Goodbye to the Dead (Jonathan Stride Book 7) (19 page)

He leaned down and whispered.

‘I am God,’ he told her.

Then in a single smooth motion, he shoved the barrel of the gun into his own mouth and blew off the back of his head.

34

Janine had never given much thought to walls. As a rule, she didn’t like them. She preferred to stare through windows. Her office had large windows, and so did her house, and there was something about the openness of the view that made her feel free. Which she wasn’t. Not anymore. She realized as she looked around the drab holding cell that walls were about to become a big part of her life, and she would need to make peace with them.

Clothes, too. The uniform of prisoners at the women’s correctional facility in Shakopee consisted of jeans, a denim shirt, and sneakers. She had no need of fashion anymore. She’d already decided to donate her wardrobe to charity for sale at an auction. The executive from the American Heart Association told her they’d make a lot of money that way. He looked sheepish about admitting that people would bid astronomical sums to own the clothes of a surgeon-turned-murderer. Janine wondered who those strange people were, and whether they would actually wear her clothes in public.

Archie waited for her to regain her focus. She found herself mostly unable to think since the verdict. Even knowing the likely outcome, she really hadn’t taken time to consider what it meant for her. And now, with all these changes in front of her, she found she could barely concentrate. She was being carried along by a river, and it would take her wherever it wanted.

‘The appeal process will continue,’ Archie said. He looked calm, but there was no jovial smile and no jokes today. He wore his pressed, tailored suit, which reminded her that he was part of a club – the outside world – of which she was no longer a member. She didn’t hold it against him.

‘On what grounds?’ she asked.

‘There are always grounds. We’ll analyze the transcript. Technicalities may seem like small things, but they can loom large on appeal.’

She allowed herself a smile. ‘And really, Archie, how often does this bear fruit?’

He rubbed his salt-and-pepper goatee. He didn’t bury the truth for her under false hope. ‘Not often.’

‘No. I didn’t think so.’

‘This Ross Klayman incident may change things, however,’ Archie said.

Janine thought about the mall, where she’d often walked and shopped. She thought about Cindy wrestling a gunman and saving a teenager’s life. A hero. From time to time, Cindy had talked about being jealous of Janine and about how physical therapists helped people but they didn’t really save people. Which was all wrong, in Janine’s view. She wondered if Cindy felt differently about herself today.

‘What a terrible thing,’ Janine said. ‘What makes a man do something like that?’

‘I don’t think there are any answers to that question. Even so, the fact that Jay saw this man with a gun – and that Klayman did this
—
’

‘Ross Klayman didn’t kill Jay. Let’s not kid ourselves.’

Archie studied her with his sharp blue eyes. ‘You don’t know that for sure, Janine. Do you?’

She got the message. It’s not about reality. It’s about the law. ‘I just don’t want to exploit this tragedy.’

‘It’s not exploitation. It’s a reasonable question given the facts and given Klayman’s behavior.’

‘I hear you, Archie,’ she said. ‘Now can we get back to the real world?’

The lawyer nodded. ‘Judge Edblad will probably announce a sentence at the hearing next month. The guidelines call for a sentence between twenty-two and thirty years, and given your history and the lack of aggravating factors, I think we can expect a sentence on the lower end. I’ll argue for a downward departure from the guidelines but, candidly, I don’t expect it.’ Archie hesitated. ‘Here’s something for you to consider, Janine. A confession and statement of remorse might get sympathy from the court.’

She smiled sweetly. ‘Even if I didn’t shoot him, Archie?’

They stared at each other for a long time before her lawyer shook his head. It was one of the only times she’d been able to see inside his mind. He thought she was guilty. ‘No,’ Archie replied. ‘I can’t advise you to say something that isn’t true.’

‘Well then. What does all of that mean in terms of time in prison?’

‘You can typically expect to serve at least two-thirds of your sentence before being considered for supervised release. So if the sentence is twenty-five years, that would be almost seventeen years of time in Shakopee.’

Some of her coolness faltered. She hadn’t dwelt on the reality, but seventeen years was a lot of reality. The prime of life gone. She would no longer be young or beautiful at the end. She would be a felon in her mid-fifties with little money left and no profession. It was almost harder to imagine stepping back onto the street than spending the years behind the prison walls.

‘Seventeen years,’ she murmured.

Archie was silent. No doubt he’d seen this drama play out many times before.

‘What will it be like?’ she asked.

‘Prison life is mostly about routine and rules,’ he replied.

‘How exciting.’

