High Noon (16 page)

“I'm man enough.”

“Man enough to use one woman to ambush another.” The sugary tone was a thing of the past now as Liz whipped out the words. “Man enough to lie in wait like a snake in the grass. And the only way you could put your hands on her was to cuff her, to knock her down. That's the only way you could get her naked and put hands on her.”

“I was never in that stairway,” Arnie shot back. “I never touched her. I got better things to do with my time. I sure got better things to do with my fingers.” He flipped the middle one at Phoebe.

“She never said anything about fingers,” Phoebe said quietly. “She said hands.”

He sat back. “Hands, fingers. Same thing.”

“It's really not.” There was a hot ball jammed between her belly and her heart, hard and hot. She needed it to break apart and dissolve.

The victim needed it, she thought, to kill the fear.

“You rammed them inside me. You son of a bitch.” She surged to her feet, ignoring the lawyer's objections as she leaned across the table. “You smelled like baby powder, just like you do now. Under the sweat. Because you're starting to sweat, Arnie. Do you remember what you said to me?”

“Can't remember something I didn't say. I wasn't there.”

“You said you didn't fuck my kind. I figure you didn't use your dick because it's too small to make an impression. Your kind can't get it up half the time anyway.”

“Too bad you didn't break your neck in the fall.”

“This interview's over,” the lawyer announced.

“You should've pushed me harder. Maybe if I'd broken something, you'd have gotten a decent boner.”

“I should've kicked you down the damn stairs.”

She eased back, nodded as that hard, hot ball began to dissolve. “Your mistake.”

“I said, this interview is over.”

“That's fine.” Liz rose. “We'll just move right along, then. Officer Meeks, you're under arrest.”

 

Phoebe went straight to her office, closed herself in, and did something she rarely did. She lowered and closed her blinds. Carefully, she sat behind her desk.

Everything seemed to be throbbing at once. Emotional upheaval, stress, she told herself. All of it pushing the physical discomfort up several notches. She couldn't take a pill, not here. They made her sleepy and fuzzy-headed, so she settled for four Motrin. And watched her hands shake on the bottle.

Yeah, the ball was dissolving, she thought, and there was a price to pay for it.

She didn't answer the knock on her door, and thought only, Go away. Give me five damn minutes.

But the door opened, and Liz stepped in. “Sorry. How you holding up?”

“Got the shakes.”

“You didn't have them in there, when it counted.”

“He looked at me, he looked me right in the eye. He was glad he hurt me. He only wished he'd hurt me more.”

“And that's what did him,” Liz pointed out. “I don't care how coached he is by his lawyer, it's going to show. He can't resist, he can't control it. When this goes to trial—”

“It's not going to trial, Liz. We both know that.”

Liz walked around the desk, sat on the edge. “Okay, yeah. They'll make a deal. The department, the DA, nobody's going to want a public trial, and the publicity that goes with it. And even with what happened in interrogation, the case is a little shaky. Strong enough so Arnie's lawyer knows to take a deal when it's offered. He's going to lose his badge, Phoebe, and he's going to be disgraced. Is that going to be enough for you?”

“It'll have to be. I appreciate all you did.”

“You pulled plenty of the weight.”

“Hey,” Phoebe said when Liz got up. “I know this nice bar—Irish pub on River Street. I'd like to buy you a drink. I need a few days' grace on it, until my vanity lets me go out in public.”

“Sure, just let me know. Take care, Phoebe.”

 

Down in Holding, Arnie paced his cell. They'd arrested him, booked him. Goddamn useless lawyer.

Goddamn bitches screwed it all up. Assault, battery, sexual molestation. Railroading him, that's what they were doing, all because that
cunt
couldn't handle a few bruises she'd damn well earned.

It wouldn't stick. No possible way they could make it stick.

He whipped around when the door slid open, and bit back the words that wanted to spew out only because his father shook his head when he came in.

So Arnie held them in until the guard stepped away.

