Leaving Yesterday (20 page)

“Hmm. I suppose you have a point there. Don’t you agree, though, that our government needs to do what it can to protect our citizens?”

“Definitely.” I thought of Detective Thompson and his gut feelings. “But at the same time, we need to remember that the government can make mistakes. The system needs to work for everyone. The police aren’t perfect.”

Silence filled the airwaves for at least ten seconds. This might not sound like a long time, but when you were on a live national broadcast, it seemed eternal.

“Why don’t we talk about processing grief. You teach seminars on this, correct?”

I exhaled my relief. Reisha Cinders wasn’t going to risk any more answers that didn’t promote her agenda, so she was going to change the subject. I was all for it.

By the time I finally hung up the phone, I had a stomachache that no amount of antacid could control.

Twenty-Five

“Well, best I can tell, it’s all circumstantial evidence.”

Over quiche and juice at our weekly Tuesday breakfast, Lacey’s throaty voice brought the news I’d expected.

Somewhere inside me, far beneath any conscious thought or logic, I had been hoping there was direct evidence linking this other boy to the murder. Absolute proof, even. Then I could know that my son was truly innocent, in spite of what I’d found, in spite of what he’d told me. Since this was not the reality, I could at least find relief in knowing the other boy would not be convicted. “That means they’ll have to let him go. Right?”

“No. It’s circumstantial, but still pretty compelling. And the DA has been getting a lot of pressure from the mayor, so I expect this will go all the way to trial.”

“Compelling stuff like what?”

“As you already know, his name was on the pay-owe—that’s the same list Kurt’s name was on. He was also seen in the downtown Santa Barbara area on the night of the murder, but I’m guessing so were several other people on the list. There’s a partial fingerprint that appears to be his, but it appears as though the masterstroke of evidence against him came from the fool’s stupidity.”

“What do you mean?”

“A piece of the puzzle that they’ve never made public was that it appeared as though Rudy Prince had been robbed after he was murdered. One thing they’ve been on the lookout for was a gold medallion that he always wore on a gold chain around his neck. It was custom-made. I don’t know all the details of it, but it was one of a kind. Anyway, Gary Singer apparently pawned the medallion and chain down in Oxnard.”

This was the kind of information that could lead me to hope again. “So is it possible that Gary Singer really did rob and kill him? Maybe Kurt ended up with the bat some other way?”

Lacey reached over and squeezed my hand. “Baby, we both wish that were true, but let’s not lie to ourselves. Okay?”

“Then, how else did Gary Singer get the medallion?”

“The story he’s telling is that he came upon Rudy Prince’s body. He claims he didn’t know the guy was dead, just thought he was unconscious. Being such a fine, upstanding citizen, he then rifled Rudy’s pockets and says he found a bag of cocaine and some money, both of which he took. I suppose that would explain the fingerprint. Then he took the gold chain and medallion. According to him, he figured when Rudy got out of the hospital, he’d be able to sell it back to him for what remained of his drug debt.”

“Nice fellow.”

“That’s what I’m telling you. There’s no comparison between this kid and Kurt. Kurt is useful to society, Gary Singer is just trouble.”

“If he pawned it in Oxnard, how did the police in Santa Barbara even know about it?”

“They’ve been on the lookout for it from day one, and pawn shops are always on their watch list.” She shook her head, which made the large fuchsia flower on today’s headband wobble back and forth. “Greed got him. If he’d just tossed that thing in the trash, he would still be a free man today.”

“So, like you said, it’s all circumstantial stuff. I mean, a jury would see that and know that there’s nothing concrete, right? What do you think will happen to him?”

“You want my honest answer?”

“You know I do.” I said it with a confidence that I certainly didn’t possess. In fact, I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know the answer.

“Baby, he’s going down. With his record, no one’s going to believe a word he says. No matter what the truth is.”

The answer sank to the ground with what was left of my heart. An innocent man was going to prison for a crime my son had committed. A crime I’d helped cover up. I looked at Lacey with all the courage I could muster. “I’ve got to tell, don’t I?”