‘You can have visitors.’

‘There’s no one to visit me,’ she said.

He had no answer for that one. She had no parents. No siblings. No friends who would travel to see her. And no husband, obviously.

‘Do I have to worry about my physical safety?’ she went on.

‘In general, no, but there are always risks. Most of the inmates are non-violent offenders, but Shakopee is the only women’s prison in the state. Women who commit violent crimes go there, too.’

‘Like me,’ Janine pointed out.

Archie heard the sarcasm in her voice. He leaned across the table and took her hands. He played the grandfather now. ‘Listen, Janine, I won’t pretend that this is anything but what it is. Hard. Long. Painful. That said, it is not the end of your life. As impossible at it may seem right now, you’ll have to find a way to embrace it.’

‘Embrace it,’ Janine said. She smoothed her blond hair. ‘What would that look like, do you suppose?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Well, you’re honest, Archie. The fact is, I’m a doctor. That’s all I am. It’s my whole life. I never wanted to be anything else. And now I can’t be that anymore. So what do you suggest I do?’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t know. However, you’re not the only doctor in prison. Some find other ways to use their professional knowledge. Others decide to explore a completely different side of themselves.’

‘You’re assuming I have one,’ Janine said.

Archie waited. Then he said: ‘Are you a danger to yourself?’

‘You mean suicide?’

‘Yes, that’s what I mean.’

‘No, Archie. That’s the good thing about being an incorrigible narcissist. We can’t imagine depriving the world of our presence.’

‘I’m serious,’ he said.

‘So am I.’

Archie tried to see if there was any real threat behind the jokes, but smarter men than he had tried and failed to decipher the riddle of Janine Snow. She took pride in that.

‘You’re wrong,’ she told him.

‘About what?’

‘This
is
the end. It’s like death, really. People go away, and we go on with our lives. That’s what’s going to happen to me. I’ll go away, and people will forget about me. I hate that.’

‘That’s not true. How many lives have you saved? Those people and their families aren’t going to forget you. I imagine many of them still thank you in their prayers every night.’

She shook her head. ‘I wish they wouldn’t do that. It’s a waste of time. Patients are always sending me gifts, knitting me sweaters, lighting candles for me. I wish they’d stop and accept it for what it is. Some debts aren’t meant to be repaid. It’s better not to try.’

He didn’t have an answer for her. Instead, he gathered his papers and stood up. ‘I’ll be in touch as I know more,’ he said.

‘Of course.’

Janine’s eyes traveled from wall to wall. She wasn’t any closer to accepting them. Each time she looked, it seemed as if the walls had pushed inward, making the space around her smaller.

‘So what would it take?’ she asked. ‘To throw out the conviction.’

‘The appeal process
—
’

‘Not the appeal,’ she said. ‘I’m not talking about legal loopholes. I mean, what would it take to really prove that I didn’t shoot Jay? Enough for a judge to release me.’

Archie looked down at her, trying to gauge if she was serious. After all, he still believed that she was the one who pulled the trigger. ‘Honestly?’ he asked. ‘The gun. And the jewelry. In someone else’s hands.’

*

Howard sat in Judge Edblad’s office. He’d dressed in a tie again, the way he had during the trial. His collar was moist where his neck sweated. The office in the courthouse was formal, with an oak desk and a flag, but he also saw pictures of the judge with his family and posters on the walls from Disney World. It was strange to think of the judge as a human being.

‘Mr. Marlowe,’ Judge Edblad said, entering the office from the corridor and taking a seat across from him at the conference table. He wore a suit, not the robe he’d worn in the courtroom. ‘My clerk said you wanted to talk to me.’

‘Yes.’

Howard tried to go on. He’d rehearsed the words, and now they left him. He didn’t know what to say.

‘Well, what can I do for you?’

‘It’s about the trial of Dr. Snow. I’m having second thoughts.’

‘Second thoughts? In what way?’

‘I voted with the others to convict her. I said she was guilty, but now I’m not sure.’

The judge tented his fingers on the table. He didn’t roll his eyes or tell Howard that he was a fool. There was a patience about the man that Howard liked. ‘Why is that?’ he asked.

‘I just – I just wonder if she really did it. And now with the news of that killer in the mall
—
’

‘That was a horrifying incident,’ the judge agreed. ‘If the police uncover any evidence to suggest that Mr. Klayman could have murdered Mr. Ferris, then Dr. Snow’s attorney will certainly file a motion to throw out her conviction. However, that’s not anything you need to concern yourself with.’