“They can't make this bullshit stick,” Arnie began. “She's not going to get away with locking me up like this, with embarrassing me in front of my fellow officers. That bitch—”

“Sit down. Shut up.”

Arnie sat, but he couldn't shut up. “You see how they put a girl ADA on it? Circle the fucking wagons. What's Chuck thinking, for God's sake?” Arnie demanded, speaking of the DA. “Why didn't he just kick this in the first place?”

“He's getting the arraignment pushed up, and he's going to recommend ROR.”

“Well, Jesus, that's just great.” In disgust Arnie threw his hands up. “I get charged for this bullshit, but released on my own recognizance, and that makes it okay? Fuck that, Pa. I could lose my badge. You need to reach out to IAB, get an investigation on Mac Namara. You
know
Mc Vee's dipping his wick in that. You know that's why I'm in here.”

Mouth tight, Sergeant Meeks stared down at his son. “You're in here because you couldn't keep your mouth shut, just like now. I'm going to ask you one time. Just you and me. I'm going to ask this one time, and I want the truth. You lie, I'll see it. I see it, and I walk out of here, and that's the last I'll do for you.”

Anger faded away into shock, and the first trickle of fear. “Christ, Pa.”

“Did you do this thing? You look at me, Arnie. Did you do this?”

“I—”

“Don't you fucking lie.”

“She suspended me. She used me as a goat. You taught me to stand up for myself, not to take shit off anyone. If you got to kick an ass, you kick it.”

Meeks stared. “Did I teach you to use your fists on a woman, boy? Did I teach you that?”

“She wouldn't get off my back. She—” He broke off, eyes watering, burning, when his father's hand slapped across his face.

“Did I teach you to jump a superior officer from behind, like a coward? I taught you to be a
man,
goddamn it, not to hide in some stairwell and beat on a woman. You're a disgrace to me, to the family name, to the job.”

“They come at you, you come back harder. That's what you taught me. That's what I did.”

“You don't see the difference, there's nothing I can say.” Wearily, Meeks got to his feet. “I'll use what I've got to fix this for you, the best I can. You're my son, so I'll do it for you, for your mother, for my grandson. But you're done on the job, Arnie. If I could fix that, I wouldn't. You're done.”

“Then how are you going to hold your head up, if you don't have your son following you on the job?”

“I don't know. I'll get you out of this, the best I can. After that, I don't know.”

“I only did what I thought you'd do.”

“If I believed that, I'd feel sicker than I do now.” Meeks walked over to the cell door, set his jaw. “On the gate!” he called, then left his son.

 

By Sunday, Phoebe decided to ditch the sling. She was tired of it, tired of the meds, tired of the bruises.

And she had to admit she was tired of having to fight back the need to whine and complain so that she could ease her family back into routine.

Still, she felt better when she stepped out of the shower, especially if she avoided any glimpse of herself in the mirror. She managed to get her robe on without too much of a struggle, and decided she'd probably not only last through Sunday dinner, but maybe even make it until the crazy hour of ten o'clock that night before her energy just drained out like water from a sieve.

She walked into her bedroom just as her sister-in-law walked through the door. “Knock, knock,” Josie said with a big smile. “How's the patient today?”

“I've crossed myself off the disabled list, thanks.”

“I'll be the judge of that. Let her drop.”

“Come on, Josie.”

Josie's smile only widened. She was barely five-two, weighed in at maybe one-ten fully dressed, and behind that angelic smile was a hardass that would make Nurse Ratched tremble.

“Drop the robe, sweets, or I'll tell your mother.”

“That's mean.”

“I am mean.”

“Don't I know. I'm going to run away to Atlanta, get myself an apartment and leave no forwarding address.” But Phoebe dropped the robe.

Sympathy shone in Josie's big brown eyes, but her voice was brisk. “Bruising's fading. The hip looks a lot better. That shoulder has to be painful yet.”

“It's coming along.”

“How's the range of motion?”

“I'm still grateful I've got some front-hook bras, but it's improving.”

