.  Just about ready to go."

Without aim, I drove on the freeway until I arrived at La Jolla cove.  There, I sat on a warm rock, watching the tide-pooling kids holding hands with their parents.  Soon, as the waves began to roll in, churning white froth in the rocky crags, the families vanished.  Even the seals left the protected shore, leaving me alone with thoughts that were fast becoming unwelcome residents in my mind.

Two hours later, when I came home, the house looked as clean as it had ever been.  The carpet had been vacuumed and shampooed.  All my papers were neatly arranged.  Decorations were set back in place.  On top of that, for the first time since Jenn’s death, the scent of home-cooked food floated sweetly in the air.

As I entered, haunting echoes filled my mind—the kids running to me, assaulting me with hugs and giggles as they did every night when I came home from work.  Bethie would put her violin down and jump into my arms, even though she knew she was getting too big for that.

"Daddy, daddy," Aaron would shout.  "Fly me!"  I'd pick him up, hold him horizontal and run all the way down the hall, the two of us shouting,
To the sky, past the moon and into the heavens.  
To infinity and beyond
!

What I wouldn’t give now to look into the kitchen and catch a glimpse of Jenn, with that knowing smile she had on our Wednesday "date" nights.

In the foyer, Dave and the others were putting on their sweaters and jackets.  Lorraine, the elderly lady who reminded me of Aunt Susan smiled and patted my cheek.  "There’s a casserole in the oven, dear.  Just heat it at 350 for ten minutes."

"I'm speechless."  The house almost looked like my home again.  "Thank you.  Thank you all."

Dave smiled.  "Jenn was a sister to us."

Since Jenn started attending City on a Hill, I had stiff armed them, cast them with the rest of the religious hypocrites.  These people, however, were unlike any of the other religious people I’d known.

So moved was I by their kindness that I did something I never dreamed I’d do.  I invited them to join me for dinner.

___________________

The unexpected food shortage crisis was quickly averted when Lorraine sent Alan to Vons to get more chicken and vegetables.  The aroma of buttered rolls, roasted rotisserie chicken, sweet white corn on the cob, and sautéed vegetables made my mouth water.

I sat at the table with my guests, certain that by the end of the night I’d be preached at, pressured—albeit politely—to confess my sins and give my life to Jesus, Hallelujah!   But the closest it came to that was Dave asking if he could give thanks before we ate.  Of course he could.  Were she here, Jenn would have had it no other way.

For the rest of the evening, we recalled things about Jenn and Bethie, some of which I would never have otherwise known, because their religious life was something I never took part in.

By the meal’s end, we retired to the living room with coffee and happily distended bellies.   Alan, who had come with his wife Samantha, leaned forward and drew a slow breath.

"Mister Hudson," Alan said.

"Please, everyone just call me Sam, okay?"

Alan's wife Samantha grinned.  "Might get confusing."

"I’m wondering, Sam," Alan continued.  "Would it be okay if we prayed for you tonight?"

"I don’t know."  I shifted in my chair.  "I’m not all that comfortable with it."

"Honey," his wife said.  "He's not—"

"Really," I said.  "It’s all right.  I appreciate it, but it’s not necessary."

"Don’t be shy, Sam," Alan said.  "Anything at all, just say the word."

"Honey, please," Samantha’s brow wrinkled.  "He said he’s not comfortable."

An awkward silence fell.

"Well," I said, to break the ice and bail poor Alan out, "My son could use all the prayers he can get."  Right away I regretted it.  I began to imagine some kind of snake-handling, holy roller, voodoo session.  But it was too late to rescind now.

Dave nodded and came forward.  Alan took hold of his wife’s hand, who in turn took Lorraine’s, and so on until the entire group encircled me.

Here goes.

Again, there was silence.  But it was an expectant silence.  Like something truly remarkable was about to happen.

And it did.

It started with a low-pitched rumble under our feet.  Then came the creaking of the house’s wood frame.  Windows rattled.  Before long, the entire house was shuddering.  Reminded me of my childhood subway rides on the D-Train into Manhattan.  A light side to side rocking.

Lorraine let out a gasp.

The group began to pray simultaneously.

Though everyone else’s eyes were squeezed shut, mine remained wide open.   A warm, tingling sensation trickled from the top of my head down my spine and spread through my body.  Another fifteen seconds and it was over—the prayers and the tremors.

Lorraine was the first to speak.  "You’d think after thirty years in California, I’d be used to these earthquakes."

"Sure you didn’t plan this
with the Man?" I smiled at her and pointed heavenward.  "Because it wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to scare me into religion."

She shook her head.  "I’ve been jumpy ever since Northridge.  Don’t you get scared?"

"Not really.  Just another little San Diego tremor.  We’re pretty far from any major fault lines."  Lorraine blushed and laughed.  "Thank you for the prayers.  I can honestly say it was earth-shaking." 

Whether it had been a true spiritual experience or an emotional high, their prayers helped.  I no longer felt isolated.  Someone knew my pain, someone cared.

And they didn’t even ask me to say the Sinner’s Prayer.

Chapter Nine

The morning after, I called George, my supervisor at the office but he didn't pick up.  Probably saw my number on his caller ID and let it roll over to voicemail.  I needed to come in and copy a couple of files from my work computer which contained life insurance contact information.  The very idea of getting paid for Jenn and Bethie’s deaths repulsed me, but the funeral and the burial had cost thousands.  We’d depleted our cash reserves on our new house.  Reserves were something I had to seriously consider now as Aaron’s insurance deductibles were beginning to pile up.  What would happen if, God forbid, I should lose my job and benefits?

I called Human Resources to discuss issues of insurance claims.  Amanda answered.  She seemed startled and abruptly put me on hold.  A cheesy popcorn version of
We've Only Just Begun
played while I waited.

"Sorry to keep you, Sam," she finally said.  "How are you doing?"

"I’d be lying if I said fine."

"I’m so sorry."

"Amanda, I need to talk to you about my life insurance benefits."