‘I know. I’m just having doubts.’

‘I understand. I’d like you to answer a few questions for me. Did any of the other jurors pressure you to vote to convict? Were you subject to any threats or intimidation?’

‘Oh, no. I mean, I was the only hold-out at first, but they didn’t pressure me. Eleanor was good. She talked me through the evidence. In the end, I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I don’t know.’

‘So when I asked you in the courtroom to confirm that you shared in the unanimous verdict, did you answer fully and truthfully that you were voting guilty?’

‘Yes
—
’

Judge Edblad nodded. ‘You made a difficult decision, Mr. Marlowe. Now you’re having second thoughts about it. It’s not uncommon. We call it buyer’s remorse. Unfortunately, in the absence of any actual misconduct in the jury room, it doesn’t constitute sufficient grounds to void the verdict.’

Howard tensed. ‘Except – except I want to change my vote.’

‘It’s too late. The trial is over.’

‘What if I talk to Mr. Gale?’ Howard asked.

‘You can certainly do that. I’ll inform him of our conversation, too, as well as Mr. Erickson. However, a juror changing his mind after the fact isn’t enough for a new trial. I’m sorry.’

Howard stood up. He felt crushed. ‘I see. I’m sorry to bother you, your honor.’

‘It isn’t a problem, Mr. Marlowe. Being a juror is a weighty responsibility. Everyone in this courthouse understands and respects that. You did your civic duty, and now you can go on with your life.’

The judge stood up, too, and walked Howard to his office door. He clapped him on the shoulder, showed him out, and shut the door behind him. Howard could see the jury room in front of him, where the deliberations had taken place. It was empty. He wanted to go inside, sit down again, and change the past.

Go on with your life.

That was what Carol had said, too.
We can go back to living our lives.

They all wanted him to forget about Janine, but Howard couldn’t do that.

35

Cindy sat on the green bench at the end of the Point in the midst of a small patch of sand by the bay. She checked her watch, but Jonny was late. He usually was. She’d gotten used to it over the years.

This was Jonny’s place, where he went to stare at the calm waters. As teenagers, they’d first talked about marriage here, in that awkward way that young lovers grope toward their future. When Jonny’s mother died, they’d come here to talk about the good and bad of her life. Now it seemed like the right place for them to talk about other things.

It was dusk. The August days were getting shorter, stealing away the sunlight. Long shadows filled the park behind her. At her feet, crowns of golden alexanders swayed as the breeze blew, and the bay ripples gurgled at the beach. As warm as it was, she shivered. There were moments late in every summer where you got the first kiss of fall, a little finger up your spine that reminded you of what lay ahead.

She’d visited the teenager from the mall that afternoon. Laura. The girl was home now, out of the hospital and recovering nicely from the bullet she’d taken in her leg. Reporters had wanted to talk to both of them and take pictures, and Cindy had given them a firm no. She didn’t want publicity. She’d spent half an hour with Laura and her parents, and they’d fallen over themselves to thank her, which made her uncomfortable. She didn’t want thanks or tears. The only thing she wanted was for Laura to go on and live her life. The ups and downs. The happiness. The sadness. She’d hugged the girl at the end and whispered: ‘Don’t let this be who you are.’

Which was easier said than done, she knew. That moment in the mall would be the seminal moment of the girl’s life. She’d have nightmares. She’d be in therapy for years. She’d wonder why she was spared when others died. That was okay. You couldn’t ask those questions and wrestle with the answers if you weren’t alive.

She and Jonny hadn’t talked about it. They’d agreed to put it aside in a box. She knew he wanted to ask her how she could have taken such a crazy risk with their future, but he couldn’t. Not when he would have done exactly the same thing at the same moment. But that was his job. For her, it was a choice, but in the moment, she felt as if she had no choice at all.

Cindy heard the engine of his Bronco and saw him pull into the dirt of the parking lot beside her Outback. He got out and smiled at her and crushed a cigarette in the sand. He mussed his wild black hair. God, he was handsome. That was what she’d thought years ago, when she’d met him in school, this intense, brooding teenager who was obsessed with doing the right thing. Whatever that might be. Now he was in the prime of his life, and she didn’t think he’d ever looked better than he did at that moment. Cocky and confident, wounded and deep. He was such a strange, wonderful mix, this man of hers.

He sat down beside her on the bench and stretched out his long legs. His boots were dusty. He had a can of Coke in his hand, and he took a drink and then offered it to her.