“If you go forward now, there’s more to it than just Kurt. You’ve destroyed evidence in a capital offense.”

I hadn’t even considered that part. “Lacey, would I go to jail?”

“I practiced civil law, not criminal, but I know that destruction of evidence is a misdemeanor in the penalty code.” She tapped her fingers against her lips, and I could almost see her mind perusing the legal library of information she’d learned over the years. She pulled her hands away. “They could also claim obstruction of justice and accessory after the fact, and they’re both felonies. I don’t think they would send you to jail, but we both know you’d lose your job, all your church friends, everything.”

I thought about the people I’d worshiped beside for the last twenty years and wanted to argue. But I couldn’t. “Maybe.”

“And if Rick starts talking custody for real, you’ve got to know that this would be the thing that tips the scales. Are you willing to lose both Kurt
and
Caroline to save a self-serving drug addict who would just as quickly turn around and rob you? Remember, that’s what happened to the last people who tried to help him.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, you better be certain of that answer before you do anything you’ll regret. My counsel as your lawyer is to stay quiet. My advice as your friend is the same. Prison is where this guy belongs anyway. Just let justice run its course.”

Twenty-Six

Lacey’s advice followed me to work at the church, making it nearly impossible to focus and even harder to follow a conversation. As preoccupied as I’d been these last weeks, it was amazing nobody ever mentioned it. I finished the minimum I needed to get done for the day and left the church just after noon. I needed to be home when Caroline got out of school at three, but I had no intention of going anywhere near my house until that time. Busy, and away from my thoughts, was where I needed to be. I suppose I told myself I was going to pray, but ever since I laid eyes on that bat, prayer had almost ceased to exist for me. And seemed to be farther away with every passing day. Prayer is part listening, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to hear what God might have to say.

I turned the radio up full blast and started driving down the coast. At first, I thought I might stop at the Beach Grill on Padaro, order a crab salad, and enjoy the ocean and the beautiful day. But when I got to the exit, as much as I planned to turn, my car kept going straight.

I reached the outskirts of Ventura, wondering what I was doing there. It would have been a nice time to stop by Caroline’s favorite store in the mall and pick her up a new pair of shorts since she had outgrown most of last year’s. That didn’t happen, either.

The direction I found myself heading was the one place I knew I had no business going. Still, somehow I found myself in the parking lot of Kevin Marshall’s garage. A couple of cars were up on lifts, the high whine of hydraulics pierced the air in regular bursts, and the smell of oil and hot engines was almost overwhelming. I quickly realized the stupidity in driving here. I pulled to the far edge of the parking lot and began the process of making a three-point turn.

As I completed the reverse portion and put the car into drive, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Kevin was jogging toward me, his face lit with concern. He came right up to the driver’s window. “Alisa? I thought that looked like your car. What’s going on?”

What are the odds?
It was a busy garage, mechanics everywhere. What would make him look up at the very instant I pulled into the parking lot? I rolled down my window. “Hi, Kevin. I’m fine, just out for a little drive and realized I needed an oil change. Decided to stop by spur of the moment, but I can see that you’re busy. I’ll just be on my way.”

“Whoa. Just slow down there a minute. Joey just got back from lunch and isn’t working on anything yet. I’ll have him fit you in. Why don’t you come into my office and we can talk while you wait?”

“No, that’s okay. I can see that you’re busy.”

“I’m never too busy for a friend. He pulled open my door. “Leave the keys and I’ll pull it around. We got coffee inside or I could get you a soda.”

Door open, I didn’t see myself getting out of this easily. And the situation was progressing toward embarrassing as mechanics began looking up from their work to see what was happening. “I’ll pull it over. Which bay did you say?”

“Left.” He shut my door and then paced beside the car while I parked it in the appropriate spot. “Hey, Joey, can you do an oil change for me ASAP?”

“Sure thing.”

Stepping from the car, I looked and saw a twentysomething tip his hat in our general direction.