Josie took Phoebe's hands, turned them over. If truth be told, those injuries hurt her heart more than the rest. “Wrist lacerations look pretty good.”

“Bitching sore if you want the truth. Can I regain my modesty now?”

Josie picked up the robe, helped Phoebe into it. “Any trouble with your vision in that eye?”

“No, it's clear. And before you ask, the headaches are fewer and less intense. I can poke at my jaw without feeling like I've drilled a spike through it and into my brain. All in all, not too bad.”

“You're healing well. Helps that you're young and in excellent physical shape.”

“I knew those damn Pilates were good for something. You didn't have to come by to check on me, Jo.”

“You get the bonus round because I came early so Ava can teach me to bake lemon meringue pie. Which you know she's making because it's Dave's favorite. Why doesn't she just jump that man and get the ball rolling?”

“I wish I knew.” Phoebe moved to her dresser for underwear. “In all these years it's the first time they've both been free at the same time. His divorce has been final for almost two years now. But they're both still playing just friends.”

“We could set them up on a blind date. You know, you tell him you've got somebody, and I tell her, and we don't tell either the some-bodies are each other. And then—”

“We both get our butts burned for meddling.”

Josie pouted. “That's what Carter said when I tried the idea out on him. Well, I'm giving them six months more, then I'm risking my butt. Want me to help you get dressed?”

“I can handle it.”

“Just between us now?” Josie watched Phoebe's range of motion as Phoebe eased into a shirt, and judged it improved. “How are you doing otherwise?”

“Okay. I know the symptoms of posttraumatic stress. I've had some unpleasant dreams. It's natural.”

“It's also natural for stress to bottle up when you feel obligated to keep it inside and not upset the family.”

“If I need to spew, I have my ways. Don't worry. I'm back on the job full-time next week. That helps me.”

“Okay. Call if you need me.”

 

To prove to herself as well as her family that things were approaching normal, Phoebe dressed with some care. The bold blue color of the shirt cheered her up enough to nudge her into taking some time with makeup. Then more time as she realized if she just kept blending, the bruises went from a shout to a murmur.

By the time she got downstairs, the kitchen was full of women cooking. It didn't hurt her feelings at all to be banished out to the courtyard and the sunshine with Carter and Carly.

“Mama!” Carly flew across the bricks. “I kicked Uncle Carter's
butt
at jacks.”

“That's my girl.”

“It's a sissy game.”

“He says that when he loses,” Carly announced. “Do you want to play the champ?”

“I don't think I'm up to sitting on the ground yet, baby. Give me another week, and we'll see whose butt gets kicked. You better practice.”

“I'm going in for a drink, okay? Whipping Uncle Carter was thirsty work.”

“Smart-mouth.”

Carly grinned at her uncle and ran for the door. With a sigh, Phoebe sat on the circular bench around the courtyard's little fountain.

Here, she could not only see Ava's roses but smell them. She could hear the birds sing, and admire the tenacity of the thyme and chamomile that spread between the cracks of the pavers, the sweet faces of the violas that danced around a copper birdbath.

Here, with the brick walls and wrought-iron gates, Ava had created a personal sanctuary where shade dappled through moss onto benches and tea olives perfumed the air.

“God! It feels good to sit outside.”

“Josie give you the thumbs-up?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He sat, slipped an arm around Phoebe's shoulders. “We get to worry about you. It's part of the package.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “We all had a scare. It's over now.”

“I remember how long it took me to get over being scared.”

“Carter, you were just a little guy.”

“That doesn't matter, and you know it. You looked after me. And you stood between me and Cousin Bess for years after.”

“Old bitch. Which is mean and ungrateful, however true, when we're sitting here in her pretty courtyard while other people are baking pies and ham in the kitchen.”

“It's Ava's courtyard,” Carter said, and made Phoebe smile.

“Yes, it is. And really, even during the tyrant's reign, it was Ava's. Do you ever think how she was younger than we are now when she started working here? Barely twenty-two, wasn't she? And to have the spine to stick it out, to stand up to Cousin Bess.”