‘You think I want your spit, Jonny?’ she asked.

He laughed, but she took the can anyway and finished it.

Together they watched the dying light on the bay. They didn’t talk for a while. He held her hand, and their skin was damp and warm. The evening was alive with summer sounds – insects in the bushes, the whine of a floatplane overhead, the pop of illegal firecrackers on the lakeside over the dunes.

Finally, she said: ‘Do you know anything more?’

Jonny nodded.

‘Did he . . .’ she asked.

That had been the question in her mind since it happened. Did Ross Klayman kill Jay Ferris? Her mind had spun out theories in which Ross was guilty. Jay spotted him somewhere. Found him. Followed him. Ross had eliminated the one man who could stand in the way of his planned rampage.

Which meant that her friend, Janine, was innocent.

‘No,’ Jonny told her.

He didn’t give her any room for doubt. She felt a wave of disappointment, but not any sense of surprise. ‘Are you sure? You sound sure.’

‘The Bureau of Criminal Apprehension tested every handgun we found in Klayman’s car that could have been used in the murder. None of them matched.’

‘That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, does it? He could have gotten rid of the weapon.’

Jonny shook his head. ‘There’s more. We went over Jessie’s credit card bills. There was a charge from a gun show in Arkansas on January 28. The Arkansas police talked to several of the vendors, and they all knew Jessie and Ross. They confirmed that Ross was with his mother at that show. He was a thousand miles away from Duluth when Jay was killed, Cin. He didn’t do it.’

‘Oh.’

And that was that. Ross Klayman didn’t do it. Janine did.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘No, you were right all along. I was wrong.’

‘You weren’t wrong about Ross Klayman,’ Jonny said flatly. ‘Nine people died. Thirty more were wounded. Maybe if we’d found him earlier, we could have stopped him. I feel responsible.’

She squeezed his hand hard. ‘Don’t you ever do that to yourself, Jonathan Stride. Do you hear me? It’s not your fault.’

‘No?’

‘No. It’s not.’

‘I’m having a hard time accepting that.’

‘Mentally ill people don’t wear signs,’ she said.

He shrugged. He knew it was true, but she knew it wouldn’t stop him from beating himself up.

They were silent again.

Then he looked at her. ‘You never told me what he said to you. Just before he killed himself.’

‘Who, Klayman? Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘I don’t remember.’

He didn’t push her, and she was glad. She was lying, and he knew it, but maybe he realized that some moments couldn’t be shared with anyone. If she closed her eyes, she could picture his face and hear his voice. I am God. The strange thing was, as he said it, she almost believed him. Not that she thought God was cruel or uncaring. And yet cruel things happened.

Cindy realized she couldn’t put it off any longer. She’d told Jonny to meet her here for a reason. Not anywhere else. Here.

‘Listen,’ she said, dragging the words out of her chest. ‘There’s something I need to talk to you about.’

She’d gone over and over in her head about how to tell him, but she still didn’t know what to say. How do you break that news to your husband? She’d had an appointment with Steve Garske. And it wasn’t good.

‘Something’s not . . .’ she began. Something’s not right. With me. Something’s very wrong. Something bad.

‘Hang on,’ Jonny said. His phone was ringing. When he answered, she recognized Maggie’s voice on the line, which had a strange kind of intimacy. It was odd how Maggie was always coming between them. She’d never really thought about it like that, and it wasn’t fair, because Maggie represented the job. The job came first. It always did.

He hung up.

‘A teenage girl has gone missing in Lakeside,’ he said. ‘She went jogging, and she never came home.’

‘What’s her name?’ Cindy asked. She always wanted to know the name. Victims were never faceless or nameless to her.

‘Kerry McGrath.’

‘Well, go,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry.’

She shook her head. There wasn’t any call for apology. She knew the life.

‘What did you want to tell me?’ he asked.

‘It can wait.’

He got up from the bench and headed across the sand for his Bronco. She watched him go. Hands in his pockets. Boots leaving footprints. That body she knew so well, with its muscles, furrows, and scars. His head cocked, watching the lazy turns of a hawk in the dark of the Duluth sky.

Suddenly, she ran after him with a sense of urgency. He heard her coming and turned around in surprise, and she swept her arms behind his waist and lifted herself up on her toes to kiss him. She gave him a long, hard, wet Cindy kiss that went on and on. You could feel kisses like that all the way down to your toes, and you could close your eyes and remember them like candy on your lips.

They were the kind of kisses you never forgot, no matter what happened next.