I nodded back at him and wondered if after he got under the hood, he would be able to tell that I’d had my oil changed about a thousand miles ago. Probably. Hopefully he would keep his mouth shut and not come blabbing into Kevin’s office about how that was the biggest waste of time ever. I could just picture it now.

I felt the pressure of Kevin’s hand on my elbow. “Back here.” He led me to a small office in the corner. He shut the door behind us, and I wondered just what kind of reaction that would get from the guys out in the shop. Some crazed lady pulls into the shop, the boss practically drags her out of the car, and now they’re going into the office and closing the door.

“Now, have a seat and tell me what’s going on.” He removed a couple of magazines from a worn tweed chair and stacked them on a much larger pile on his desk.

The bare walls closed tight around us, and there was barely room for the desk and my chair, but somehow it felt homey, not confined. “Nothing really. I was just having a bad day, went for a drive, and somehow I ended up in Ventura. Next thing I knew, I was in your parking lot.” The heat from my cheeks could have warmed a small country.

“What made your day so bad?”

I didn’t look at him. “I’m sure the last thing you need is some whiny female in here talking about her problems.”

“You’re the farthest thing possible from a whiny female, and we both know it. Now tell me what it was that made you so upset you drove all the way to Ventura.”

“I don’t know. It’s a lot of things, and they all just seem to be adding up right now. Rick was talking custody a few weeks ago—not to me, mind you. Our ten-year-old is the one who overheard it. He hasn’t said a word to me about filing for anything. And then, our son Kurt …” I stopped there. I didn’t want to ruin this moment by telling a lie, or even a half-truth, but I certainly wasn’t going to tell the complete truth. “Well, let’s just say, Rick suddenly decided that he’d been wrong about some things, and now all of a sudden, he’s coming by with flowers.”

“And that bothers you because?”

“The man was talking custody two weeks ago. Behind my back. I can’t confront him because that would put Caroline in an awkward position.”

He scooted his chair right up against mine and put his arms around me. I cried on his shoulder until the navy work shirt had a dark wet spot on it. I settled myself down, but he didn’t let go, and I didn’t pull away. I suspected he needed this unconditional embrace every bit as much as I did. It felt so warm and so safe. No angry accusations, only acceptance and support. He probably wondered why I cried so much over my husband bringing flowers, or maybe he understood that there was much more I wasn’t saying. I’d like to believe that someone could actually understand me that well. We were good for each other.

When I realized just how far my thoughts had strayed down the path, I did pull away, although he kept his hands on my shoulders. He was a married man. I was at least technically still a married woman. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break down like that.”

“Of course you didn’t, but it’s what you needed.” He wiped his thumbs across my wet cheeks. We looked into each other’s eyes for a split second longer than necessary, then he drew back, too.

I stood up and gathered my purse. “I’ll just go wait out front for my car. I know you’ve got other things to be doing.” I wiped my fingers hard under my eyes, trying to clear the telltale signs of smudged makeup.

He handed me a tissue from a box on his desk. “I’ll be in Santa Barbara next week on business. I’ll try to stop by and check on you then.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t. I want to.”

His answer was the thing I hoped for most.

Twenty-Seven

Another Saturday. Another gathering to help those paralyzed by grief. Only, grief seemed to be the farthest thing from my mind at the moment. I could lead an entire conference myself on dealing with guilt. But grief? Still I presented and still the audience applauded generously as I concluded my talk. Many were wiping their eyes when I asked for questions.

The first came from a red-eyed woman on the front row. “How long did it take you before you got over your son’s death?”

“Of course, you never really get over losing a child. I will remember and miss and love Nick until the day I die. However, with God’s help, I’ve been able to smile again, to get on with my life, and to live each day because it is worthwhile.” It was what they wanted to hear, what they needed to hear, but lately anything to do with God had gotten harder and harder for me to say. And some tiny part of me nearly shattered when I realized how long it had been since I’d last really thought about Nick.

I pointed toward a hand in the back. “In the last row.”

“Do you believe that every life has equal value, or do you think that some people are more deserving of life—and even justice?”